NoMad MaN: Correspondence

ah,the luxury [NOT!]

2004-02-09T01:23:11-08:00

Emma was my China cycling partner for 3,000km between Xian and the edge of Xinjiang. The desert was proving just too hot for a true Alaskan, so from there, she'd hopped a train to Hami and then a bus to Turpan. At Hami and Turpan she'd wait a couple or three days for me to catch up by bicycle. In Turpan she had three days to wait while I knocked off some 400 kilometers of desert highway. And after a couple of days she discovered that for the first time ever the Beijing Marathon would be open to runners of all classes. So, by the time I arrived in Turpan she'd decided to discontinue the westward journey to Kashgar and instead head straight for Beijing and a date with 26+ miles of running. She even managed to get a decent berth on the train to Beijing, which is a good thing since I think it was something like 48+ hours to cross the distance.

From: "Emma Slade" To: "Patrick Jennings" Sent: Saturday, September 19, 1998 9:25 PM Subject: ah,the luxury Patrick, made it with no problems. what a lovely treat after all those hours in hardseat! after i got in i picked up my bike, loaded it up, and started pedaling... however, i couldn't figure out why my legs were bouncing so much when i pushed on the pedals. then it hit me... my legs were FRESH! can't wait to hit the road again ;-) found the hotel okay after i did circles in tienanmen square. only had to take a double for one night. can't get over how glossy this city is, it's way more cosmopolitan than seoul. picked up a pair of shoes the first afternoon, went running, no problems. ran into one of the hutongs and was so engrossed in the scenery and taking so many zigzaggy turns that i almost didn't find my way out. absolutely fascinating. i could run in them for days and never retrace my path. went to the john bull pub, drank my guinness. don't have to elaborate. oh, on the train ride i saw the stretch of road from tianshui (is that right?) anyway, the rest of that valley was gorgeous, the road was absolutely beautiful, new and very little traffic. the sun went down before we passed that village where we got on the train, so i wasn't able to tell where the pavement started. [ED: this passage refers to events told in the eJournal stories, It Was a Fat Red Line on the Map! and Abandon Ship!] that's about all for now, just riding around town getting a feel for it. hope it's not too hot and the road too bumpy! take care, em While Em was riding the rails, I was westbound deeper into Xinjiang, and into the most gruelling ride of the trip. From: "patrick jennings" To: "Emma Slade" Sent: Monday, September 21, 1998 7:03 PM Subject: Re: ah,the agony Well, my legs are *anything* but fresh. Turpan to Korla was a KILLER! Headwind, headwind, headwind--ahh! downhill tailwind to Toksun!!! WEEE!!!--climb, climb, climb. Oh god. Climb. Climb. Climb. Oh dear, oh dear. CLIMB. CLIMB. CLIMB. Runnin' out of daylight! CLIMB! CLIMB! Shit! Getting dark. Camp. Noodles. New tent. Shiver. Pull drawstring on sleeping bag. Shiver. (I want my fleece!) Get out the woolies. Pull drawstring on sleeping bag until nearly suffocating. Shiver anyway. Hey?! Did I sleep?! Shiver. 5:00 AM. Useless. Get up. Frost on tent fly--inside and out--thick! On the bike, on bag. Hope the film's not frozen. Boil water. Walking in circles to keep warm. Ahh. The last coffee! Walking, walking. Porridge and raisins and a 761 wafer. Hmmm. Not so bad. Walking, walking. Sunrise. Still frigid. Still frost on everything. Beautiful though. Back on the bike. CLIMB. CLIMB. Hmmm. Road's not been so bad as described...in....the....book. Oh. Pavement ends. Ewww. Construction. At least not so steep. Climb, climb. Say, is it? Oh, DAMN! FLAT TRAILER TIRE. Oh dear, the sidewall's not looking so good. I'll duct tape the inside later. And I'm down to the last self-adhesive patch. DAMN! Two punctures! Haul out the parts box. Repair tube with chinese patch and tire with duct tape. Finally, back on the bike. Climb some more. Blasting ahead, onto the dusty detour with everyone else. Climb, climb. Crest! A dusty one. Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy. Ahhh! Fresh pavement. DOWN, DOWN, DOWN...hey, what's this? A valley floor? So soon? Down, down, down...breakfast/lunch on tangy tangmian. Down, flat, up, up...Uhh, Ohh. UP ahead! Up, up, CLIMB, CLIMB, CLIMB, CLIMB. AHHH! Hey. Grab that truck! HANG ON! UP! UP! UP! CREST! PHEW! DOWN, DOWN, DOWN, DOWN. This is more like it. DOWN, Down, down, down. Back in the basin. Legs weary. Pedal, pedal, pedal. Gee. That was beautiful though. Pedal, pedal, pedal. Break. "Dou Shiao Gongli de Hoxud?" [How far to Hoxud?] Eeep! Wu Shi Gongli ma? [50 kilometers!?] Legs tight. Pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, PEDAL. Hoxud! BINGUAN! Wait for hot water. 10PM. BATH! Two shampoos. Buy Jian Li Bao, chocolate fudgsicle (not bad) and instant noodles. Dine. Sleep. Sleep in. Ahh. Only 90K today. The book says "the descent into Korla goes through ugly brown and grey hills." Gotta love that word. "Descent." First, there's the uniform yellow/grey atmosphere rising from horizon to overcast skies. Not a shadow in sight. I stop at the edge of town for a tasteless tangmian breakfast. Then, the road turns sour. Wavelets of kidney jarring bitumen. Legs shot. Ohh! Bump, jostle, Ohh! Then. HEADWIND! Trees bow their boughs in obeisance. I churn into the wind. The slower pace accentuating the uneven surface. Ugh, bounce, pitch, yaw, ouch! Draft a cotton tractor, piled high and dangerously creaking--half the nuts missing on its trailer wheels. 22K is a nice pace though, and the speed minimizes the jarring for 10K, until the tractor turns off. HEADWIND!! Then a tomato truck. A little fast. Aching quads up to the task? So far. Going 32K into a 45K headwind. Amazing. But worried about the bricks and holes scattered along the gnarly bitumen. Headlong into the wind go I. AAAHHH! Gotta stop paying attention to that DAMN book! DESCENT MEANS DOWN??? WHY AM I CLIMBING??? Losing the truck. GRAB ON! I'm going 26K/hr hanging from the back of a truck full on into the wind. I'M NUTS! But there's no way I'm cycling another 40K to Korla uphill into a 45K headwind! Thankfully, only a couple K to the crest, then down for a bit. Then up for a bit more. Down a bit. Up. Down. Grab. Pedal. Grab. Duck behind the truck while oncoming traffic passes. Grab. Duck behind...no, too steep. Can't keep up. Hold on. Dare the traffic. HAH! I KNEW YOU'D PULL OVER! CHICKEN! AND STOP THAT INFERNAL BEEPING! Phew! Over the crest. Down into a village. In the dusty haze, jagged, low peaks loom. I hope not. Hope dashed. Climbing into the headwind. Trucks too fast to grab, hill too steep to draft. Grunting, screaming. AAAARRRRGGGHHHHH! I WILL MAKE IT TO KORLA! I WILL! If it takes another three hours to finish these last 20K I WILL! Legs whimper. Finally, a brick truck. GOT IT! Hold on. Five kilometer climb. HOLD ON! Arm aching. Pedal a bit to lighten the load. FINALLY... THE FINAL CREST! The descent into Korla begins just 10 kilometers from downtown and goes through some fascinating low grey and brown hills. And, if the wind is blowing uphill at 35K/hr, you won't coast very fast into town. But you'll get there, and nearly gladly pay 300Yuan for an eleventh floor dingy hotel room where the hot water runs all day into a deep cozy bathtub occupying more than 50% of a teensy bathroom in which the door will bang against the toilet before reaching 90 degrees. But it's home. Later, you'll go for a walk. Find coffee and Chips Ahoy cookies. Return to the hotel and see your still shell-shocked reflection in the window as night falls on Korla. A little dinner in the hotel's pleasant, friendly Muslim restaurant where the short, stout owner waves aside the english menu and all but drags you into the kitchen to select your dinner. I'll take jeiga vegetable dish, neiga vegetable dish and jeiga vegetable dish. Miefan. Koka KoLA, xie xie. Verdict: 430K of magnificent hell, the last day being purely hell. Possibility: another 1000K of the same. Wish you were here! Miss me? Cheers! Patrick. PS: The relentless climb from Toksun was absolutely magnificent. My lunch on the way out of Toksun was the best chaomian of the trip. And the following day crossed some marvellous countryside as well. But, you'll read about that in the journal. PPS: Hope you're training hard! PPPS: Say "Howdy" to Vivi for me.

Re: eJournal 4.010 :: Shanghai'd in Shanghai.

2003-12-23T19:53:16-08:00

I was near the beginning of a 6-month, 6,000 km cycling tour across China, and beginning to feel comfortable enough about the political/social/cultural landscape and history to make some observations. The result eventually became Shanghai'd in Shanghai, an entry in my travelogue. But first it was posted to my travel mailing list, and a friend responded to it.

