Grassland, Desert, Green, Yellow

Every year at this time, it's time to go home.

Each time I return, I must visit a few places—both to relieve the stress and unhappiness of work and life;

on the other hand, it has also become a habit of searching for something.

The soil and water nurture the people.

I figure I'll never be able to leave this yellow, dusty Inner Mongolian land.

I knew about this place a few years ago. It's located in Guyang County, Baotou City, about 125 kilometers one way from Kun District. I always thought the scenery at my doorstep was something I'd known since childhood, so I never paid it much attention—until a while ago when I saw a friend's post and sighed, 'There's such beautiful scenery right at my doorstep...' This time I had to go.

I have to admit, the development of scenic spots in Baotou has improved in recent years. The buildings look like real buildings, and there are supporting facilities. After passing through the turnstile, I got on the sightseeing car, which rushed up to the mountaintop like a rally race. Truly thrilling. Recommendation 1: You must take the sightseeing car at Chunkun Mountain—it's cool, saves effort, and most importantly, it's exciting and affordable.

When I got off the car, I was stunned. It was as if the old monster of the Yin Mountains had put on a ghillie suit—though the ruggedness was concealed, you could feel that this mountain was definitely not to be trifled with. Boundless and awe-inspiring, it lifted my spirits. The grassland, the white clouds—it was really something.

By the way, I recommend a restaurant: Green Source (Lv Zhi Yuan) just outside the scenic area, which serves authentic Guyang stewed dishes.

This pilgrimage site is also a must-visit every time I return. It's located in a mountain hollow northeast of the Shiguai Mining Area. From the Damiao Sanchakou, head east, winding through 20 kilometers of mountain roads. After turning past the last mountain, a miniature Potala Palace suddenly appears before your eyes.

With the changes of the times, this complex was built during the Kangxi period and underwent multiple expansions in the reigns of Kangxi, Qianlong, Jiaqing, Daoguang, and Guangxu, gradually reaching its current scale. I remember that 3–4 years ago, they also installed turnstiles and a visitor reception hall here—it became standardized and tidy, but it lost the charm of the Wudangzhao from our childhood. When we were kids, the school would occasionally organize spring outings here. We kids would bring snacks, get on the bus, and have a great time—it felt like a pilgrimage.

Actually, I think Wudangzhao is like the moon: most people see it in summer—after all, who from out of town comes to Inner Mongolia in winter? In winter, the temperatures are low, the sunlight is good, the sky is blue, the mountains are covered in white, and the thick snow on the rooftops, set against the red parapet walls below, gives a solemn, majestic, and awe-inspiring feeling.

By the shuttle bus stop, there was a row of small shops. Besides typical countryside convenience store items, they also had local snacks like cold noodles and gluten snacks. A group of big sisters were lively, sharp, and teasing each other—it was really interesting.

A place known only to local off-road veterans.

About 35 kilometers from Kun District, it's a good spot to drop by after leaving work early. My earliest impression of Tao'er Bay came from the Tao'er Bay station on the Baobai Railway. I'd passed by it countless times as a child and was a bit curious about it, but I thought there were too many such ordinary little villages around, so I never explored it. Just now I checked: this small station was built in 1956, and now two trains stop there daily, one up and one down.

With a round trip of less than 100 kilometers and the landscape here, it's perfect for a motorcycle ride. A childhood friend happened to have a suitable small motorcycle lying idle. So at noon, after lunch, I set off from home, left the city, headed north along Guyang Avenue, passed the toll station, and soon took a small fork road that led to the place where Tao'er (peach) lies. The Kundulun River flows slowly from here toward the Kundulun Reservoir. By the riverside, there were even uniformly set-up sheds, and under the sheds people were barbecuing—probably a bunch of people who love life. I rode back and forth a couple of times on my motorcycle; the aroma was pretty good.

