Loretta Henderson – Page 17 – Solo Female Cycling Around The World

Gritty Grin of Grime

My thoughts are orbiting the sandy keyboard, the noise from the storm outside ricochets from the dirt and cement blue and yellow walls. Wooden window blinds are hardly a barricade from the banging of the wild wind. The palm roof is secured by make shift rafters as I hover from the sand storm grateful for the Sudanese Nubian hospitality that landed me here.

I am in Wawa village, a quaint little community just off of the road where it’s inhabitants merrily stroll around in a fierce sand storm with giant welcoming smiles. The first 8 people I meet all offer me tea and a place to sleep joyfully oblivious to what can definitely be described by National Geographic’s next Edition of Morons Trying to Cross the Sahara by Bicycle as a halting high wind advisory.

Cycling in wind at my back of this velocity in a southerly direction has been fairly easy until now as long as I do not stop or take off my sunglasses. I tried sleeping in my sunglasses last night until I realized that a shirt would be a more effective sand barrier for my reddening eyes. The wind is warm, fierce and absolutely harmless although definitely ridiculous and what any sane meteorologist would call inclement weather. Although, the standards of inclement have become incredibly subjective as I am serenaded by the Sudanese people who carry on jovially kind and openly grinning waving, honking and smiling as strongly as the wind that keeps somersaulting me southward through the Sahara.

Stopping to cook has not been an option since lunch yesterday when half the ingredients attempted to join the merry go round of sky dirt and blew away. Also, dirt soup and gritty coffee aren’t really all that appetizing which is good because my clogging stove flame keeps getting blown out. I have been eating some sort of Sudanese twinky cake and bowls of local sugar flour cookie stuff which the people keep offering to me as they wave me down and invite me into their tent and twig homes along the roadway. There is a fair bit of bowl dirt involved with this wonderful Nubian hospitality but the good news is my teeth are scoured clean and no doubt sparkling with the dental miracle of a pressure washer wind cleaning.

However, this afternoon the wind shifted, and pushed me sideways from the road into the sand several times before the welcoming sign of Wawa Village beckoned me from the ‘Is This Oz’ wind disaster of trying to pedal a bicycle across the seductively ludicrous Sudanese Sahara. Here I am, sheltered inside blue and yellow Nubian walls, palm thatched roof hovering overhead. I have been welcomed in from the wind. I am typing with sand in the keyboard, dirt in my sun burnt ears and a slimy smile in my teeth as the metal gates of this Nubian home swing free clanking up a deafening racket.

The sandy storm outside my walls carries on from the afternoons of yesterday. I have had several visitors who have come to smile, and tell me to sleep here with them and 2 visitors who come to smile and say ‘you crazy’. My teasing smile matching there’s in magnitude and about all I can say is ‘crazy?, only on a good day’ and everyday in Sudan has been a very good day, thank-you for all your kindness.

Serendipitous Sunshine

As I make my way through the final 250km into Aswan, Egypt to catch the ferry boat into Sudan, my smile is sizzling with intrepid anticipation and 40degree temperatures. I have not seen smiles like this since Thailand, which is coined the land of smiles.

People reach out oranges from donkeys, camels and horses, while motorists give thumbs up and trucks give way for me to pedal down the shoulder. Perhaps it is the Sudanese influx of inhabitants for someone has definitely hit the on switch for friendliness. Girls giggle and ask me to stop for a chat. Women drive in open back taxis to and from the market, as sunshine cascades from the grinning residents. Even the people touting their goods have a sense of humor, as I smile back and say no thank you to horse drawn taxi rides and overpriced hotels.

The Sudan visa office in Aswan is all welcomes and smiles as I walk in and out in 2 hours with a 30 day tourist visa. One hour later, I purchase a ferry ticket and connect on FB with the ticket agent who must be collecting FB contacts with foreigners. He also drew me a map of the shortcut route to the port, which avoids tourist bridge fees and about 30 extra KM of pedaling.

Many guide books claim the Sudan visa is a huge bureaucratic lengthy affair but somehow I am processed without a letter of invitation, 2 old photos of me in a headscarf from Iran and my proof of yellow fever vaccination. I also got a huge smile for travelling alone by bicycle, a good omen from any visa office anywhere in the world, in my biased opinion.

