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knowledge that it's not getting you anywhere. If you want to restore some inner
peace, you just have to come to terms with it.
After an hour or so I calmed down and the paranoia of being caught returned.
Just about every second car on the road seemed to be a police vehicle.
Since leaving Houqi we had entered an entirely different part of China. Gone
were the sandy tracks and isolated mudbrick villages - in fact, in this new environ-
ment they were almost unimaginable. We were still high up on an arid plateau, but
even so we had obviously hit the rim of fast-developing China.
The road was a wide, smooth bitumen highway complete with large signs, heavy
traffic and impressive bridges. Fleets of Chinese trucks rattled along with all kinds
of goods, and expensive Japanese cars often zipped by in near silence. Everything
was shiny, new and prosperous. This was an alien world, unlike anything we had
seen in Russia and Mongolia.
By early afternoon there was still no sign of Chris. I tried to not let it bother
me and pedalled on, content to eat my biscuits and marvel at the changing envir-
onment. The road wound through steep hills which, in turn, rose into rugged desert
mountains. Most of the yellow-red slopes were cut neatly into a series of terraces.
On rare occasions, I spotted old men walking behind cattle, directing drays. In gen-
eral, though, it was a barren, sparsely populated place. Between the slopes, where
you would usually expect to see streams and moist gullies, there were deep, eroded
gorges with sandy bottoms that looked like the savage, random cuts of a giant ma-
chete.
When my biscuits ran out, I began to worry about Chris. With each kilometre
that passed, terrifying thoughts began to manifest. Had he really decided to go it
solo to Beijing? Had he, in fact, been arrested? If so, how on earth could I find out?
I spoke no Chinese, was travelling illegally, and was utterly alone.
I continued until the sun was nudging the rugged mountain skyline. The air was
cooling fast, and with it waned my energy. I was bordering on tears, partly out of
anger and partly out of fear, but mostly from exhaustion and the thought of having
ruined the end of the journey.
Chris, where are you? Where the hell are you? But the empty landscape had no
answers.
Eventually, I stopped, lay down on a terrace and chewed on a raw packet of
noodles. It settled my nerves and restored some rationale to my thinking. Well, if
he hasn't gone ahead, then he's either been arrested or somehow I've passed him.
In any case, I am not moving.