Veleur, June 21, 2008

This first veleur was unplanned, which is appropriate. I had wanted to buy a new bike for some time, it having been months since my last one was stolen. I had a few stores just across the street from a local university’s main gate and went there one Saturday after the gym. I wanted just a simple Chinese bike: single speed, rack, and a basket. I found just that after a few minutes of poking about.

There were a few to choose from, but I liked the matte black one, naturally. The store put the basket on, swapped the seat post for something longer, and I rode away contentedly, glad to be back on two wheels. I decided that since I had my camera with me I would ride towards the new bridge in Zhu Zhiang New City (New Pearl City).

I was glad to be free of the worry over being in the right gear or the desire to be going faster. One speed may not be the best for mountains, but it’s great for a flat city. It relaxes you, and you observe more. The cheap pedals clicked, the chain rattled in its metal sheath, and other things squeaked in complaint, all of which would have driven me mad with my other bikes. But it still worked well and within a few blocks I was outside of the massive squall of traffic, riding down the centre of wide lanes, vaguely aware of heading south.

I led the bike through one of the many tunnels worming under the roads, and stopped because the light was gorgeous.
Then I headed into the middle of the massive construction areas that New Pearl comprises, developing a huge swath of land on the North side of the Pearl River. Blue fences and green clad buildings are everywhere. It was a blinding and scorching day. The shadows of rebar nicely etched, and the vehicles vivid against the gray.

A new development of massive houses lined a trickling stream of rancid water. A worker cut the lawn on one, the lawnmower a lonely sound. I pedalled on and discovered a European styled strip mall, pastel plastered and vacant. Next to it, a worker hauled stuff in his cart while others watched. Labour is cheap and most of the work is done by people.

I rode down this narrow road that twisted through this barren landscape, with old buildings that were spared suddenly sprouting up. At the edge of a massive field, more of a covered landfill, with bricks and boards poking up, a path led down to a yard where blocks of bricks sat in a shallow pool of brackish water. The bricks were bleached out on top and under attack from below from creeping mould. Behind the stacks were some doorless garages. A path of bricks led through the water to the clumps. A pair of orange sandals sat forgotten.

Discarded clothes are mournful and darkly mysterious. There were pants under a steamroller earlier that were amusing, but the shoes were odd. It was as if the person wearing them evaporated.

Behind the stacks of bricks, a worker swept the roof of his dormitory, pushing all the detritus to the ground, to become part of the landscape, take its part in the foundation of what is to come.

I rode on, passing underneath a classical Chinese gate that watched over nothing. The road led to a collection of old buildings, a remnant. Old men sat at the edge of a temple whose roof sprouted grass. Old women sat on the benches which lined the small stream, the same water that a little ways away sat at the foot of the massive houses.

I was a curiosity, and the girl at the counter giggled a bit as I bought a cold beer. I didn’t take my camera out here, even though the people seemed friendly. I was tired and I didn’t want to disturb them in their little oasis. That’s what this was.

I was discovering that unlike many cities, Guangzhou is made of disparate elements in random spots. The order of linear streets hasn’t done away with the organic past when streets and areas grew breathed out to expand.

I walked through the mirage, through a noisy market, and out onto the major thoroughfare that lines the river. There above me was a limb of the unfinished bridge, stretching out, waiting.

Then I rode home.

Here’s a map of today’s veleur.

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