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On a Saturday afternoon around National Day, Peng Zequan rode his bike alone from Dongkou to Gaosha. Since it was the weekend, there were only a few classes in the afternoon, and by two or three o'clock, school was out. The other brothers were preparing to head home, but I didn’t want to go back or stay at school, so I suggested to Zequan, "Let’s go to Dongkou and check out your school."
We quickly agreed. Zequan said little as he pushed his male bicycle out of the school gate. I jogged a few steps to catch up, gently grabbed the back seat, and leaped onto the bike. As we went downhill, the bike wobbled slightly before speeding up towards Dongkou.
After riding for less than a kilometer on Gaosha Street, we found the roads lined with piles of gravel and various materials. The Donggao Highway had been under construction since our sophomore year and was still not finished. The road was narrow with few passing vehicles, but it was convenient for bicycles. On a slight downhill stretch, Zequan pedaled faster, and I could hear the wind whistling past us. Compared to the winding and hilly roads from home to Gaosha, this under-construction road was the best in Dongkou County.
There were no significant uphill climbs along the way; Zequan hardly broke a sweat as we chatted while riding. Occasionally, we would stop briefly to admire some scenery or navigate around piles of stones in the middle of the road. As we passed through a large town that seemed to be Tea Shop Township, houses and pedestrians became more frequent. A group of elementary school students returning home occupied the entire road, forcing us to dismount and walk slowly for a while.
After crossing the town, the uphill sections began to increase. Although Zequan started accelerating from a distance each time, he pedaled even faster halfway up the hills. I jumped off my bike to lighten its load, but after several curves, he could no longer ride and simply got off to push his bike while waiting for me. We slowly walked to the top of the hill and drank some water from a roadside well before continuing our journey.
We alternated between riding and walking for about an hour and a half until we finally reached the summit of Dongkou Horticultural Farm. From there, we looked down at Dongkou County Town: rows of box-like buildings either lined up neatly or scattered among green trees and yellow earth; the Pingxi River wound through the town like a jade belt, dividing it in two. On one side were densely packed buildings with three or four stories; on our side were mostly single-story houses, with only a few decent buildings near Bridgehead. A tree of unknown species grew defiantly atop Wenchang Tower, its canopy resembling an open umbrella.
Once on the street, we felt a bit fatigued from our long trek. We entered a small stall by the roadside and sat on stools to catch our breath while looking at a steaming food stall at the back with some disappointment: Dongkou was developed only after liberation and couldn’t compare to Gaosha’s thousand-year history; all they offered were noodles without rice or tofu dishes. Fortunately, no ration tickets were needed here; both of us were stirred by the shiny red chili atop our noodles. Zequan had two bowls while I had three before pushing our bikes toward No. 1 Middle School.
After crossing the big bridge and passing by the bus station and No. 1 Middle School, we kept walking; Makeup Class was still about a mile away in an old factory building or an abandoned classroom from some old school. Most students had gone home for Saturday, leaving only those renting nearby rooms behind; there were hardly any people in classrooms or dormitories, let alone familiar faces from Third Middle School. After seeing classrooms that could accommodate over a hundred students, I felt bored and suggested returning to Gaosha.
The brothers indulged me as their younger sibling; Zequan was no exception. He immediately pushed his bike alongside me and said, "Two classmates from Third Middle School work at Diesel Engine Factory nearby; let’s go see them."
Arriving at Diesel Engine Factory just as work ended, we quickly found our classmates Zeng Jihong and Liu Xingliang from Third Middle School. We chatted for a while about our experiences in high school before they invited us to join them for dinner in their cafeteria. Having just filled our stomachs with noodles on the street, Zequan and I shook our heads at their offer to stay overnight as well; not wanting to delay their meal, we stepped out of the factory.
Standing at the factory gate, we noticed that the sun was already low in the sky. Zequan said, "At this time there probably aren’t any buses left; let me ride you back."
After hesitating for a moment, I replied, "The road from Dongkou to Gaosha is full of hills and under construction; it’s not safe at night. Let’s take the route through Zhukou instead."
Indeed, traveling from Dongkou to Zhukou and then from Zhukou to Gaosha meant taking paved roads that would surely be easier than navigating the under-construction Donggao Highway. Although it added about ten kilometers to our journey, riding would only take an extra forty or fifty minutes at most. Besides, I had been to both Dongkou and Gaosha many times but had only been to Zhukou twice: once when I participated in a physics competition at Dongkou because buses had rerouted due to roadwork; another time last year just before Pre-examination when several brothers decided on an afternoon stroll that led us all the way to Zhukou without stopping much—just long enough to find a milestone marked "16" before taking care of business in a secluded spot near Bridgehead and heading back home after covering thirty-two kilometers almost non-stop.
Life is full of ups and downs; although Zequan and I hadn’t gotten into college, riding on this wide smooth asphalt road now made us feel like nothing else mattered as sunlight reflected off our wheels while setting behind us.
When we reached Zhukou Bridge, the sun had completely disappeared behind the mountains with neither stars nor moon visible; dusk gradually settled in with determination ahead lay winding hilly roads. Zequan increased his pedaling speed in hopes of getting back to Third Middle School sooner. Fortunately, there were very few vehicles on this smooth road so we didn’t have to worry about obstacles as long as we followed its faint outline.
A few kilometers away from Gaosha, as the road leveled out again with distant farmhouses occasionally revealing lights along with barking dogs, Zequan accelerated once more. Suddenly, an unmarked ditch dug by someone for water crossed our path unexpectedly; unable to avoid it in time, our bicycle jolted violently as Zequan gripped tightly onto the handlebars steering straight ahead without falling off while I lost my left shoe during this commotion.
Fearing I wouldn’t find my lost shoe in darkness if I didn’t act fast enough, I quickly shouted “Stop! My shoe fell off!” Before Zequan could brake properly, I jumped off and rolled away from my seat.
With a thud sound echoing against asphalt beneath me;
“Creak,” went Zequan as he squeezed his brakes stopping just ahead.
“Stay right there! Don’t turn around! I'm fine! Just let me find my shoe!” I yelled loudly.
Although it was hasty jumping off my bike without injury aside from being thrown by inertia onto ground where my feet landed slightly awkwardly causing mild discomfort—I shook my legs briefly before retracing my steps along memory lane backward four or five paces squatting down extending my hands feeling around until finally locating my shoe lying quietly beside road.
In darkness again we continued onward; through shadows we entered campus gates; back in dormitory counting fingers together—I calculated distances: twenty kilometers from Gaosha to Dongkou; twelve kilometers from Dongkou to Zhukou; sixteen kilometers from Zhukou back again towards Gaosha—adding routes within county town plus those along Gaosha Street meant that throughout half-day journey together with Zequan truly formed one complete circle—a Hundred Miles on a Single Ride.
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