2011 Summer

Little did I know that it would be the last of tarmac about 3km down, and another quarter of kilometer…I would also lose my partner.

That is Namucuo (Namu Lake) in the background.

The previous night, we had camped in a yak field with a rolling stream and a couple of nomad families. Brandon and I had snuck past a major police checkpoint.

When we were checking out the situation, and scoping out the police checkpoint, a Tibetan boy had approached Brandon when he was peeking from around a corner. He was getting frustrated with the Tibetan because he was blowing his cover.

They both walk to where I’m hiding, the Tibetan is very modern. Wearing his mesh back trucker hat, face mask, his sunscreen leaving a white film on his face, and I SWEAR he was wearing eyeliner.

Brandon: “Ask him if he’s ever seen other foreigners…”
Tibetan: “Yes.”
Me: “Have you seen them with bikes?”
Tibetan: “Yes.” He points past the checkpoint up a hill and says, “If you go up that way they won’t see you.”

I translate to Brandon…we both smirk at each other, both knowing that this guy may “know whats up”.

It would be our last camp together. Brandon made an interesting noodle mix with the fried sardines with black beans. I would sit next to him, at his tent opening, smoking a cigarette each…staring at the stars. Even after our little snips at one another during the day, we had an enjoyable conversation to finish the day.

The next day, morning…he said something snarky about the colors of my clothes and how they don’t camouflage very well. I didn’t respond. Then he challenges me on my opinion on the “Thai” guy I had seen in Qinghai pedaling North. I respond under my breath, enough to let him know I’m tired of his bad attitude.

(Note to cycling apparel companies: COULD YOU PLEASE PLEASE QUIT MAKING WOMEN’S CLOTHES IN PURPLES, PINKS, TURQUOISES…really, seriously!!!!)

I head out 30 mins before him and find a crossing over the stream. Looking back, I watch him removing his bags and throwing them over the water. I can see his blood boiling and steam coming from his ears.

We spend our mornings separate, with separate Tibetan nomads. I am given a radish to eat on the road.

Brandon holds onto a truck and is pulled up the pass. It takes me 3 hours. At one point, I’m walking and this little girl comes running up to me.

I help her up on my saddle and I’m pushing the bike as she is “riding’. It surely made my load heavier…but we had a really good time for about 10 minutes. When she was ready to get off, she let me know…we said our goodbyes and she returned to her tent. I could hear her exclaiming something inside.

We are both aggravated by the time we BOTH are at the peak. Things are just falling apart…and there is a final explosion. Leaving me slumped over in a yak field, crying, perhaps…maybe…a little hysterical. I think I shout every curse word that I could come up with under my tears.

I would receive an apology text a couple hours later.