China Daily publishes NHL results, and usually recaps two or three of the games (though NBA and European Football got the column space this week. However, I didn't know the outcome of the Sunday games. Gotta love those early round upsets. Baseball doesn't count until September. It's not really worth watching until October. I'm trying to lay off the politics and history--my constituency has spoken. I'm saving up for "Mao's Little Red Book" which will be coming in a couple more weeks. In any case, your analysis differs very little from mine, or Orwell's for that matter. As for intrusiveness, I have been pointedly asked to *not* write about certain events in personal histories. Apparently, some members of the CPC still care what is said by the population, enough that the population is concerned for reprisals. Not, as you say, a bullet in the brain, but unpleasantry nonetheless. I've also spoken with several people who were present at Tienanmen in 1989. Most of them now consider the demonstration a 'waste of time' and energy. Politics and struggle do not interest them. So, when I am told "Let bygones be bygones" it means several things: the past is too painful to recall; the past is not safe to recall; the past proved nothing could be done to alter the future. Under these conditions, a bullet is hardly necessary. I haven't been in South America yet, but I've been all over South-East Asia. The living conditions of rural Chinese are quickly being surpassed by the rural Vietnamese. That in itself is a strong statement. Cheers, Patrick. From: "Jim" To: "Patrick" Sent: Monday, May 04, 1998 12:45 PM Subject: Re: eJournal 4.010 :: Shanghai'd in Shanghai. Ya gotta just love high tech sometimes. Here we are swapping emails within an hour, me in an office in Vancouver and you on a portable in Beijing! From: "patrick jennings" To: "Jim" Sent: Tuesday, May 05, 1998 3:43 AM Subject: Re: eJournal 4.010 :: Shanghai'd in Shanghai. <'grin> Sure beats postcards. The other Jim and I once debated the relative merits of bell hooks' and Naomi Wolf's versions of feminism. I was in Kota Kinabalu, Malaysian Borneo and he in Vancouver. We traded about 3 or 4 emails each over the course of the day (my evening, Jim's day) and a few more over the next couple days. Kewl. Patrick. /" target="_blank">" hspace="4" align="right" border="0">Presently listening to:Secret Song - Linkin Park - Reanimation (02:41)/" target="_blank"> ]]>

the public lounge

2003-12-23T03:31:14-08:00

Some of the email in my sent mail log jogs memories in ways which are difficult to explain. Take this one, for example:

Blair, Harriet, and I are going to the Public Lounge around 7 tonight. If > you're in the 'hood, stop by. Here's the scoop: > -17th and Main, where Cafe Quetzal used to be > -owned by the same people as Lugs (further down Main) > -pitchers of beer > -simple comfort food--chilli dogs, potato chips with French Onion dip, > burgers, mac and cheese (but all vegetarian) > > Anne > From: "Patrick Jennings" To: "Anne Weiler" Sent: Friday, August 25, 2000 11:20 PM Subject: Re: the public lounge Hey, Man, I coulda used one-a-dose beers. While you were at the suds and chatter I was painting a bookshelf, dressing a fold-out cot to appear as a tubular-steel prison cell bed, foaming the underside of the steel seat of our chair (so it wouldn't resonate like a gong everytime it's moved), and filing the legs of the chair so it wouldn't rock. Gotta love the theatre! Up next: filling the bookshelf with styrofoam books. Hard to believe we open in two weeks...kinda scary. The last rehearsal ended up as a script analysis session. One of the actors, Troy Yorke, had one of those flashes of brilliance. The rewrite that resulted clarified not just the final 10 pages he had re-arranged, but finally smoothed the arc from middle to end that had been so abrupt, and was concerning us all. The whole thing makes sense now, well, at least to us it does. Other opinions are just a couple weeks away... After the fest, I'll have a party and invite all the friends who haven't seen much of me for a year (there are plenty, and I miss you all). In the meantime, I hope I'll see you at the Fringe. p. 2000 was a heady year, on several fronts. None was more significant than the play, Prisoners, which premiered at the 2000 Vancouver Fringe Festival. No experience before or since has been so fulfilling, so energising, as writing and producing that play. You know those times when you feel completely connected to everything in the world? Those moments when everything makes sense, including your place in the world? Skin tingles, even the smallest of observations feels fraught with import. Most people I've talked to have felt that way at some time in their life. Imagine feeling that way 24/7 for weeks. And the connection to all and everything was real. I didn't so much write the play as discover it, or allow it to discover me. Synchronicity directed all events, many of which provided insights and direction in writing, production, rehearsal. It all coalesced in a series of perfect lines. I can't possibly describe to you how it all felt, other than to say it felt literally devine. All that will not seem apparent in the post above. But Troy's moment was just one example of "the right thing coming at the right time." We were all deep into the script by this time, but Troy's in-the-moment reorganisation was so complex (and complete) I had to get him to repeat it several times and write the whole convoluted arrangement down. Which is kind of odd, given that we all saw the perfection of it as he told it the first time. I should write about that whole summer sometime. It was extraordinary. But I'm afraid I'd be able to offer no more illumination than this small post already has. Either you understand me because you've shared the experience, or I'll never be able to describe it to you. p. Presently listening to:We Live As We Dream - Gang of Four - Songs of the Free (03:36)/" target="_blank">/" target="_blank">" hspace="4" align="right" border="0"> ]]>

