Self Portrait from August 2011, Amdo/Kham Tibet

The moment, I knew, it was going to be a very long and cold winter. Watching snow flurries fall to the ground during the first week of August, as we ride from the Tibetans we had spent the night with.

Sunrise near Amnematchen (Amdo/Kham Tibet). One of the most beautiful mornings so far.

The evening before, sleeping with the nomads, we had been shoved in a corner together. I was in the worst pain of my life from my stomach problems and got no sleep, Brandon told me he didn’t sleep at all either.

When getting ready for bed, the Tibetan girl and I were giggling with each other for about an hour. There was a language barrier and we would just communicate with laughter and giggles. We were watching each other, curious of the other. One of us would do something, and catch the eyes of the other, and we would both burst out in laughter. Old cranky pants that I was sharing my “personal space” with was probably confirming in his head that I’d lost my mind.

That girl was absolutely beautiful and I have about 3 dozen photos of her. I can still hear her laughter and giggles, while adding a white powder/flour to her traditional Tibetan hat. What I would do to visit her again…………………..well, it’s not that far away?

December 2nd 2011 – Mario Bros to Mori

I woke up to a quite cold and dimly lit room. Still, complete silence except for the faint sound of ice cracking in the trees in the back.

Without getting out of bed to look out the window, I can make a weather assessment. Being raised in the Blue Ridge/Appalachia Mountains, I can already tell what it’s like outside by the light coming through the window and the silence with the faint “crack”.

I pack up, eat the remainder of the bread, and drink the last bit of hot water (“kai shui”) in my instant sugar coffee. Again, it’s great staying in places like this because it’s super fast and easy to pack up in the am.

I vow to not take anymore photos with my point and shoot (quit being lazy) unless they are snapshots of me suffering in the elements or I have no option because of situation (i.e. police). Only for video, from now on, Jan 20, 2011.

It’s going to be a very white and cold ride today.

As I exit the building, I see Mario and Luigi taking care of the daily chores. Cow feeding and milking. Yep, I think Mario and Luigi may be a couple. This, I find, AWESOME. They get extra thanks and smiles from me…world love, dudes.

It’s about 10 am’ish. It’s foggy – frozen fog. Not too bad with a few kilometer visibility ahead. Once I get going, I’ll warm up and it won’t be too much of a problem.

10:42 am

The trees all have silver icicles on the tips of their limbs. I am doing okay at this point and enjoy passing the lone cowboy on his horse and my eyes dashing around the landscape. There still seems to be a bit of an incline, or my eyes are just giving me that “false” appearance. (I hate it when I have a false flat and barely pushing 15km, way to make me feel like a baby.)

Little girl’s potty break, although I didn’t use the structure for privacy. I nearly didn’t make it off the saddle in time. (Nothing like wet cycling shorts and an additional odor to add the lovely potpourri I wear around). You can gawk at this if you want, but any one that rides, especially women…one second off the saddle and that’s when it hits with full force.

When there is no traffic, I really just take care of business anywhere. Ladies, don’t be shy when nature calls. Tuck the head down and keep your face from traffic to keep the attention off of the fact that you aren’t “physically” a man. I really have lost any sense of shame. What happened? I guess, you just quit giving a damn and morphed into a true womanimal.

12:30, losing visibility. It only gets worse and worse from this moment on.

Boys get ice beards girls get ice braids. (How fitting for the nickname I picked up years ago, “Ice Princess”)

The balaclava got used after this, and I’m not posting a photo of that because I look like a monster.

I eventually end the day on about 3 meter visibility. Turning on my red blinky because of the fear of getting taken out by a car.

It’s an early day to Mori.

I finally have my gear loaded on my bike so if I take the back rack bag off, I can carry the bike fully loaded up stairs. Yes, I’m a g.d. beast. Well, beastly skills up 3 EXTREMELY LONG and narrow flight of stairs, nearly breaks my neck. I regained my balance before taking an awesome tumble down steps with bike in hands. (Mental note: save beast skills for at least a meter wide staircase, without white sheets covering the carpet, and a larger landings…and just not so many.) Christ! Laziness and short cuts are going to be the death of me. There was a naughty influence with me this summer and some bad habits have stuck.

