Loretta Henderson – Page 14 – Solo Female Cycling Around The World

Ascension Island

The glimmering glow of a half moon creates shadows through the iridescent red glow of our head lamps.Six of us, all who have arrived on Ascension island by sea, walk the many hills of the yellow sandy beach. My toes dig deep into the sand to find balance under the 1 AM starry night. An amazingly pleasant experience after sitting on a rocking sailboat for 3 weeks. Some say sailing is adventurous but truth be told it is a little boring. Often finding myself having trouble sitting still for so many hours. Story telling fill our hours between meals. The kitchen galley becoming a focal point of our days. On a quest for green sea turtles at 1 AM on the worlds largest sea turtle nesting site after too many beers on a Monday afternoon is pure perfection.

“Watch out there’s another one”

I hear whispered into the darkness. My eyes registering on two baby green turtles the size of a x-large coin. Their legs,shaped as flippers push them speedily through the sand. The mad dash for the ocean is in full bloom. At a huge risk for predators, the babies hatch from their eggs in the evening and make there way to the sea.

“Guys, guys over here”

The group has found a giant female turtle on her way to lay her eggs. Unfortunately our excitement level frightens her and she u-turns at a hustle back to the sea

I mumble apologetically as the guilt sets in.

“I guess that’s is why they have conservation projects like this one” We all agree as we continue are walk on the sandy beach in search of sea turtles. This time quietly, without lights and a whisper…..

Sailing The Atlantic…This Side Up.

I was wearing full condom holding AK 47 in Poland military” Frederyk explains as he motions his calloused hands to his torso, his veteran guitar player hands gesturing that the term ‘full condom’ used by creative English speakers means full body protection. His freckled bare arms sway with the boats rocking motion. His cycling tan has faded and has been replaced by developing sea legs. The ocean swells heave the boat from side to side as the hours pass. The crew and captain of ‘This Side Up’ have been living together at sea for 148 hours.

As we pass the prime meridian line, the south Atlantic’s cascading swells and the boats beautiful polished wood interior are the perfect backdrop for telling stories, old and new. A perfect way to pass the time between the cooking of meals in the adventurous galley. Where dangling a spatula in one hand and trying not to fall on your head swaying on the rocky boat is all part of novel nautical nourishment.

How do you like your eggs Captain?… I can’t promise anything?” I ask almost rhetorically from the small cubicle galley. The special boat stove sways on it’s hinges as the vessels rounded haul shimmies over the 3-4 meter S. Atlantic swells. I’m feeling more like a inhabitant of a gravity free spaceship than a sailboat as I sway uncontrollably with a hot frying pan in my hand. That counter top is probably more decorative than functional right now as a place to put anything I think to myself. As a plateful of my invention, indo-guaco-eggs takes flight from the kitchen counter at full speed. It splats egg chunks, and smears avocado pieces into the floor. “Ten second rule”, I hear Billy and Frederyk chuckle almost simultaneously with understanding, for we all have been taking turns cooking meals on board the bouncy vessel.

As long as it has been on the floor less than ten seconds, it’s ok to eat?, Ten SECONDS? How about ten MINUTES!

No, I’ll eat it” I say laughing as I lean over digging the greasy spatula into the mess on the teak floor. I am still laughing at how hard it is during the big swells to stay upright in the kitchen galley. The Captain bruised ribs are a testament to acrobatic balance while rocking at sea. As well as my back roll over the table with a miraculous ass over tea-kettle soft landing into a cushioned couch. All part of life on board the boat named ‘This Side Up’ as we approach Saint Helena, our first stop during the Atlantic crossing.

Rub A Dub, Dub, Three Guys and A Girl In A Tub…I Mean Sailboat

Frederyk shouts through a chorus of laughter. His Polish accent is as thick as his sense of humor. Droplets of salty spray from Wavis Bay splash his brown rimmed glasses as his blue grey cycling shirt clad arms hold his guitar to his chest for safe keeping. The guitar has been Frederyk trusted companion traveling by bicycle from Poland to Africa since 2005, playing music on the streets as he goes.

