Jiahao speeds towards the onramp of National Highway 110. He has just gotten off the phone
with the doctor. His mother is dying. She doesn’t have much time, and her final wish is
to see her only son one last time. Jiahao pushes the pedal to the floor. The engine screams as it
accelerates faster and faster. He veers onto the highway, weaving in and out of traffic.
Jiahao’s mother is in a hospital on the outskirts of Zhangjiakou, between the coal mines of Inner
Mongolia and Beijing. He is still over 60 miles away. If he doesn’t reach her before she passes,
he will never forgive himself. The last conversation they had did not go well.
Ever since he picked up a job working in the Inner Mongolian coal mines, he had stopped
traveling to Zhangjiakou to see her. His body aches after each shift, he works all the time,
and he is always just too tired to make the trip to the city. Now he regrets it all.
The coal industry boomed over the past several years. National Highway 110 has grown and grown
in size to accommodate the huge amount of coal trucks traveling toward Beijing. In some places,
the highway is made up of 50 lanes traveling one way. Now Jiahao races down one of these lanes,
passing coal-carrying trucks on his left and right. He pulls out his
flip phone and hits the recall button. It dials the hospital.
“Zhangjiakou Medical,” a voice responds on the other end. Jiahao keeps his eyes on the road
as he speaks. “Hi, this is Jiahao; I’m just checking in to see how my mother’s doing. I
am about 60 miles outside of the city; I should be there soon.” The nurse informs Jiahao that
his mother is stable, but they don’t think she will last much longer due to her advanced age.
Tears stream down his cheeks as he ends the call and looks at
his phone. The screen displays the date and time.
August 13, 2010, 1 o’clock pm.
I can get to the hospital in an hour at this speed, Jiahao thinks. The speedometer
is pushing 100 miles per hour. I have to get to my mother. There is so much I need
to say. Jiahao checks his rearview mirror as he signals a lane change.
When he focuses his eyes back on the road in front of him, he gasps. A wall of red break
lights has emerged. Jiahao slams on the break with both feet. The tires screech,
smoke rises from burnt rubber, the back end of the car begins to twist. Jiahao turns the wheel hard
to correct the motion of the vehicle. The brake lights of the stopped cars are getting closer,
and closer, and closer. Jiahao closes his eyes and prepares himself for impact.
Suddenly, the car lurches to a stop. Jiahao opens one eye. He is centimeters away from
the car in front of him. He lets out a long sigh of relief. Sweat drips
down his temples. Jiahao opens his door and steps out of the vehicle. He peers
down the lanes between the stopped cars. He can’t make out if there was an accident or
what the hold-up is. Jiahao climbs on top of the hood of his car. His heart sinks.
The traffic jam extends as far as the eye can see. It must be dozens of miles long. “This
can’t be happening,” Jiahao whispers to himself. “Yep, better get comfortable,” a voice says from
next to him. It is a coal truck driver who has gotten out of the cab of his vehicle.
“Seen this before. Probably extends all the way to Zhangjiakou. Last time I was stuck in
a jam like this, it took over a day to clear the mess. And this one looks a lot longer.”
Jiahao can’t believe what he’s hearing. His mother most likely doesn’t have days
to live. She could very well be gone within the next few hours. He gets back in his car
and slams his head against the steering wheel. The horn begins to blare. Jiahao leans back in
his seat to think. He is 60 miles from the city. The cars in front of him haven’t moved
for several minutes. At this rate, there is no way he will make it to the hospital in time.
Jiahao thinks about the last visit he had with his mother. She cooked homemade dumplings and
Peking Duck. She was so happy that he had come to see her; she had been very lonely
since Jiahao’s father passed away a few years back. It wasn’t too long after that that Jiahao
went to work in the coal mines. But Jiahao reminded her that they needed money to pay
for rent and to put food on the table. He was working seven days a week to take care of her.
She said she didn’t care. She just missed having her son around. They spent the rest of the night
laughing and playing games before Jiahao left to drive back to the little shack he shared with way
too many roommates. It was close to the mines, which made getting to work each morning easier.