(The beastly womanimal needs some sleep as I had a delightful 4 hours last night. Jan. 23, 2011)

Mix Tape

I put together a mix a few days ago of the songs that get a lot of repeat time on the iPod. Some bring back vivid memories of mountain passes, camp, and solitude.

[8tracks width=”400″ height=”400″ playops=”” url=”http://8tracks.com/mixes/532872″]

Dinner, my only meal that day, in U-Tsang, Tibet (near Nima, September 2011)

It was a long day, but every day in Tibet was a glorious long day – and this would prove to be a very long night.

When I finally found an area where I could get some wind shelter, I pushed the bike off road and up towards some rocks jutting from the ground. Taking notice of the Yak foot prints, I was aware I could have some friendly visitors in the morning. I’m not worried, I’ve woken a few times with the clomping and the heavy breathing less than a meter from my tent. Hell, I’ve had a dozen of dogs howling and barking next to my tent. No, I’m not hardcore – I’m stupid.

Anyhow, I push the bike towards the wall of stone and begin to clear some stones out of the most level area of the ground. I hate slipping through the night, but I can tell I’m going to be rolling down…a little.

I haven’t eat at all. I’m now camping at +4900m, highest camp so far, and I’ve lost my appetite. I’ve been at high altitude for over 2 weeks now and I’m noticing some things changing. My ears are ringing, my feet and hands are beginning to take on a purplish hue, and inability to sleep.

Before I set up camp, I try to figure out how and what I’m going to eat. I have no alcohol for my stove. I’ve got chilled water and I know that if I let my instant noodles (pangmian) soak long enough, it will be close to noodle soup. I also dig out my can of “fried sardines with black beans”. This can was meant to be split, as they are super salty.

Wedging the bag in a Pipa (the rodent that lives in Tibet) hole, I pour my water in to let soak while setting up camp.

This is the night my tent pole splinters. Yep. Again, not a peep from my mouth except in my mind I “say” – “oh shit”. The wind can get crazy up here at night and I just pray it doesn’t blow down.

I nestle into my home for the night and begin my meal fit for Kings.

The fish is too salty. I can only take half the can before I walk a half a km down the hill and chuck it far enough in hopes to keep any wild animals away. (I’m constantly warned of wolves from people, but have yet to have an encounter.)

I fall in and out of sleep throughout the night. As soon as the wind picks up, I listen for more cracking of the pole. Luckily, it is still standing in the morning. Needless to say, at this point, the tent is holding up a lot better than I.

9am blazing sun

Why you should always have an extra set of Passport photos.

I’d be leaving Urumqi this week if I had had the photos.

Because of the eye infection and surgery, I was unable to get current photos. Which in turn, has set everything back by 2 weeks. Now, because of Chinese New Year/Spring Festival, the country shuts down for 7 days. Anything that is in process gets to sit in an empty office for a week.

Right now, I’m about to lose my sanity. It’s draining my funds and every morning I ask myself what the hell am I doing here…again!

Please…please…please please please…I want my Passport/Visa…pretty pretty pretty paaaAAAAaaalleleeeeeeeeeeeeese.

“I can’t BELIEVE he is dating her, she doesn’t even brush her hair!”

Recently, a young girl posted a Hate video on YouTube asking for the boycotting of Girl Scout Cookies because they allowed transgender girls in troops. Well, it’s been bringing a lot of memories to mind – of girl bullies. Held up in Urumqi, I’ve got some time to think about stuff, and then write it – to you.

There are times, when I realize that I’ve broken past gender stereotypes. In my lifestyle and friends, it’s really not all that common. Not a lot of skirts, pink, shopping, etc. Although, I love a good pedicure and I already miss my RED lipstick and violet eyeliner.


