by Jeff Stone
With the foothills came another village, and as we approached, I saw with relief that this one was noticeably different from the others. It contained buildings constructed of stone instead of mud bricks, and the inhabitants seemed much friendlier. They bustled about with activity, smiling and waving vigorously as we rode past. I saw several old men leading oxen, and a few young men driving trucks loaded with baskets of tea leaves.
The mountains beyond the foothills looked much bigger in person than in the pictures I’d seen on the Internet. While the hills I rode back in Indiana rose more than one thousand feet, these were much higher. The range was called Song Shan, and it was famous for being the location of the legendary Shaolin Temple. Hú Dié must have noticed my apprehension, because she giggled and punched me in the arm, nearly knocking me off my bike.
“Hey!” I said.
“Afraid to fly high?” she asked. “Perhaps you are more like a chicken than a phoenix?”
I frowned and tried to think of a sarcastic comeback in her native language, but nothing came to mind. Someday, I would have to learn to trash-talk in Chinese.
As we reached the far end of the village, Hú Dié turned into a small park and stopped beside an ancient-looking well. I stopped beside her, and we both climbed off our bikes. She began pulling an old bucket up by a tattered rope while I grabbed her empty water bottles and popped off the siphon tops. I held the plastic bottles on the edge of the well’s thigh-high brick rim, and she filled them. We made a good team, neither one saying a word, yet both knowing full well what the other was going to do next.
Until that moment, I’d never considered what it might be like to have a sister. I thought it might feel similar to what I was feeling now. Here was a girl who irritated me some of the time, but who could also be like a good friend. I was curious to see how the rest of this ride would go.
After capping the last bottle, I removed the pack and set it on the ground with a loud CLANK!
“My stuff must have shifted,” Hú Dié said. She elbowed me out of the way and opened the pack.
“What have you got in there?” I asked.
“Tools, mostly. I also have some spare parts. There aren’t any bike shops out here.” She sighed. “I’m going to have to repack everything.”
Hú Dié began pulling stuff out of the pack, and I took the GPS out of my pocket.
“Here,” Hú Dié said, holding out the pack’s empty water bladder. “Fill this first.”
I set the GPS unit on a rock next to Hú Dié and did as she ordered. As I was working, I kept glancing at a little building about thirty yards away. She must have seen me staring at it.
“Restroom,” she said.
“Awesome,” I replied, handing her the full bladder. “Be right back.” I headed for the building as she continued to reposition things inside the pack.
I was just finishing up my business inside the building when I heard a man’s voice outside. I didn’t catch what he said, but he was talking to Hú Dié in Mandarin. She replied by saying that she was on a bike trip with her friend.
I stepped out of the building and saw an older man standing in front of her. She was squatting next to the backpack with both hands inside it. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and saw a second man hurrying toward Hú Dié from behind, his eyes glued to the GPS unit on the rock beside her.
“Hú Dié, watch your back!” I shouted.
Hú Dié turned her head, and the man in front of her grabbed her ponytail. She wailed like a banshee, and for a second, we all froze. Then Hú Dié rocketed to her feet, driving the top of her helmeted head into the bottom of her attacker’s chin. The man stumbled backward, releasing her ponytail, and she pulled her hands out of the pack.
Hú Dié had wrapped a section of spare bike chain around her right fist. I began to run toward her as she leaped forward, slamming her iron fist into the face of the still-stumbling man. His body went rigid as a board, and he crashed to the ground.
The second man was now running toward Hú Dié, but his eyes were still on the GPS unit. I was certain that I’d get to him before he got to it. I was within a few strides of the man when Hú Dié shouted, “Phoenix, jump!”
I glanced at her and saw that she’d unwound the bike chain from her fist. She was swinging it over her head like a whip.
“JUMP!”