Flying Pigeon

2003-12-19T10:29:59-08:00

I'd just completed a 6,000+ km cycling trip across China, from Shanghai to Kashgar via Beijing, Xian, Lanzhou, Xiahe, Lanzhou, Dunhuang, Turpan and all variety of points between. Thank the TIan Shan (heavenly mountains) for email and an old friend back home, Andrew Secord. Andrew managed the Vancouver bike shope where I'd purchased most of my cycling gear. And along they way he was a frequent author of supporting and informative emails--often in calming (or alarming, if necessary) response to my hysterical, "MY HUB'S SHOT, AND SPOKES ARE BUSTING LIKE TWIGS!!!" emails. And there were also a couple care packages of replacement parts. So I wanted to do Andrew a favour. A big favour.

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re: Kwai ruminations

2003-12-14T21:13:50-08:00

The following feedback is a response to On the River Kwaii which I wrote in Konchanaburi, Thailand, site of the Death Railway, immortalised with precise innacuracy in the film The Bridge on the River Kwai, and where I had opportunity to ruminate on evil and whatever else it is that motivates man to level holocaust upon fellow man. (See How far would you go?)]]>

> What is not frequentlly noted is that many "millions" of non-Jews also died; any > undesirable ethnic or disabled/disenfranchised were subject to WWII and the > "final solution" in death camps. > > So to were the approx 8 million native North American Indians. Pres Jackson > and his men rode slaughter on thousands of helpless Indian women & children. > Their use of Indian flesh to serve as grease in cooking is well documented; he > and many other Presidents (and Pres hopefuls, ie Custer) did reap "genocide' > well before Hitler. But they are not "evil" or held accountable. I live in a State (Calif) > where the "death camps" ie Calif Missions are major tourist attractions, despite > the mass graves of Indian slaves, who's uprisings have not been documented > in our schools and their wholesale slaughter is given tribute of being X'd out of > history. Father Serra (the "Hitler" who 'signed the order' here in Calif) is often > found on County and STate Seals, statues of him grace the Mission towns of > Ventura and Santa Barbara. An American Hero ?? !! > > Good luck with your writing that makes an attempt to put into focus what is > seen by some of us as certainly a convenient history that no one dare call > into question (ie witness the heat that Brando felt for his statements) > p.s. - I've been to Thailand several times and enjoyed your descriptions of the > beauty some of that country still retains. > Alpha_60@.... There's an old joke I first heard in junior high: Q: What's the difference between Communisim and Capitalism? A: In Communism, man oppresses man. In Capitalism, it's the other way around. I think it's safe to say, man oppresses man regardless of the system. Under the right conditions, with very little encouragement, it could be any of us on either side of that oppression. Mostly, I needed to respond to your message to thank you for affirming what it is I'm trying to do. I know a little of that heat Brando felt from some of the responses to my postings. Not so much of the world's attention is focussed my way. I wonder what it must be like to have the mainstream media reviling you on primetime. It's also good to hear you feel my writings on Thailand do it some justice. Thanks, Patrick. I let it slide at the time, but the claim "Their use of Indian flesh to serve as grease in cooking is well documented" shouldn't be left in a post without at least providing some sort of documentary evidence. Unfortunately, I can't find any on the 'net. Gads! What am I saying! Fortunately, I can't find any documentary evidence on the 'net. Presently talking about:The Bridge on the River Kwai/" target="_blank">/" target="_blank">" hspace="4" align="right" border="0"> Presently listening to:My December - Linkin Park - Reanimation (04:17)/" target="_blank">/" target="_blank">" hspace="4" align="right" border="0">