Tomorrow morning, I depart to cross Lake Nasser, the only open border into Sudan to continue pedaling south across the Sahara plains. I will not kid you, it is insanely hot for pedaling. My eyes hurt and my head is throbbing because my new orange sunglasses have been overpowered by the sunshine. I also wonder, how on earth, the locals are wearing so many clothes. My hands are a red hot peeling mess, the idea of strong enough sunscreen, a good joke, but that aside, the warm Sudanese hospitality I can’t wait to get closer to.

Enjoy The Egypt SlideShow

Special Note: To family and friends, the next internet facility is about 1000km from where the boat docks on Lake Nasser in Northern Sudan (6-10 days away). I will be following the Nile route to Khartoum. The Internet infrastructure in Sudan is limited. I will be back online as soon as I can. Check back often, the most recent updates with be available on the right side bar under the twitter updates.

Girl Grateful…Dealing With Check Points in Egypt

As I crouch down in the Sahara desert sand next to an old building just to the side of the road near Beni Suez, I catch a peek of a truck load of police who drive by looking for me. They insist on driving/escorting me and stopping me from cycling. They couldn’t believe why I would want to sleep in the desert alone, why I did not have a motorcycle or a male companion and why I would be OK alone . I said “No, thank you”, but they insisted. “Can I go please”, I asked and I did go, with a 50 meters lead and hid from them behind a building by the side of the road. I figured if they caught me, I would pretend I was peeing.

Many well meaning guest house owners, motorists, and pedestrians stopped me on my way out of Cairo to say “No, not safe No No No, not safe”. However, an equal number of people stopped me to say “Yes, Yes, Yes” and gave me the thumbs up of encouragement, waved and shouted welcome to Egypt. I followed my instincts knowing many cyclists this month had cycled the road and I kept on pedaling into the ‘is this possible, realm of slightly cautious delightful curiosity.”

Every 50km or so, the police checkpoints got easier and the entourage of people trying to discourage me thinned out as I ventured south leaving the Great Pyramids behind, No, No. No Cycling…Thank You Sir but Yes, Yes, Yes, the scene repeats. The police called down the road concerning the girl alone on a bicycle, the many police at checkpoint number 1 were laughing and told checkpoint 2 that they tried to drive me but they couldn’t find me. By checkpoint 2,3,4,5+ they only suggested no cycling, I insisted yes cycling and the checkpoints went from mandatory to as you wish misses.

As you wish escorts are the kind of chaperones I get offered quite often, a well meaning gesture of chivalry teetering on the culturally appropriate boundaries of mandatory. It is considered highly promiscuous by some people in many areas for a woman to be in public alone, a human rights rant on the confines of women’s freedoms masquerading as a safety hazard, I will leave for another time.

Back to checkpoints, I showed them my Iran visa, my 2 Pakistan visas and showed them my name in Arabic and stood there and politely but firmly said “No” in Arabic. Please don’t get the wrong idea, I was pushing to be able to sovereign cycle and freedom camp unescorted in areas where other cyclists that I just met past through on a bicycle not a truck. The insisting officers wanted to drive me for my safety from the desert elements saving me from myself.

Checkpoint number 3 searched me quite suspiciously and found my gigantic hunting knife that I found on the road last year in Malaysia and they thought the huge knife was a great idea and was very funny. The police then made a phone call, started laughing and gestured to offer a ride in a police truck, already knowing what I was going to say. I smirked and said “Su” (No in Arabic)) and this cleared the way for check point number 4. The police put up my hood on my black shirt which covered my head and made me look like I was wearing hijab, about six police and I had a laugh and then the police boss said “Go, Go, Go” and he did not make me stop to register. I was told the entire squadron of police up and down the road had already called about me.

I camped without my tent for the week under the dry Sahara desert sky. Through a trail of checkpoints, an insane sandy tail wind that was too strong for a tent, I emerged into Luxor. I learned a thing or two in Pakistan and Iran about well meaning paternalistic treatment and how to handle my solo status. There is one grateful bicycle tourist in Luxor right now smiling at the possible, who got to pedal and camp in the desert the entire way there. (Best guess about 750km).

Special note: I took the Asyut Western desert road that goes west of the Nile road and then cut over to the Nile road in Luxor (Asyut Western Desert Rd, Beni Suez, Asyut, Mallawi to Luxor) Also, many police driving the road stopped and suggested I take a ride with them. Don’t get the wrong idea; these are areas that other people just crossed while cycling.