I jumped less than an arm’s length away from the second attacker. Hú Dié swung the chain down, and the end struck the man’s leg, wrapping around his ankle. He howled and tripped, and I kicked him in the chest as I came back to earth. Hú Dié let go of the chain and the kick sent him reeling toward the well, his thighs colliding with the brick rim. He toppled into the hole headfirst. There was a SPLASH! and the sound of thrashing. The man shouted in Mandarin, “I can’t swim!”
I grabbed the GPS unit and ran to the well. I looked down and saw the man flailing about, pressing his hands against the brick-lined sides in an effort to keep his head above water. I shoved the GPS into one of my cargo pockets and grabbed the bucket, lowering it with an ancient winch.
“What are you doing?” Hú Dié said as she hurried to the backpack. “We need to get out of here! These guys probably have friends.”
“We can’t just leave him down there,” I said. “He’ll drown.”
“Forget him. We need to take care of ourselves.” Hú Dié began to stuff everything into the backpack.
The bucket reached the man, and he frantically grabbed it. I checked to make sure the rope was secure and that the winch would hold. It seemed strong enough. When I looked back down, he was beginning to climb the rope.
Hú Dié was already on her bike, pedaling away.
“Hey!” I shouted. I grabbed the pack and jumped on my bike as the guy climbed out of the well. He shook his fist at me.
I hit the road.
I caught up with Hú Dié and saw that her helmet had a deep dent from the first guy’s chin. She also had marks on her hand from the bike chain.
“Why did you leave?” I asked.
Hú Dié scowled. “I told you to listen to me during this ride, you idiot.”
“But that guy could have died!”
“You don’t know that.”
“He couldn’t swim!”
“It’s a small village. Someone would have heard his shouts.”
“I don’t agree.”
“I don’t care.”
“But—”
“Shut up and ride!”
She began to accelerate.
I shook my head. That had to be the most famous saying in mountain biking.
It took some effort, but I caught Hú Dié again, and then I passed her. The surprised look on her face made me feel good. I held the lead until the road became a narrow line of dirt that wound its way through the foothills, toward the mountains. I continued up the trail and turned to look at Hú Dié, but she wasn’t there.
I hit the brakes and spun around. I pedaled hard back the way I’d come, catching sight of Hú Dié waiting for me on a side trail. That must have been her way of making a point. She was the leader out here.
Point taken.
We let some air out of our tires for better off-road traction as Hú Dié said we would, and we continued. She set a grueling pace for about two miles, then eased off. I soon saw why. The trail swept sharply up toward the first peak, and the compacted earth we had been riding on was now covered with a thick layer of small stones that had washed down from higher elevations.
I shifted to an easier gear and allowed a large gap to open between us. Our back tires had begun to slip on the loose stones, and Hú Dié’s powerful legs were blasting marble-sized rocks up behind her. The last thing I needed was one of those in my eye. I wished I had my riding goggles.
Halfway up the peak, the loose rock layer thinned before finally disappearing altogether. From here on up, I guessed it would be nothing but large boulders and solid sheets of stone. I was right. Surprisingly, though, a clearly defined trail was still evide
nt. After half an hour of steady climbing, we reached the top of the peak and took a short break to catch our breath and drink some water. Hú Dié didn’t say a word.
The view was spectacular. All around us were mountain slopes. This region was famous for a certain kind of tea, and I expected to find the area covered with tea plantations. Instead, I saw only small clumps of pine trees, low grass, and lots of rock. The tea must grow elsewhere.
I checked the GPS and saw that we were still on course. Approximately seven miles to go. I switched the unit over to its altitude function and found that we were currently two thousand feet above sea level—higher than I’d ever ridden before, but not so high that the altitude affected my lungs or made me light-headed.
Hú Dié pointed southwest and broke her silence. “See those five peaks? The valley we want is between the fourth and fifth.”
My eyes followed Hú Dié’s finger. Our destination looked a long way off, but at least I didn’t see any peaks higher than the one we were currently on, or any valleys that were really deep. “How is the rest of the ride?” I asked.
