Christina, Val and I hit the subway at 6:15am Saturday, bound for the Beijing North Railway Station. Our 8am train to Yanqing was ready to load, so we boarded the “first-class” section with our ¥23 tickets. While many of you were watching the opening ceremony on TV in the USA, I was headed for Yanqing and the men’s cycling road race.
We were supposed to take the train to the Badaling section of the Great Wall nearest the finish line of the race, but the train station was closed for the competition. Yanqing was a 40-minute drive to the finish because the main highway was closed for the race and back roads were the only way to access the finish line area. As we searched for a taxi stop, a larger Chinese woman with three teeth chased us around yapping in Chinese. A volunteer came running up and translated, “This woman take you Juyongguan Pass 150 RMB.” We negotiated for a bit and eventually came to a resolution.
I have to be honest, I was a little uneasy about the situation at this point. However, I have to keep reminding myself that things are just different here in China. We hop in this car, which isn’t a registered taxi, with a male driver. Christina takes the front seat while Val and I sit comfortably in the back. Meanwhile, the barking woman takes off somewhere on a bike as is out of sight by the time we realize she’s gone. The man greets us in Chinese and starts up the car. We drive briefly on the main road before veering off into a hutong area and stopping. He gets out and walks inside the hutong, disappearing out of sight. All of the sudden, the barking woman reappears behind us on her bicycle, just happy-go-lucky as can be. She parks the bike outside the door and walks into the house.
Thirty seconds later the man returns having changed his shirt. He hops back in the driver’s seat but hesitates for a moment. The woman walks to the driver’s side and opens the back door. As she motions for Val to “scoot over,” I burst into laughter! It was one of those awkward moment fits where I just couldn’t control myself. I never really got over it and definitely continued to randomly crackup throughout the ride.
Going down the back mountain roads was quite the thrill on a smoggy day. It really was a beautiful ride between peaks surrounded on all sides by remnants of the Great Wall. At one point the driver cued up a CD with a song in English. It wasn’t anything familiar to us, but it had a decent beat and English words. We found ourselves tapping our toes and bopping our heads to the music. The driver no doubt noticed and was entertained, so we proceeded to crank up the stereo to maximum volume. So not only are we the Badaling Hillbillies driving the mountains with three Americans and two Chinese folks in this tiny Chinese car, but now we’ve got a soundtrack to go right along with it.
The next song was in Chinese, and the three of us simultaneously and inadvertently let out a disappointed sigh. The driver seemed eager to please, so he immediately switched the song BACK to the English song we’d been listening to before. Thirty minutes later we were arriving at Juyongguan Pass bumping and rocking out. We had just heard “One Love” five or seven times in a row, as the cabbie set it to repeat, and we were loving every second of it!
A brief encounter with security & a gate requiring tickets (to an event publicized everywhere as “free”), we hiked down the road course until we were far enough into the Chinese mountainside to escape the security lines. At an obvious course crossroad, we set up camp alongside some of the world’s craziest, most enthusiastic road cycling fans. It should also be noted that this was in a little dinky hutong town, the Chinese equivalent to a “one-horse town.” There were many local yokels and one operating business: a popsicle stand selling soda pop, water, beer and pickled chicken feet in a package resembling that of beef jerky.
The first friends we made were a Belgian family. Their daughter Lieselot Decroix is on the Belgian road race team and would be racing the next day in the women’s event. They were decked out head-to-toe in their light blue, black, yellow and red. The younger sister even had her face painted! They were the nicest folks and explained to us how their daughter had gone to Minneapolis, MN to play basketball in her senior year of high school. It was there that she first picked up a bicycle and fell in love with the sport.
Then we found ourselves chatting with some South Africans who live in Beijing. They were cycling enthusiasts who live for a good adventure. Earlier in the spring, they participated in the “Great Wall” Marathon that, true to it’s name, ran over parts of the Great Wall. An American woman heard us speaking “American” English, so she hustled over to chat. It is important to note that American cycling fans are few and far between, so they tend to flock to each other in situations like this.
As it turns out, the woman and her husband have been to countless Olympics as they find in it an excuse to travel the world. Their 16-year old son has taken an interest in cycling and has dabbled in it back home in Idaho. He is currently the number one ranked road cyclist in his age group in Idaho. Typical of any family, though, his teenage sister was less than pleased to be standing on a street corner in the rural Beijing mountains watching men whiz by on bikes every 40 minutes or so for six straight hours. I shared her sympathies, so I strolled over to the popsicle stand and bought a round of Yan Jing beer for the three of us Boilermakers.
Val came to China prepared to spread USA spirit like a champion in a manner that puts me to shame. She busted out homemade shirts, leis, flags, bandanas and, best of all, facepaint! We plastered “USA” on our faces and down ours arms. Now we were really ready to rock. An ESPN USA cameraman happened to be getting clips from our area, so we caught him on several occasions getting clips of us having a good time. Eventually he made his way over to us and conducted a short interview with Christina. “Where are you from? What are you doing out here today? Who are you cheering for?” were the basic questions.
