It is always amazing how fast the years go by. Mementos begin to fade, resembling more and more the bleached prayer flags which were waving over us in the Jinsha Valley seven years ago. We were convinced that these translucent tissues were spared from the wind, that they would withstand all the weather. Like our memories. But the prayer flags are no longer there. The Chinese have replaced them with new, bright fabric cords. The road has been widened and paved. Nothing holds in the rain of time. Nothing remains as it is. Nothing?

A new visa sticks in our passport: China - for the fourth time. We have spent more than six months in the People's Republic of China over the last seven years. And almost every time at the end of our stay we left it completely annoyed and swore us; "That's it, never again, we're done with China." Yes, traveling in China without any language skills is challenging. And yet we are now holding a new visa in our hands and the anticipation is huge.

A fifth time China, for the second time Eastern Tibet. Boring? No, because the signs are quite different this time. Like the Chinese we have learned, the time has not stood still with us. Instead of a heavily packed touring cycle, we have a light mountain bike and instead of outdated and inaccurate paper maps we have access to satellite imagery and modern GPS technology. We pedal through Thailand, Laos and Yunnan in the speed mode. Heat, steamy jungle, green in green. But in our minds we are already much further. We see snowy Himalayan peaks, colorful prayer flags and waving motorcyclists. Within a few days the Thai "Sawadee kha" changes to the Laotian "Sabaidii" and finally to the Chinese "Nihao". We love these cultural changes, we love to see how one country makes place to the other. For this reason, we also accept to cycle sometimes just kilometers on a not so scenic highway. And probably this is why we are now on our way to East Tibet again. We want to see how the world changes. We want to see what has become of the old prayer flags. Of the places, of the people.

We start early so that we can finish the day program by two o'clock and then use the afternoons for route planning. We know the Chinese live in a fast pace. Gravel roads will be replaced by tar roads. Where there used to be villages, there will be cities. We pull all our tricks, put our know-how into the planning of a bikepacking route, which will lead us through the heart of Eastern Tibet. Across the Chola Mountains. And so the "Yak Track" is born.

Although today's "Shangri La", a city that the Chinese renamed for marketing purposes a few years ago, does not have much to do with the lost paradise of Hiltons' stories, we choose it as the starting point of our bikepacking adventure. After Jerry from Colorado has joined us again, nothing can hold us back and already on the first kilometer the hello changes again: "Tashi Delek!" Finally, we are where we want to be since weeks. At the edge of the roof of the world. To speak, in its roof drain. And so ist the weather.

Rain and snow pull over the mountains, although spring should be on the agenda. Wind and weather, cold - then sunshine. A first pass, prayer flags are flapping. Seven Years Eastern Tibet. Seven years of memories. Actually everything should be different. But as we stand high up on the mountain, look down into the canyon, see how the Tibetan wooden houses nestle in the valley floor, how the cloud shadows hunt across the fields, it seems to us as if it was yesterday. As if no time had passed. But the feeling is wrong. The passes in eastern Tibet are high, but the Chinese concrete is beginning to creep over. Dirtroads become narrow concrete bands. And the houses get a "modern" base. Chinese flags are flapping on the roofs. Have we come too late?

The Yak Track leads us deep into the mountains of East Tibet. Where there is no more concrete, where Chinese flags no longer flutter. Up on high plateaus, where there are no roads anymore. To people who do not count months or years, and where only the weather leaves traces. Faces, drawn by life, like the weathered prayer flags in the Jinsha Valley. The Prayer Flags in the Jinsha Valley - they are still whipping here.

We reach Yachen Gar, one of the largest pilgrim places in the world. Seven years ago we discovered it by chance. One of the few places where monks and nuns, male and female pilgrims can practice Buddhism together. But nothing remains as it is. The river, which used to edge the slum-shaped huts in the high plain, is now canalized. A strict dividing line between nuns' and monks' residential areas. Sidewalks, street lamps, new buildings. The Kora has been concreted. Nevertheless, people continue to walk their rounds. It does not matter to them whether there are concrete or pebbles under their feet. It is them who keep this place alive, making it a place where past and present collide, merge, revive.

We follow broken dirtroads, motorcycle tracks and trekking paths. We are the Yaks on the Yak Track. Pushing sections are followed by fun single trails, high passes by deep valleys, snowstorms by warm spring days. When we ask motorcyclists for directions they point us obstinately towards the Jinsha Valley and the new highway. But we don't want to go there. We can not let go of these wild landscapes, the prayer flags, which were torn to pieces by wind and weather. Slowly we sew our memories together with new stories.

In Dege we leave the Chola Mountains behind and cycle out onto the Tibetan plateau. The wind is blowing us northbound. It is amazing. The longer we are on the road, the more attracted we are by places we already know. By places we love and we want to experience again. We don't want to replace faded colors with new ones, but we want to refresh them. A smile in the sun. A greeting in solitude. An adventure. Experiences, water-proof for the time.