Guide – Page 10 – Solo Female Cycling Around The World

Low Down Below

About cameras and me and cycle touring

Camera #1 I dropped in a pit toilet in Asia and yes I actually picked it up and saved all my Europe and Asia photos. Probably the most disgusting thing I have ever undertaken in my life, my hand still shudders at the really horrific memory!

Camera #2 was destroyed by the Gobi desert and later repaired in China. The repair didn’t hold and the camera never recovered from being gobied!

Camera #3 I got drunk and lost it, New Zealand wine is damn good!

Camera #4 my present camera is a bit temperamental but holding strong for a cheapy!

Enjoy the photos taken by a friend prior to getting my temperamental camera working again…I am grateful to have some…..

LOW DOWN BELOW

Here I sit at the Auckland airport reflecting upon cycling to bottom of the south island then back up the west coast. My visit time has expired and I have run out of time to enjoy the beautiful people of New Zealand. And I am saddened to have missed a visit with a fellow cyclist I met on the south island. I have no clue as to the distance I cycled but I do remember several rainy days where the relentless cold rain kept me laughing and pleasantly distracted from peddling. The cycling ended on the Queen Charlotte Track. A beautiful 3 day (71km) dirt track intended for mountain biking. Pandemic the magic bicycle stood strong for the challenge and appreciated taking the second day off from the trail and we took the beautiful tar sealed road instead. My gear took a boat to the next port so Pandemic and I enjoyed a light and super fast 20 km in the rain. The track emerges into the community of where a boat transported us across the sound into Picton where I took another ferry and then a train back to Auckland.

I haven’t cycled in about a week now and I do believe this cycle touring business has become a bit of an addiction. My spirits are low and I believe I may be suffering from endorphin withdrawal. When I finally do hang up the bicycle I am not sure how long this cycler’s sadness will last. As I sorted out visas this week, this endorphin low persisted with a mighty lonesome vengeance. I am hoping it isn’t anything a couple 100 kms of cycling won’t cure.

I am headed for Darwin, Australia in a few hours to explore the Northern Territory. I had never intended on visiting Australia or undertaking cycling across such a huge spendy country but in order to board the plane for New Zealand I was forced to buy a onward ticket to somewhere. The cheapest option was Australia. As most of you know a year and a half ago my travels plans involved learning to sail and buying a sailboat. I don’t exactly know how to sail so I am hoping to find a gig as crew on a boat headed from Australia to Indonesia or back to New Zealand to pick up some skills. Cycling a crossed Indonesia is one part of the world line I have left to cycle and I have been told I may be able to find a yacht to bring me to the starting line.

Freak Show at the Incognito Karmic Insect Parade

Notice the swollen eyes…shortly after the bug parade marched on my face!

Incognito…notice the mark on my lower lip shortly after I extracted my bicycle peddle from my droopy swollen lower lip!

When the ants go marching in, when the ants go marching in…….the music resonates with a rhythmic buzz as the stomp of their six saintly buggy feet echoes through the brisk air as Pandemic the magic bicycle awakes for another day of riding in the mountains. I grimace my face that could serve as a great purposeful attraction at the local circus side show. I now resemble a circus mongoloid rolling freak show push peddling great mighty legs in search of drinkable water in the Southern Alps Mountains. In fact, the only things functioning with any degree of beauty this morning are my legs and my sunglasses, the perfect disguise for the swollen mess of my newly found mongoloid face and obese eye lids. Can eye lids gain weight from too much cheese and cycling? Can Down syndrome be acquired overnight? I ponder as I peddle wearing sunglasses incognito uphill towards the glacier region of New Zealand. I have been feeling guilty for several days because after having lost my bottle of environmentally friendly white gas I have been burning petrol in my camp stove.

It has been pretty cold at night so I have been cooking in the vestibule of the tent and the fumes have gotten a bit intense like sleeping on the engine of a tractor under repair. If the environment had a karmic army it would have to be made up of acrobatic bugs that have been sent to me while I sleep to perform circus acts on my face as retribution for destroying yet another ozone layer. The environmentally friendly karmic bug parade has pillaged my face while I slept out in the cold while sniffing an old tractor engine. My thighs continue to ponder the additional weight of my obese eye lids cheek bones and lips as I push peddle over rolling hills north up the west coast.

