I Never Expected This Level of Kindness on My 10,000km Ride Across China

Hailstorms, relentless mountain climbs, and long empty roads pushed me to my limits but in the most unexpected moments, complete strangers stepped in with generosity and friendship. This chapter of my 10,000km solo cycling journey across Asia isn’t about endurance or distance alone. It’s about the people who appeared when I needed them most, reaffirming why I chose this path in the first place, to experience first-hand the kindness that persists beyond headlines, beyond politics, and beyond the narrow lenses that too often distort and define entire nations as if they were all the same.

By now, cycling across China had shifted from novelty to routine and routine is where fatigue starts telling the truth. The road carried me through Huangguoshu Waterfall, across the farmland of Luoping County, and deep into Yunnan toward Kunming, Dali, and finally Lijiang, beneath Jade Dragon Snow Mountain. On paper, it looked manageable. In reality, it became one of the most demanding stretches so far.

Conversations on the Road

Irrespective of the language barrier and the remoteness of this stretch of road, one constant was service stations and roadside stalls. Endless tea. Simple lunches. Plastic stools. These places became informal meeting points, where curiosity flowed more freely than the traffic. Almost everywhere I stopped, the same questions surfaced. “How old are you?” “Are you married?” “Why no wife?” Often followed by a matter of fact conclusion delivered through a translation app. “No money, no wife,” they would proclaim.

I tried my best to explain that the culture I came from was different. That marriage was not always tied to financial security. That my choice to travel and seek adventure, for now, was a calling rather than a delay in marriage. Sometimes the translation landed. Sometimes it didn’t. But the conversations were never judgmental. They were curious, practical, and oddly sincere.

The Day That Was Always Going to Hurt

I found myself caught in an unexpected roadblock, only realising what lay ahead when I was forced to brake hard. A firecracker exploded at my feet, erupting across the road. I had ridden straight into a funeral procession, a public celebration of life unfolding in the middle of the street. The sound echoed and rang in my ears as more crackers were dropped without warning, scattered across the asphalt with no regard for traffic or surrounding buildings. For a moment, it felt absurdly like a game of Mario Kart, the rider ahead dropping hazards behind them, except this was real, uncontrolled, and impossible to ignore.

I knew it would be a long day as soon as I studied the elevation profile. What I hadn’t realised was that it hid two mountain passes, not one. Morning gains came fast and were lost just as quickly as the road tipped over the edge of a canyon. Watching hard-earned elevation disappear messes with your head. It feels like being charged twice for the same mistake. At a viewpoint, a pack of motorcyclists pulled in beside me. Helmets off. Phones out. Photos exchanged. Laughter without context. For a few minutes, the climb didn’t matter.

Before pushing on, I stocked up at a roadside stall with spiced chips and skewers, knowing the next 800 metres of climbing would require every gram of energy.

The descent into the valley was bitter. I dropped to around 550 metres, fully aware I’d need to claw back to 1,350 metres by nightfall. As I climbed, locals slowed their cars to watch. Some shouted encouragement. Others offered cigarettes, a recurring gesture I politely declined while slowly cranking upward.

An hour into the climb, deep in the mountains of southern China, I stopped to snack and reset. That’s when I met a motorcyclist who spoke English.

“Why bicycle?” he asked, genuinely confused by my choice of transport given the terrain rising in front of us. “Motorbikes are cheap here,” he added, as if the solution were obvious.

I laughed. There wasn’t an answer that made sense outside my own head.

We parted ways, and I kept climbing.

At the summit, I pulled over to study the terrain ahead when I noticed him again. He had turned back, this time holding a small bag. Inside was a can of Chinese Red Bull, a couple of packets of biscuits, and a juice popper. He handed them over without ceremony.

No content. No speech. Just help.

I reached a closer town than originally planned, saving at least an hour, though it didn’t spare me the night ride. Bike lights on, I hugged the shoulder as trucks tore past, close enough to feel the air shift and the bike sway beneath me. I cracked the Red Bull he’d given me earlier, just enough alertness to carry me through the final stretch. By the end, it had been eleven hours of riding. Soaked. Depleted. Empty in the way only accumulated effort creates. This was the day that broke me. It was also the day generosity carried me through, like a quiet shadow at my side, an invisible hand offering that final push when the climb refused to ease.