Jiahao opens his eyes, grabs his phone, and turns off the car. “I am going to make
it to that hospital if it’s the last thing I do,” he says with conviction.
Jiahao shoves the door to the car outward and steps onto the scorched highway. He is
prepared to walk all the way to Zhangjiakou if he has to, but his mother will not die alone. He will
be there to say he loves her while he sits by her side. Jiahao begins walking between the stopped
cars. The truck driver calls out to him. “Hey, kid! Where are you going? What about your car?”
Jiahao looks back at the man. “Keys are in the ignition. It’s all yours!” Jiahao
turns and runs down the highway. He dodges people who have stepped out
of their cars to see what is happening. “I’m coming, mom,” he says to himself.
For hours Jiahao alternates between running and walking. His mouth is as dry as charcoal;
his legs ache as if he had just completed a marathon. The only thing he brought with him
was his cell phone and wallet. Traveling light is a good idea, but he underestimated just how
far the traffic jam extends. He must have gone at least ten miles, but the end is nowhere in sight.
Jiahao slows to a walk and listens to the radios in the cars as he passes by. The news is playing
through one of the stereos. The traffic jam is all anyone can talk about. The radio announcer
says that it extends for over 60 miles and that law enforcement has been dispatched to the area
where the backup has occurred. Jiahao doesn’t catch the whole announcement before he passes
the car, but the traffic jam has something to do with construction that is happening closer
to Zhangjiakou. It seems crazy that a highway as large as the 110 with all its lanes could become
so backed up. But demand for coal has skyrocketed, and the number of trucks combined with commuters
heading into the capital is overwhelming even for a highway that spans 50 lanes at times.
The sun begins to set. Jiahao pulls out his cell phone and calls the hospital again.
There are no new updates. His mother is still breathing, but she is just barely clinging to
life. Although the nurse he speaks to does give him some hope. She says that his mother briefly
came out of her daze. She asked for him, and when the nurse told her he was on his way,
she smiled. Jiahao knows that his mother is strong and will be able to hold on until he gets there,
but he needs to get there fast to ensure he can say everything he needs to.
As night begins to settle over the highway, the lights kick on to illuminate the metal
and concrete below. They glow a dim yellowish color like a dirty lamp in
a warehouse. Jiahao passes people who have set up makeshift shops along the side of the
highway. Jiahao’s stomach rumbles. He is so hungry, and it looks like these people are
selling bottles of water and instant noodles. Jiahao races over to one of the popup shops.
“I’ll take a bottle of water and a cup of noodles, please,” he says to the old man
who is selling the goods. “That’ll be 100 yuan,” the old man replies. Jiahao stares at him with
wide eyes. “100 yuan!” he exclaims. “In the city, this would cost no more than 10 yuan.”
The man just shrugs. “If you don’t like the price,
you can wait until you get to the city.” Jiahao places his hand over his face and
rubs his eyes. “Fine,” he says. Jiahao pulls the money out of his wallet and
gives it to the man. “Pleasure doing business with you,” the man says as Jiahao walks away.
He is so hungry that he eats the cold noodles and slurps up the liquid inside the cup. He then
downs the whole bottle of water in one go. People sitting in their cars watch as Jiahao passes them.
Some don’t have enough money to buy the food and water that is grossly overpriced along the
highway. Jiahao has noticed that the cars have been making some progress, but walking is much,
much faster. He estimates that the cars have only moved a couple of hundred feet,
and it's been hours. At the end of this highway catastrophe,
the media reports that the cars only moved around half a mile a day.
Jiahao has already traveled close to 20 miles, so getting out of his
car to reach the hospital was definitely the right decision. It is getting late;
his legs feel like jelly. As Jiahao passes some of the coal trucks,
he sees their drivers sleeping beneath them on flattened cardboard boxes. He wants so badly
to get to his mother, but he is exhausted, and if he doesn’t rest, he’s afraid he’ll pass out.
