Most Chinese-y thing I did this week

I took the plunge two years ago and bought a motorbike. Taking cabs back and forth from work was really taking a toll, so despite the clear safety concerns, I reasoned with myself I'd save a lot of money, life and limb be damned.

And save money I have. It was super-easy getting a bike. Cost is about 3,000 RMB for a new 150 cc moped, more then enough pep to get around anywhere (even out to the suburbs, as we experimented with a month or so ago). Gas costs about 35 rmb for fill-up, getting me about 150 km per tank--dooope! License and registration? Although I finagled mine through a shady dude I met through the bike dealer, you can now get your "blue book" (registration) and even plates through Taobao.

What I was not expecting was the way Beijing manages to control and discourage gas-powered bike riders--at the pump. I quickly discovered which gas stations around my home are a bit lax on the government's requirement to show registration and driver's license every time you gas up your motorbike (a regulation that, amazingly, isn't something required for car drivers). From time to time--at rush hour, lunchtime, and during important political conferences in Beijing--gas is especially hard to come by.

We are now in the midst of the aftermath of the Third Plenum, one of Xi Jinping's first shots at displaying the extent of his consolidation of power by outlining the extent of the reforms he and the Politburo are cooking up. It's what they call in China a "sensitive" time, which to your guy on the street basically amounts to some laws that are usually not enforced being enforced for a limited period of time, as a public security measure supposed to clamp down on any possible unrest or chicanery.

At my first stop for gas, a younger employee (first bad sign: more inclined to be performing his job correctly, to "play it by the book") who I had never seen before  (second bad sign: not inclined to give me a break as he's probably never seen me get gas from a more relaxed colleague) asked for my driver's license. Typical response: "I left it at home" (whereas "I don't have one" will definitely get you denied, some guys will let you by with even a horrible excuse for not producing the right documents). I get blown off: "You have to have your driver's license--look at the rules board over there!" I looked over at the rules board I've driven by 76 times as I gassed up at this same station in previous weeks, months, years. "Sure you can't help me out, buddy?" "Nope."

Off I went up to my mainstay: a place in central Wangjing that even during the 18th Party Congress (another particularly annoying "sensitive" time, as it lasted for weeks, throwing travel plans totally out of whack) let me have a tank. An older guy (first good sign) who I had seen before (second good sign) told me to pull up to the pump ahead. Looking at my bike and the plates stored in my glovebox, he quietly noted "Display them." Hmm? "Display them. They have to be on the outside." I kneeled down to attach the plates onto the rear fender of the bike at the pump and got yelled at: "Not here!" "Then where?" I asked. "Over there!" he said, pointing to a parking space right next to the gas station entrance.

I pushed Ysobelle (what I've taken to calling my moped) over to the parking spot and realized I had nothing with which to attach the plates. Nothing in the glove box except a ragged sandwich bag I use to hold my plates and registration. Carefully ripping the bag into a long plastic strip, I placed the license plate on the rear fender right above the reflector, and tied it on using the plastic bag-turned-rubber band. Pushing the bike back up to the pump, I turned to see a security guard from the hotel next to the station and jumped a bit, until I saw the smile beaming across his face. A smile that said.. I don't know what it said, but he approved of the jerry-rigging.