Watch the Film — Bikepacking Across China (Part 2)

This film follows my ride through southern China into Yunnan, where long climbs, storms, and fatigue tested me more than distance ever could. Along the way, unexpected generosity from strangers became the defining force that carried me forward.

https://youtu.be/J2xjh5cYEe4

When a Scenic Detour Becomes a Mistake

Another day, another gamble. Looking to avoid traffic, I took a country road that promised farmland and gentler gradients. Instead, it unravelled into endless undulation — no rhythm, no recovery. The legs began to protest properly. Hours passed without progress, making the call to cut my losses and returned to the highway, accepting the noise in exchange for forward motion. Some lessons don’t arrive loudly. They just tax you until you listen.

The road softened as I entered Luoping County. After days of hard climbs and exposed stretches, the landscape shifted almost without warning. Sharp limestone karst formations rose out of the ground like weathered teeth, scattered across rolling farmland and thick greenery. It felt less imposed and more grown, as if the road had simply been allowed to pass through.

Greenery stretched in every direction. Terraced fields, narrow farm roads, and small settlements tucked between limestone spires. It was a landscape that felt lived in rather than staged, shaped by generations of use rather than spectacle. The contrast to the harsher terrain before it was striking. Here, effort felt steadier. Less confrontational.

On a long descent toward Dali, a young motorcyclist waved me down. His name was Alex. Twenty years old. Exploring China alone. Heading toward Tibet.

He asked if my parents worried about my adventures. Why I didn’t buy a motorbike instead. We laughed about the difference in logic. The conversation flowed easily in English, unforced and genuine.

Shared Meals and Shared Roads

Back on the road, I met Choyen. Energetic. Generous. The kind of presence that lifts the tempo of the day without trying. He had been riding from Guangdong for the past five months and was heading toward Lhasa, Tibet.

No helmet. Crocs as his chosen footwear. A scarecrow stuffed toy strapped to the rear rack, its legs dangling off the side of his backpack. It was impossible not to smile.

Using a Chinese app, he found a newly opened restaurant advertising an all you can eat buffet. Opening night special. Two people for eighty eight yuan. Starving doesn’t quite describe it. We ate without shame.

I felt lucky to have stumbled across him. There is no chance I would have found that place on my own, hidden deep in the backstreets.

We would separate again soon, taking different routes around the lake, only to reconnect later in the journey near Tiger Leaping Gorge. At the time, we didn’t know that. We simply rode on.

Rest in Dali

Later, procrastinating at the hostel, I shared peanuts and sunflower seeds with strangers, quietly delaying the heat outside. Dali felt like a pause. A place to exhale. I stayed in a hostel near the historic centre, wandering through the vibrant night streets where lanterns, food stalls, and music blended into something lively and chaotic. During the day, I rented a bike with hostel friends and circled Erhai Lake (so much for a rest day I thought), stopping for roadside pastries and shade. It was easy to forget the miles behind me. That kind of rest is dangerous if you stay too long, but necessary if you don’t.

Eventually, I packed the bike and threaded my way through the narrow streets. To escape traffic, I detoured toward Erhai Lake, eating a roadside Tibetan pastry by the water before re-joining a bike path and battling the heat once again.

Frustration Before the Storm

Approaching Lijiang, fatigue caught up with me. I drifted into a half awake state, missing a crucial turn and unknowingly entering a state toll road. It didn’t take long for workers to stop me, urgently explaining that bicycles were not allowed. I vented my frustration more at myself than anyone else. The missed turn. The wasted energy.

Instead of sending me back the long way, they guided me through a shortcut, weaving through gardens and back roads until I re-joined the national highway. Kindness again, offered without obligation.

Racing the Storm Into Lijiang

Not long after, I met Ligang, also riding toward Lhasa, and we shared the road briefly. We rode hard, racing the incoming storm. The final climb toward Lijiang was exposed and unforgiving. Dark clouds gathered fast. I pushed harder, trying to beat the weather.

We arrived just moments before hail began falling chaotically from the sky, drumming against my helmet and the bike left outside while we stood under cover scrolling through a menu at a restaurant on the outskirts of Lijiang. Without hesitation, he ordered and paid before I even noticed.

No discussion. No expectation.