My face feels very strange like it belongs in the museum of mongoloid bug art.I wish I had a picture of myself or a mirror so I can look at myself and see the creative work of the karmic bug parade that has spend the night marching over the ridges and plateaus that encompass my eye lids, cheeks bones and lips.Peddling up these hills is a challenge but nothing compared to the hard work it must have been for the troop of acrobatic circus bugs to perform on the hilly surface of my face.

As the bicycle skids to halt I suddenly realize that I had gotten my bicycle peddle stuck in my swollen droopy lower lip.When the dust settles and after spending 15 minutes extracting my bicycle peddle from my lip I realize that I COULD see myself.I dig my camera out of the saddle bag and snap a few pictures of myself to take a better look at the chosen facial path of the karmic bug parade.

Bugger! There is definitely something wrong with my face. I throw on my sunglasses and peddle on for the day, buzzing with happiness to be incognito and disappointed there isn’t a circus freak show hiring mongoloid cyclists at the top of one of these hills. The nice thing about travelling the world is people don’t know what you are supposed to look like so you can pretty much look as nutty or buggy as you want and people assume that perhaps you have just been dealt a poor hand of cards for this lifetime, cards which include obese eyelids and outrageously chubby lips. Three more days of peddling a few extra kilos of obese eye lids up and down rolling hills and a glacier and a shop appear in the distant mountainous hills. I replenish my stove with environmentally friendly white gas with the hope of gaining back some karmic environmental points. My eyelids shed the extra pounds and return to their slender size and I am grateful the karmic acrobatic bug parade has finally received different marching orders and left this beautiful glaciated town to join another cyclist’s circus freak show.

Pavarotti The Musical Magic Bicycle

This evening I am sitting in my wet frosty tent crossed legged inside my sleeping bag with my bike light torch in my mouth. My rained soaked figureless gloves are challenged to keep my fingers warm enough to type. I am also typing this really fast because my computer battery is frozen and about to grind to a quick frozen halt. It has been drizzling with rain daily and freezing up at night since Invercargill at the bottom of the south Island of New Zealand. Each morning my frosty tent and super warm sleeping bag beckons me to dream another dream.

Today I cycled along a dirt road that dead ends on the water on the south side of Queenstown. Mountains have been hugging me all day as I scribble Pandemic round and round down the dirt path. Listening to music has become my crutch and my cycling rhythm has become more of a dance. A dance that will no doubt eventually lead me into crashing into a ditch but for now with a captive listening audience of many cows and sheep, I sing and dance on, happy to be finally heading north to warmer climates before the onset of a rainy cold winter.

This is the New Zealand I had imagined. A spectacular mountainous backdrop highlighted by rivers, the picturesque perfect location for my opera debut. The road was washed out today in two places. The first river crossing Pandemic and I rolled and splashed through the trickling brook in a rhythmic tango while singing to my new tunes. The second river crossing was beckoning to take me and Pavarotti the musical magic bicycle for a cold wet last dance. Therefore I removed my dancing shoes and pushed Pavarotti the musical magic bicycle through the water, the current peculated with a crisp sopranos’ harmonic good morning. This road has quickly become one of my all time favorites. I did not see anyone for about 70 kilometers and at the end of the Congo line I found a restored early 1900’s steamer boat to transport me across the Lakes into Queenstown. The snow is accumulating up high on the mountains and every other person I have met in Queenstown is waiting to go skiing. It is time to Macarena my way to the north western side of the Southern Alps mountain range before Pavarotti the musical magic bicycle and I bellow ourselves into a ditch while peddling and singing in an ice storm.

