Across China by Bicycle

In 1891 two Americans, just graduated from University, set about to reach Peking by riding bicycles from Liverpool, England to Peking. Their goal was to parallel the extraordinary journey of Marco Polo by making an overland trip from Europe through Asia and then Peking. In all, the two men traveled 15,044 miles by bicycle, then the longest bicycle journey ever accomplished. Their achievement is even more extraordinary when one realizes that the modern bicycle with equal-sized wheels  in front and back, and pneumatic tires had only been developed a few years earlier, in 1885 and 1888 respectively. Dereailleur and hand-operated cable pulled brakes had still not been invented.

They approached China through the dangerous wilds of the Gobi desert, and entered the Chinese empire by passing through its Great Wall and then continuing overland to Peking. The journey took three years to complete and produced over 2,000 incredible photographs, only some of which are reproduced here.

The adventurers never employed guides or interpreters as they traveled through China, which they point out forced them to learn a little of the language and customs of the local people.

The bicycles were a source of wonder to the Chinese. The Chinese referred to the bicycles by a number of descriptive names such as “foot-moved carriages,” or “a seat-sitting, foot-moving machine.”  The natives in the interior had applied to it various names, among which were “foreign horse”,  “flying-machine”, “self-moving cart”, and others.  A passport with instructions written in Chinese by the Chinese consul in Britain gave the Americans entry to the Chinese Empire.

Where the authors crossed the border into China, was an area under Russian cultural and economic influence. Many of the locals spoke some Russians. Then the explorers turned toward Peking, and entered the Gobi desert.

The two cyclists were forced to spend a considerable time in this desolate border post while they figured out a way to get money and funds for the trip through China. In those days there were no banks capable of transferring money to one another by electronic transfer, and carrying too much money would make the travelers a target for brigands:

A Street View of the Chinese Border Where the Cyclists Waited for Funds

And now the money problem was the most perplexing of all. “This alone,” said the Russian consul, “if nothing else, will defeat your plans.” Those Western bankers who advertise to furnish “letters of credit to any part of the world” are, to say the least, rather sweeping in their assertions. At any rate, our own London letter was of no use beyond the Bosporus, except with the Persian imperial banks run by an English syndicate. At the American Bible House at Constantinople we were allowed, as a personal favor, to buy drafts on the various missionaries along the route through Asiatic Turkey. But in central Asia we found that the Russian bankers and merchants would not handle English paper, and we were therefore compelled to send our letter of credit by mail to Moscow. Thither we had recently sent it on leaving Tashkend, with instructions to remit in currency to Irkutsk, Siberia. We now had to telegraph to that point to re-forward over the Kiakhta post-route to Peking. With the cash on hand, and the proceeds of the camera, sold for more than half its weight in silver, four and one third pounds, we thought we had sufficient money to carry us, or, rather, as much as we could carry, to that point; for the weight of the Chinese money necessary for a journey of over three thousand miles was, as the Russian consul thought, one of the greatest of our almost insurmountable obstacles. In the interior of China there is no coin except the chen, or sapeks, an alloy of copper and tin, in the form of a disk, having a hole in the center by which the coins may be strung together. The very recently coined liang, or tael, the Mexican piaster specially minted for the Chinese market, and the other foreign coins, have not yet penetrated from the coast. For six hundred miles over the border, however, we found both the Russian money and language serviceable among the Tatar merchants, while the tenga, or Kashgar silver-piece, was preferred by the natives even beyond the Gobi, being much handier than the larger or smaller bits of silver broken from the yamba bricks. All, however, would have to be weighed in the tinza, or small Chi[pg 157]nese scales we carried with us, and on which were marked the fün, tchan, and liang of the monetary scale. But the value of these terms is reckoned in chen, and changes with almost every district. This necessity for vigilance, together with the frequency of bad silver and

