"I can see the Wall of China from here."

                                                          Astronaut Buzz Aldrin

            Millions of people around the globe ride bicycles.  But I ­have never been so affected by bicycle riders than when I rode ­through the streets of Beijing, China.  That country houses 1.4­ billion people.  Their main transportation vehicle?  The bicycle.  

            With nine million people in the Capitol City of Beijing, ­more than half of them bicycle to work each day.  They use their ­bicycles so much for work they don't think of them as recreation. ­The city lies on an arid plain in the northeast just below the ­Great Wall of China.  North of the capitol, barren mountains conceal the tombs of the Ming dynasty.   The countryside is rough­ and rocky.  

            Inside Beijing, it's a world of black, one-speed bicycles ­with bells on the handlebars.  Each bike is the same, with a­ small lock on the seat stays to dead bolt the spokes.  A rear ­rack holds any amount of goods including chairs, tables, washed­ clothes, chickens in bags, hay, vegetables and children.  

            Because private cars are prohibited, people use busses to go ­to work, which are packed everyday.  Shunning the busses, more ­than 4.5 million people ride their bicycles to work each day.  I ­reached the city in autumn.  With millions of bicycles, sidewalks ­and paths won't do the job.  In Beijing, triple lane, paved­ bicycle highways serve as the main arteries throughout the city.  ­Where the traffic slackens, two lane roads suffice.

            On my first morning riding around the city, I was stunned at ­the number of people pedaling slowly, at the same speed to their­ destinations.  No one was in a hurry or passed others.  No one­ shifted gears and everyone was dressed the same.  At every stop­light, bicyclists backed up by the hundreds.  When the light ­changed, a large dark amoeba-like mass of people oozed into the ­intersection, some turning left or right, most going forward.  

            I couldn't understand why they weren't in a hurry until a­ lady stopped me in the street near Tiananomen Square. 

            "Are you an American?" she asked in accented English.

            "Yes ma'am." 

            "Are you having a good time in China?" 

            "Yes ma'am," I replied.  "But I'm pretty curious about your­ bicycles.  How come everyone is going the same speed?  It looks­ like they're going to a funeral."

            "Young man," she said winking to me.  "This is a socialist ­society.  No one is allowed to get ahead of their neighbor, so ­why try to go faster?"

            That statement struck me as I rode toward the mountains that ­week to see the Great Wall.  On the way, I visited the Ming­ dynasty tombs.  Much like the Great Pyramids in Egypt, monarchs ­possessed grandiose needs to build elaborate monuments to themselves.  The tombs proved no more than huge gray stoned ­basements about fifty feet underground, which took decades to­ build.  The one I visited had two secondary chambers for the ­ruler's wives.  When he was buried, his two wives were killed, so ­they could be put into the tomb with him.  Unfortunately, the­ arches were too small to allow passage of the wives' caskets.  In­ order for the wives to be near their husband, the funeral ­procession carried the extra caskets into the main burial room. ­Seventeen trunks of jewels were left in the grave. 

            It seemed vain, but I've seen how the high and mighty around­ the world have created extraordinary monuments to their self-­perceived greatness.  If anyone upstairs is looking, I'm sure ­He/She/It must be laughing at us as if we were a bunch of ­children.  The human race is truly a magical mystery tour.

            Approaching the Great Wall, I had to climb more than a ­thousand feet.  The wall loomed across the mountainous skyline in­ front of me.  A rush of feelings swept through my mind.

            When I was a kid, I saw a picture of the Great Wall in a ­history book.  I told myself that someday I would walk on it.  On ­that cold November day, I cranked hard on the pedals, closer and­ closer to my boyhood dream.  When I reached the wall, a hoard of Chinese gathered around me, trying to sell T-shirts, flags and­ other trinkets.  After buying a shirt,  I parked my bike ­alongside one of the stairs leading to the top of the wall.

            Climbing up those steps was like being on the end of a­ twenty-year dream.  I don't know what it was that drew me to that­ wall as a kid, but there I was, as a man, walking into my dream. ­I didn't shout, nor was I excited.  I walked up to the top of ­that wall with a deep feeling of gratitude. 

            Around me, treeless brown mountains stretched to the north­ as far as I could see.  The wall stretched more than 4,000­kilometers across the top of China.  It took hundreds of years to ­build--sacrificing millions of lives.  The wall stood more than ­30 feet high and 20 feet thick.  It had towers at high points on the tops of mountains where it peaked and ran east and west for ­as far as I could see.

            Several hours later, I headed back to Beijing.  Sometimes,­ when I see such wonders of the world, I think I've experienced ­the greatest moment of my life.  But down the road, something ­else pops up.  It may not be as spectacular in comparison, but in ­its own way, it holds something special.  Each country I visit ­offers different cultural flavors.  I've seen good things and bad­ things, and people to match.  Sometimes, I'm in such beautiful­ places that I want to stay forever--to be forever happy.  But­ life won't allow that kind of happiness.  No matter how­ beautiful, or how much fun some experience is, I can't hold onto­ it.  I have to move into the next day, or a new day will dawn on ­me no matter what.  I carry wonderful memories, but each­ experience prepares me for the next moment.

            I looked back at the Great Wall as I coasted down the steep­ grade.  One more glance.  It was gone.  My dream became a dream­ again.