Lijiang was beautiful, historic, and crowded in a way that now felt familiar. Ancient towns across China began to blur together. Stone streets. Bright lights. Heavy foot traffic. The nightlife was relentless. I explored briefly, appreciative but detached. The novelty had worn thin. What stayed with me were not the landmarks, but the people who had carried me here.

Generosity as a Pattern

Generosity and kindness had become the dominant theme far earlier in this journey than I expected.

Before leaving home, I had asked the Lord to cultivate that same spirit within me. To soften what routine life had hardened. Too often, headlines shape our understanding of entire nations. One decision. One government. One act of evil. And suddenly a whole people are judged without ever being known.

Out here, stripped back to the essentials, that narrative collapses.

Scripture tells us that we are all made in the image of God (Genesis 1:27). That love of neighbour is inseparable from love of Him, the two greatest commandments (Mark 12:30-31). That kindness is not weakness, but evidence of a transformed heart (Ephesians 4:32). Again and again, I was reminded that most people, when given the chance, instinctively move toward helping those in need.

Back home, it is easy to slip into self focus. To walk past those in need. To justify indifference with busyness. Part of why I ride like this is to let these encounters engrain themselves deeply enough that they follow me home. To learn again that love and kindness are not abstract ideas, but daily choices. And that they remain the only true answer to hatred and evil.

Generosity has a way of revealing what we actually trust.

Luke writes, “Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap” (Luke 6:38). Not as a transaction, but as an invitation into trust. A reminder that we can live open handed, knowing the Lord is present and faithful as our provider. True generosity is not manufactured. It is the overflow of believing that we are already cared for.

What struck me on this journey was not just how freely people gave, but how naturally it flowed. Food offered without hesitation. Help given without explanation. Money spent without expectation. It mirrored something deeper. God does bless abundantly, but often that blessing arrives within the context of effort and hard work. The road still demands everything of you. The climb still costs. Yet provision shows up along the way.

I have come to believe that God wants every part of our lives to be something He walks through with us. Not just the moments we label as spiritual, but the ordinary ones too. The work we do. The money we earn. What we choose to give away. When generosity flows from that place, it becomes worship. A quiet way of giving Him glory for what He has already done.

What This Chapter Left Me With

This stretch didn’t reward strength. It rewarded openness. Every day I expected to rely solely on my own legs, and every day China quietly proved that wasn’t how the road worked here. That kindness didn’t make the ride easier, it made it possible.

Timeframe: Days 23 to 38

Region covered: Guizhou to Yunnan

Total distance: ~1,092 km

Total elevation gain: ~12,756 m

Riding days: 11

Overall Distance: ~2,250km Overall Elevation: ~24,040m

KML file for overall route can be located here.

GXP file of individual days can be located here.

A Detailed day-by-day log retained in the below table for accuracy and record. If you'd like any further details or files, feel free to reach out!

Date	Day	Route	Ride Time	Distance (km)	Elevation Gain (m)
Fri, 25/04/2025	23	Huangguoshu → Balingzhen	8:05:06	112.85	2,132
Sat, 26/04/2025	24	Balingzhen → Xingyi	5:34:21	86.26	969
Tue, 29/04/2025	27	Xingyi → Luoping	4:56:47	81.99	1,139
Wed, 30/04/2025	28	Luoping → Zhaokuazhen	6:26:10	97.96	1,232
Thu, 01/05/2025	29	Zhaokuazhen → Kunming	8:18:19	133.21	1,420
Sun, 04/05/2025	32	Kunming → Lufeng	5:43:30	101.25	768
Mon, 05/05/2025	33	Lufeng → Nanhua	6:27:11	116.67	941
Tue, 06/05/2025	34	Nanhua → Xingyun	7:28:31	110.44	1,408
Wed, 07/05/2025	35	Xingyun → Dali	5:29:21	83.65	954
Fri, 09/05/2025	37	Dali → Xiyi	5:20:40	84.00	945
Sat, 10/05/2025	38	Xiyi → Lijiang	5:03:16	83.71	848

What Comes Next?

The next chapter follows my passage toward Tiger Leaping Gorge, one of the deepest river canyons on earth, carved between the Jade Dragon and Haba Snow Mountains. What looks dramatic in photos becomes something else entirely when experienced from the road:

Continue reading:→ Cycling Through Tiger Leaping Gorge (China Cycling Adventure: Part 3)