Day 1. River exploration, a 15km meander.

Bingzhongluo sits at around 1800m, not so much when you consider the towering hillsides that engulf it. There are a couple of restaurants on the one street town, a few cars and then with the exception of the odd rice terrace it is all to the wilderness, and what a wilderness it is. Let us begin with opening the curtains to a green canvass ripped apart by streamers of clouds, and then a walk in the direction of the famous delight that is the first bend of the Nu Jiang river. The reason that we are here. A birds eye view of the immense river making a U bends upon itself with only a singular bridge providing access to the remote inhabitants, what more could a pair of explorers want, well more of it naturally. Continuing to stare open mouthed at every bend a 15 km distance slipped by and hunger joined our paces. Rather than hike it back we wave up and down at passing vehicles, one every 20 minutes or so. What luck, the first deafening rickety farm lorry puts down its brakes and manages to stop a mere 30 meters away. Faces smiling our drivers crammed us into the cabin before the gears began a grinding, the only distress they showed was that we might have to pay the extortionate fee to enter the town (we'd already escaped that once) and since Prue sat atop of my knees (well she would have had she not been convinced Id be too dainty for her 'heavy' frame the crazy girl) with a quick flash her red hair was enveloped in one of our buddys jumpers. So, inconspicuously, in the loudest automobile I have ever mounted we escaped the tourist trap once again.

Dropped off at the bend, since you just can't get enough of it, we saw something very special, our first sight of snow. The clouds parted long enough to reveal the jagged peaks of the not too distant 5128m Gawagapu mountain, what a blessing before another pointing restaurant complete with all the vegetables Im gonna need to keep me going.

Day 2. The road to Tibet. 27km cycle, 6 km walk, 21 km cycle.

It began so well, such a fresh morning with low lying clouds keeping in the chill and hiding the wonders of the valley. Don't you just love hiring a bike, the time spent deliberating testing each bikes comfiness with the full knowledge that you'll be suffering groin bruises within the next 3 and a half minutes either way.

An initial decline left our heads spinning as we swooped under rows of tibetan prayer flags and past the lush hillsides with wooden houses clinging to the mountain sides. The gorge changed into streaked limestone in dramatic configurations, but I have spoken of this throughout my experiences within Nu Jiang. What is entirely unique to this venture is the consistent knowledge that you are actually on the road that leads to Tibet, a mystical place that exists at the end of a story book not just down the road, it was with an overwhelming awe that we cycled on.

Whoa, lets hold it there, Mrs not so fit as one should be struggled like a b****, and although I will always take an opportunity to enjoy spectacular scenery it did not mean that I did not rage at my pathetic attempts to cycle uphill... only once was my bike thrown aside in a temper, however I do confess that after one particular feeble failure at the incline I screamed into the valley while throwing heavy rocks... childish, yes, but it felt better. Poor Prue who fought with burning muscles to suceed the distance only to turn back and see me huffing and puffing, hilarious (but not at the time, she didn't dare laughtoo much), however it wasn't too long before I became used to my own standards and comfortably walked the inclines rather than yell at them.

The track comprised elements of off road adventuring, and we met very few, this could have been assisted by a land slide which blocked everyone off. Hmmm actually a piece of cake to traverse this one once you get over the negative attitude of the local man telling you that the route is off bounds. Just wait for his back to turn, flex those biceps and ignore that prickle of fear when you imagine further crumbling of the rock face above you.

So was this slightly dangerous, muscle scorching experience worth it? Almost not, a second land slide awaited, this one rammed with workers trying to create access for cars through one hell of an epic waterfall. But we followed their footsteps and traversed the logs to the other side bike less and with no idea of how much distance was left. Kind of stupid, but there were ample glistening waterfalls to have collected water from should things have become sketchy and then suddenly around a bend stood a terribly incoherent yellow sign.

'FORBID FOREIGNER

TURN INTO STRICTLG'

But this meant we'd reached Tibet.

