Stopped by a breakdown at minus 17 degrees
N 33°52'33.8'' E 109°55'27.7''
Date:
23.01.2016 until 24.01.2016
Day: 209 -210
Country:
China
Province:
Shaanxi
Location:
Shangluo
Latitude N:
33°52’33.8”
Longitude E:
109°55’27.7”
Daily kilometers:
45 km
Total kilometers:
11,835 km
As the crow flies:
34 km
Average speed:
18.6 km/h
Maximum speed:
29.0 km/h
Travel time:
2:25 hrs.
Soil condition:
Ballast
Maximum height:
1.050 m
Total altitude meters:
15.830 m
Altitude meters for the day:
380 m
Maximum depth:
700 m
Sunrise:
07:43 – 07:42
Sunset:
18:00 – 18:01
Temperature day max:
minus 12°C
Temperature day min:
minus 17°C
Departure:
10:30 a.m.
Arrival time:
4:15 pm
(Photos of the diary entry can be found at the end of the text).
The icy wind is already whistling around our ears as we load the bikes. I place the on-board computer in the holder and switch it on immediately to check whether the batteries are still working at the current minus 15 degrees. As the powerful lithium-ion batteries are sensitive to cold, it is quite possible that a fully charged current collector will suddenly no longer provide any power. At least that was our experience when we were exposed to temperatures below minus 50 degrees during our last expedition in Mongolia. Back then, our camera batteries collapsed at minus 20 degrees. We could only take photos and videos by warming them up at the campfire and immediately putting them in our jacket pockets. Of course, this is not possible with a 2.5 kg Bosch battery. Unfortunately, I had stored all the batteries in the garage next to the bikes. So they were exposed to the cold the whole time. Now we can see whether my fears will come true and our progress will be halted by low temperatures. “Full power!” I exclaim, looking at the soaring performance scale on my on-board computer. “Me too!” answers Tanja. “Okay, off into the cold then,” I say confidently.
The hotel owners stand in front of their house, shivering, to be photographed with the foreigners and the bicycles. A photographer friend traveled to the event especially for this. As requested, we pose in front of the camera. As soon as the pictures are taken, our hosts hurry into the cozy warmth of the building. “I don’t think they envy us now,” I say. “Is that us?” asks Tanja. “If it were a little warmer, yes,” I reply, clicking the last bag onto the bike. After I’ve checked the load again, checked the tires to make sure there’s enough air everywhere and taken a last look at the trailer couplings, I’m ready to continue. “All right?” “All clear,” Tanja replies. Then we start pedaling at the same time and leave the small town of Luonan in the Qingling Mountains with its 250,000 inhabitants on this cold morning.
As soon as we leave the shadows of a few high-rise buildings, we are greeted by warming rays of sunshine. “It’s not as cold as we thought!” I shout. “Yes, actually quite pleasant,” says Tanja happily. Thanks to our woolen underpants, the special underpants and overpants for high alpine tours, the three woolen undershirts, a woolen jacket with hood, a vest and the windstopper, we are not cold at the moment. The disadvantage of these many layers of clothing, however, is their inflexibility. When we look back to see what’s coming, our movements are slow and ponderous.
Just a few kilometers after the town, the icy wind forces us to stop. We put on a thick balaclava, which only has a viewing window and was actually made for motorcyclists. This is how we hope to protect our face. Above all, this prevents the inevitable frostbite on the tip of the nose, cheeks and ears. “Feels better,” says Tanja and stretches the thumb of her right hand upwards. Because of the balaclava, our vision is now restricted as well as our immobility, and the fact that the warm air we breathe is no longer released directly into the environment, but first escapes into the face mask and then under the goggles, means that they immediately start to run while we are driving slowly.
