I used to take green transport to work, cycling a round trip of 14 miles five days a week in the cooler months, and three days a week in the summer.

And then, last week, my bike got nicked from inside the Central Academy of Fine Arts. I have lost count, but this was either the sixth or seventh bike my family has had stolen since arriving in Beijing in 2003.      

China is home to a world-record 470 million bicycles, but theft is widespread. A common topic of discussion among bike owners is the latest loss, despite chains and padlocks, either in the street or in the lobbies of high-rise apartment blocks.      

Selling stolen bicycles is big business in China, prompting buyers to turn to the second-hand market to minimise their loss should their bike be stolen.      

"In this vicious cycle, those who steal bicycles and sell them on the black market benefit while urban residents suffer," the China Daily said in December.      

My bike was a red Giant and it got me to work in 35 minutes in peak hours, compared to sometimes double that by car. If anyone thinks they've seen it, I'd be grateful if you'd give me a call.

Photo by Reinhard Krause

I am talking about the stretch of highway northeast of the huge conurbation of Wanjing, beginning where the airport expressway veers off to the right and surrounded by the suburbs of grandiose villa compounds with names like Beijing Riviera and Grand Hills, temporary homes to CEOs and other rich expats.      

They weren't the prettiest of shops in Beijing, but they bustled. Roads and pavements were packed as red-cheeked children ran to and from their village homes and mums and dads ate squatting on the flagstones outside their stores.

In short, this was a sprawling, busy trading community supporting hundreds of
families, if not more.

Now, suddenly, many have been wiped from the face of the Earth.

Where once there were workshops, there are now thin lawns, bushes and spring flowers. On one stretch, a long, pretty, one-storey building, in the style of old China, houses several businesses, presumably uprooted from their uglier previous incarnations.

But the rest have been erased. Where did they go?      

And why all the effort to make this road, no longer a major artery with huge, fast, state-of-the-art highways being built all around, pretty?      

A long-term resident suggested an answer. The road is not as important as it once was, but it is the road athletes and spectators will take to the Olympic rowing and canoeing.

They won't want to see slums.  

Pictures of the rowing/canoeing venue at the end of the road by David Gray (top) and Alfred Cheng Jin.