Dear Playboy Magazine

I am writing to inquire about sponsorship. I am sure, I am not alone in the quest for support from Playboy Magazine. So why should you choose me out of the stack of requests to receive support for my world bicycle tour? The answer is because I am often mistaken for a porn star by truck drivers. As much as I am flattered and utterly humbled by the mistake, I believe education is key. A pro-active approach for solo female cyclists would be to offer rock launching educational pamphlets, that clearly demonstrate key differences between solo female bicycle tourists and bonafide porn stars. I could attach educational materials to rocks and throw them at road side masturbators heads as I cycle by.

The target audience is easy to locate. This past week, one such willy wielding weirdo stood at the side of the road with his willy flapping in the desert breeze watching me, his truck blocking anyone else from seeing him. Another such incident this week, involved three 3 guys on a motorcycle who did not fair too well. They stopped to ask me for sexual “servis”. Seconds later, I found myself chasing them down the street snapping photos like a camera wielding lunatic. Sponsorship would also allow me to set up tented private areas at truck stops for oh-la-la activities with oneself, saving the willy weidling weirdos of the world from hazardous highway chases by solo female cyclists.

pro-tip: It is perfectly normal behavior to run down highways chasing after willy wielding weirdos with a camera, a 4-way focus stabilizer is necessary to clearly capture the moment for your memoirs

Let me explain, I have been cycling around the world for far too long. As much, as I am always flattered to be mistaken for a porn star, it happens so frequently in some areas that my reaction has increased to perilous lunacy for them. The next time such a display occurs, I fear I may just try to cut off their willies and duct tape them to their forheads. Sponsorship would save the willies of the world, a mutual interest that Playboy Magazine and I certainly share.

Speaking points at the oh-la-la with oneself tented areas and of the rock launching educational materials would include tips on how to recognize the key differences between an actual porn star and a solo female cyclist.

Thanking you in advance for considering me for porn star sponsorship
Signed,
Solo Female Cycling Around The World
Loretta Henderson
www.skalatitude.com

Flip A Coin For Cairo

Pandemic is excited about trying to cycle the Sahara desert. Well as, excited as a bicycle projected with human emotions can be. The lights of Cairo radiate up ahead through the plane window, non-existing boats off of Cyprus, a distance memory, one yellow fever mandatory vaccine later from the 24hr airport clinic and I am off with Pandemic strapped to the roof of the taxi.

The next morning, after rebuilding Pandemic, I take a stroll through the streets to look for the Nile River which I will be following to leave the city for the western desert. Due to news report of recent protests, I gingerly walk towards Tahrir square. “Welcome to Egypt”, I hear bellowed over the noise of the congestion. The streets are a mesmerizing blend of honking, smiling and pedestrian traffic.

Not a few steps pass and I meet a university student who is studying law, “Go to Tahrir Square” see where the Egyptian revolution took place. I smile, for the news will tell you I am apparently already standing in it.

Tahrir square is bustling with activity. Egyptian flags clutter the dirt embankment, people smile amongst the noise, soot and overpopulated chaos as supportive giggling vendors watch me take photos. A graffiti memorial facing the square has attracted an audience. The painting depicts the Massacre at the football stadium in Port Said just a few weeks ago.

Gainfully employed men, no doubt more focused on employment then politics are slathering over the artwork of angel winged football players amongst soldier green paint. A small group of locals and tourists are snapping photos telling the men to stop the artwork defaming, it’s a memorial. The tourists see me standing to the back of the crowd with my camera, “are you a journalist” they inquire. No I laugh, I am going to try to cycle through Egypt, I leave Cairo in the morning. “Best of luck, Egypt is changing, Friday morning traffic should be good, everyone will be at the mosque praying”.

Rocket Sprocket…How To Detonate a Route While On Tour

As rain dances on the ferry boat schedule departing Turkish, Cyprus, I stand like a racehorse at the starting bell antsy and raring to go. I have new water bottle holders, a repaired Rohloff bearing and a new rocket sprocket that gives me lower gears on hills.

It has been a week and ½ since the ferry boats have not run. It is the coldest and rainiest winter that Cyprus has had in 25 years. I am told by a curious British expat as he peers at a wet magic bicycle circling the port town of Girne hoping for a ferry boat. The roads lack drainage, dirt puddle sloshing has become my new past time. An awful lot of fun not counting the wet car door I skidded into this afternoon.

Love this guy, he sits grinning on his sinking boat. He probably realizes there isn’t anything he can do about it so he might as well smile.