“Tomboy”

It was a label I carried all through childhood and into early college. I never thought too much about it but I knew that some say this without the best intentions. But whatever, I wore the label – who cares?

Growing up, most of my friends were boys. I was the only girl in my neighborhood. I could climb trees as good as them, fight like the rest of them (defending my little brother), start a fire as fast as them. Most of the time, I was just accepted into the boyhood games.

Except, when we played “Army” or “War”. I was always the Nurse. I hated being the nurse. Why? I had to stay behind in our fort and wait for an injured. BORING!!!!!!!

When we played “Ninja”, I always had to be the “Pink Ninja” – gross.

My best friend growing up was Laura. The school system kept us separated from the same classrooms because we were trouble when you got us together. You couldn’t keep us apart for long. We had dance classes and Girl Scouts together, and spent every weekend together – alternating from one home to the next.

We may have played Barbies or Dolls…maybe…once or twice? Mostly it was cooking something with our moms, or playing outside, harassing our little brothers, or when Nintendo came out – Paperboy! I was accepted into her family, and she into ours.

Now, don’t get me wrong…I had quite a collection of Barbies, doll houses, the whole thing. I played with them. It was usually alone when I got bored of being the only girl in the neighborhood. I’d retreat to my room and dress them up and make up (HILARIOUS in retrospect) situations.

If you looked in my closet, it was mostly jeans and tee shirts. Perhaps a couple of dresses my mom made – but they were just uncomfortable. When I did wear them, it just made me stand out more…I actually felt like I got more negative attention. The neighborhood boys would tease or joke me because it was like I was playing dress up. I always walked home from school up into high school, so pants were always the best option.

Luckily, I was a strong and independent little girl – thanks mom! But we all had awkward adolescent years, looking for that sense of belonging.

So yeah, Tomboy, that was me.

In 8th grade, in an attempt to “fit in” I tried out, and was accepted, for the 8th grade football cheerleader squad. Ha!

First, I got in trouble for taking the hem out of my skirt so it would be longer.

Second, I got reprimanded for not shaking my butt enough.

Third, they would joke me about how you can hear me over everyone else. Yeah, I didn’t mime it like my short skirted, booty shaking comrades did.

Middle school, everything began to change. I knew I wasn’t getting invited to the parties, especially not the make out parties. We all got to hear about them the next week. What a great way to make insecure little kids feel even more insecure.

My first “boyfriend” was in 8th grade. This is too funny.

We had grown up together and played on the same little league team since I could remember. Basically, just pretty damn good pals.

Well, he was the captain of the 8th grade football team and we started “dating”. I mean, holding hands and talking on the phone for hours every night.

Let me explain to you what I looked like in 8th grade. It was 1993…we were listening to Pearl Jam’s “Ten” and Nirvana’s “Nevermind” was getting played ALL THE TIME – but I was more of a “Bleach” fan. I had long straight hair, wore my father’s flannels, jeans with holes in the knees, and Birkenstocks or Chuck Taylors.

Basically my boyfriend and I dressed the exact same, except he had short blonde hair and all the girls swooned over him. Yes, I was dating the boy all the middle school girls wanted…and I was scared to death of kissing. I worked my way out of that situation ALMOST every time.

There was a group of girls. These were the same girls that brought curling irons and hair dryers to school to fix their hair after they sat on the benches in gym class. Oh gym class…I would hide in the bathroom to change because I wasn’t ready for a bra. Still not!

I heard rumors how they all had devised ways to get him to be with other girls, a couple that I know of. I mean, SHIT, why should I be dating the most popular boy in school??

I didn’t even brush my hair!

Yep, little ol’ me. I brushed it in the morning and went about my day. By the end of the day, it looked a little stringy but it’s not like any of my real friends (boys) were like, “Hey Ellen, you should really brush your hair!” I got comments like, “you should learn to play the guitar” or “we should start a band” or “lets write some lyrics” or “i made you this mix tape”.

