Loretta Henderson – Page 23 – Solo Female Cycling Around The World

Rub A Dub Dub In The Photos Bathtub

Rub-a-dub-dub,Three men in a tub,And how do you think they got there? The butcher, the baker,The candlestick-maker, They all jumped out of a rotten potato, Twas’ enough to make a fish stare…

While 5 cyclists head up the Nam Ou river in Northern Laos during the dry season the adventure begins not with 3 men in a tub but by 5 cyclists loading 5 bicycles with full gear and 14 passengers aboard a shallow long wooden boat. Together we all venture NW along the river through the cascading shallow current , amongst local fisherman and happy children as we head towards the starting point for the mountain road to China. After we destroyed propeller number three on the river floor rocks, trekked up the river bank on foot around the shallow rapids and then pushed the boat through the river, the adventure to China begins…..Please enjoy the photos for words alone cannot do this adventure justice.

Most mornings in the mountains of Laos begin with a captive audience of little locals

Despite the locals having a PHD in loading stuff, 5 cyclist still come up with a great plan on
how to pack 5 bicycles on to a boat

My NEW shipped for free to anywhere Be The Adventure T-shirt came in handy on the river adventure

Fishing For Dinner

Pushing a boat can tucker out a couple of cyclists faster then a mountain road

Because even the captain needs a good nap once in a while!

There Is A Big Mountain In The Way!

As five cyclists, new friends head together through the mountains, the food is scarce, the laughter is not. Three days and 300km of hills later the rolling crew of 5 spring forth, bellies full of sticky rice and rat on a stick. To the cultural heritage city of Luang Prabang we arrive like gorillas escaping from the forest looking forward to some well earned Laos beer and food that doesn’t involve noodle soup or barbequed rodent.

Tim and Emanuel, two handsome Swedish guys who would like all of you ladies to know that they are single, and team Canada, a French Canadian couple who would like you all to know that they were fully sponsored with gear and cash as they pedaled a crossed Canada last year and would like the good fortune to continue as they pedal the world. They can be contacted through their website. The Swedish hotties also have an amazing website (video blogs in English) with GPS and navigation data that could give NASA technology a run for their money, and video capabilities that Steven Spielberg would smile about.

A village school along the way proved to be a wonderful campground, and dozens of curious children provided the evening and early morning entertainment. Team Canada spent the morning involved in an outdoor cooking class with the locals as the Swedish hotties did calisthenics to tighten their rock hard abs, wrote letter to their moms, and played with the children to start the day in the mountains.

Tomorrow after I wait for the cute Swedish pair to balance their 6 digit bank accounts, the party of 5 will head for a long boat to float the Nam Ou River and will jump off at the road and pedal north into China. May the camping, laughter, outstanding blogging, photos and fun continue… “Adventure Cycling Is The New Religion/The New Rock And Roll” A quote by Tim from Sweden, enjoy the YouTube video!

Have You Heard The One About Women Drivers?

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I slam the brakes and jackknife poor Pandemic the Startled Magic Bicycle as I slosh through a dark greasy puddle and stop short in front of a lunatic of a woman driving a motorcycle as if sponsored by BMW. It seems as I make my way north for the third and final time through the mountains in Laos and into China with my new passport in hand that the women drivers have taken me on with a Mario Andretti ferociousness. They are fresh from the race track, amped on Mekong whisky (a bad joke) and ready to ride. Perhaps, it is my new speed complicating things. I have gotten a fair bit lighter this week as I sorted out my new passport and visas for China, Russia and Pakistan.

Keeping women on the road in her motorcycle repair shop

In the mail, I received a care package containing a new lighter tent, I replaced my Vaude Hogan ultralight tent because I am a loser and lost the tent poles. The tent floor was also ripped from the porous rainforest floor and the zippers were wearing out from 2 years of my peak a boo is there anyone out there continuous use. My wonderful Vaude tent home, I replaced with a Big Agnes Fly Creek tent because it is free standing, the poles fit IN the panniers/bicycle bag and the tent has more ventilation for the humid Africa climate up ahead. I have also reduced my Asian clothing collection and was robbed/lightened of my front handlebar bag. However, I am not all that attached to my belongings anymore, although, I would open up a can of ‘be the adventure woop ass’ if anyone messed with Pandemic The Magic Bicycle. However, at 5 foot nothing, weighing in at buck and change and never having been the biggest kid in the class, Pandemic ‘The Untouchable’ can and will take care of herself.