We pedal our Riese and Müller over the gravel track with concentration. The asphalt gave up its existence right after Luonan. Apart from a few vehicles, we are the only users of the slope. Gusts of wind whirl fountains of dust towards us. Sometimes they envelop us in such a way that we bump over the uneven ground flying completely blind. For a long time, the road goes gently downhill between the mountain flanks, so that we enjoy a carefree ride despite the biting cold. After about 35 km, however, a mountain range gets in our way. “A little extra before today’s finish?” asks Tanja. “I ordered it especially for us. Otherwise it would be too easy,” I reply with a laugh. We pedal our bikes back up to an altitude of over 1,200 meters. We stop at a viewpoint, sweating slightly, to fortify ourselves with flatbread and juice. Ajaci jumps around and explores the area. “No!”, I shout, because he’s playing too close to the steeply sloping mountain side. “You’re a good boy,” Tanja praises him, as he reacts immediately and comes to us. “Tell me, Denis. Is there something wrong with the dog trailer again?” Tanja’s unexpected question startles me. “How?” “Well, look at that. The floor pan is almost touching the road.” My flatbread almost sticks in my throat at the sight of his grotesque position. “Maybe just a loose screw?” I hope and hurry over to inspect the damage. I am horrified to discover the broken drawbar bracket. The hanger is only held by a safety pin. The entire construction is not only broken, but also severely bent. If we hadn’t taken a break here purely by chance, the entire structure would have fallen off and the dog trailer, including Ajaci, might have plunged into the abyss bordering the pass road. “That’s it. It’s beyond repair!” I shout to Tanja, who is still standing under the Papillon at the viewpoint. She hurries over immediately. “How unrepairable?” “Well, the bracket is broken. I don’t have it as a spare part,” I say, feeling the cold of the pass slowly creeping into my limbs. “I thought it was designed for a payload of 80 kg,” Tanja ponders. “I thought so too. But it doesn’t seem to be able to take it. Ajaci weighs just under 35 kg, the bag on the roof rack maybe 15 kg and the four Bosch batteries 10 kg. With the previous drawbar problems, which we have now replaced with heavy-duty drawbars, this is the third repair. But this one is fatal. We need a new bracket or we can have it rebuilt here in China,” I think. “And how do we get away from here?” asks Tanja. “What do I know?” I reply, staring at the aluminum fixture. “How far is it to today’s destination?” “Five, maybe six kilometers,” I answer, looking at the GPS. Tanja hops from one leg to the other to keep her toes from freezing in the minus 17 degree weather. I look at her worriedly because she froze all 10 of her toes during the Mongolia expedition. Fortunately, they were only first-degree pleasures at the time. But since then, her feet and fingers have become more sensitive. “Are you all right?” I ask. “That’s all right. We should see about getting out of here. Maybe we could stop a minibus and ask if it will take us into town,” she suggests. “If one comes along and is empty, that would be a possibility,” I reply, still staring at the break. “I wonder if you can stabilize them with cable ties?” I think to myself. Only moments pass as I try to put my idea into practice. The first cable tie tears off immediately because of the cold. The second seems to be holding. To be on the safe side, I pull another cable tie around the drawbar and dog trailer. Because I slipped out of my gloves during this work, my fingers are now frozen stiff. The cold has increasingly chilled the body. As long as we were cycling, the sub-zero temperatures were not threatening, but now the clothes we have on are in no way sufficient. We shakily tie the bag, which was attached to Ajaci’s trailer, onto Benpacker’s trailer, which fortunately hasn’t caused us any problems yet. The idea is to pull the dog trailer to the nearby town of Shangluo without a load. I tie Ajaci to the flexi line holder that I had already attached to the luggage carrier in Ulan Bator.
