Finally, I got back on old highway 312 today:
I had figured that with seven days of rest in Pingliang, my feet would have healed up perfectly, and walking would go like a charm.
Well – I was wrong.
I come to think fixing the shoes might have been a mistake. It hurts more than it ever did before.
Anyways, being back on the track was a good thing:
I slowly limped through the arid landscapes in the western tip of the valley:
Took a cookie break up on a little hill:
And lay down looking at the clouds doing their dance with the sun:
…then it was back to the limping part again:
That night, I had dinner with a group of truck drivers in a little Muslim restaurant.
They were shipping 20 tons of baby strollers to the most northwestern part of the country:
And because that was my destination as well, I was very happy to ask them a couple of questions about the road ahead.
I’m a bit worried about the desert, you know.
We figured we would run into each other again somewhere between here and Kazakhstan, then the dudes managed to find me a place to sleep in the back of a restaurant:
It was better than nothing in this place completely barren of hotels.
Though later that night, when the music started to play and I had regular visitors in my little corner, I figured maybe pitching a tent in the hills wouldn’t have been so bad after all:
At around 2am, once the music had finally stopped and my audience was on their way home, the baby next door realized he had a cold and started crying. And he cried all night.