I heard there's a small desert in the mountains near Tao'er Bay. As someone who loves deserts, and with a small motorcycle, I had to go. So I groped my way deep into the mountains alone. Along the way, there were riverbeds, gobi, flocks of sheep, and wild dogs... I drove for about ten kilometers with or without a road. Suddenly, among the rolling green grassland mountains appeared a sand mountain—so abrupt, so out of place, silent—but you knew it was different. At that moment, it felt as if this sand mountain had a mind, while the green hills lost their vitality. I happily spent some time with the little desert, then shook the motorcycle and found I was low on fuel, so I quickly turned back.

I don't remember when I first put this name and its story into my mind, but it's been quite a few years. He is the green messenger Masayoshi Tohyama.

Mr. Tohyama began studying agricultural science as a young man and became a genuine agricultural science doctor. He later devoted himself to desert control research. At the age of 78, in 1984, Mr. Tohyama came to Enggerbei with his life savings to control the desert, and he never left until he passed away at 98 in 2004. It is said that in the latter half of his life, he planted a total of 3 million trees and reclaimed 40,000 mu of desert. According to reports, after he came to China to fight desertification, he required the young people of his family to come and plant trees here for a year upon reaching adulthood. The old man had some ideas—you have to respect that. In a corner of the park, I found his memorial hall and monument, standing quietly and persistently, just like his personality. The small memorial hall displays some small items he used back then, and on the walls are milestones of his journey from 78 to 98.

These days when I was organizing my computer, I actually found some photos from my last trip to Enggerbei—it's been almost 20 years. Time flies and urges people to age. Lately, I've been reflecting: if you don't leave something meaningful in life, how will you brag about it later?

A few years ago, a friend brought me here to hang out. Hey, it's just the kind of place I like: desert, river, grassland, woods, and a bunch of car enthusiasts who love desert crossings. Since then, Longtouguai has become another must-visit spot every time I return home.

A tributary of the Yellow River meanders along the desert and makes a turn here. The shape looks like a raised dragon's head, hence the name 'Longtouguai' (Dragon Head Bend).

After years of development, Longtouguai now offers more and more activities, mainly desert-themed experiences, with supporting facilities like guesthouses and local cuisine gradually improving. The people running the desert crossing projects here are basically veteran drivers who have been off-roading for years. Riding in their passenger seat, while thrilling, actually gives a sense of safety. The term 'driver' is sacred in my heart. Some people who have participated in a few track races and make a lot of noise are, in my eyes, at best just car operators. Why do I call these few brothers here 'drivers'? Because they are low-key, down-to-earth, yet dare to lead. They have fought battles north and south, drenching the corners of no-man's-land with sweat and trophies. Their second-generation students are regulars at the Taklimakan Rally.

At the very center of the desert, 25 kilometers from the Longtouguai base, stands an old tree silently growing. The locals call it the Divine Tree. It's a landmark for desert crossing at Longtouguai. Ordinary people and ordinary vehicles can absolutely never reach it, so the moment you stop in front of the Divine Tree, there's a joy of finishing a special stage. Next to the Divine Tree, a small shop is housed in a shipping container. Deep in the desert, you can enjoy ice-cold watermelon and various chilled drinks. The shop owner is very fair—even though supplies are hard to come by here, he never gouges prices.

I lit incense bought from the shop, faced the Divine Tree, closed my eyes, and talked to myself and murmured to the tree. In the distance, a large patch of dark clouds floated cotton-like toward us. Brother Jun said we had to hurry back—if the rain came, we'd be screwed, since the car didn't even have windows. Get in, let's go. Brother Jun drove to a high sand peak, observed the weather, and said, 'It's rare you're back. The weather looks like we have time to go to the nearest big bowl and do some dune bashing.' We happily agreed, flooring the gas to 'wash the bowl.' After finishing, the dark clouds were almost at the bowl's edge.

On the way back, I realized that racing against the dark clouds to catch the blue sky was Brother Jun's true level. As the saying goes, whoever lets off the gas loses. Back at base, Brother Jun gave me an old Land Cruiser 80 to play with. I took my wife and wobbled into the desert, then bounced out. My wife summed it up: 'Riding in a car you drive through the desert is really thrilling...'

The rain stopped. We went home. The dark clouds passed, and sunlight set up a rainbow—a sign of beauty. Let's go, toward the beauty.