There’s so much I’m going to miss about China.  One of those things is my bike.  The day I bought it, I felt a sense of world-expanding freedom I haven’t experienced since 1987, when my parents first handed me the keys to my sister’s old Cutlass Supreme.  I honestly can’t imagine how restricted our lives would have been in Beijing without our bikes.

Here’s my ride.  Isn’t she a beaut?

Its real strengths lie in the aesthetic details.  Take, for example, the electrical tape fringe…

and the busted tail light…

and the beginnings of rust.

I’m so proud of these details, because they’re what give my bike its value – its staying power, if you will.  You see, when I bought my bike in late February, it was brand-spanking-new and positively glowed with the shine of newness.  Unfortunately, as Chris and I quickly learned, in Beijing, glowing bikes are very worst bikes to have.  Why?  Because they very quickly disappear.

The bike-stealing business is no joke in Beijing.  In fact, you’d be hard-pressed to find a Beijinger who hasn’t had at least one bike stolen.   Chris and I (knock wood) are among the very few lucky ones.  Three days after we bought our bikes, we were walking home from dinner when we saw two men hovering over our bikes.  As soon as I realized what was happening, I yelled at the men, and they dashed away.  We immediately rushed to inspect our bikes and discovered that the would-be thieves had cut both our locks with bolt-cutters and had left a knife and moon pie wrappers in my bike’s basket.  They had clearly been seconds from driving away with both bikes and moon pie-filled bellies.  I was incensed and determined to keep my bike, so the very next day, I bought a hammer, a sheet of sand paper, some glue, and a roll of electrical tape and I set out to make my bike the most hideous set of wheels in all of Asia.  I did a fantastic job, if I do say so myself, and I soon had friends begging me to uglify their own shining bikes.

Even though the bike culture at Tsinghua has its frustrating aspects, like traffic jams between classes…

and the difficulty involved in finding one’s own bike among the hundreds of others parked outside the classroom buildings…

it’s all worth it.

There’s nothing I miss about driving a car.  In fact, I really hate cars.  Mostly, I dislike the protective bubble cars put around us that keep us from actually experiencing the people who pass us by.  There are likely some very interesting people back home driving past me as I commute to work, but I’d never know – I can’t see them.  However, thanks to bicycles, the streets of Beijing are a people-watcher’s paradise.

The diversity is what strikes me most.   For example, sometimes you pass a Power Ranger.

And there are constantly people hauling all sorts of massive loads of who-knows-what.

Some people’s bikes transport their businesses – like food service businesses…

and computer repair businesses…

and gambling businesses…

and trash collection businesses.

Others use their bikes to haul the important people in their lives – like a good friend…

or five good friends.

Some haul sweethearts – like girlfriends…

and boyfriends.

And some carry their family members – like their sweet little daughters…

or their wives and babies…

or their husbands and grandchildren.

Others carry their lunch.

And others simply haul around their life-loving selves.

Gosh, I’m gonna miss this place!

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