By TIM STONEY

Wang Yudan has been riding his bicycle in Beijing for more than 40 years. He bought his first bike, one of China’s famous Flying Pigeons, in 1963 when he was 18. Since then, in common with the millions of others in the sprawling city of Beijing, it has been his sole means of transport.

As a young man, he rode five miles to and from work at a Beijing factory every day, and when he became a father he used the bike to take his children to school. Now, at 59, he rides his bicycle daily through the streets of Beijing, picking up the rubbish that modernity dumps in its gutters, and weaving in and out of the increasing number of cars, taxis, buses and trucks that now choke the streets of the capital where the bicycle once ruled.

“It used to be lovely riding along these streets,” he said, waving his hand towards the four-lane road next to us. “Twenty years ago this road was tree-lined and peaceful and there were hardly any cars to worry about.”

Like many people, one of my strongest images of China was of rivers of black-clad people silently wheeling along Beijing’s wide boulevards. To me, the bicycle symbolized the simplicity, poverty and industriousness of Maoist China.

Today, all those characteristics are still very much part of modern China, but they wear a different mask. The treed boulevards of Beijing are all but gone, replaced with ring roads and multi-lane freeways to carry the growing number of cars and trucks -- by-product of China’s growing affluence. Bicycles are still there but the old “Chinese”styles have given way to flashy mountain bikes and racers. The bicycle, once synonymous with China, is now for many a reminder of a China they’d prefer to forget.

The bicycle first became popular in China at the end of the 19th century and in the early part of the 20th century. Until the end of Second World War foreigners in China also mainly used the bicycle, as first the rickshaw, then the pedicab dominated China’s roadways. It was not until the 1950s, with the introduction of what was to become China’s most famous bicycle, the Flying Pigeon, that the bike really took off. Production rose from 14,000 in 1949 to 298,000 in 1954, just over 800,000 in 1957 and over 8.5 million by 1979.

Now, just over 20 years since Deng Xiaoping set China on the path to modernization, the bicycle is under threat. Several cites, including Shanghai and Beijing, have banned them from their main roads and, with two new subway lines planned for Beijing in preparation for the 2008 Olympics Games, the capital is clearly moving away from two-wheel transport. The bicycle is nonetheless first choice of transport for many of Beijing’s students, elderly, and blue collar workers. About the only group who would never be seen dead on a bike are the upwardly mobile professional classes that help drive China’s robust economy.

“Not everyone can afford a car and the buses are so packed all the time, my bike is the best way to get around,” said Tian Yun, a student at Beijing University. “There are too many cars on the road and traffic jams all the time, so a bike is also often the quickest way to travel.”

Though the balance has clearly shifted, Beijing is still a surprisingly nice place to ride around. Despite the madness of the traffic it’s also remarkably safe, as just about every major road has a bike lane separated from the main road by a median strip or a clearly marked lane on the road. There are a few rules that you need to observe, though, for your own survival. The first is, don’t expect anything -- car, bus, truck or even pedestrian -- to get out of your way. Riding a bike on a Beijing road, you are persona non grata. A green light or right of way means nothing. If you’re cycling you look out and do your best to get out of the way. This is not as scary as it sounds except at major intersections. The best advice I can offer is that there’s safety in numbers—stick with other cyclists. Oh, and don’t be intimidated or think you’ve done something wrong if you get tooted. Beijing drivers love their horns but haven’t yet discovered road rage.

The other difficulty you might find in China is finding a bicycle that’s large enough to carry the sturdy Australian frame. I’m six-foot-five and have spent three weeks visiting just about every bike shop in central Beijing trying to find a bike big enough to accommodate me. Eventually I compromised and bought a mountain bike. Don’t worry if you can’t get the perfect size, no one in Beijing actually rides a bike that’s big enough for them. The average Chinese rider doesn’t need a perfect ergonomic bike with dozens of gears because there are no hills in Beijing. I rode from the Forbidden City in central Beijing to my apartment in the northwest, probably the equivalent of riding from Flinders Street Station to Templestowe, and the steepest hill I met was the one into my driveway. Beijingers tend to sit on their bikes like they sit on a chair. They drift along rather than lean into their riding so it’s easy to get away with a bike that’s not perfect.

I have had few finer moments in my month in Beijing drifting effortlessly along the streets around the Forbidden City at sunset watching the day fade into night.

Ironically, just as the Chinese are eschewing the bicycle, many places like Melbourne, faced with the effects of Greenhouse gases, would love to have more people on two wheels. Maybe the bicycle in China has a bit of life left in it yet.

TIM STONEY is a language consultant with China Radio International.