We rented bikes and rode them across the Golden Gate Bridge. A touristy thing? I'm glad we did. Halfway, we stopped to peer over the edge. I got that tingle in the feet brought on by heights or maybe by the thought of falling. A heavy fog rolling in and engulfing us, a close-up cloud stealing away with your body's heat. The unsettling roar, not of the ocean, but of the cars traversing. Looking out over the water and the vast space above it ready to take you in, carry you away. The bridge, indifferent sentinel, red pillars reaching to infinity.

As we continued biking, I looked up at the beautiful details on the bridge, to my eye very Art Deco or maybe Art Nouveau and I kept thinking of that scene in The Neverending Story where the protagonist must cross a gate and the Sphinxes slowly open their killer-beam eyes.

We finally rented some bikes and biked along the Han River the other Sunday. The skies were stormy! We got very wet and it was very fun.

Stop dealing drugs and get your butts to school, ya little hooligans!

I was going to write about my new bicycle and how excited I am and all the photos I'm going to take of all the things I will ride to.

But instead someone stole it. Bummer.

One of my favourite days in Beijing was spent on a bicycle. We rented them for a dollar a day, donned some bandanas for the smog, and headed into town.

Don't we look gangsta with our yellow baskets?




Still want your MTV?




Cool.




We stuck mostly to the hutongs of Beijing, older neighbourhoods of narrow streets and alleys. Some were bustling, some were quiet. Many were under construction. I had my camera out and just snapped away.








This was very delicious. Spinach and dill or something?




We happened on some old towers. This is the Drum Tower as seen from the Bell Tower.








I had a refreshing yoghurt drink. Yoghurt seems to be popular! I saw these everywhere.




This guy was helping bicycle rickshaws across the bridge. Just a little alley-



-oop!








We decided to pass on the lakeside, tourist-friendly restaurant with the English menu and headed to another hutong for lunch. We found this place.




We had some fresh hand-shaved noodles, with a little chilli in oil, raw cloves of garlic, and a nice cold beer on the side.




The locals were friendly.




More riding, more pictures. Spoke some shitty French. More hutongs. Got home sore, sweaty and covered in a fine layer of gritty pollution. It was fun, China. Thanks.