“Pretty much just like this. We should be there in a couple of hours. Do you think you can make it?”
“Of course.”
“You’re a much better rider than I was expecting.”
“Thanks, I think. You’re very good, too.” I checked my watch. It was nearly noon. We were going to have to spend the night at the ruins for sure. At least we were now on speaking terms.
Hú Dié lowered her seat in preparation for the long descent, and I did the same. We took off down the hill, and I welcomed the rush of air that blasted through my helmet vents. The grade was steep enough that I didn’t have to pedal, but I still had to pay attention, steering my bike over and around obstacles. The shocks on this full-suspension bike made the job of cruising down the mountain easier, and I knew my body was taking much less abuse over the jarring terrain than it would have with my hard-tail bike back home. Even so, I didn’t like the way the bike sagged on big drops. It felt as if the frame were held together with rubber bands. I would take my bike in Indiana over this one any day.
We reached the bottom and stopped just long enough to raise our seats before beginning the climb up the second peak. Once we reached the second summit, we repeated our water break and seat lowering before continuing down to follow the same sequence up, over, and down the third and fourth peaks. The trail forked a few times, but Hú Dié always seemed to know which way to go without consulting the GPS.
When we finally arrived in the valley between the fourth and fifth peaks, Hú Dié pulled over. She was breathing hard, and so was I. She asked me to take out the GPS unit, and we both had long drinks and ate more energy bars while we got our bearings. I checked my watch again. It was 2:30 p.m.
I glanced around, comparing what I saw to the GPS unit’s topographical map. The trail we were on continued up the slope of the fifth peak, which was evident both in real life and on the digital display. However, the GPS showed that we should veer off the trail into unmarked forest to get to the destination that PawPaw had programmed. The trees were fairly thick in that direction and the ground was covered with large ferns, but it wasn’t so dense that an experienced mountain biker couldn’t blaze his or her own trail.
I turned to Hú Dié, who was looking over my shoulder at the GPS. “What do you think?” I asked.
“If the temple is somewhere in those trees, I now understand why I’ve never seen it. I’ve never had a reason to go in there. How far off this trail is it supposed to be?”
“The GPS shows less than a mile.”
“No problem,” she said. “I can ride through that stuff. How about you?”
“No problem.”
“Perfect. I’ll lead.”
“Uh … no. I don’t think so.”
“Excuse me?”
“I appreciate you helping me get this far. I really do. But I prefer to go in there alone.”
I thought I could feel Hú Dié glaring at me from behind her sunglasses. “That wasn’t the deal we made,” she said.
“All right, how about you give me a half-hour head start so I can spend a little time there alone.”
“How about ten minutes.”
“Twenty minutes.”
“No. Ten minutes or nothing.”
I set my jaw. “Fine. Ten minutes.” I shoved the GPS unit back into my pocket, took one more swig of water, and tore into the trees.
I plowed through the shadowy undergrowth, the spokes of my wheels shredding waist-high ferns into sticky green confetti. Bits of fern frond stuck to my bare legs and bike frame, while small sticks thrown up by my front tire wedged themselves into my drive sprocket and pedal cages. It was going to take hours to clean all of this gunk out of the bike’s mechanical components.
I rolled and rocked at a breakneck pace around massive elm trees like a soldier running through a minefield. I continued my frantic pedaling, hoping that when Hú Dié began to ride, she would follow at a more reasonable pace. Perhaps I could stretch my ten minutes of alone time into fifteen or twenty. I blasted ahead for another several minutes before I noticed a change in the forest.
The gigantic elms that I’d been riding through gave way to noticeably younger trees that were fewer and farther between. I guessed that this was the work of people, namely someone who lived in temple ruins and burned firewood to stay warm in winter. I had to be getting close.