This is a very vivid memory and development point for me. Since that moment, I did everything I could to break out of the mold. To go against what was expected of me.

In high school, my parents started letting me spend the night at one of my guy friend’s house. Yep. Pretty awesome mom. The worst thing that ever happened there was probably too much beers or one of my friends lighting his, um, gas on fire. It would be me and generally 4-6 of my guy friends. Completely platonic and hilarious.

Senior year in high school. A lot of guys and friends thought it would be awesome to nominate me, the Tomboy Art Grrl, for Homecoming Queen. Yep. Well, I made it to the top 5 and they had to have a re-vote because there could only be 4. Either way, I could see light at the end of the tunnel…people were beginning to see people for who they are and not what they look like or what type of stereotype they fit in. (I remember there being some angry mothers who’s daughter didn’t make it to the top 5 – oh – get over it already!)

I’m going to own up and say that there were moments I wasn’t nice to people in high school. It’s all a defense mechanism and I’ve found these people and tried to make amends for my stupid behavior.

Now, I do love more feminine things. But, I laugh sometimes on tour. I think about how my last hair cut was a year ago. The smell of “vinegar/musk/lamb/man coming from my armpits…brushing my hair once a day and putting it back in a simple braid. The grooming of eyebrows and bleaching of the mustache is not tended to either. How about my weekly shower, or my record of 21 days without. Or how about riding a bus through Tibet with a police escort and knowing I have my own vomit and diarrhea all over my pant legs.

I wonder what those bullies are doing with their days…probably passing it down to their young daughters – as they wake them at 6 am so they can curl their hair for school. Gotta keep the hate in a vicious cycle.

So you know, thank you bullies…you girls…for making my life hell and only making me a much stronger, beautiful, and independent WOMAN! And much love to my real friends that have always supported and loved me no matter what – no matter what I wore or how awful my first steps into make-up were.

This is my story for the day. Peace, dudes!

(If you want to know what I looked like growing up…imagine “Blossom” and “Ellen” from “Pete and Pete” – it’s pretty much it)

Near Nima, Tibet (U-Tsang) September 2011

I heard a crack the day before while riding. The bike didn’t stop and didn’t really notice anything different – so I continued on.

The previous night I had stayed with a Tibetan family in a very very small village. This morning she filled my bottles with tea and sent me off with a plastic bag of tsampa!

A few hours of riding there was another loud “crack” and I immediately felt my new Brooks saddle change under my booty.

I had just thrown out my old Selle Italia saddle and replaced it with a beautiful double rail Brooks B72 in Xining. This gorgeous beauty only had about 1000km on.

Dismounting and without skipping a beat I look directly at the double rails of the saddle. Both broken…snapped right behind the saddle clamp. Shit.

Really? I’m literally in the middle of nowhere. YES. LITERALLY!

There is no point in shouting or crying and actually maintain a very cool and collected demeanor. Gently setting Nelly on her side, I step a meter back and think about this situation.

This is exactly the point where I set the bike down and what I also had to decide on – which road?

First things first. I take out the multi-tool and skootch the saddle forward so the jagged breaks are in the seat clamp. This will hopefully get me somewhere for a shitty weld. I’ll have to take my weight off the saddle while riding, especially over this terrain. It will prove to also be the noisiest saddle ever.

I plop down in the fork of the road, feeling a little proud of myself for resolving this problem so quickly and not a peep of frustration coming from me.

Looking ahead, which road should I take. Again, the only map I have is a horrible tourist map of China with only main roads shown. It doesn’t even have Chinese written on it.

After gulping down some tea…wait…does this tea make me even thirstier? What is with this Tibetan tea?…and eating some tsampa I stand up and examine the road to the right.

It heads into the hills. There is a good chance it actually heads more Northeast, where at this point I want Northwest. I walk about a quarter of a kilometer down the road, closely…CLOSELY…examining the path. How fresh do the tracks look? Are there jeep tracks or just motorcycle tracks? How is the gravel thrown about?