Jiahao slowly walks to the side of the highway and leans against one of the barriers. He closes
his eyes for a moment and instantly finds himself drifting off. He doesn’t want to
sleep through the night, but a quick power nap is desperately needed. Jiahao can’t fight it
any longer. He begins to dream. The night air is filled with the smell of gasoline and coal.
Jiahao awakens to the sounds of screams and the shattering of glass. He jumps to his feet
and looks around. Across the highway, a gang of masked men slams crowbars and metal pipes
into the windshields of cars. They pull their occupants out through the broken
windows and throw them to the ground. Jiahao wants to help, but there are too many. He runs
through panicked drivers who are trying to inch their vehicles further away from the carnage.
The masked figures steal wallets, jewelry, and anything valuable they can get their hands on.
The traffic jam of the century will not stop thieves from making a profit. Coal drivers
who have been in similar situations before pull out tire irons and bats to fend off
anyone who tries to steal from their load. Things have become harder for truck drivers
as congestion and traffic leading into Beijing have become worse. They used to be able to make
several trips a day and three times as much profit when the roads were clear between the
mines and Beijing. But now it seems like there are worse and worse traffic jams every week.
The sounds of police whistles can be heard in the distance. Jiahao continues to run forward
as policemen rush to the aid of victims targeted by the gang. In the morning,
it will be reported that the eight robbers stole around ten thousand
dollars and severely injured an old man. The 60-mile traffic jam along National Highway
110 has brought out the worst in people. There are fights, property is stolen,
and vendors are charging an arm and a leg for food and water that people desperately need.
Jiahao shakes his head as he thinks about what the industrialization of China has caused the
country to become. The mass burning of coal to fuel factories and the economy has caused the air
around cities like Beijing to turn into poison. Those in power get wealthier as it gets harder and
harder for the average Chinese citizen to get by. China as a whole may be becoming more powerful,
but the people living there, like Jiahao and his mother, are suffering as a result.
The sun begins to rise on the second day of the traffic jam. Jiahao has traveled about
half the distance he needs to from his car to the hospital. He reaches into his pocket and
pulls out his cell phone. It is running low on battery. He should have enough juice to make a
few more calls as long as he turns it off in between. Jiahao dials the hospital and
speaks to the nurse. His mother is still asking for him. It seems as if she knows
her time on this planet is limited. Jiahao’s mother pleads with the nurses to allow her son
to visit her. They try to explain he is still on his way, but his mother doesn’t understand.
Jiahao hangs up the phone. His heart feels like it’s been smashed into a million pieces.
How could he let things get this bad before he visited his mother again? Jiahao shakes his head,
takes a deep breath, and begins to sprint. He doesn’t know if he
can make it 30 miles in a single day, but he is going to try, even if it kills him.
Jiahao squeezes between the tightly packed cars. He sees people playing games while
waiting for the traffic to move. Truck drivers smoke cigarettes as they lounge
in the driver’s seat of their vehicles. They will be stuck on the highway for several more
days at this rate. This is quickly becoming the largest traffic jam that China has ever seen.
Jiahao continues to run. His phone is turned off, so if something goes wrong, he won’t know until he
turns it back on. However, at this point, there is nothing he can do but run. Each second that ticks
by means that his mother is one moment closer to being lost forever. Jiahao bites his tongue hard
to distract himself from the cramp that is forming in his side. He swallows the metallic taste of
his own blood. It reminds him that he hasn’t had anything to drink since the night before.
He sees another vendor along the side of the road. He runs up to them and asks for
a bottle of water. “That’ll be 15 yuan,” the woman says. Jiahao is disgusted. The
bottle would only cost 1 yuan in a shop. He pulls out the last of the
money in his wallet and gives it to the woman. He slowly sips this water bottle,
saving some for later. The warm liquid makes him feel slightly better; he continues to run.
