Words and Photos: Martin Bissig
“Did you know that you can see the Great Wall of China from the moon?” Tienlin hits us with this cool fact as we carry our bikes over a rocky 10-meter-wide strip. Somehow, we’d pictured the Wall more as, well, a wall, and not so much a loose pile of boulders stacked on top of each other. The grey-brown strip of stone snakes its way over endless rolling hills to the horizon. Giant wind turbines tower on both sides, and occasionally, iron frames hint at the remains of ancient watchtowers. Here, in the Hebei Province along the Chinese Wall, we’re treading new mountain biking territory. At least for us Westerners. Tienlin, our friend and guide from China, knows this area like the back of his hand. No surprise since we’re in his home base, just a two-hour drive northwest of Beijing. The odds of us riding these trails with him are about 1 in 1.4 billion. Our story starts much earlier, back in 2016.
My fascination with China began nearly 20 years ago during several trips through the Middle Kingdom. Back then, armed with a camera but no bike or commissioning editor. The first major story about China I published was in 2016, featured in over 20 magazines. I was following my friend Gerhard Czerner, who had planned and organised the trip, along with another German biker and two riders from the ‘Liteville Enduro Team China’. One of them wasn’t just a gifted rider; his English was also exceptionally good for Chinese standards. His name: Tienlin. Without a local guide or friend (or the right translation app on your smartphone), you’re pretty much lost in China. Thanks to him, we narrowly escaped arrest by the Chinese military police after unwittingly straying into Tibetan territory. But that’s a story for another time.
My second commercial assignment in China came in 2019 from SANFO, a huge outdoor gear chain and a sports event organiser in China. I had the privilege to photograph the world’s largest trail running event, with nearly 10,000 participants. After a pause due to the pandemic, my return in the summer of 2023 was confirmed. Months ahead, I was chatting with SANFO’s social media manager on WeChat, the Chinese version of WhatsApp. Right before my departure, they asked me to bring a copy of the book that Gerhard and I had published about our past adventures. Surprised that our book had made it all the way to China, I asked why I should bring it. “Because of our shared story from Tibet,” was the reply. Now totally baffled, I had to scroll through weeks of chat history to embarrassingly ask, “Sorry, but who are you?” The answer came immediately: “Tienlin, your guide from Tibet!” I was astounded. What were the chances that our former Chinese travel companion now worked in the social media department for the client I was flying out to China for? Exactly, one in 1.4 billion. That’s the population of China.
Tom, psyched for China?
On a ski day together in the Swiss mountains of Davos in March 2023, I told my friend Tom Öhler about my summer plans to shoot in China. “Can you bike there too?” Tom asked.
Heck yeah, you can bike anywhere, especially when you’re Tom Öhler! From the spark of the idea for Tom to join me to confirming his travel plans, it took just three phone calls and four hours. SANFO confirmed on that very day that they’d book Tom as the headline act for the opening and closing ceremonies of the trail running event. The question of who’d be the local Chinese Tom for our biking story was quickly sorted after a chat with Tienlin. Fast forward four months and we’re on a plane to Beijing for a double mission. First, to cover the trail running event (my job) and perform shows (Tom’s gig), and then to hit the trails around Chongli.
Winter Olympics: Summer Bike Zone
A big plus for our upcoming bike shoot was my familiarity with the region from the 2019 trail running gig…or so I thought. Back then, three years before the Winter Games, everything was still under construction: the athletes’ village, the expressway from Beijing to Chongli, the Nordic winter sports facilities, and the high-speed train from the capital. The area around Chongli was a massive, dusty construction site at the time. Only the omnipresent signs with the ‘Beijing 2022’ logo and the Olympic rings indicated the magnitude of the upcoming event. Now, four years later, the place is almost unrecognisable. Where a green landscape stood just a few years back, now there are unused hotel complexes, originally built for the Olympic athletes and officials. Many of the oversized construction projects remained unused due to COVID; the Winter Olympics in the Corona winter of 2022 took place virtually without spectators.
Over an area spanning a few square kilometers, the Chinese have built complete ski resorts from scratch in recent years. The hotel complexes are more reminiscent of places like Sölden or St. Moritz than what you might imagine an Asian winter destination to be like. But the challenges of seasonal operations seem to be the same everywhere, whether in Europe or here in the Far East. In winter, the place is bustling, and the thousands of hotel beds are filled. But what to do in an area with no natural hiking trails once the artificial snow has melted? Clearly, you turn to mountain biking!
Modern Cityscape Meets Historic Old Town
During the first part of my assignment—the 3-day shoot of the ‘Chongli Ultra Trailrun’—I got the chance to scout out a big chunk of the area. Landing in Zhangjiakou at the starting grounds for the 200km running category, it hit me right away: this is a must-ride spot for Tom and me. Quick check on the app showed sunrise at 5:05 am. The start and the hook for our mountain bike story was set. The juxtaposition of a bustling metropolis and traditional structures (even if they were replicas) was an essential flavour for biking tales in China.