After looking down near 16,000km of tarmac, gravel roads, cow paths, fields, I feel extremely competent of road judging skills.

I walk off the road to cross to the road to the left. Ahead, I can see that the road is pretty damaged from ice melt run off. This part of the road becomes about 3 meters wide from automobiles and motorcycles veering off the road and even another road has been made to the left. Further beyond, the road seems to wrap to the West around some large stones.

This road shows slightly more signs of travel BUT I notice multipele sets, and obvious, jeep and truck tracks. Yes, this is the choice.

(I want to state that the Brooks saddle was repaired by Brooks for free. If you use a Brooks B72 you MUST use an old style seat post or a “seat sandwich”.)

December 1 2011 – HongKaiZi to The Super Mario Brother’s zhusu

As soon as there was rustling about and the room was lit with sunlight, little sister and I went out back to the “cesuo” (toilet). I hate this type of morning, when my sides ache from the pain of holding my bladder. It feels as if it gets all blocked and takes a few minutes for my body to realize it’s time…to relax.

I can’t help but gazing towards the mountains during these few minutes. It’s cold and I can see the peaks of the little mountains. Damn, if it wasn’t so cold, and I was a little more insane, I’d ride my bike up there to take a look. Disappointed, as I imagine what that range looks like in the Spring – probably a fairly easy day ride with a nice camp. Not now, on December first.

Little sister and her husband wash up for the morning. Afterwards I’m led back over to her in laws for tea and hard breads. As she and I get ready, I get a couple of “how much did that cost?” Please, please…lets not play that game. It’s such a typical Chinese thing and I don’t find it among the minorities so much…please, don’t do this.

Her brother in-law is asleep in the corner. Three additional Kazakh men enter to join us for breakfast. They are quite nice and we go through all the basic questions and comments again. I still can’t get over how adorable her father in law is. Just adorable…in his thick army green pants.

The bread chunks are hard and you have to let them soak in the tea. The tea is different here. They add a yogurt to the milk tea. So there are little chunks of yogurt floating on top of the tea. Watching little sister, I see her scoop up the yogurt with the hard bread. I mimic, delicious.

We all head out, as it’s time for the family chores to be taken care of. Her husband heads out on his motorcycle, father is moving the sheep out of the stable, and mother begins her milking duties.

There is a litter of puppies behind the house. I can’t get over how adorable they are, with their snorting and crying. It’s hard for me not to ask if I can buy one. It’s too cold and they are too young…just would be cruel.

I spend some more time with little sister and I get a few more “how much did that cost?” questions. Okay. I can’t do this anymore.

She asks me if I’m going to stay another day and I just get a strange vibe that maybe I should go on. I know I’m welcome to stay but decide to tell her I will leave and see how she reacts. “No, I really should get going, it’s getting late.”

Not receiving a response that I sometimes get when people REALLY don’t want me to leave. I pack up and set out around 12am. With one final “how much did your bike cost?” Please, little sister…don’t do this to me……..

I give her a hug good-bye and push off. The mama dog decides NOW she wants to attack me. Hearing the barking getting louder I stop in my tracks and see her running towards me. Little sister runs to hold her back.

A wave from the tarmac and I’m off. Within a kilometer I pass her husband on his motorcycle, after putting the sheep to pasture, and I wave goodbye. Good-bye Mr. Handsome!

It’s a long day of riding up. Cold. Very little traffic.

I see the first sign of life around 3 in the afternoon. It consists of a tire fixing place and a restaurant.

Pulling the bike up to the restaurant, removing my sunglasses, and sliding my hat off, I make eye contact with the little toddler in the doorway. I say “Hello!” in my cute child voice for her. She smiles and goes in.

Two older Kazakhs walk out and they are very friendly looking at me and the bike. Harmless, wonderful, people.

I enter into a very old room with a small table and 4 chairs. The cooking area takes up half the space. There is a room to the right that has about 8 Kazakhs and children around a large table. The t.v. is on and some are sitting on the old iron framed bed.

