The route to Lugu Lake was narrow and in a dreadful state but exceedingly
picturesque. Whoever referred to Lugu Lake as "remote" sure wasn't exaggerating.
Rural China provided loads of colourful mountainside communities and folk going
about their daily business. Upon reaching the second mountain pass of the day, we
discovered, to our dismay, one more cobblestone path. Our pace slowed, once
more, to a snail's pace as we snaked our way up the winding route. So narrow was
the way, encountering busses or trucks, we had to jump off the bike, allowing them
to pass instead of being flattened or forced over the sheer edge into the ravine far
below. Along the stony road, the bike tended to jump in all directions, especially
when crawling up the near-vertical hills and one had to be extra careful.
As night fell, the only piece of level ground seen the entire day appeared. The spot
was a tiny patch bordered by the road's curve, a homestead, and an animal shed,
barely big enough to accommodate our tents. More importantly, there was a stream
from which residents supplied water to the passing trucks and busses. At 3,000
metres the temperature plummeted as soon as the sun set, which meant donning
all our warm clothes. All our activities were strictly observed. Not only by people but
also by the pigs, dogs, and chickens in the makeshift shed a metre or two away.