Rough riders
When Xiong Guang-qing prepared for his trip to the Siguniang Mountains, in western Sichuan Province, the 57-year-old diabetic brought a thermos packed with ice, which he used to store his insulin.
The Chongqing native would have to inject himself during the six-day motorcycle journey that would take him 2,400 kilometers across the country.
"I might have been laid up with this illness for ages if I had given up riding," Xiong says.
"You should bear hardships when riding a motorcycle. In return, the sport will make you stronger than ever.
"I am a good example. I bet it is hard to find any patients as strong as me," he adds, laughing through a mostly toothless maw.
He believes that riding his motorcycle offers a more panoramic field of vision than driving a car.
"Go for the motorcycle; then you can sense the power of nature," he says.
Xiong is a loyal member of the Chongqing Free Motorcyclists' Club (CFMC), founded in 2005.
Currently, there are about six motorcyclist clubs in the youngest municipality directly under the central government. CFMC is the largest among them, with a registered membership of more than 40 riders.
Surprisingly, these rough riders are not young. The average age of the membership is about 40, with the eldest aged 62.
Every Thursday night, the motorcycle maniacs meet at Loquat Hill Park to plan the upcoming weekends' routes.
Intermediate- or long-distance trips are preferred during golden week holidays .
Last year, they traveled as a group to Qinghai and Gansu provinces. Their appearances, without doubt, make them a unique spectacle for passers-by.
"We want to get out of the city and embrace the freedom we have lost in modernized society," Xiong says.
Motorcycling emerged in Chongqing in the late 1980s. At that time, owning a motorcycle was a status symbol, so motorcyclists proudly carried their helmets wherever they went.
The once-posh mode of transportation became commonplace in the mid-1990s, when the local motorcycle industry began developing rapidly.
More people could afford to buy the bikes, which then cost between 5,000 yuan and 20,000 yuan ($650-$2,600).
But worsening street conditions created a bump in the road for Chongqing's motorcycle culture as the millennium approached.
Xiong says the municipality's urban development brought an influx of trucks transporting construction materials to the city. Some were overloaded in order to maximize profits. So truck drivers had to constantly use their brakes going down the hilly Chongqing roads. The truckers would lean out at their cabins and pour water on their overheating brake pads, and the spillage resulted in slippery roads. These wet roads have proven dangerous to motorcyclists.
Riders also say that the worsening air pollution caused by the increase in private cars on the roads also makes biking less enjoyable.
And increasing difficulties parking and higher road tolls have caused more citizens to give up motorcycling, while others, such as Liang Jingsong, are becoming increasingly interested in the pastime.
"I believe it is a trend that motorcycles will eventually be used for entertainment instead of transportation," the CFMC president says.
The Chongqing native, in his 40s, is from the first generation of the city's motorcycle owners.
Despite his family's protests, Liang spent more than five years' savings on his first motorcycle in 1987. Then, he entered a local driving school to learn how to ride it.
"It is such an incredible feeling when all trees and roads whiz behind my back as if by magic. The speed of motorcycling creates endless pleasure," he explains.
But it's a pleasure for which he's paid a high price.
"I am covered with cuts and bruises," he half-jokes, rolling up his sleeves to reveal a patchwork of scars.
"One of our members rides a motorcycle with steel pins in his leg. Compared to him, my injuries are not a big deal. They just remind me to be more careful when I ride," he says.
He has scarcely used his motorcycle to commute since 2000. Instead, the motorcyclist has developed a yearning to explore the landscapes outside of the city.
His longest journey was the 6,000-kilometer sojourn to the Tibet Autonomous Region.
The cameraman of Chongqing Emergency Centre spent more than half a year preparing the trip and was determined to go, even though his partner backed out just before he set off in June 2002.
"When I eventually stood in front of the Potala Palace after more than 10 days' traveling, I felt a bit dizzy and wondered if it was real or not.
"Then I realized that the best landscape isn't always found at the destination; in fact, it is found along the way," he says.
Liang also found his motorcycle provided a medium for making friends.
"It provides an opportunity for us to meet people with the same interests, and it also helps us find more meaning in life when we travel and share things together," he says.
Li Shechao learned how to ride a motorcycle at the age of 48.
At first, the security guard just followed Xiong, taking part in the club's activities.
Li admired the riders who controlled the motorcycle like "powerful kings". But he was afraid he might be too old to ride.
When he confessed his apprehension to Xiong, the elder responded encouragingly.
Xiong told him: "If I can do it, so can you".
It seems that Li has done well since joining the club.
Over the past few years, the Chongqing native has taken three long-distance trips, including journeys to Zhuhai, of South China's Guangdong Province, and Northwest China's Gansu Province.
While he had his share of accidents, he wasn't seriously injured.
"We seem very strong. But in fact, we are fragile, and we might die of an accident. And we seem to have longevity, but in fact, we might die any second," he said. "So, it's important to live happily every day and cherish what we have. This is what I've learned from motorcycling."
As the oldest club member, 62-year-old Tang Shichang considers the sport great exercise and believes it has given him bountiful energy - even more than the younger club members.
The retired worker rides for a total of at least 70 kilometers to the rural areas of Chongqing every afternoon to get spring water to take back home.
"It is difficult to imagine life without my motorcycle. It has already become such a part of my life," he says.
Tang sold his bike a few years ago after an accident laid him up for several months. But after his recovery, he found he missed his motorcycle so much that he bought another without consulting his family.
"Driving any vehicle entails certain risks. The key point is controlling it, and I am confident in my ability," he says.
CFMC welcomes members' relatives to join their activities. The club advocates a lifestyle schema that puts "family first, job second and motorcycle last".
In good weather, riders would conclude their weekly meeting by taking their wives to "swim in the stream of cars".
Two riders lead the pack, cruising at a maximum speed of 50 kilometers per hour, while the more than 30 other motorcyclists follow in formation.
And their wives believe there is nothing more romantic than embracing their lovers' backs as they watch the nighttime cityscapes of Chongqing whiz by from the back of their motorcycles.
(China Daily 07/03/2007 page18)