I can’t believe I am learning Polish swear words while getting soaked in this dingy” Billy bellows aloud, his South African Afrikaans accent compliments the laughable profanities. His leatherly brown shoes cling to his wet cotton socks as the waves splash over the bow. “Ziabeschieh…F#ck y’ah” Billy translates as our well provisioned vessel to cross the Atlantic disappears into the mist with the last of the afternoons sunshine. The 48 foot steel yacht named ‘This Side Up’ will wait on anchor for our return from a visit to shore.

Niemo problemo, no problem” Frederyk laughs again as the Captain, leans on the throttle in a fruitless attempt to hurry the small engine into the oncoming winds. His white blonde long hair frames his youthful hardly wrinkled 60 year old face. He gleefully grimaces into the chilly wind. A grandfather of 14, father of 5 and a Harley Davidson rider turned around the world world sailor the Captain is a veteran to adventure.

The choppy waves lap over the air filled gray dingy walls. The wooden aged dock on shore is in plain site. White Namibian flamingos stand watch, their delicate legs stand knee deep in water. They watch and wait, peering out to the Atlantic as we make our way to the sandy shore.

I am trucked tight, crouched with my feet firmly planted on the bouncy dingy floor, wedged between the throttle arm and Frederyk warm back.

You make a fine wind break Frederyk, Ziebeshiah” I giggle as I raise my dry arm and pat Frederyk on the back.

Niemo problemo” Frederyk says.

The dingy bounces to a halt at the dock with the Atlantic crew of ‘This Side Up’ smiling and swearing in polish. The first of many adventures to come with the May 27^th departure for an Atlantic crossing beginning with a 10-14 day sail to Saint Helena.

Rags To Riches…What’s The Best Tent For Bicycle Touring?

“Is that tent supposed to look that way” The campground manager says with a curious WTF sort of tone. I am tucked inside a claustrophobic cocoon of what remains of my mountain hardware 2.1 skyledge tent trying not to laugh. However, the broken rake that I propped under one of two sewn up zipper doors in order to combat last nights rain is just too much of a site for my sarcasm.

Mountain Hardware 2.1 Skyledge in Cape Town after a year of touring (about 300 solo female cyclist sleeps)

The longer I cycle tour, the less these things seem to matter” I chuckle from inside as I attempt to unsuccessfully sit up straight under the broken poles, contort my body into a pretzel shape and crawl out the permanently open zipper door. This is sort’a normal isn’t I think to myself as I stand up in the sand and straighten my new hay stack haircut, a frazzled homemade mess of locks resembling Cramer’s from Seinfeld. People like me really shouldn’t be allowed access to scissors. I think to myself as I run my fingers through my botched attempt at cutting off my own sun-baked hair.

(the red line is what I cycled, the dotted line is the sailing route, my apologies for the blurry map, it’s the best I could do)

Despite looking like a disheveled eighties rocker and feeling vain for the first time in a long while, I chuckle “I got lucky” as the managers well meaning concern for my lack of shelter forms a worried uncomfortable grimace across his hardly 20 year old innocent face.

I was given a new Hilleberg Jannu tent under sponsorship, it is coming in the mail, it will be here soon, I’m gonna crew on a sailboat across the Atlantic from Namibia up the Brazilian coast, then cycle the Americas to finish the cycling around the world thing. The tent will be perfect..from rags to riches, baby” I chuckle, feeling the glow of immense gratitude knowing Hilleberg The Tentmakers’s reputation as one of the best quality tent companies in the world.

Have you had a tent like that before?” The young manager asks looking far less concerned with my ‘who needs all the ‘right’ gear anyway, just go with what you got’ attitude. The same attitude that stop bothering to use a tent and started happily sleeping under the stars or road out of the wind instead.

wild camping due to broken tents, loads of fencing and high winds

‘I had the tough little Vaude Hogan for the first year of this 3 year world tour, great tent but I eventually lost the poles, it wasn’t worth the cost to replace them and the tent wasn’t free standing which was an issue when camping on rocky ground. I also tried an OR bivy sack, nice and light but there was too much condensation. I wanted something bigger. I’ve slept in the ultralight MSR Hubba Hubba 2 person, it’s is a popular tent, loads of space, great tent. My new Hilleberg Jannu has a half goedesic design, strong poles and top quality material… should hold up the best in the winds of Patagonia”

Big Agnes Fly Creek UL 2 Person in Tibet, China. The material was too light for continuous use, I stuck my hand through it after 3 months…2 days later after I slept in the Hilleberg Jannu…

How’s the new tent, do you get wet last night?” The young sleepy manager asks, his orange hoody is pulled loosely over his uncombed hair. The cloudy morning sky suggests there is more rain to come. I am standing next to my new tent proudly grinning. I am pondering how a TENT got to be so puuuurdy while debating if being orgasmically happy about a tent is something to worry about.

