Shanghai is also our first sighting of large numbers of Westerners again. This is the entry point for most Western businesses. The local people are far more accustomed to our big noses and our hair which surprise, surprise is not always black. Our walk to the Bund on Saturday night shakes me, the crowd so dense and steady that we choose to walk on the road and face the risk of scooters instead of the constant crashing of body against body.

Friday morning, I woke before the alarm, nervous about my day, much hill climbing and 170 kms to my accommodation near Moran. I started riding at 6.30am, the temperature on my Garmin speedo was -3c. Four layers of clothes but I was still shaking as I rode seventy kms up hill, finally over the Divide and many hours of blissful freewheeling when my legs were begging for a reprieve. My mood was as up and down as the road ahead, I’ll never get there before dark was the morning thoughts to new-found enthusiasm in the afternoon as I whistled down hills at warp speed. I finally arrived at Moran at 5pm with a broad grin plastered across my dial but dog tired. A shower and three beers with an enthusiastic group at the bar before I vacuumed a large meal into my ravenous body. I was asleep at nine pm. I barely noticed it wasn’t yet dark outside.