I have always been interested in the idea of transcending journeys of enduring hardship, during which one experiences spiritual and personal growth. However, lacking the mental fortitude to carry out such journeys I have instead contented my self with dabbling in minor adventures.

The act of pilgrimage known as Kora has long been a large part of the Tibetan culture. Traditionally whole families will travel thousands of km to a particular holy site in an act of faith, to obtain merit and a favorable rebirth. The three most important mountains in Tibet are, mt Kilash, the oldest known holy mountain, representing the body of the Buddha, mt Tsari in southern Tibet, representing the speech of the Buddha and on the boarder of Yunnan and the TAR is Kawa Korpa, Believed to represents the mind of the Buddha. I first circumnavigated this 6740m un-climbed peak in the winter of 2003. That was the spark for my bike journey there this fall. Though I planed to diverge from the traditional pilgrim route, to me the significance of the trip is much the same.

The mid Oct. air is cold at 7am, and I stamped my feet on the concrete parking lot to keep them warm in my cycling shoes, waiting for the Mian Bao Chi driver in the pubic square. 7am in an ungodly time this part of the world and I fully expected him to be a bit late, but to my surprise he rolled into the empty lot right on time. After loading my bike we made our way to for a quick bite to eat. My driver, Pie Chu, proved to be a good companion on the long drive to Yanjiang. And after stopping for a quick lunch in Daqin we tackled the last 100km of dirt road which cuts along the upper Mekong. It had been three years since I had been this far up the Mekong and I was giddy when we stopped to talk to three cycle tourist on the side of the road this close to the Tibetan check point. One American coming out of Lhasa and a Dutch couple on there way in to the TAR. This road has a reputation in the cycle touring world. Dominated by huge mountains and high passes, Eastern Tibet is the Ying to vastness of Western Tibet's Yang. The so called 'Back Road' attracts more and more bike tourist every year. After a short road side chat, we all moved along.

Nearing our destination, I pointed out to Pie Chu the trail I was going to ride the next day, and it finally hit my new friend what I am about to do. Upon which he asked my if I had a big knife, though his eyes were on my crotch.

Yanjiang, the last time I was here the towns square was full of pilgrims waiting for transportation south. I didn't notice the the square this time, but the school yard emitted the happy sounds of children playing as I wheel my bike out the back door of the hotel in the pre-dawn light and tie into the day. As the light begins to fade I've pushed my bike for nearly 12h and I'm huddled under a fir tree not far from the alpine to cook a simple meal over a fire before crawling into my sleeping bag under a broken canopy of stars.

2pm the next day I'm sitting in a spot of sun at the top of this layered 4600m pass. Jagged peeks on all sides and a ribbon of rock pointing down lays in front of me. A Pony boy come over the top and looks at me with so many questions. Three hours later he catches me again as I'm cooking mushrooms, noodles and dried meat over and open fire. Impressed with my bike he offers to buy it off me for 2000RMB. I don't have the heart to tell him that if he converted that number directly into American funds he would be in the ball park.

Bitu, second story window of a the only hotel in town. The road has reached this town, and the face of it has changed. Last time I was here the school on the hill was the biggest building around. If I had not been looking for it this time I would not have noticed it. The old monastery is still here, the crumbling walls even more forgotten by the pilgrims who pass though town on their way home. A monk comes up to my second story perch and tries to figure me out. He can't quite put the piece together and leaves. The family who owns the hotel invites me for dinner, simple fair, fry bread and milk tea. The monk is preforming a blessing ritual for their new home. Chanting, bell, drum, gong, barely scattered on the floor. On and on it goes. I fall into the humble trace, back against the wall, cross legged, the night overwhelms me.

The next morning the trail takes me along the Wi Chu river. This twisty tributary of the Nu jiang flows though a dusty Canyon. First explored in western annals by the botanist Kingdon Ward in the early 1900's. The whole day is exposed, loose single track with the river always a couple hundred feet below. Mid afternoon I stop under a maple tree, surrounded by the humming of bees, I'm munching on granola in a rare treed gully. It starts to rain lightly.

Horse bells at the the crack of dawn wake me from a pleasant sleep in a slate roofed hut. I patch a hand full of thorn holes in my rear tire with the last few pieces of my Mongolian car tube patches. The Gebu La is a formidable 1500m climb, and though the middle section is a few km of flat traverse along buff single track, for the most part my bike become dead weight over the steep rock. Near noon I'm joined by a Bon Po pilgrim, doing the Kora as I am, counter clockwise and solo. He's quiet, never saying a word, never making a move to pass my slow progress, hanging back every once in a while to crack walnuts on the rocks, crack, crack. I can't help but wonder what he thinks of all this. Some form of penitence or or if I'm just nuts. By this point I'm wondering the same thing. We hit the top at 2pm and my mind is telling me I'm late. No time to stop, no time for photos of the storms hammering the 6000m peaks in the distance, of the autumn colors, the transition from pine forest to arid desert land scape, the over view of Gebu village nestled in a fold of the Wi Chu, or the two guys playing pool in the next village. I stop quickly in Gebu for a Sprite and a packet of instant noodles. I don't normally drink pop, but the sugar and msg from the dry noodles goes down well. A head of me in another 400m of climbing before I make it to my goal, Zhana. Cold and hungry, it's dark when I ride up to the Naxi Restraunt after an hour of un-interrupted down hill. The lady who owns the place knows me and is happy to see me back so soon as I had helped guide a Joseph Rock-esk trek through here less then two weeks ago. After dinner and a bucket bath, She kindly puts me up in a basic room. I wake up at 3:30am unsure what work me in the quiet night before a couple settling into the next room gets me up and I head out to the Xiao Kao stall in this one street, one horse town. Buy a couple sticks of fire brazed meat, quietly chat with the last of the nights customers.

Leaving the Wi Chu behind, along the dirt road following the Salween through it's transition from desert to lush forest, I'm soon off the pilgrimage route. A couple days later I'm in Dimalou, a quaint village which host a weekly market, bringing the largely Lisu ethic population of all the surrounding community out of the hills. I'm back in Yunnan now, and into a small part of the Tibetan world with a heavy Christian influence. As I ride up stream the few villages host small churches. After a few hours the population fades and the forest takes over.

At dusk I descend 300m off switch backs off the top of the pass before hitting the first wood shack, lighting a fire and prepare for my last cold night out. In the end, having made it over the final pass, with only a 2000m decent left after 10 days on the trail, my mind bridges the gap to that first night and and now, all the hardships in between fade away. I had thought about this trip for three years, and now I'm left with a feeling accomplishment under-toned by a void. Not for the first time I wonder, whats next?