W.E.T,… in this? No way, I loooooove it. At 3 kilos after a zipper pull replacement, it is worth every ounce” My arms flail in full participation as if breaking into a happy dance before coffee over a tent is perfectly normal behavior.

This tent is amazing, I can’t believe how great it is. You really have to sleep in it to believe it, come on inside”. I utter as the manager uncomfortably grins, shifts his stance and takes a small step back. He turns and hurries off barely able to keep his flip flops on. Ooops…scared him… he either thinks there is a horney old maid trying to seduce him or that I’m some spastic over the hill lunatic with a fetish for tents…not sure which is worst I think to myself as I step through the huge tent door to spend the morning out of the rain, dry and comfy in my spacious sturdy tent thankful for my new sponsor Hilleberg!

LATEST From The WOW (Women ON Wheels) Wall

Every now again you get the rare opportunity to come across such an amazing adventure that about the only thing you can say is WOW. Meet adventurer Anne-Sophie Rodette, presently she is tackling Patagonia by UNICYCLE

Cape Town…Bare As You Dare

Take it all off people” I hear shouted from the police car. The police man’s uniformed arm is stretched out the open window. He is holding his cell phone camera. His face is wrinkled from smiling. He squints into the Cape Town Saturday morning sun. He is directing the busy traffic, 300 bicycles and their “bare as you dare” riders.

A chorus of “I am cycling on the road…where is my bike lane?…” ricochets off the surrounding picturesque surroundings. The city is hugged by bare natural beauty on all sides, nestled into the base of Table mountain on one side and exposed to the Atlantic ocean on the other. It’s a stellar location for the third annual Cape Town World Naked Bike Ride.

A blur of fleshy hardly dressed people perch on top of tandem bicycles, unicycles, mountain bikes, and racing bikes surround me as I pedal along thinking this is a great way to end the Cairo to Capetown leg of my world bicycle tour. I hold my camera in one hand and the handle bars in the other, trying to stay balanced and ride Pandemic The Blushing Magic Bicycle. My legs are pedaling, my psyche is giggling while my eyes stare at 4 bare bums. Ok, I can be a grown up about all of this nudity, I reason to myself after catching myself staring at all the naked men and definitely, (if only for a moment), breaking the well known naked etiquette rule of no ogling.

What a Great Funny View For a Solo Female Cyclist!

The painted slogans scribbled across the bare backs read “less gas, more ass”. I stop mid ride to adjust my “top”, a punctured bicycle tube that I fashioned into a tube top. I immediate realize that this crowd is not exactly going to care if my tube top actually did slip down, which it had.

As I stand to the side of the road adjusting my “tube top”, two naked men on a tandem bicycle pedal by me. The man on the back wobbles, his naked body flaps in the breeze and he falls off the back of the bicycle. He quickly gets up and starts running down the street trying to catch up to his tandem partner who is doing his best to not cause a collision in the crowd of bicycles.

After all my sardonic remarks about cycling in 40-53 degree heat dressed in hijad in Sudan, Egypt, Iran, India and NW China, cycling while being free of clothing restrictions might just be the best fun a solo female cyclist can ever have. I smile to myself as I stand to the side, my top now adjusted, I start taking photos. I am thoroughly entertained by the nude tandem escapades. And, chuckling way too hard to care about the exact definition of “bare as you dare” as the trail of bicycles make their way into the city center, near the end of the World Naked Bike Ride. An event intended to remind the world that cyclists are vulnerable (naked) on the roads. That bicycles are a environmentally friendly form of transportation and a great way to meet people especially while cycle touring in Africa.

Solo Female Cyclist in Ethiopia

Chit, Chat…Why Bicycle Touring In Africa Is Where It’s At!

Heat radiates off the blackened tar road as the 40/104 c/f days begin to melt into a timeless collage of pushing the pedals. I am constantly giggly, smiling and singing to 1960’s classic tunes as my faded green tavu visor attempts to block out the sun’s continuous heat. Something has crossed over in me, not even the daily temperatures can interrupt my giddiness of heading for Capetown. The city and southern most point of Africa is only 750/466 km/m away.

