October 12-13, 2024
Miles to hotel: 12.53. Total: 7,937 mi, 12,750 km.
Flying with a bicycle is nerve-wracking. You have to find a used bike box, partially disassemble the bike, and then pack it so that it doesn't get damaged in flight. Or, if you're me, you have to find a bike shop that you trust enough to do this all for you. You then have to schlep the box to the airport, hope the bike gets on and off the right planes, hunt down the box in baggage claim, then reassemble the bike before riding off into the sunrise.
My personal odyssey from Istanbul to Ürümqi was made not only easier, but also delightful by a dozen strangers who emerged from the mists to help me out.
On the Istanbul side, the good people at Actif Pedal gave Louise the best bath of her life and replaced her cassette, cables, brake pads, and tires before carefully boxing her for her big journey.
Once I arrived at the Istanbul airport, a porter with whom I had no language in common rescued me from the rain and ferried Louise's oversized box across the airport, helping me figure out x-rays and security lines and waiting areas.
Once in the check-in line, the true fun began. My follow passengers were clearly discussing my box, albeit in Chinese. A brave young woman named Xin translated. When I shared that I was riding Louise around the world, a raucous fan club spontaneously formed. Broad grins and thumbs-ups passed through the crowd. People asked for photographs. I grew my following on WeChat, China's social media platform.
Y'alll, I'm not saying I'm big in China. But I will say that the people on my flight turned my apprehension into amusement, and then outright exictement about the adventure ahead. They made me feel like a low-key rockstar.
Xin continued to escort me all the way to Xinjiang, translating, advising, and reassuring. She has continued to support me over WeChat once we parted ways.
Once in Ürümqi, three airport employees and two volunteers helped me put Louise back together again.
Louise and I then set out for our hotel. Ürümqi is the capital of the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Republic. I had been warned that is an actual police state, with a genocide currently underway.
Indeed, there are is a police station rougly every two blocks, and cameras at every intersection. Police are everywhere. My SIM card would work, and then peter out.
Nevertheless, people are living their peopley lives. A man on the sidewalk gave me a hearty thumbs-up. Vendors sold beautiful produce and huge disks of Uyghur naan. Cars flowed like water, and scooters swam upstream. The streets were pristine; I didn't see a scrap of litter anywhere.
I stopped at a cafe, where a Kazakh and a Uyghur server welcomed me warmly and asked for photographs.
At my hotel, Toby took over for Xin as my personal translator and, later, savior. I had been so very worried about traveling to this region. But the good people of Xinjiang could not have made me feel more welcome.
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