Fast forward four days, it’s a 3:30 am alarm and go time. With a driver, guide, Tienlin, Tom, and a couple of bikes in tow, we head out to the mysterious Chinese metropolis. Before sunrise, we reach the massive archway of the Great Wall. How long we can snap photos and roll video undisturbed depends on the vigilance of security folks monitoring feeds from hundreds of visible and hidden cameras transmitting to some central hub. I knew we had to hustle, capturing as much as we could before causing a stir. Tienlin takes Tom on a historical ride. First with a rundown using a stone info panel, then on two wheels.
Tom’s shredding it; pulling manuals, nose-wheelies, and jumps, they cruise through a scene straight out of another era. Yeah, this is biking in China! You find trails worldwide, but riding through a historic cityscape, that’s a must for any biking adventure story. We could’ve kept at it for hours if not for a stern-looking dude in an official uniform making it clear, in a language foreign yet understandable, that our photo session was up. No biggie, three hours and we got the shots. Back to the hotel!
Alpine Chic Outside, Futurama Inside
Our home base was the Furlong Resort. If not for the Chinese characters on the walls and duck feet on the menu, you’d swear you were in an Alpine tourist spot. From the wall paintings to the geranium pots by the windows – the copiers nailed it with attention to detail. Sure, the buildings were a few floors too tall for our taste, and the church was missing a spire, but the Alpine vibe was all there. We snapped some pics against the familiar backdrop. Then I spot this futuristic escalator diving into the hotel’s belly. It was like being zapped through a time tunnel into the future. Neon lights flashing, club entrance colours changing by the second. Tom pulls off some stunts, his reflection dancing on the shiny stone floor: what a shot! This was something I could never have planned. An hour later, the escalator dumps us back into ‘Fake Austria’.
Taking a Page from Whistler’s Book
Back on the surface, everything screams that we’ve dropped into a mountain bike mecca. A pump track right next to the hotel is buzzing with kids ripping laps, full-face helmets and all. The bike rack outside our hotel is crammed with top-shelf gear, the best the biking world has to offer. Ritzy brands like Santa Cruz are side by side with carbon cranks and deluxe brakes. Nothing off-the-rack here. Riders aren’t just pouring cash into their rides; they’re big on custom vibes too.
At first, we’re baffled that none of the bikes, some worth a cool 10,000 euros, are locked up. A few days in, and it clicks. Cameras, cameras everywhere. Big Brother’s not just watching; he’s keeping an eagle eye on who’s messing with your wheels. Tom, in his RedBull lid, grabs attention and buddies up fast. Westerners are a rare sight here, let alone an international biking celeb. We get the invite to test the resort’s trails. Tienlin translates, “Not all the tracks are finished, but the local trail building crew has poured in heaps of work and time.”
The gondola hoists us up 400 vertical meters to the mid-station; we pedal the rest from there, that bit’s still under construction. We’d have never found the start of the ‘Black Trail’ without a local assist since it’s not officially open yet. The downhill is wild: steep, loose terrain that drops sharply. Now and then, a tree sprouts right in your flight path or the turns are wicked tight. Lower down, it gets flowier, dotted with neat jumps, singletracks, and a few Northshore features. We’d have never bet on shredding such rad trails here in China.
Come evening, I’m curious about where the Chinese trail builders—all hardcore mountain bikers—get the know-how to craft such tracks. “We’ve clocked endless hours on YouTube, Instagram, and TikTok, eyeballing vids from the world’s sickest bike parks, trying to translate that knowledge to our mountain here,” they share. Hitting up Whistler and riding the trails they’ve only seen on screens is their dream. If they pull that off, I’m sure the trails on their home turf will soon rival those of their Western idols.
Riding Along the Great Wall
A trail segment I vividly recall from my last shoot lies in Taiwoo. Sure, they’ve carved out new trails here over the past three years: all handcrafted. But what really draws me in is the path cresting the mountain ridge, tracing the Great Wall. We take the cable car up and then traverse over. Beyond the huge letters spelling out the ski area’s name in a Hollywood-esque fashion, we ride singletracks skirting the grand, symbolic wall. Thousands of trail runners had packed down the path just days before. The contrast with the urban Great Wall couldn’t be starker. This is the real deal, the authentic wall, not a touristy version of what one might imagine. It’s genuinely a massive stack of stones. Tienlin and Tom rip down the trails, weaving through rubble until we hit a deserted ghost town with a ski jumping ramp. We’ve landed in the finish area of the winter biathlon competition. Moments ago, we were atop the summit, posing like conquerors by the Chinese flag; now, we’re in ghost-city by a four-lane road devoid of traffic.
From Ancient Paths to New Insights
“We plan to organise mountain bike races here in the future,” Tienlin tells us proudly, gesturing towards the hills behind us. “The scene’s just starting out here. Cool that I got to show you my neck of the woods.” We’ve learned heaps these past 10 days. Tons about the culture and history, lots about the Chongli region and its ambition and drive to be a mountain biking hub in China. Loads about the local bike community and their trail-building chops. Heaps about the edibility of duck skulls, pig brains, and duck feet. And a great deal about the Great Wall, or rather, our perception of it. By the way—and this too we’ve gleaned from Wikipedia—you can’t actually see it from the moon.