Moo moo on a midget! (May 2 ’09)

How do I get out of this town? I have been through more roundabouts or circular galaxies of confusion then I can keep track of. I am starting to think the powers at be are playing a really good joke on my sense of direction. I finally stopped Pandemic my magic bicycle and asked a construction worker how I head up the coast of Wales. I didn’t mention that the roundabouts were about to make me start crying out of frustration. Keeping the ocean on my left really shouldn’t be that hard should it? The ocean is huge, a person of average intelligence with a college degree should really be able to follow something that big. Granted my degree is in sociology which is just a really good excuse to daydream for 4 years about visiting other world cultures but still following an ocean really shouldn’t be this hard. Should it? The construction worker I asked for directions looked at my bewildered frozen face and loaded down bicycle and said I would have to go through 5 roundabouts, take three left and then head through five used to be lights now sign posts and that would be put me on the main coast road. Ok, I thought laughing to myself at how ridiculous it sounded, 5 roundabouts, 3 lefts and 5 used to be lights now signs posts. Got it, thanks! And so I peddled around the cute little town one more time.

I started thinking I might just be spending the rest of day circling around this cute little town. The next person I found to ask for directions was Noel Fitzpatrick, a Irish man living in Wales working as an engineer for local parks. I told him I was trying to cycle to Ireland, he didn’t think I should be heading all that way without a reflective vest so he gave me his vest, right off of his back. Noel, a big hearted Irish man and I joked that I looked dazzling in a reflective dress. Noel’s vest is size x-large men’s and since I more of a xx-small female it drapes over me like a moo moo on a midget heading down the red carpet. I am grateful that Noel was so thoughtful to have gifted me with such a fine reflective dress, complete with a piece of string to fashion as a belt. That’s twice the amount of reflective material for the motorists to see, that’s double fashionably safe.

After admiring my newly acquired safety inspired garment I mentioned to Noel that I was having a little trouble with the roundabouts. And as much as I do enjoy circles, I talk in circles, think in circles and even built a circular house back in Alaska, I still could not quite figure out how to cycle out of town. That’s cycle not circle out of town. Noel laughed and bellowed out peddle like hell and follow me. He then hoped in his truck, Pandemic the magic bicycle and I peddled behind. We drove over a large grassy residential green area crossed a road and through another residential park. We stopped at a tall wooden fence and then Noel jumped out of his truck and picked up my heavy loaded bicycle lifted it over the fence and onto the busy road. He then pointed to the roundabout sign and said follow that road. Ahh, I felt a deep grateful sigh of relief that the roundabouts that had been consuming my world all morning were rapidly coming to an end. I peddled towards the roundabout sign, a beacon of hope and possibility, the world’s best sign, the sign of all signs, the mackdaddy of the signs and off I peddled out of town in my safety dress. By the end of the day I was following the bluest rockiest northern Atlantic coast line I have ever seen. And I was exquisitely dressed for the occasion to bout.

The coast of Wales is described as one of the most beautiful in the world. And this time around they weren’t just talking. It is completely true. It is late winter early spring, there are very few folks outside in the weather and there is a constant trickle of freezing rain which doesn’t matter because each rain drop reflects off of the ocean like a crystal prism of freedom. A beautiful sense of freedom that can be obtained from cycling for 100km(66miles) a day,6 days a week north towards Fishguard, Wales through the freezing rain in a sexy safety dress.

Cheers! Archive Post 4/30/09

I feel like an arthritic old lady at the moldy age of 37 with a humped back from years of calcium deprivation and hard work in the fields. Hard work in the fields would of conditioned me a bit better for this voyage. With every push of the peddle, I am reminded that peddling a bicycle is nothing like reading about it. My neck is conditioned to being propped up by pillows a sufficient position for reading. The same great reading neck is freaking out with the new found angle of grinning ear to ear over Pandemic’s bicycles handle bars as I head north into the icy breeze. The throbbing of my neck and shoulders is occasionally replaced by the late winter icy temperature of the ocean air. The freezing rain might have bothered me if I wasn’t so intent on making it across the big old bridge I have been grinning at for the last 2 hours.

I hadn’t realized there are two bridges to Wales. A fact I might of realized if I had of stopped smiling long enough to buy a map of the area. The old bridge is 40km or 23 miles further down the potholed latent neighborhood road. Bicycles are not allowed over the new bridge, I was to find out on approach. It is a good thing there is a rich history of bicycle travel in England because everyone within sweating distance seemed to already know that I was not going to be able to cycle over the new bridge. I am told by the sweat soaked helpful crowd to continue on another 40km/23 miles. My throbbing neck doesn’t like this idea but my frozen smiling face peddled on, head strong into the freezing wind and rain towards the Old Bridge.