As dark rain/snow clouds take up residence over the ocean between Turkey and Cyprus, the temperatures in the Sahara desert up ahead continue to climb. My legs soften from the lack of daily long cycling distances as the plan morphs itself into new phases of halted indecision.

Cyprus is an island divided by two countries, Turkish, Cyprus and Greece, Cyprus. So pedal off I do in a thunderous down pour of winter rain from Girne to Nicosia then Larnaca on the Greek side of Cyprus. Larnaca is my last stop in the search for an island escape. Decisions of east verses west Africa still preoccupy my thoughts as reality sinks in that I can either wait possibly for weeks for a boat to Turkey then cycle Europe to the west of Africa or take the aviation express over Syria to Amman, Jordan pedal the dead sea down the infamous King George Highway and ferry into Egypt.

Also, crossing the Atlantic and pedaling ocean to ocean across Canada has been ever present on my mind. This would complete my cycling line that rounds the world, that I began many experiences ago in 2009. Fresh thoughts of completion have crept into newly discovered spaces of my, got nothing to prove, could it be time to finish this mind. After all, world peace has changed a fair bit in the last few years since I pedaled out the door.

Egypt…..Egypt….Sudan….Sudan…..halted indecision. Grandiose media reports flood my vacillation as cyclists friends on the ground continue to share good reports and pedal on through the E Africa region. However, one news worthy report has captured my curiosity, “Cyclist robbed at machine gunpoint mid-day on the desert road in Egypt”. He reports he is fine and still pedaling towards Sudan, lightened only of some money and his bank cards. For now, I will just pedal my rocket sprocket over the mountains to the rainy south side of Cyprus looking for clear skies, beach camping, ferry boats, a little bit of logistical magic and/or a decisive onward plan.

Big Mac Attack…What To Eat On A Bicycle Tour

As I wander through the streets of Nicosia, Cyprus, I am distracted not by beautiful mosques or historic Venetian city walls but by the fact that I am ridiculously hungry and nothing is open. The damp, dark, after rain soaked, dimly light streets are asleep, perhaps because the relentless rain, the worst winter on record in 25 years, has closed the shop doors until drier days.

Nicosia is divided by two countries and with a quick flash of my passport, I walk from Turkey/Cyprus over to Greece/Cyprus in search of food. The only thing open is McDonalds’ which I never eat. Out of a perceived dramatic death due to insatiable out of control starvation, I scarf down a cheeseburger and fries and walk back to my guest house in Turkey. I have successfully imported McDonalds from Greece to Turkey at 10pm on a Tuesday night. Yes, that’s right folks, I walked out of Turkey like a turkey to go to Greece to eat grease. No duty paid and no import/export fees were sought, not yet that is.

I was stopped from taking photos of the menu. Apparently the recipe of that Greek Mac is now top secret! I wonder why?

About 5 minutes later, I am writing and drinking a glass of local red wine. Somewhere between a mediocre metaphor and a powerful punctuation mark, I am vaulted by a nauseating alarm. I leap up and run for the toilet to barf. Like superman on a mission to save the world from bad food, my cloak of humbled hunger gets tangled. I trip over a table, break my boob, bruise my knee and my injured toe nail falls off. Curses of bite me Ronald echo throughout the building as the Cyprus sewer system is up by one McDonald’s meal and a solo female cyclist is reminded that McDonalds is a poor choice of food even in cases of perceived dramatic death due to out of control insatiable hunger. What to eat on a bicycle tour? I am not sure I know right now, however …..two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun… certainly comes to mind!

5 Reasons To Celebrate Valentine’s Day

Pitter patter my heart, oh la la, it’s Valentine’s Day. My e-mail box was loaded this week with links galore in the celebration of Valentine’s Day throughout the cycling world. After all my recent talk about my reunion with my hubby Mr Rohloff Wheel, I am not surprised.

A survey by Bike Magazine confirms this week that 50% of men and 58% or women prefer their bicycles to sex. One funny commentator states the obvious when he mentions they must have bad sex lives. Into the google search box I went, and googled everything from bike love to bicycle pornography to uncover the connection between bicycles, love and the coining of the term bike porn.

Bike porn defined by the bicycle tourist glossary of terms as…spending hours drooling over photos of bicycles and/or touring equipment found either on the internet, in print or on the street…harnessing a deep seated desire to fondle and/or ride while groaning oh la la at the possibilities. Other symptom of this seductive affliction include, salivating over maps and telling everyone who will listen that you want to go on a bicycle tour.