From nowhere a group of Europeans, led mostly by the Dutchies in their bright orange, starting hollering at the security to move the barriers and let spectators in closer. This scuffle drew the attention of every camera in the area, as you can imagine. The Chinese officials, volunteers and race security stood silent as these despicable Westerners screamed and spouted in their faces. “We want to watch cycling, Olympic cycling!” one yelled, “Why won’t you let us watch cycling?!” The man was being completely patronizing to the authorities. His show was loud and for all English-speaking ears to witness, such that the Chinese would lose “face” and allow him to have his way. The girls and I watched the outrage unfold and commented on how the Western media would take those clips and contort them. Eventually, the loudmouths prevailed and the gates were inched closer to the track to allow for the rowdy protesters to “watch some Olympic cycling!”
The crowd lurched forward toward the new barrier leaving the three of us former front-rowers in the back. We needed a change of scenery, so we grabbed a fresh beer and climbed atop a rock wall to get a bird’s eye view. Up there we met a group of Dutchmen and a group of Canadians who were all very interested in the three American girls and their interest in cycling. One of the Dutchies was a photographer by hobby, so he showed us his fancy camera and let us play with it a bit. Another dabbled in athletics (track & field for all you Americans out there) and trains at the same gym as track cycling favorite Theo Bos. He informed us that Theo has not one but several very pretty girlfriends, so our chances are pretty slim, unfortunately. The Canadian happened to be a professor of business and had plenty of questions about Purdue and the Krannert School of Management. As we chatted, a group of Chinese men in cycling uniforms joined our perch and enjoyed the company and conversation.
Our position was 500 meters from the finish, so we watched intently until we couldn’t see any further. Then we relied on the cameraman’s miniature TV to dictate the results. The Spaniard Samuel Sanchez (teammate of Tour de France champion Carlos Sastre) took the gold followed by an Italian and a Swiss. Eleventh place Levi Leipheimer was the highest finishing American.
As the spectator crowd broke up and dispersed, it became quite apparent that we would not be able to cross the racecourse to head back the way we came in. This presented an interesting scenario that sent countless packs of Westerners trekking down a country road through the mountains of northern China. On our walk, we ran into a couple visiting Beijing for the Games. The husband was a Caucasian American man and his wife a citizen of Taiwan. We shuffled down the mountain with them and learned their whole story.
He was teaching English in Taiwan after college for a brief stint and staying in her hometown when they met, fell madly in love and were married. They lived in Oregon for 10 years but moved back to Taiwan when their sons were born. Now their eldest is in 1st grade. They plan to move back to the States before the boys go to high school. The man is an avid, competitive cyclist in Taiwan and was eager to learn that we are volunteering at the velodrome for the track events.
Out of nowhere a van pulls up, and the Chinese man in the passenger seat leans out the window and asks in a perfect American vernacular, “Hey! You guys wanna a ride?” After inquiring about the price of the taxi, he replied, “Hold on, I’m a customer, too,” he glanced at the driver, briefly. “Ten yuan apiece, he’ll take you to the bus stop.”
As the door slid open, I casually joked, “Party van!” Little did I know that behind the door, inside the seven passenger van already were… six original passengers! The five of us hopped in. Val, the Taiwanese woman and I crammed in the back bench-seat next to a woman with a small child on her lap. Two Chinese girls in the middle bucket seats condensed to share one so our American friend could have the other, while Christina plopped on the floor between them. We rolled the door shut and puttered down the curvy Chinese highway. And to make it all the better, no joke, “Beijing Huan Ying Ni (Beijing Welcomes You)” was playing on the radio when we got in. Eleven passengers, seven seats, low-riding in the Chinese mountains. So classy.
The van driver explained to us (as translated through the shotgun rider) that he is not a taxi driver, but just a man who lives in one of the tiny mountainous villages that the road course passed through. He saw a bunch of people walking down the street, so he decided to help out! What a nice fellow! In contrast… the little boy kept staring at me, so I tried to give him the flower I took as a prize for conquering the Chinese wilderness and stuck behind my ear. As soon as I made the offer, he started barking at me in Chinese! Nothing makes you feel less competent than a 4-year old tearing you a new one in Mandarin. Yowser! That’s the last time I mess with Chinese babies.
We got out at the Beijing 919 bus station. The public bus system is very similar to CityBus in West Lafayette. We jumped on the 919 and rode back into Beijing without a hitch. By 8:30pm we were grabbing a burger at a sports pub in downtown Beijing and watching volleyball on TV. The paint on my face was smeared down my cheek and my bandanna had a ring of dirty sweat on the inside. It had been a heck of a day.
That’s the funny thing about the Olympics, you know? Everyday is a brand new, still in the package, waiting to be unwrapped adventure. But when you think about it, that’s kind of what everyday life is like, too.
Sorry for the super long blog, but I think you understand now why it took me two days to get it posted. I commend you if you made it this long, you are “true hero!”
XOXO