As the wind blows me backwards instead of forward over the long bridge to Wales my thoughts are replaced by the sense of accomplished that I had actually cycled to Wales. Despite the seemingly gale force winds blowing me the wrong direction over the bridge, overwhelmed, I couldn’t help but pause and while holding down my hat in the wind, peer through tears at the ocean view from on top of the bridge and know that what lie ahead would be worthy of proverbial toast.

The toast may be that I had actually made it Wales or that my favorite adventure cycling book no longer had any appeal or more importantly that I could no longer remember the aching feeling of being 4 1/2 months into my final dark cold isolating winter of Alaska. I had peddled out of England across a huge international bridge, through freezing rain and a seemingly near gale force head wind. The Pandemic, my magic bicycle and I have made it to Wales.

Rain Snot Dirt

Another rain drenched frozen booger splatters me in the face as I splash down the hill. I am dodging snot, dirt and freezing rain pellets. The late autumn rain is so intense it has gotten ridiculous. So ridiculous and cold it is humorous to try to be out here. So this is what the shop keeper meant this morning when he said the weather was coming in. The locals are laughing AT me until I start laughing and then they laugh with me. Some cars just honk and give the thumbs up others just laugh as they pass by. I try to avoid such fun interactions only because if I stop peddling my body shivers into a deep freeze. The only thing stopping me from carrying on is that I can’t see through the rain, snot and dirt. The triplets of inclement weather are interfering with my visibility and lady like appearance. This is my new definition of inclement.

I finally call it a day and cycle into a campground.I feel like a used wet Kleenex tissue tattered and torn from over use, the kind you can only find in the rubbish.On top of being really disgusting, wet and cold I am hungry.7 huge tacos, a bag of popcorn, a chocolate bar, 1.5 litres of orange flavored water and then 2 lamb chops, a bowl of green beans and a plate of rice later I lift my drooling floppy mouth, breath, sigh,breath and think ok what can I eat next?

3 more tacos,2 cups of hot chocolate, ice cream, a cheese roll (grilled cheese sandwich), a handful of cashews and raisons, some yogurt and some cookies I breath, sigh, breath. I may be the first person in the history of cycling in the Catlins, New Zealand to become morbidly obese while cycling into the oncoming rainy winter. Until I pop a tire or split my pant zipper I don’t think I will worry too much about it. More rain is predicted for tomorrow and a hole lot more eating my way to the morbidly obese benchmark! After all it is important to have goals!

Perverted for Penguins

Notice the one in the back singing and playing the tuba

I have temporarily renamed Pandemic my magic bicycle, Regatta the magic bicycle after the great sailing conditions the Otago peninsula is producing today. I am hoping that the wind shifts once again and sails Regatta the magic bicycle up this 70 kilometer cascading hill. The wind sounds like I am at the opera and harmonizes with each new bend in the hill I peddle. The musical westerly, easterly and northerly winds blend into a bellowing rhythmic percussion that insists on chilling my frosty ears. I peddle and thrash at dawn through the icy windy song on schedule.

I have an important appointment to keep. I notified the yellow eyed penguins yesterday that I would be coming. But just in case they didn’t receive my message, I have brought along three tins of sardines. I figure it couldn’t hurt to smell like fish while I hideout and wait in the tall grasses at Sand Fly Bay beach. The stealth bomber hideout and hope to see penguins, while looking up for albatross, mission has begun.

The yellow eyed penguins are shy little ocean critters that prefer a lot of privacy. They can’t waddle that fast so they are a bit self conscience of their figures. They are quite selective of when, how and if they will come to shore to their nests. They always have to have it their way, that figures. However, I let them know ahead of time that I thought being 21inches (1.9 feet) tall, sporting black and white feathers and possessing yellow banded demonic eyes made them pretty damn cute so they need not to worry about being so self conscience. And, they could feel free to waddle about their business free of judgment or criticism. My only trepidation about the first meeting is that they might think I am some kind of voyeuristic pervert lurking in the tall beach grass salivating to pitch a look.