The color palette of the place is browns, reds, dark yellows, and greens. Just a very dark place but I feel warm and the people seem welcoming.

I have a hard time communicating with the woman that’s cooking. I order fried noodles. The folks in the other room ask where I’m from. “I’m American”.
“Ohhhhh, American!” With smiles, nods, and just a feeling of acceptance.

The toddler and I are playing hide and go see around the table and other general child games of looking at each other.

A young man enters and takes a large tray of beef into the small room. When I say “tray of beef”..I mean…it’s basically broiled/roasted whole cow with the skin and organs removed. It actually looks and smells quite delicious.

About 5 minutes later he brings a big chunk out, about 12mm x 12 mm, sets it on a clean plate and drops it in front of me. He smiles, “Chi!”

The cook turns around and smiles while handing me a knife. Well, I guess I just go at it. I’ve had some training in Inner Mongolia and I try not to destroy such a beautiful hunk of beef.

As I cut into the meat, the juices drip down my hands and steam rising from the fresh cut. It may be one of the most delicious meals I’ve had.

My noodles are served with chunks of beef and hot green peppers.

I try to converse with the woman but there is a language barrier. She tells me that the road is mostly flat to the next city. I know to never really believe this stuff completely.

The place is warm and the people are kind. I take a deep breath and relax for a moment. Then filling up my water, I say thank you and head on my way.

From the km count she gave me, I will not be making it to the city unless it’s all downhill.

It’s not. I have a pretty damn good mountain pass to get over. Is it the cold? These climbs just drain me, not like when the weather is fair. I think about how this would of been nothing 4 months ago…but maybe the weather really does drain someone more than you would imagine. I push Nelly the last kilometer.

I’m holding the top of the pass for the remainder of the day…once again, as usual, racing for light.

I don’t know why I do this. Sometimes I think I should just set up camp in the snow but there is a part of me that just says, “keep going keep going, you’ll find something”. At the top of a pass, a nice 20rmb room sure does sound nice.

There is a truck stop on the side of the road. The only “zhusu” has all the windows broken out. I avoid staying where there are truckers like that anyhow. I take a little road down a hill towards a village. No luck. Power back up the hill, past a police station, see 2 officers taking a stroll and I pull clothing over my face. Less trouble.

The pass is a good 15km and I’m not really enjoying it. “Keep the eyes on the prize keep the eyes on the prize keep the eyes on the prize”

Towards sunset I begin the descent. I hate descents in the winter and at sunset. It’s just so damn cold, although the sky is always the most beautiful. I’m trying to get to somewhere warm, take photos, and just not freeze. It’s quite a balancing act.

I’m freezing, it’s near dark and there is no traffic. Luckily, this helps me hold onto my night vision.

With about 10 minutes left of residual light, I spot a hand painted sign with something about “zhusu” and “1.5km”. Oh hell yes!

I pick up the pace and I see a restaurant with “zhusu” attached to it. It’s tucked into a wooded area with only an outhouse and some cows.

Of course they see me and greet me at the door.

“30rmb!? Really? Well, I guess I don’t have an option. Okay.”

We roll my bike into the room and they reassure me it will be warm, safe, no other company…and the sheets are clean. Okay.

In the restaurant, I order a couple of dishes. As I’m sitting there and I notice that these two men are not typical Chinese men. They remind me of 2 people, with their mustaches. Oh, it’s Mario and Luigi! of the Super Mario Bros. fame.

They don’t have rice so I’m given some breads. Cold bread. I only eat one but they insist that I take all the breads, “a gift”, for breakfast. I’m beginning to think that these men have a relationship – they are not brothers.

Sure, not going to turn down free breads.

Back to my room, it’s dark, I have only one candle to last me the night.

I curl up on top of one blanket and cover with 2. It’s silent. For the past couple of nights, all I hear is silence. I love it. The light begins to flicker, as the the flame extinguishes I can hear the sizzle.

Goodnight.

I would love to hear from you!