A country wide barbed wire fence guards much of Namibia. Wild camping opportunities are minimal. Creative solutions keep me laughing as my international hobboist with bicycle status is elevated to a hole new level. I tuck inside a drain pipe under the road to escape the strong head winds and spend the night, humorously pondering where on earth this all went so wrong?

As the morning luminescent light clears the hills on the western edge of the Kalahari desert, I am back in the saddle. I peer down the road over the handlebars. My eyes strain through the glare of the shimmering sun beams. A cyclist, the 7 I have seen in all of Africa is heading towards me. He must of started in Capetown I reason to myself as I grin giddy delight at someone to talk to. I do my best to not frighten him as I bounce to a hyper halt, hit the breaks and bellow out a huge overly enthusiastic. His shiny new ortlieb panniers, clean Thorn Sherpa Bicycle, neatly combed hair and grin of a realized dream in the embryo stage are spread across his smiling pale fresh face as he responds

I was wondering when I would meet my first cyclist, where did you come from?”

I raise my bright pink arm and brush the dirty sweat from my stinging sunburned smiling lips. I shift my swollen calloused feet as I straddle my faded green magic bicycle and answer

I started in Cairo then south through the Sahara of Sudan, west around Lake Victoria through Uganda, Rwanda then through Tanzania, down Lake Malawi across Zambia, Botswana into Namibia”

What about Ethiopia? How was that?” John, an ex-triathlete now on his first bicycle tour asks

Good Ol’e infamously demonized on blogs Ethiopia, I think to myself as I lean forward and adjust my oversized gear cables that were sent out to me by SJS (Ship Jack Shit) Cycles. Send, only after a lengthy 6 phone call ordeal to the British based bike shop who are in need of their own managerial adjustments.

Ethiopia, really isn’t as bad as all the blogs make it out to be… you will get hit by a few rocks maybe a stick but the Omo Valley is well worth the stone warfare and the occasional really bizarre person you will meet”. I answer and bust out laughing at how ridiculous that must sound to anyone who is on their way there.

What about Northern Kenya? How was that?”

Oh they shoot trucks there, so I pushed my bicycle through the sand for a week on the Western side of Lake Turkana into Kenya.” I continue laughing at how utterly not supportive I must sound about the thing I truly love about bicycle touring from Cairo to Capetown. That despite the horrific media reports, there is usually a safe fun way if you are up for an adventure.

I hear Sudan is wonderful, how was that?” John peers through his unscratched sunglasses, he looks at me, now also laughing at my poor descriptions of a truly beautiful continent. Countries rich with the birthplace of humanity, loads of nice people, stunning landscapes, welcoming schools for free camping and excellent photography for this website.

Sudan?, Oh, I got stuck in a sandstorm, destroyed my MH skyledge 2.1 tent poles, so I slept out in the desert without a tent under the full moon thinking about scorpions for a week…I love Sudan, Nubian hospitality is amazing, one of the best places I have ever bicycle toured” I chuckle in a self deprecating, sardonic tone.

What are your plans, when you get to Capetown?” Jon grins as he cools off in the afternoon heat and unzips the top of his new clean cycling jersey.

I think I want to visit the mental hospital. I hear they have purple straight jackets, I look great in purple… actually, I will not be able to drink beer in a straight jacket, so I think I will just take a break from the road, rework my journal into a draft of a book while my stories are fresh in my head, have a good ride, take care”

I thank John for the laugh and wave goodbye. I watch him pedal away as he heads off towards a thousands stories of his own and the beautiful although wonderfully challenging continent that lies ahead.

Touring The World By Bike…A Podcast

<a href="http://petercjsr.bandcamp.com/track/loretta-henderson-touring-the-world-by-bike-part-1">Loretta Henderson – Touring the World by bike – Part 1 by CJSR Interviews</a> <a href="http://petercjsr.bandcamp.com/track/loretta-henderson-touring-the-world-by-bike-part-2">Loretta Henderson – Touring the World by bike – Part 2 by CJSR Interviews</a>

Don’t Tell Your Mom You Are A Cycle Tourist

Tell a friend you are going to cycle the length of Africa and their response will most likely range from planning your funeral to calling the closest mental hospital. In my case, three concerned friends actually called the CA embassy in Canada, Ethiopia and Sudan to question my decision making abilities. Apparently, after I pedaled through Pakistan and Iran in hijab they started to question my mental health. One friend said he would pay me to leave Africa asap. Another friend called my Dad who laughed and insisted that I wasn’t acting anymore wacky than I have always been.