All of this, wonderfully contributes to my new lightning fast zippidy doo da day entertaining speed and complete joyful reckless abandonment of all traffic rules for the slower vehicle. I am now almost as fast as a motorcycle, and I say almost with the same “yeah right” exaggerated tone in which a criminal pleads not guilty. With my Be The Adventure panties hiked up high, in order to stay warm and brave the freezing rain of the mountains, I have decided to just allow all reason and common sense to wash away with the mud puddles and pretend that I definitely have the right of way on the road. Yeap, that’s right, I officially own the road, or at least in my own saturated by precipitation mind. Dang women drivers!

Tomorrow as the freezing rain, wind and 8 degree temperatures continue, I zig zag up into the mountains, take on the switch backed latent road and will be belting out “life is a highway”. For every wet woman needs a good theme song. And, while waving my cold hand to hundreds of rain soaked happy children, hope not to crash, therefore, saving us all one more joke about women drivers. Have you heard the one about women on wheels? The WOW (women on wheels) Wall is always growing as people find me at rettaretta@hotmail.com, Facebook, and Twitter and share ideas photos, blogs and books celebrating women on wheels.

Who’s On First, What’s On Second, I Don’t Know’s On Third

Wide eyed, full of excitement, like a kid in the candy store, I admire my new passport. 48 fresh pages to fill, a candy crazed child’s delight, my sweet tooth for travel only satiated by future travel plans. If only the logistics of acquiring visas were as simple as choosing your favorite colored gumball.

Chew I did all day, not on gumballs but on phone calls, internet searches, scanners, e-mails, letters of invitations and thank you responses. Getting visas arranged for 3 countries while visa time is ticking away in the fourth is time consuming enough to watch blue gumball chewing children mature into white peppermint eating adults.

Who’s On First. Russian Visa, new passport scanned and e-mailed to a Russian friend and her mom. In two months processing time, I will be pedaling to the Almighty, Kazakhstan located Russian Embassy to apply. What’s On Second. Pakistani Visa, The Karakorum highway, Northern Pakistan. With a letter of invitation from my girlfriend’s father from Pakistan, I pedal off to the Pakistani Embassy in Laos. I stop to buy a pen on the way, make 3 tuk-tuk taxi drivers and 2 travel agents laugh as together we discover, I am 2100km (about 1278miles) lost. The Pakistani Embassy is in China with only a web address in Laos. Stop at a internet café, receive an e-mail that Russian friend’s mom will need a 70 day itinerary. I don’t know is on Third.

Double Entry Chinese Visa, What’s on second. Pedal from Kasgar, China over the Karakorum Highway, Pakistan and then back to China, continue through Kazakhstan and Russia. I break the pen as I hand write an enormous fictitious list of villages and cities throughout central China because if I mention Kasgar or Tibet, the visa will get denied. Who’s on first. No, what’s on second, I don’t know is on third. Go buy another pen, pass lie detector test and arrive at 3:30pm to the Chinese Embassy. I am 4 hours late, they close at 11:30am M to F, baffling convenient business hours that I missed, as I sorted out who’s on first, what’s on second and pedaled around looking for I don’t know.

Abbott and Costello, are you busy tomorrow? For I hope to be chewing on bubble gum and less comical confusion as I sort this one out.

Trying Out For The Red Carpet, What To Wear On Your Next Adventure?

I would like to say as I round the world by bicycle that I am cloaked in a wonder women cape full of magic capabilities. Attire, that is suitable for the red carpet and engineered by fashion experts.

However, light weight astronaut specialists, or red carpet outdoor experts have not sponsored me to fashionably propel my hopeful thunderous thighs through the Himalayas foothills of China. I am a self funded human. After 21 months of solo female bicycle touring without sponsorship, I am existing on a budget of limited means. Likewise, I am full of realistic thoughts on the needed and affordable attire for the adventure.

However, it has become abundantly clear that bicycle touring reeks havoc on the wardrobe. My bags are tiny to say the least and my laundry capabilities are limited at best. Today’s tree strung clothes line, in the shade of the cold Laos mountain air, barely did the trick to dry my newly acquired Asian cycling pants made of thin cotton fabric.

The UV sun fading capabilities of hours cycling in the sun will fade the most well designed shirts into a seductive breezy veil. After hours of pedaling, my bronzed sun tanned back acquired through my shirts will attest to this. Fortunately, the majority of my clothing, which has disintegrated in the hours of sunshine while pedaling, didn’t cost very much.