Jiahao is on the move for the entire day. He feels as if he must have traveled another
twenty or so miles. He puts his arm over his forehead and looks into the
sky. The sun has begun its descent over the horizon. As a cloud passes in front of it,
Jiahao gazes down the highway. In the distance, he can just barely make out buildings poking
through the fog. “Finally,” he gasps. He can now see Zhangjiakou. It is still miles away,
but the end is now in sight. Jiahao takes another gulp of water and pushes his body to its limit.
He can hear car horns honking as drivers become desperate to move forward. The second day of
the traffic jam is coming to an end, and the congestion hasn’t cleared up even slightly.
Jiahao watches as cars that have run out of gas or broken down are pushed to the side of the
road by other drivers trying to get by. Everyone smells; they’re tired and hungry. If the Chinese
police don’t find a way to get the cars moving, they may have a full-blown riot on their hands.
Up ahead, something seems to be happening. The cars are still stopped, but it appears they
have begun to all turn toward the middle of the highway. It’s as if the cars are being funneled
into the neck of a bottle. Jiahao pauses to catch his breath. If he stands on his toes,
he can make out the top of a structure that reaches across the highway. The plaza, he thinks.
He weaves around cars and trucks. In front of him, he can see the separate stalls of the toll plaza.
There are workers in each one trying to keep people calm as they inch through the dividers.
Jiahao proceeds to walk through one of the lanes. A man shouts from within his booth. “Sir,
what about your toll?” Jiahao stops and looks at the attendant. “You’re kidding,
right?” he says. The man looks slightly uneasy. “Every vehicle needs to pay the
toll,” the attendant responds. Jiahao looks at him and shakes his head. “Good thing
I’m not in a vehicle then,” Jiahao smirks and walks through the plaza.
On the other side, the 50-lane highway has begun to merge. This seems to be the source
of the whole traffic jam. It is late afternoon when Jiahao squeezes past the worst congestion
of the whole backup. Police are directing cars to proceed with caution around the roadwork. There
are only a handful of lanes open at this location. As Jiahao walks past an officer, he asks if this
is the reason for the traffic that extends over 60 miles behind him. The officer nods.
He explains that this part of the highway desperately needed repair. The concrete had begun
to crack uncontrollably, and there were potholes that could pop tires. The road was constructed
hastily to allow more coal trucks to enter the city. It all was in the name of progress. However,
the construction company cut corners. The overuse of the highway by overweight coal
trucks has damaged the road to the point that the government had no choice but to repair it.
But it wasn’t just the construction companies that were at fault. The
truck drivers continually overloaded their beds so that with each shipment,
they could make more money. Becoming a coal truck driver had been lucrative at the beginning,
but as more and more trucks started hauling the black gold into Beijing and the roads
became congested all of the time, truck driver profits slipped. The more coal they carried,
the more money they could make. The only problem was there were regulations to limit
the weight of each truck in order to reduce the damage their heavy vehicles did to the highway.
But like with many aspects of the fossil fuel industry, the drivers disregarded regulations
and packed as much coal as possible into their trucks. They would avoid weigh stations or pay
the workers at the facilities to forge their numbers. With each overweight truck that drove
down Highway 110, the road became more and more damaged. Now all of that destruction has caught
up with the coal truck drivers and everyone else trying to travel along Highway 110.
Jiahao shakes his head, knowing that he is part of the problem. But there are so few jobs that offer
decent pay. The industrialization of China and the growth of its economy are made possible by
the massive population that is willing to work for next to nothing. But even low-paying jobs
are better than no job at all. Times are hard for low-class workers. They may make
enough money to put food on the table for their families, but that’s about all they can afford.
Working conditions are terrible. Long hours are expected, not optional. Jiahao is making more
money than most, but at what cost? The air around Beijing and other cities is barely breathable,
and on some days when the smog is particularly bad, you can’t see two feet in front of your
face. I’m done, he thinks. Jiahao prays to every god he can think of, both old and new,
that he makes it to his mother in time. He has also decided that he will not be
returning to the Inner Mongolian coal mines. He is done breathing in toxic air and fueling the
government's greed at the expense of the Chinese people’s health and the health of the planet.