The authorities did find me about 40km into Ethiopia but I truly thought the officials were joking. After the officials at the Gedaref Checkpoint in Sudan grabbed my handlebars and demanded a bribe, I reacted to the officials of Ethiopia with my best “go on, get out of town, you are joking” face and cycled on.
This week I learned that WOW(WomenOnWheels) Jo Rust was mugged a while back in N. Angola of her bicycle. She was approached with machetes and lightened of everything, the crooks fortunately did not touch her. Not, that it stopped her much, with financial support from Angola, she picked up a motorcycle and continued her quest to circumnavigate Africa.

In a comment on twitter this week, some folks had never heard of a cycle tourist being robbed of their bicycle. Jo Rust and I both agreed and laughed that some how knowing about these worst case scenarios before hand helps in the planning. Would we change our minds and not go? Definitely not, because these incidents are rare and do not account for the 100’s if not 1000’s of bicycle travelers that come home with nothing but good news and fun photos.

Mom’s out there stop reading and go comb your now graying hair!

I have a machine gun… so, give me your stuff

I left to cycle out of Cairo in a sandstorm, my instincts were kicking hard that it was time to go. With the help of an amazing tail wind I covered 200km plus a day cycling scared and fast through most of S Egypt. On the same road in a two week period I met 4 separate solo cyclists who were robbed. (Luxor to Aswan Nile and Desert rds).

The ‘it is not safe, you must get in’

Africa Cycle (FB fanpage) -A truck insisted the road was not safe. He got in and was robbed of electronics. Fred returned to France bought all his gear back, flew to Capetown and cycled north instead of south. I camped with Fred in Malawi and he told me he will be flying home before he reaches Egypt. Fred is now cycling across Ethiopia.

Cut The Locks

During a loud thunderstorm while crossing the Stans, Kevin locked his bike to a fence. It it was cut free. The police went looking, apologized and found his bicycle. I met Kevin happy to be rolling on the KKH Pakistan.

The ol’e guest house trick.

I was robbed in a guest house in Tanzania. Peter Gostelow was as well in Kenya after spending 6 weeks recovering from a machete attack in the Big Africa Cycle. World Biking lost one of their two bikes in a guest house in Bolivia. Whether you lock your bike to the bed is up to you but whatever you do don’t tell your mom you are a cycle tourist.

Special Note: Posted in memory of my mom who died of cancer 10 years ago today. I raise my glass high in her memory to all the gray hairs she said I gave her before she passed away. In spirit, I am sure she is proud to know that I am indeed a cycle tourist.

Zebras for Zero Dollars…Budget Tips For African Safari Travel

Safari-“an expedition to observe animals in their natural habitat”

Grandiose visions of wildlife, migrating wilder beast, roaring lions and galloping giraffe filled my gleeful mind when I first envisioned traveling through East Africa. A budget of about 10usd a day aught to cut it, I reasoned when I turned my wheels south into the continent from Cairo, Egypt. After all cycling is a low cost form of traveling and a great way to have a budget adventure. However, tourism is well established in Eastern Africa. high end holidays options abound. I do fully encourage African nations to make the most out of what they have to sell. However, some of us are still on a tight budget.

IMG_1817 (2) (1280x960) (1280x960) — Victoria Falls as seen for free from the walking bridge between Zambia and Zimbabwe

For instance entrance fees and transport to the pyramids round out at about 50-75usd, which I saw for free when I cycled out of Cairo and that herd of wilder beast will cost you 200usd plus a day to catch a binocular sized glimpse of them from afar roaming over the Serengeti plains of Kenya and Tanzania. But like most travelers, I came to experience Africa and for me that means looking at wacky wonderful species I had only seen in captivity.

DSCN1922 (676x800) (1) — Pyramids of Egypt, free from the roads and parking lot

So how do you see Africa on a tight budget. After 3 plus years of cycling the world, it is safe to say I travel on limited means. I cut accommodation costs by sleeping for free at religious missions, police compounds, schools and outback of small shops on route meeting new friends and sharing my photos and stories along the way.