So, what should we be wearing on a bicycle tour? For some the answer is simple, spandex, high end synthetic UV protective fabric and a reflective vest. Or, anything that northface, OR, mountain research, shimano or Patagonia recommends and the pocket book can manage. For me, it is whatever is given to me, or that I can find in the local inexpensive clothing market for imported spandex flatters my red carpet figure to an extent that the masculine conservative world at large need not distract ME by. Even in Australia, a country comfortable with flesh, attention levels rise to distracting levels, if I flash my legs in my favorite OR cycling skort. Besides, there are plenty of cheap, stylish, affordable, conservative outdoor clothing choices for women, choices that will work on any bicycle tour and outdoor adventure, anywhere in the world.

There are several options in the wonder women spandex line

And the vintage shabby chic of yesteryear

Then there’s reality. In some areas of the world, were husbands and brothers barely catch a glimpse of shoulders and thighs, I have always thought it was wise to dress like the locals and cover up. The added sun blocking benefits only add to my thoughts. A long sleeve cotton shirt and long shorts with gusseted crotch will do the trick in just about any climate. In colder regions, zip off hiking pants are helpful because of their lightweight, quick dry capabilities. A light rain coat such as the Marmot precip jacket works well for rain gear as does a poncho. Padded spandex cycling shorts fit fell under most clothing and there are lots of options where the padded bum is build right in for extra comfort.

Let’s cycle the red carpet in style……….

The Bicycle Clown Spreads Much Needed Smiles Across Japan

As the earth in Japan continues to shake, power plant on fire, tsunami destruction flourishes and the death and injury toll continue to rise, I get a message from my internet boyfriend. Not someone I have been lucky enough to meet (yet), rather an internet friend and fellow long term bicycle tourist. Someone, I greatly admire. Also, the recipient of my long standing joke that the cute, single, Alvaro “Biciclown” Neil is my internet boyfriend. The message said “I climbed a hill and slept near a temple, the airport close by is annihilated, I am ok”. I was relieved to hear that my internet boyfriend and fellow cyclist was safe.

The BiciClown

Alvaro “Biciclown” Neil has been travelling the world by bicycle since 2004 and working on a project called “Miles For Smiles”. This lawyer turned clown performs physical comedy clown shows for free to children and adults around the world. He writes books, documentary films and lives on a meager budget of 5USD a day. He has vowed to not return to his home in Spain until his project is complete, for the grave yard is full of dreamers and he doesn’t want to be one of them.

The BiciClown is presently pedaling in Japan towards the region most heavily affected by the tsunami and earthquake. He is performing clown shows for free in the many devastated towns throughout the route. In Alvaro’s last blog post he states that at times it is difficult to put on the clown but he will because the people are in need.

‘Sometimes I have to play the clown when my soul is broken or when I want to be elsewhere. I think I have to do it professionally, so I forget my fears and do it…that is the mission of the clown, to be insensitive to ones own pain and shine on the smiles of others…..’

A lucky local Japanese woman wanted to see her country by bicycle and together they venture towards the devastated Hokkaido area sharing much needed smiles along the way. Catch up with the biciclown on the Website, Facebook, Twitter or become a Clown Funder and help spread smiles around the world.

Bicycle Touring Solo? Boo Hoo Hoo, How To Tackle The Lonesome Blues

Lonesome is described by the Webster’s dictionary as forlorn, lost, alone, deserted, solitary, isolated, secluded, remote, out of the way, without a friend in the world. Lonesome is described by the solution oriented solo bicycle tourists glossary of terms as….if at times after weeks or months of solo bicycle travel, a profound forlorn feeling creeps into your soul, it is perfectly normal and healthy to have deep meaningful conversation with your bicycle. Psychiatric counseling will not be necessary unless the bicycle or other inanimate objects begin to respond in any recognizable verbal auditory format.

And no, a squeaky brake pad does not qualify as a conversation starter. However, just after breakfast this morning, Pandemic The Magic Bicycle past gas, she then got to chatting and told me she would prefer tea to coffee this morning. Just kidding, Pandemic The Magic Bicycle only talks to me after lunch. However, many bicycles have become muses, bicycles with character, bicycles who are characters and have inspired many a solo bicycle tourist to write a book, after all solitude does have its benefits. Check out the WOW (women on wheels) Wall for books, blogs and photos.