Jiahao comes out of his thoughts. He notices that the cars are now keeping pace with his
jog. After traveling 60 miles on foot, the traffic is finally moving past a snail’s pace.
Then he sees it. Just up ahead, the highway opens up. The hospital is still miles away,
but since the traffic is moving, maybe he can hitch a ride or find a bus into Zhangjiakou.
Jiahao hears the honking of a horn behind him. He turns around to look at what the
racket is. A man hangs out of the driverside window of his dirt-covered vehicle. “Jiahao
is that you?” a friendly voice says. “Lee?” Jiahao exclaims. He can’t believe his eyes;
Lee is one of his closest friends at the coal mines. “You need a lift?” Lee asks.
Jiahao hops in the car and tells his friend about the situation. Lee nods
his head understanding how drastic things have become. The moment the highway opens up again,
Lee floors the accelerator, and the two men fly down the road. Jiahao takes out
his cell phone to call the hospital and let them know he has made it out of the traffic
jam and that he will be there soon. But when he tries to turn on his phone, it’s dead.
Jiahao asks Lee to borrow his cell phone, but Lee has been in the traffic jam just
as long as Jiahao and his phone died the previous night while he used the light of
the screen to read a book. Now all Jiahao can do is hope that when they reach the hospital,
his mother is still alive and he can say all the things he should have said long ago.
Lee pushes his compact car as fast as it will go. The engine wines. The highway is
almost completely clear in front of them as the bottleneck of traffic has held back the tide of
cars and trucks for almost two full days. Lee veers towards the offramp. The tires screech as
he turns the corner onto one of the main roads. Jiahao can see the hospital in front of them.
The car enters the driveway; the tires screech to a halt. Jiahao looks at his
friend. “I can’t thank you enough,” he says. Lee places his hand on Jiahao’s
shoulder and gently squeezes. “I was happy to help. Now go see your mother
and tell her I said hi.” Jiahao smiles at his friend and gets out of the car.
He runs through the doors of the hospital, asking the woman at the front desk where he can find his
mother. She directs him to a room at the end of the hall. Jiahao is exhausted but finds renewed
strength. He sprints down the hallway and bursts into his mother's room. “Mom!” Jiahao
yells. “I made it! I’m here!” He rushes to her bedside and looks down at the frail body of his
mother. He had no idea she had become so thin. He should have been there to take care of her.
“Mom?” Jiahao whispers. She does not move. He takes her hand in his. “Mom?” he says
again. But there is no response. Jiahao’s heart sinks. Tears stream down his cheeks
as he begins to sob. He collapses to the floor, still holding his mother’s hand in his. If only
he had come sooner. If only there hadn’t been miles and miles of traffic. If only…
As Jiahao kneels on the cold tiled floor of the hospital room, he hears his name. “Jiahao,” the
soft familiar voice says. He lifts his head to look at his mother. She has opened her eyes and is
smiling at him. “I knew you’d come, my son,” she says gently, placing her other hand on top of his.
“Mom, I’m so sorry,” Jiahao says between sniffles. “There is so much I want to say.” But before he
can pour out all of the feelings he’s been grappling with throughout his long journey,
his mother places her hand on his cheek. “I know,” she says. “I love you too.”
On the television screen in the hospital room, the news continues to cover the traffic jam outside
of Zhangjiakou. For ten days, Jiahao sits by his mother’s side. They laugh, they cry,
they reminisce about the past. The TV is always on in the background. The images of
the highway clearing flash across the screen; it lasted for twelve days in total and left
tens of thousands of people stranded on the highway. But Jiahao and his mother
don’t notice that one of the worst traffic jams in history is ending. They are too
busy relishing every moment they have together because, in the end, that’s all that matters.
Now watch “Why The Next Super Highway Has Been Taking Over
75 Years to be Built.” Or check out “Why China Will Never be a Global Superpower.”