I venture in to the occasional tourists campground for 8-15usd a night in areas too heavily populated to sleep safely out in the bush somewhere. Although, free bush camping is great fun with the rainbow colored lizards, slugs the size of my hand and the fancy funny insects, spiders and snakes. So how can you spot those lions, tigers and budget bears, oh my ? (Other then clicking your heals together that is). Here are some things I have learned this past year to keep the low cost fun going.

Elephants who really do not care about park boundaries, (60km from Kasane, Botswana 5km from the Namibian Border

Bring A Tentmany campgrounds, backpackers and lodges have camping spots that will cost you half the price of a room. It is also less hot outside in the breeze than indoors most of the time.

Game Reserves are a fraction of the cost of national parks and often will allow cycling/walking. Reserves of Malawi, Kenya and Zambia are great examples of this. They are home to giraffe, zebra and hippos.

Have elephants forgotten where the park boundary is?
Cycle or walk around outside the national parks that have known animals populations. The elephants of Botswana are often seen for free outside park boundaries saving the cost of entrance fees. Warthogs haven’t got a clue about boundaries either. Lions are rarely spotted during the day but also roam about at night outside the lines and probably best left out in the dark.

Ask other travelers where they have spotted animals for free.

-The odds are pretty good that the giraffe they saw last week eating on the side of the road has develop a taste for that specific area.

-Northern Namibia Zebras, Giraffe.Malawi, crocodiles love the lake and are often spotted in Nhkata Bay.

-Uganda Lake Victoria area, hippos live by the dozens in the south east corner and easily spotted for free from the dirt tracks at a distance.

Sudan,watch camels galore make their way north through the Sahara to Egypt.

Special note: There are some hazards. I pushed Pandemic The Magic Bicycle through the woods this past week while stalking a zebra. A thorny stick poked my leg through my pants…fast forward 3 days. I have a tropical ulcer on my leg which is healing well and doesn’t feel too bad to cycle on. So, be careful out there because even zebras for zero dollars have their costs.

Matrimonial Mayhem. Is Africa Safe For Solo Women?

Us Africans have a problem….” The man dribbles down his stripped shirt and straightens the belt on his bulging kacki pants. His muscular hand firmly clenches his Mosi brand beer as his reddened eye balls gaze with affection at my sunburned peeling bare arms. Oh, this aught to be good I chuckle to myself and raise my eyes up past the cracked wooden stool and glare up at this flirtatious harmless buffoon. The only place in town with a fridge and cold soft drinks HAS to be a bar, I giggle and glance through the tattered azure floral print cloth. It is hanging over the shaded doorway. Pandemic The Magic Bicycle is waiting patiently in clear view outside under a orange tree in the midday humidity.

Us Africans have a problem, we like your skin, I want to marry you.” Mr. Pants-A-Tingling (P.A.T) lovingly slurs again as the older protective gentleman behind the dusty gray wooden bar shifts his feet and curiously peers on. His reserved elderly pink lips seem ready to pounce on his drunken buddy if need be.

I am sorry Sir, but I am not sure I want to do that” I politely smirk with as much soft sincerity as I can muster as the elderly gentleman barkeep laughs in support.

Will you marry me….?” Mr P.A.T. continues on deeper into matrimonial hot pursuit, somersaulting over cumbersome formalities such as knowing my name.

Casper, my husband wouldn’t like that much” I grin as my pinocchio nose begins to grow and tall tales of Casper (the ghost), my fictitious husband begin to rise.

Your children then, I will marry your children!” Mr. P.A.T stumbles forward and perseveres deeper into never never land. I am now chugging my cold coke-cola trying not to laugh, chock or spray soda out my nose.

I will tell my unborn children all about you Mr. P.A.T., nice to have met you.” I sarcastically utter as I head for the door and hop on Pandemic for a quick get away. Minutes later while cycling, as the heavy stench of testosterone ricochets off my panniers, I realized how brilliant WOW (Women On Wheels) co-contributor Helen Lloyd truly is. She counted the many marriage proposals while she cycle toured throughout western Africa. I’m definitely gonn’a need a calculator, I reason to myself as I carry on crossing from East into West Africa.