A Day Cycling Xi’an’s Ancient City Wall

I rolled out of bed at 6:30 a.m., lured by the promise of empty paths and sunrise over Xi’an’s old wall. The taxi dropped me at the South Gate, where the air still carried a crisp morning chill—perfect for what I hoped would be a full loop of the 14 kilometer rampart.

Before anything else, you need to sort entry and wheels. Tickets are 54 yuan (about $7.50) at the gates—South Gate (Yongning Gate) is the busiest but most convenient, with English signs. You can also book via Ctrip or the “Meet the City Wall” WeChat mini-program to skip lines, which I’d recommend on weekends.

Bikes? No bringing your own—rental is mandatory, and they’re available at all four main gates. I went for a single-speed at South Gate: 45 yuan for 100 minutes, 90 yuan for all day. Tandems are 90 yuan for 100 minutes (great for couples, but bulkier on narrow stretches).👇

They’ll ask for a 200-yuan deposit (cash or Alipay), which you get back when you return the bike—just make sure to check the tires first. The guy at the rental counter pointed out a slow leak on mine, so I swapped it out—smart move, since there’s no repair station on the wall.

By 7:45, I was rolling east. The path is wide, but here’s the first tip: keep to the right. Locals cycle fast, especially the older guys in Lycra who treat this like a morning track. I swerved once to avoid a granny on a cruiser and nearly hit a stone pothole—watch for those, especially near the North Gate where the bricks are uneven.

The morning light was magic, though. At Southeast Corner Tower, I hopped off to climb the wooden stairs. From the top, I could see breakfast stalls below firing up woks, their steam curling toward me. A tai chi group was practicing in the tower’s shadow—they nodded when I snapped a photo, but 小声 ly reminded me to watch my step: the stairs are steep and worn smooth by centuries of use.

By 10 a.m., the sun was strong. I’d packed a hat, but wish I’d brought sunscreen—the wall has almost no shade. A family on a tandem passed me, kids 尖叫 ing, and the dad yelled, “Watch the gate turns!” He meant the narrow sections where the path bends around watchtowers—you have to slow to a crawl, or you’ll clip the stone edges. I saw a tourist wipe out there later, scraping his elbow—no first-aid kit on-site, so band-aids in your bag are a good call.

Near North Gate, an old vendor sold bing tanghulu (candied hawthorns) from a cooler. “You’re smart to ride early,” he said, handing me a stick. “By noon, it’s like a highway. Last week, two bikes crashed because someone stopped suddenly to take a photo.” Fair point—if you pause for pictures, pull all the way off the path.

I stopped at a pavilion to eat the roujiamo I’d grabbed near South Gate. A cyclist in his 60s, Mr. Li, joined me. “Riding counterclockwise is better,” he said, wiping sweat off his brow. “The wind hits you in the face going clockwise after 2 p.m.” He also warned me about the West Gate stretch: “Kids love chasing each other there—keep an eye out.”

He wasn’t wrong. By 1 p.m., the wall was packed. A group of teens darted across the path, and I hit my brakes hard—my bike’s front tire skidded a little, but I stayed upright. Pro move: test the brakes before you start. These rental bikes aren’t top-tier, and some have loose cables.

By 3 p.m., the crowds thinned a bit. The western stretch runs along a busy street, so you’ll hear honking below—distracting, but the views of the Bell Tower glinting in the distance make up for it. Here’s another tip: if your legs get tired, you can exit at any gate and re-enter later with your ticket (they scan it each time). I considered bailing at West Gate, but a street musician playing erhu below gave me a second wind—his tune drifted up, slow and sad, and I pedaled to its rhythm.

I rolled back to South Gate at 5:30, legs wobbly but grinning. The rental guy checked the bike (no scratches, phew) and handed back my deposit. “You did the whole loop?” he said. “Most foreigners quit at East Gate. Too many hills?” There are gentle slopes, especially between North and West—nothing brutal, but enough to make your thighs burn if you’re out of shape.

As I walked through the gate, lanterns flickered on, turning the bricks gold. I grabbed a bowl of liangpi from a stall, and the vendor laughed when I said I’d cycled all day. “You should come back in winter,” he said. “No crowds, and the snow on the wall? Like a postcard.”

Would I? In a heartbeat. Next time, I’ll bring better brakes (okay, just check the bike more carefully) and a water bottle—there are fountains, but they’re spaced out, and by 2 p.m., I was parched.