Flip It! Flip, defined as the act of turning over in mid air and landing on ones feet. Flip, or turn all that lonesome energy into something positive and entertaining. Many people from many countries, in many countries have asked me “Are You Alone”? I can be completely oblivious to my being a “onesome” and not have thought about it in some time and then here comes the bomb of all reminders. “Are You Alone” and all of a sudden I feel so very boo hoo hoo, playing my miniature violins for myself, all alone. So flip the energy into something positive and fun, keep a journal and call it S.O.L.O, Sexy, Out there, Loud and Out of control and spend time thinking about Annie Londonderry, Gedridur Thorbjarnardottir, Amelia Earhart, and other female explorers, However, while pondering your remarkable similarities to the great women in history, it is important to check in with the ego for we all can’t be famous or perhaps we can, if only in our own minds.

It is pertinent for the sake of this so called sanity to create self entertaining answers to this ‘are you alone’ curiosity for I will venture a guess and say that there isn’t a woman out there who has travelled solo in the developing world who hasn’t been asked “Are You Alone”, at least once and in some places several times a day. A while back, I told a harmless curious motorcycle pose of Indonesian men that my 6 brothers, and I gestured how big they were, all 6, 7 feet plus tall were waiting for me up ahead, a half dozen, large genetic mutants waiting for little alone me. I could hardly say it without laughing, as I explained why I couldn’t talk about being alone anymore and must go right away and meet my large mutant family members. I have also mentioned that I am part of the ‘I Have No Friends’ international social club and they should become members. Or, that I am studying the effects of solitude and isolation on mental stability and had decided, last night, while sharpening my knife, that it was a precarious balance. So have a laugh. For solo female bicycle touring can be as fun as you make it.

I would love to hear your experiences of solo cycling and bicycle touring. Leave a comment below or join the WOW (women on wheels) Wall.

Party Like A Rock Star

“That is the worst idea I have ever heard”. The words escape from my laughter as I accept the invitation and follow new friends to the top rated tourist attraction in Northern, Laos. River Tubing is a Laos specialty, no shoes or sanity required for this activity that takes place on the Nam Song River in Vang Vieng. Although, you might want to bring a helmet for all good parties require a helmet. A once quaint little picturesque village nestled into a scenic mountain backdrop now colonized by a peculiar happy insanity only found as a direct result of copious amounts of adrenalin and drinks served out of sand castle sized buckets.

“This drink is not normal”. As I sip from my bucket and watch people launch themselves off of a wooden tower onto a trapeze swing over the river. Half a bucket later, I start to wonder what on earth is really in my drink for I am very awake. Circus juice or amphetamines or both at best guess, and I can assure you that me on speed is the worst idea anyone has ever had, for since birth, sitting still has never been my specialty.

The majority of the crowd has lost their tube and is swimming down the river from one trapeze circus act bar to the next “event”. Only in a country like Laos where words such as ‘play at or own risk, liability, death and endangerment, law suit’ are not muttered could only such a place exist. I am now calling it the drinking, drowning, swimming place for river tubing no longer seems like the appropriate word for this mobile nautical festival of intoxication, acrobatic events and ultra hyper happy swimming drunk people. A whole crowd of folks who also can’t sit still, I may have found my people, maybe I will live here for a while.

“This is such a bad idea”. The thought goes through my head as I climb 2 stories on top of wooden scaffolding and grab hold of the zip line. My hands grasp hold of the circa WW2 metal handle bar and off I go at a million miles an hour down a thin metal cable, drunk, flying on speed buckets to get dropped on my head into the river. Splash, I feel like I have been in a traffic accident as I swim through the current amongst an obstacle of ropes and stray tubes to the next “event”.

As my whiplash sets in and mud ricochets off of my face from the mud pit wrestling match, I suddenly remember that I am on a world bicycle tour and getting injured while partying like a dead rockstar doesn’t exactly qualify as an excuse to quit. As I make my way to drier ground, I bump into a mud stained hyper circus colleague and say, in order to remind myself, I rode my bicycle here. He is laughing too hard at me to talk about it and so am I, therefore he finds my unlikely bicycle story hilarious.

The next morning, I wake up with a brain tumor, say to Pandemic The Understanding Magic Bicycle, good thing you are green because I might hurl all over you today and pedal, pedal, pedal as fast as I can out of the chaos which is Vang Vieng. The most fun, worst example of tourism I have ever seen and I could have stayed a week.

Until Next Time Vang Vieng!

Obstacles To A Successful Bicycle Tour…Meet The Psychotic Roosters Of Asia

It is 4:19 am and I am awake. Click, clack, click there are tiny footsteps dancing outside the door of my bungalow. The mountains here in Laos are getting cold so I have ventured in for the night to a guest house bungalow. Click, clack, click the footsteps appear to be busting out with an early morning tango……Cock A Doodle DOOOOOOO, the song is startling, a disastrous operatic melancholy melody that could make Pavarotti roll over in his grave has just begun outside the thin walls of my wooden bungalow.