It has been three days now. The tall grass that engulfs my little green tent is bending over in defeated boredom. The stealth bomber hideout and hope to see penguins while looking up for albatross mission has been …….. oh wait…..is that a tuba I hear…….no……it’s them….here they come. Marching out from the ocean like a St Patrick’s Day parade, in full waddle and dressed in their Sunday’s best plumage on a mission of their own to climb the grassy embankment to find their nests. They don’t seem to see me or smell my rotted 3 day old sardine stench. This is a spectacular sight even for a perverted for penguins cyclist who has been patiently waiting in the tall grasses to catch a glimpse of the yellowed eyed penguin colony and all their waddling glamour. I will continue looking up for albatross as I cycle on into the southern tip of the south Island.

As I sail back down the 70 kilometer hill with wind power and satisfaction at my back I grin through the cold winter air over Regatta the magic bicycles handlebars. I am bubbling over with the overwhelming gratitude of a mission complete. The stealth bomber hideout and hope to see yellowed eyed penguins while looking up for albatross mission has been a success.

I Have a Candy Problem!

I am running down the streets of Dunedin like a lunatic at a Spanish bull run. The metal on the bottom of my cycling shoes is clamoring like church bells against the sidewalk. I am on a timer, I have 60 seconds to get to the bank machine and then back to the computer head set that in my hustle I left dangling in the internet café. I shouted to the internet café employee please don’t touch that computer, I will explain later, I will be back in sixty seconds and ran out the door. He looked at me as if to say is this some kind of game show?

I wish I had been elected for a game show but I haven’t. I wish I had a great cycling story to share full of triumph and glory but I don’t. However, while I was cycling through the mountains in central Otago some fraudulent hooligan stole my debit card numbers and went shopping at Walmart in Alabama. The thieves made out with $250 worth of stolen goods and I don’t even like Walmart. The fraud department caught on quick and put a hold on my bank card and it stopped working sometime last week.

I called the bank and used up the rest of my skyppe online phone credit. I convinced women number one from the fraud department to push her magic computer button and open my card for 60 seconds so I could run to the bank machine and withdraw money. I hit the maximum amount allowed and then the card was shut down for good and I said goodbye to all access to money.

I am in Dunedin, New Zealand camped by the beach waiting for a bank card to arrive from Alaska. Pandemic my magic bicycle is perched by a picnic table and enjoying the ocean air acting awfully patient under the circumstances. After talking to a dozen or so bank officials I think they have sent me a new bank card. Women number six wasn’t sure if they had received my signed fax and special request to express mail me a new card in New Zealand. And after having spoke to the entire office and their entire office women number twelve simply picked the phone up and said, are you the women trying to get a bank card sent to New Zealand? I believe she made about 4 more phone calls and I am now fairly confident a new bank card will be on it’s way to New Zealand in 3-5 business days.

When this adventure started 9 countries ago I was convinced the fraud department at my bank was opposed to this idea of me cycling around the world. Every country border I peddled a crossed they would put a hold on my bankcard and I would have to figure out how to call them. At the time, I didn’t have my online skyppe phone number so I would have to figure out how to make a phone call from various phone booths, a remarkably difficult task, which proved to be far more time consuming and exhausting then cycling up a mountain. I have now decided that the fraud department at my bank is very supportive of the adventure because $250 isn’t all that much considering the damage they could of done. Besides all the goods that the fraudulent hooligans made off with are from Walmart so the goods will break soon.

Dunedin is a great place to be poor. The city’s famous tourist attraction is the albatross colony and the yellow eyed penguin colony. I will be cycling out to the tip of the Otago peninsula, an easy day ride, to hide out on the beach and wait for the yellow eyed penguins while looking up and watching for albatross. There is an expensive tourist viewing center for both bird colonies but planning and scheming a stealth hide out mission is more within my budget right now and more fun. The campground during the last couple of days has been great. It has free hot showers so I am superclean, the kind of clean that even sparkling military white gloves would approve of. The camping park is designed for families on a holiday so the camp store has the most extensive selection of penny candy I have ever seen and a Henderson can stay pretty happy and go pretty far on a daily dose of candy. As long as my teeth hold up waiting for a new bank card has been pretty sweet.

Nice Earrings Buddy!