“Ready?” I call out an hour later. “Ready!” Tanja replies, and we start pedaling. The first few meters go smoothly. The safety pin and the cable ties do their job. Ajaci is happy about the unforeseen development. Full of zest for action, he runs beside me and pulls on the flexi lead. “Slow down Ajaci. We don’t want to fall into the depths!” I shout, because it’s only about a meter next to us, hundreds of meters down. We climb to the top of the pass at around 10 km/h. At the top, we see the town of Shangluo in the valley below. The sun hid behind a wall of clouds an hour ago. The temperature has become unbearable. To maintain the average speed of 12 km/h, we have to pull the brakes incessantly. Despite thick gloves, my index and middle fingers are numb after a few minutes and the skin around my eyes, exposed to the wind, starts to hurt. Because I soon have no strength left in my fingers to brake the bike, I stop after 500 meters. I stand shivering on the sloping roadside. “My fingers hurt terribly,” says Tanja, who has stopped behind me. “I know that. We have to be very focused now. There are only a few kilometers to go. We can do it,” I try to motivate us. Before the arctic wind chills us even more, we continue our descent. We reach the outskirts of Shangluo without further incident. “Who knows what it’s good for,” Tanja’s words run through my head as I complain last night about only being able to cover a short distance today because of the early accommodation option. When we see the first people, we stop to ask about our hotel. Tanja unpacks her smartphone with trembling fingers, switches it on and shows some passers-by the photo and address Lois had sent us. “As far as the crossroads and then left,” says one of the men, who is also freezing terribly. We stop again at a junction with traffic lights. Next to us, a group of freezing people wrestle over a burning car tire. They don’t care about the horrible and toxic rubber smell. The main thing is that they can escape the frost for a while. As instructed, we turn left. In the corner of my eye I notice an old woman sitting on the side of the road with her sewing machine, a glowing brazier under her legs. The light is gray and dull. My mood is in the basement. “What are we even doing here?” a thought crosses my mind. The cars roar past us. All the people walking through the city hide like turtles in their thick winter clothing. I can hardly concentrate on the traffic because of the frost. We stop again and Tanja shows a passing woman the picture of our hotel on her smartphone. By now my thighs are shaking. I have lost all control over them. It is difficult to keep the heavy bike upright. Actually, I shouldn’t drive another meter in this condition. “Back,” says Tanja, which is why we turn back. Although we have the address and a picture of our accommodation, we can’t find it straight away. As always, the inaccurate coordinates are to blame. In addition to the shaking of my arms and legs, my teeth are now chattering. I pull the brakes again before entering a driveway. Tanja clumsily gets off her bike and inquires at a grocery store. The woman points to the driveway we are standing in front of. Tanja gives me a thumbs up. We push the bikes into the driveway through which Father Frost breathes his icy breath to freeze everything. A dead dog, probably frozen to death, lies not far from the hotel entrance, which was impossible to recognize from the street. The young girl was waiting for us. It’s almost as cold in the reception hall as it is outside. There is no heating in there. The girl can only do her job because she is sitting just a few centimeters from a glowing electric heater. Our bikes are to be stored in a garage under construction that is accessible from the street. After lengthy negotiations, they are allowed into the lobby. It’s about 4 degrees in our room. The air conditioning is so weak that it takes hours to raise the temperature directly below it to 11 degrees. “Let’s go out for something to eat,” Tanja suggests. “Good idea, maybe we’ll be a bit warmer then.” You could grow icicles in the nearby restaurant. As in all Chinese restaurants, there is no heating here either. In the large, sparse room, where the only furnishings are, as usual, tables, chairs and a counter, there is an air conditioning unit in the far corner. The warm air it spews out evaporates through the draughty, uninsulated window front. All the guests are sitting at the table in their down jackets. An image that does not exist in Europe, indeed is unthinkable. To keep a little warm, we settle down at the table, directly under the air stream from the air conditioning, and order. Here, too, the waitresses press around us until one holds out a piece of paper and folds her hands pleadingly in front of her chest. We can’t read what she has written but we know that she would love to take a selfie with us. “We’d love to,” we say and have our photos taken as usual. When all her colleagues have a photo saved on their smartphones, we start to shovel our dinner into our stomachs.
Back in our ice room, we crawl under the covers. It is uncomfortably dark because most of the ceiling lighting has failed. I fall into a restless sleep. I keep waking up, mostly from the cold, but also from the questions that torment me. “How should I repair the drawbar bracket? Can I find a workshop in town that will rebuild it for me? Or do we have to have one sent from Germany? How long will we have to spend in this ice bunker before we can continue our journey?”…
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