The google search was fruitful and came up with a spectrum of information ranging from the history of Valentine’s Day to tandem bicycle riding dates. However, I do not suggest goggling bicycle porn for my eyes blushed wide with an entourage of truly explicit photos of bicycles in all sorts of ludicrous scenarios of oh la la on a cross bar. A quick click of the mouse and I remained on track in my quest for some bicycle porn photos to share. Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone, here are 5 reasons to celebrate!

It’s the first date that matters

Flowers never hurt, although no relationship is without hard times

Nothing better than spicy up the relationship (photocredit)

Those who ride together might just stay together forever

Somewhere On Earth

Tread Marks Of Experience….Have You Ever Cycled Through Pooh?

Winnie The Pooh was a mighty fine bear

I will venture a dare and say without a scare

That at times when the toilet paper was rare

Even a pooh bear may have gotten some on his hair

Bring in a tire with tread so thick that gooey excretion

Couldn’t possibly justify the need for bicycle tour completion

We all have goals of which to stay true

But geez’ people even cycling through pooh?

Dogs do there do-do, cow’s patty the fields, how could we not bring shields for feces

While longing for rare spotting of some exotic species

Sewage systems are so lacking, it send me out of India packing

Indonesia is no different for PVC piping is utterly inconsistent

New Zealand cows squat wherever they may, as I pedaled by thinking get out of my way

Experience it all is, for I will not pout, for in the end, it is what bicycle touring is all about

How about you, ever cycled in pooh, I’d love to laugh at you too

Comment you might , no need to have fright

Fill the box, it’s got to better than cycling into the ass end of an ox

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Lingam is defined by the Webster’s dictionary as “a phallic symbol,male in stature, historically referred to as a symbol of reproduction…protruding outward from the male statue”

Lingam as defined by the solo female bicycle tourist glossary of terms as, “oh no, not again, please put that thing away!”

Number 3 Horsing Around In Mongolia

As I make my way through Mongolia in the far north region near the Russian border area, I am way off of the map and heading into the forest to follow a horse road to cross back west to a lake. Bouncing along on the trail, Pandemic is spry and excited about trail riding in the trees. I am pedaling along listening to music. A nomadic man on a horse trots up next to me, I look up and say ……hello in Mongolian. As my eyes focus, I immediate look away and start giggling, did I just see that? I glance back up and sure enough there is masturbating nomad on a horse trotting along as if masturbating on a horse is completely normal behavior. I bust out laughing and in English say man not again, please put that thing away and I pedal off seriously baffled as to wether or not this particular courting technique has ever actually worked for this hard up nomadic horseman in far north Mongolia.

Number 2 Peek-a-Poo Peeing In Western China

As anyone who has driven long distances knows when you have to pee you have to pee. The Taklimakan desert is vast and huge distances pass without facilities. The shock value of a solo bicycle tourist crossing the desert under pedal power has significant voyeuristic consequences. As I pedal by, trucks drivers who have pulled over on the side of the road to pee. The Chinese truck drivers are startled by my presence in the remote uninhabited desert. Surprised by my jaw dropping presence, they all instinctually turn around to look at me and keep peeing. I giggle and look away, oh no not again, not another peek-a-boo penis, please put that thing away.

Number 1 Thai-Thai, Oh My, Is That Your Thigh?

In the mountains of Thailand, I pedal into the national park on my way to the Mekong River. A friendly Thai man in a truck does not think it is safe for me to pedal. He stops and stops again and insists it is extremely dangerous. At the time, I was new to cycle touring and unaware of how common it is for others to think the impossible is very possible on a bicycle just about anywhere.

After a few hours of Ed following, stopping and insisting, I eventually fall for it. We drive his pick-up truck equipped with big loud speakers mounted on the back, he teaches me Thai and I begin to sell corn over a microphone in Thai to all the villages along the way. Laughing, mobile Thai corn sales woman I am for a few hours. He eventually drives us down a side road, and my instincts clear the corn out of my mistaken head. He puts in a music CD and takes out his penis. I go for the door and dive out of the truck that is still moving. He stops the pick-up truck, I jump in the bed of the truck, pick up Pandemic The Magic loaded bicycle over my head, say sorry Pandemic and toss the bike at him. Pandemic bounces off of his head. He drives away injured, embarrassed and confused. I pedal off thinking note to self, going on dates in Thailand is a not a good idea. Also, if mobile Thai corn sale woman is my next big career move there is probably better ways to go about it. However, most of all I am thinking, oh no not again, please put that thing away!