The numbered earrings are a medallion warn proudly for how many cyclists she has taken out!

They have even built themselves bovine mobile carts so they can keep up. They were feeling a bit jealous of all the speedy cyclists!

Holy Cow!!! I mean who stands in the road and doesn’t move when there is a bicycle bombing down a hill straight at you? The answer to that is cows do. In South East Asia chickens, pigs and cows team up and block the roads to cyclists trying to pass. But you can’t really blame the animal folk in South East Asia, with the language barrier and all it is to be expected. The farm animals of SE Asia don’t believe in birth control so there are a lot of baby farm animals blocking the road to cyclists in that part of the world.

I have never really felt that bad for eating cows. In fact I had steak for dinner tonight. After all New Zealand beef is world renowned for it’s quality due to the free range farming practices. However, after cycling through an obstacle course of free range cows on a rural road on my way to the coastal city of Dunedin today cow seems to be heavily on my mind. I can’t say I understand cows; I am not so sure there is all that much going on upstairs. If you look really deep in their eyes I don’t think they all that bright. I guess that’s why people eat them. I am generally skived out thinking about eating dog or horse because they are animals of great intelligence. But a lot of people don’t mind eating cows because they are a few flanks short of a kabob.

The trucks on the north Island of New Zealand proved to be quite the obstacle on my cycle south from the Auckland airport and were freely given the right of way. No cyclist in their right mind is going to take on a triple length logging truck. But having to push my magic bicycle through cows because they don’t quite get it is something I wasn’t expecting. At first I just carried on and peddled through the bovine crowd but the problem with that is they get spooked and try to run into you. I swear they are saying to each other you go left and I’ll go right that’ll get her to push the bicycle and slow down. I also tried mooing at them and making fun of their earrings but they just looked at me like I was weird or something. So steak it was for dinner tonight in the coastal city of Dunedin, home of the yellowed eye penguins. A delicious steak dinner, a peace keeping and safety measure for cyclists around the world!

Insecticide and The Great Famine

I have been eating a lot of bugs today while cycling into the wind. It feels like I was peddling through a asteroid bug field. I wonder what the caloric value of insects is? I have been losing weight lately. Bug eating is something I have developed quite the palette for. Today’s diet consisted of mostly sand flies. Although, a giant bumble bee collided into my sunglasses, he looked kind of fuzzy and I bet if I had tasted him he would have had a weird texture to him. On the plus side he was a lot bigger then the sand flies which might of made him more filling. Back in Alaska eating mosquitoes was often unavoidable, they are known as Alaska’s state bird because there are so many of them flying around. But don’t tell Loretta The Chicken that, her feathers would be ruffled to be compared to such a little insect.

In Thailand insects are a delicacy. They look like cockroaches and are served either boiled or fried. In an attempt to be socialable with a new Thai friend I had met in the market we split a kilo of crunchy fried bugs. With my eyes closed they tasted like popcorn and have a certain salty pop when I crunched them within my teeth. I didn’t really want to think about it or open my eyes but I think the crunch must have been their little insect backs. Umm umm good!

I was peddling my way into the wind and through the insect show into the small town of Otematata when the bug eating began. The Town of Otematata when pronounced sounds like the song from the movie the Lion King, Hakuna Matata. I have been singing the song Hakuna Matata in my head over and over all day while peddling through picturesque rolling hills. The Lion King’s hit song, well hit song in my head that is, means no worries…. for the rest of your days, a worry free philosophy…. After having song the song in my head on repeat for 90km (60 miles), I am now thoroughly convinced that the village of Otematata will provide a “no worries” cycling experience. I know there will be plenty of snacks involved, that’s for sure. Hakuna Matata!

Tomorrow I cycle out towards the coast to camp out and look for penguins. I have been told that the stout little fellas are very hesitant to come to shore if they see any movement. They can’t waddle very fast so they are a bit shy about being on the center stage out of the water. Tomorrow while peddling I will have to cook up a stealth camouflaging plan in order to hide out and wait for the penguins to waddle in from the ocean. Thinking up a master camouflaging plan should be a great way to replace the song Hakuna Matata from waddling around in my head. Hakuna Matata!