Asian Psychotic Rooster

They don’t seem to understand how early it is, psychosis from too much singing has surely eaten away their senses. Roosters have gathered like a doorstep Christmas carol choir, lacking any real talent to pull off a hit song and they certainly can’t skate by on their dance moves or cute looks alone.

The roosters here in Asia are not your run of the mill roosters, although I do wish they would run a mill instead of the roads. They are psychotic; their cock doodle doo is in need of a good dose of psychotherapy, a straight jacket and a voice coach. Their short tempered feathers are constantly ruffled and they have developed some serious issues concerning magic bicycles. For days now, I have been trying to quietly sneak by them unnoticed but they can smell a magic bicycle from a mile away. And despite my stealth bomber efforts as I pedal by them, they shed their straightjackets and click clack click themselves to the side of the road, cock their greasy uncombed feathery heads, open their alarming blood shot eyes and Cock A Doodle DOOO a psychotic howl straight out of a B grade slasher movie.

notice the hearing aid in the women’s ear due to the fact that she grew up around here

Magic bicycles are indeed a special breed, can render even the most secure, green with envy, however, psychosis and jealousy are a dangerous combination in a strange bird with a terrible singing voice, who has aspirations to form an early morning choir with all his equally ton deaf bird friends. It is now 4:36 AM, the morning rooster chorus is in full swing, busting out poor quality original tunes and discussing their application for the AM talk show circuit. Let’s applaud them for effort and secretly hope they do not find success for I assure you that if they went global, the world at large would suffer a serious shortage of high quality earplugs.

Although I agree that this would make a fine album cover, I assured them to keep practicing and Opera will just come to them!

Make Spoons Not War

The beauty of NE Laos lays in the Laotian people’s remarkable spirit, ingenuity, laughter and smiles for all that pass by their villages. Late in the afternoon, after pedaling up and down the mountains for about 90 kilometers, I stop, hungry again for some noodle soup. As I lift my spoon full of mysterious meat balls, I notice my spoon has been handmade, is heating up quite quickly, is a matt grey color and is very strong and light. As I lift my spoon and thoroughly enjoy my noodle soup, I ponder how such a beautiful people can endure such a sad history and persevere with such kindness for all who cross their paths. The spoon in my soup has been handmade out of scrap metal that has been harvested from the hillside from the left over bomb metal that was dropped overhead by the Americans during The Secret War (1963-1974).

The mountains roads of North Eastern Laos are full of twists and turns and noodle soup as I climb my way through the Xieng Kuouang Province. The hills climb at 20-30km stretches, crest the top and cascade downward through endless switchbacks to reach the bottom and climb again. Pandemic The Magic Bicycle is a giant fan of these high mountain roads and seems to have perked up since the rice patty flat roads of southern Laos and Cambodia. Around each sharp corner, a village full of smiling, waving, friendly people awaits dressed in traditional attire heightening the beauty of pedaling here.

This region, the most heavily bombed in Laos holds the record for the most bombs dropped on them by the Americans in history, every 8 minutes for 9 years, tones of explosives dropped from the sky, a ½ ton of bombs per person in Laos. The Secret War, was keep hidden from the media, US Congress and the outside world as thousands of people perished or hid out starving in mountain caves.

As I pedal through the many villages to reach the capital of Phonsavan, there are remarkable number of children smiling and waving without limbs, while others are waving and saying hello with a huge amount of scaring on their faces. 30 years later, unexploded cluster bombs litter the province and there are many accidents involving the bombs exploding and killing people or taking their limbs. It is estimated that 30 percent of the bombs were dropped too low to the ground and didn’t explode. Today, the bombs are disturbed while people farm for much needed food, while children play near their schools and while access roads are built. Many regions still have so many bombs that people continue to be unable to farm and remain impoverished and hungry out of fear of the bombs that have already taken many a limb or life.

As I sit holding my bomb metal spoon I guiltily eat my noodle soup and can only imagine the starvation and fear of the Laotian people during the war. Today with local initiative and some NGO support the people continue to slowly clean up the mess and turn lemons into lemonade, fashioning the bomb metal into everything from spoons, cattle water troughs, plant holders and house supports. Make Spoons Not War is a powerful thought that will stay with me as I continue through the province to reach the Nam Ou River and load Pandemic The Magic Bicycle onto a wooden barge and continue by river through the region.