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I am from Indiana, in the United States. The highest hills are maybe a couple hundred feet above sea level. I'm not exactly sure because it's no use measuring. They are negligible.

China, to my surprise, has lots of hills. In fact, it seems there are so many that you never get to coast downhill. I'm on a solo bike tour of Asia and loved it up till today.

Yesterday, I rode past the Yangtze River on the outskirts of the Sichuan Province. I have been pedaling for four months with little trouble. I've replaced only one tire and inner-tube. I had my bike repaired in South Korea, where Shimano parts are cheaper and labor affordable. I could have waited for repairs in China; however, I never knew what were factory bike parts and what was fabricated to look like factory bike parts. I chose the former. Maybe it didn't really matter after all.

BLEWSHSH! My tired wheezed as I climbed yet another hill, in the rain no less. I somehow knew today was going to be a rough ride.

"Oh great!" I yelled. I had covered only 23 kilometers that day. I needed to ride at least 120 km to make it to Ghengdu's giant Panda Research Base and Research Center and museum. I had wanted to see this research center since I saw a PBS (I think) special back home.

"I can only ride 120 km a day if nothing happens. It takes me 10 freakin' hours," I muttered as I rummaged through my panniers.

No…I thought. Where are my extra tubes?

With little need thus far in the trip to change my tires, I hadn't worried about procuring another spare tube. I may be able to fix it anyway. This recurring yet hopeless thought kept coming to mind.

I pumped air into the tube. I took some hand soap from my pannier. I got water from my water bottle and spread it on the air-filled tube. Tiny, soapy bubbles fizzed from the side. Not a geyser, maybe it will hold some air, I hoped.

Luckily, it was the front tire that went. All the weight—my bum and panniers and tent—were stacked on the back. Air will leak out of the front tire a lot slower than the back.

I pumped. I rode. I pumped. I rode. I pumped. I rode. And so it was for three hours. My life reduced to a bike serf; my master giving me only what I deserved. No more. No less.

But, I was heading closer to the Pandas. The baby ones are so cute and cuddly, I thought. Anything to take my mind off the hills, rain, pump and ride. It's funny how the mind wanders to such simplicities when freed from daily bustle.

The rain and wind had picked up quite nicely. The foggy hills rolled misty coolness around my body, like thick pea soup. The feeling, however, wasn't one of comfort.

? CREEEK. WHACK! WHACK! My mind awoke from my fuzzy rumination. "Damn it!" I bawled. "Not something else!"

Yes, it was something else. My chain had just snapped. Actually, one link snapped and the chain was whacking the ground, stuck behind in the rear derailleur.

I dismounted and grabbed my Pedro SuperTool. A multi-purpose bike tool, it was a can and wine opener, my God, my salvation and my savior many times over.

The chain break wasn't actually bad. I had some initial trouble affixing the chain at first, but then mended it more easily after turning the bike upside down.??

SNAP! "Got it. Thanks goodness," I orated to the wind.

Putting Pedro back into his warm pannier side-pocket, I gulped some water and rode on. I was only behind by about an hour. I felt comfort knowing I could pick up my pace and make up this lost time.

There wasn't much traffic on this lonely, curvy, ever hilly road. Some locals biking around and the occasional Mac-like trucks careening and spitting by filled my day.?

The brown roofed, perfectly squared houses spotted the distance. Farmhands and peasants alike, living as hundreds of years ago. Terraced hillsides encrusted in opaque fog. If only I was a painter with brush and canvas in hand.

Suddenly, my foot spun but my bike tires did not. The pedal arm connecting to the bike frame just came off like it wasn't ever attached. The whole pedal and arm didn't just fall to the ground but stayed attached to my clipless pedals. (My bike shoe was clipped into the pedal.)

I didn't say a word. If anyone could hear me, who could understand anyway? I got off my bike, almost tripping over the contraption still attached to my left shoe. I was, needless to say, tired of my tired bike. It was only a couple years old. But, why is it suddenly a lemon? I self-interrogated.

I had the extra parts, again, luckily. The problem amounted to a stripped hex-bolt. I replaced it in about five minutes or less. I was riding again after a quick gulp of water and snack of cold Dandan noodles I kept in a Ziploc bag. I wasted no food. I always ate hordes whenever possible. Chinese food is by far one of the best power-foods on the planet.

At any rate, I was on the saddle and cruising closer towards the Giant Pandas. I made it to some no-name place in ten hours and slept. I knew I'd have only a few kilometers to ride to make it to the research station the following day.

I don't remember where I slept, but my bike slept standing next to me. My partner was just as tired and worn as me. I hoped the next day we'd both be refreshed and ready to ride on again with fewer setbacks. Chalk one on the tally board for China, where the traveler's life is always unpredictable.