Bicycles. Millions of the things, hurtling down Beijing's highways and sidewalks in perpetual motion. It's true that as China develops and its moneyed middle class swells, the number of cars clogging its major cities' highways is skyrocketing.
Still, on any given day in Beijing, nearly 10 million locals pedal through the city, maneuvering through impossibly dense traffic, dodging pedestrians by mere centimeters and stopping for nothing short of a direct order from the police.
The bicycle culture here in Beijing isn't tough to break into. Even as a foreigner with limited language skills, I was able to rent a bike without much hassle. At each major gate of Tsinghua University, there are bicycle-renting kiosks, where a $20 renter's fee and a $50 deposit buys the use of a bicycle for up to one year.
The loaned bicycles are huge, clunky and painted either fire-engine red or turquoise blue. They come complete with a front-mounted wire basket, an emasculating banana seat, and a pathetically quiet bell. They're finicky, hard to maneuver and most have brakes that work only in theory. Luckily, the renting service offers free repairs at any of the gates, and hundreds of small bicycle servicing shops dot the city's streets and sidewalks.
If getting hold of a bicycle isn't tough, learning to navigate traffic jams, zig-zagging throngs of pedestrians and staying calm while honking taxis and rumbling trucks barrel by, oblivious to the narrow bicycle lanes, is another story.
At times, riding a bike in Beijing is a calm, almost zen-like experience. All of the major highways and roads have at least one lane devoted entirely to bike traffic and during off-peak hours, trips are smooth and peaceful. Other cyclists and vehicles respect your space and are careful to avoid cutting you off.
But, during rush hour, the environment changes. It starts at around 7:30 am, when commuters bike to work and students start their day, then pauses during the late morning and early afternoon and resumes around 4 pm, when the commuters return home.
During rush hour, the streets and sidewalks are flooded with cyclists. Riding becomes quick, aggressive and unpredictable. Beijingers seize any gap, pedaling furiously to occupy free space and then resume their pace unimpeded.
Although an incessant drone of honking buses and throttling engines drowns out most of the bicycle sounds, the useless twinkling of bike bells is everywhere.
While bike owners in Beijing are told to stay entirely in the convenient, ubiquitous bike lanes, riding surfaces seem limited only by your bike's capability and your willpower. I've seen cyclists riding on train tracks, sidewalks with rumble-strip surfaces and through garbage-strewn dirt alleys.
The bikes the locals ride come in all shapes, sizes and styles. Most are old and well worn; many are second-hand and designed for raw practicality. Spotting a flashy mountain bike or streamlined road-racer here is very rare.
America should take notice. No Schwinns or Huffies, just two wheels, a working chain and a rideable seat. From point A to point B, no frills.