A joyful fever swept over us as we crossed the boundary and found ourselves in a new land, the lack of change in landscape and complete isolation of the crossing only added to the heightened feeling we sensed inside, something of wonder and a sense of achievement.

Later in the day than anticipated lay the daunting aspect of another 27km pedal, the saving grace for our untimely sore asses and calfs came from a kindly man who lumped our bikes in the back of his ute and us in the back seat and relieved us of the remaining 6km incline back to home.

Day 3. Bus to 'The big red bridge' before an 8 km hike to Dimaluo... with all of our luggage!

The difficulty here rested mainly in the preparations involved, what we could bear without that would allow us to burden the beasts on our shoulders for an 8km hike on a steady incline. Prue sits wrestling over her shampoo and conditioner bottles (after having seen the consequence of not taking the latter I will be much more supportive next time) where as I suffer the trauma of having to let a book or two go, bless the wealth of knowledge that I may have left behind (not that I've read an entire one in over a month and am collecting them weekly). We have met Bingzhongluos' two trekking guides and are off to meet Tibetan Alou in his home town. It's a short bus ride to the designated big red bridge that was to start the afternoon, but on route we realised that we had left our hotel deposit, being budget minded and tight arses Prue volunteers to go back and rescue our 30 dollars (hey thats a days balance it is) while I survey our luggage and realsie that theres still a s*** load to carry, and at the same time stroll laps around a ute to stop a Chinese tourist from taking continual photos of me. Captions like 'white girl opens drawstring' and 'white girl can tie shoelace' will inevitably be in the photo highlights for his family to muse over I'm sure.

At this time we are unsure as to what we should expect, we have received very little information regarding what we consider to be a massive event, so far all we have been told is that we need to make it to a remote village within an already remote valley. We are still a little stressed from the previous big days events leading right back to our lack of sleep in the weird and not son wonderful Liuku. Since Alou was quite neglectful it felt as though we should already have all of the answers and therefore already be advanced and avid hikers, but we were to find out later that Alou was ill and due to this would not be joining us for the hike, this could also have been a cause for his stunted communication. Not knowing distances, conditions, our gears worth (trainers and pac-a-macs for waterproofing) and our own abilities at altitiude also weighed on our shoulders. I was coming down with a virus and Prue was concerned for her back and mental state for such a challenge, this is one event that we needed to be honest with one another yet kept our secrets and plunged headfirst into the journey, not without its costs. Our final companion, a young Welshman named Owain completed the group, one of which runs almost weekly during the warm weather seasons.

The trek was not so bad, the track was easily marked, so easily in fact vehicles could traverse the terrain and we regularly remarked on this since it now seemed unessessary to look like little donkey and bro. We had hired a porter which seemed to have been neglected on this part of the journey and we accepted this as a personal challenge from Alou. It felt reasurring to flap my arms in a singular direction while booming 'Dimaluo, here?' at every Chinese person I saw, then I knew we were on the right road. 3 hours later we pull into a quaint small one lane of a village with cheep beers, friendly faces and most importantly an invitation to put down the bags. A cute pair of mules were introduced as our porters (we had paid extra for at least one of our bags to be carried by someone else while we would distribute the other between ourselves).

Alous brother runs and recruits hikers from the 'Road to Tibet guesthouse' in Binzhongluo. While Alou guides and runs this basic wooden guesthouse that comprises of thin matresses on the floorboards, great views out of the cubby like windows, has an outside bathroom that smells horribly of the pigs living next to it, and a wife who cooks up amazing food and a 3 year old sweet little girl - naturally with 2 sticking out pigtails- who insists on helping mum clear the table. An elder son who almost jogs through the entire hike and is in charge leading the donkeys completes the family. We eat and sleep to contentment ready for the mornings challenge.

Days 4 to 6. Well now, that deserves a separate blog entirely. The hardest physical challenge I have ever achieved (and very closely didn't at times).