Street Life in a Chinese Border Town

loaded yambas, and the propensity of the Chinese to “knock down” on even the smallest purchase, tends to convert a traveler in China into a veritable Shylock. There being no banks or exchanges in the interior, we were obliged to purchase at Kuldja all the silver we would need for the entire journey of over three thousand miles. “How much would it take?” was the question that our past experience in Asiatic travel now aided us to answer. That our calculations were close is proved by the fact that we reached Peking with silver in our pockets to the value of half a dollar. Our money now constituted the principal part of our luggage, which, with camera and film, weighed just twenty-five pounds apiece. Most of the silver was chopped up into small bits, and placed in the hollow tubing of the machines to conceal it from Chinese inquisitiveness, if not something worse. We are glad to say, however, that no attempt at robbery was ever discovered, although efforts at extortion were frequent, and sometimes, as will appear, of a serious nature.

While they waited, the two men spent the time learning the Chinese language.

Everywhere the cyclists went, their strange contraptions caused a commotion and drew curious crowds.

Because of the overwhelming interest of the locals in the bicycles, the authors found it necessary to take some precautions:

On entering a Chinese city we always made it a rule to run rapidly through until we came to an inn, and then lock up our wheels before the crowd could collect. Urumtsi, however, was too large and intricate for such a manœuver. We were obliged to dismount in the principal thoroughfare. The excited throng pressed in upon us. Among them was a Chinaman who could talk a little Russian, and who undertook to direct us to a comfortable inn at the far end of the city. This street parade gathered to the inn yard an overwhelming mob, and announced to the whole community that “the foreign horses” had come. It had been posted, we were told, a month before, that “two people of the new world” were coming through on “strange iron horses,” and every one was requested not to molest them. By this, public curiosity was raised to the highest pitch. When we returned from supper at a [pg 169]neighboring restaurant, we were treated to a novel scene. The doors and windows of our apartments had been blocked with boxes, bales of cotton, and huge cart-wheels to keep out the irrepressible throng. Our host was agitated to tears; he came out wringing his hands, and urging upon us that any attempt on our part to enter would cause a rush that would break his house down. We listened to his entreaties on the condition that we should be allowed to mount to the roof with a ladder, to get away from the annoying curiosity of the crowd. There we sat through the evening twilight, while the crowd below, somewhat balked, but not discouraged, stood taking in every move. Nightfall and a drizzling rain came at last to our relief.

The next morning a squad of soldiers was despatched to raise the siege, and at the same time presents began to arrive from the various officials, from the Tsongtu, or viceroy, down to the superintendent of the local prisons. The matter of how much to accept of a Chinese present, and how much to pay for it, in the way of a tip to the bearer, is one of the finest points of that finest of fine arts, Chinese etiquette; and yet in the midst of such an abundance and variety we were hopelessly at sea. Fruits and teas were brought, together with meats and chickens, and even a live sheep. Our Chinese visiting-cards—with the Chinese the great insignia of rank—were now returned for those sent with the presents, and the hour appointed for the exhibition of our bicycles as requested.

The authors were met with great courtesy by the local officials and dignitaries, who often paid visits to their hotels and reequested return visits to their homes. However communicating with the locals difficult because their Chinese was still very poor. The authors describe how they communicated:

our Chinese was as yet painfully defective. Russian had served us in good stead, though not always directly. In a conversation with the Tootai of Schicho, for instance, our Russian had to be translated into Turki and thence interpreted in Chinese. The more intelligent of these conversations were about our own and other countries of the world, especially England and Russia, who, it was rumored, had gone to war on the Afghanistan border. But the most of them generally consisted of a series of trivial interrogations beginning usually with: “How old are you?”

The communications with the locals often led to misunderstandings due to cultural differences and assumptions. For example:

Owing to our beards, which were now full grown, and which had gained for us the frequent title of yeh renn, or wild men, the guesses were far above the mark. One was even as high as sixty years, for the reason, as was stated, that no one could raise such a beard before that age. We were frequently surprised at their persistence in calling us brothers when there was no apparent reason for it, and were finally told that we must be “because we were both named Mister on our passports.”

Despite the hardships of the road, the two intrepid cyclists were moving ever southward and nearing the borders of the dreaded Gobi Desert, which stood between them and their final destination.

NEXT: Cycling Across the Gobi Desert