I slowed to a stop and slipped my left foot out of its pedal cage, resting my foot on the ground. I pulled out the GPS unit and found that I was pretty much exactly on top of the spot PawPaw had identified as being near the temple. I put the GPS away and removed my helmet. I also slipped off the hydration pack, draping both items over my handlebars. With a stealthy approach on foot, I might be able to learn a few things about the man I had been sent to locate, before we met face to face. I looked over my shoulder, listening for signs of Hú Dié and trying to decide whether I should hide the bike, when I realized something was wrong. The forest was absolutely silent.
Normally, a mountain biker ripping through an area doesn’t leave silence in his or her wake. Birds shriek and squirrels chatter angrily, each scolding the intruder in their own language. The animals do this from a safe distance, so even if my stopping had silenced the critters nearest to me, in less than a minute they would have put plenty of space between me and them, and then they would have let me have it. Their silence meant someone else was on the move, and it wasn’t Hú Dié. I didn’t hear her.
I looked back toward the new-growth area and found myself staring at the tip of a wicked-looking spear blade looming an inch from my forehead. I reacted without thinking. I dropped the bike and shifted all of my weight to my left foot—the one on the ground—and instinctively rotated the heel of my other foot to release it from the pedal clip. Unfortunately, I wasn’t using clip-in pedals on this ride. I was using pedal cages.
I fell down. I remembered the pedal cage and jerked my foot free, silently cursing myself. I rolled onto my back, trying to put some distance between myself and whoever was holding that spear, but it was no use. The spear tip flashed downward, stopping half an inch above my thumping heart.
“Stand,” a deep voice commanded in Mandarin.
As I stood, the spear tip followed me the whole way up.
“Who are you?” the voice asked in Mandarin.
I understood this, too, but I didn’t answer. Instead, I focused beyond the spear tip for the first time. I saw an impossibly old man with the physique of an NFL linebacker.
The man was well over six feet tall, with shoulders as wide as a doorway. He wore a tattered orange robe, beneath which I could see a thick chest. The skin on his bald head sagged with age, and his face was covered with liver spots the size of silver dollars. His eyes were as bright as PawPaw’s, and he stared at me. Unlike PawPaw, though, who appeared to search for kindness, this man sought weakness. I knew better than to look away. I locked eyes with him, my irises flashin
g green fire.
The old man nodded as if I had passed some kind of test, and he lowered his spear. The breeze picked up, and I caught a familiar scent in the air. The man was sweating, and he smelled just like Grandfather and PawPaw. This had to be the guy I was supposed to find.
The old monk spoke again in Mandarin. “Answer my question, young man. Who are you?”
I bowed and replied in English. “My name is Phoenix Collins. I’ve come in search of Cangzhen Temple. Do you speak English? I am sorry, but my Chinese is very poor.”
The man glowered and answered in English. “I speak your language. You are American?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What does an American know about Cangzhen?”
“Not very much. My grandfather sent me to find it, and a monk who may live within its ruins. Are you the man I am looking for?”
“Who is your grandfather?”
“His name is Chénjí Long—Silent Dragon. We live in the state of Indiana, but he spent his life in China until thirteen years ago, when he moved to the United States to take care of me. He said he lived at Cangzhen Temple when he was a boy.”
The old man slowly shook his head, as though he were unhappy. He seemed to drift into deep thought, and I turned my attention to the spear’s metal tip. It was almost a foot long and cut into a wavy pattern. It was nasty. I had seen one like it many times. It was a snake-head spear, and it was Grandfather’s favorite weapon.
The old man’s mind appeared to return to the moment, and he said, “I know who you are, and I can probably guess why you have come. I never expected to meet you, Phoenix. Something must be very wrong for you to be here. The Cangzhen Temple ruins are near. If you can prove yourself, I will show them to you.”
I flinched. “What do you want me to do?”
The old man nodded at his spear.
A chill ran down my spine. I knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted me to show him that I knew how to fight by doing a kata, or form, with him—a series of practice moves. We weren’t going to fight for real, but I needed to choose wisely nonetheless.
