Guide – Page 2 – Solo Female Cycling Around The World

Nicaragua Travel Tips

Country Name: Nicaragua

Cost of Bicycle Touring: $10 a day if you mainly camp

Where Do I sleep?

Free camping on beaches, rain forests and in farmers’ fields. Other options include; $5-$20 dorm beds and hotels

Tips To Keep It Cheap, Safe, Fun:

Tip 1
The country is largely fenced, there are fence openings the locals use. I was told by locals they use the fences to contain cattle and are not at all concerned with the western view of trespassing, therefore I sometimes I moved/opened the string of barbed wire and camped on the other side.

Tip 2
Drink local water. In many restaurants the locals are drinking filtered water. I asked for “local” or “aqua normal” and filled up my water bottles for free.

How Would You End A Bicycle Tour?

I am tired now, I think I will go home Forest Gump’s brilliant words come to mind as I push the pedals on first gear up the Cordillera Blancha road in N. Peru’s national park. My legs towing the weight of my bicycle bags, they are strapped behind me on the rack. The pedals spin round as they have for 5 continuous years of touring, a 40 country, 5 continent effort that will soon complete my first bicycle tour.

It’s about the journey not the destination I remind myself while percolating with gratitude at all the places I have seenin the past years. Peru’s high altitude glaciated gorgeous mountains vistas north of Huaraz strain my eyes, my cold hands clasps the handlebars. I lean forward and continue up the mountain to 15,000ft.

The goal of cycling a line around the world was accomplished, 2 weeks ago, when I reached the coast at the Pacific Ocean south of Lima. I am cooked, done, chewed, crispy, burnt, finished; it is time to move on to the next life chapter. The lessons learned from bicycle touring I will always cherish. The basic kindness of humanity all over the world will stay with me, the beauty of living simply I will take with me to my next home.

However, the exit plan has gotten as logistically complicated as the cycling around the world goal.

Solo Female Cyclist Dream Road

A paper work problem on moving to a farm, 6 miles from the ocean on the east coast of the USA, (I am Canadian) prevented me from flying out of Lima and then an expired bank card furthered the delay. Allowing me to gratefully be able to pedal N. Peru and speak to the Huaraz, Peru newspaper about women’s bicycle touring.

Once you rush through something you have already decided it isn’t important…I cheer myself up from another delay and remind myself of what I love best of about slow bicycle travel and this weeks facebook and twitter post:

Photo bomb a mountain? Took a wrong turn at 15,000+ feet, went down a trail into a valley N. Peru, (a jokester of a woman in the village insisted I was going the right way). Then I proceeded to push my bike + 55pds of gear back up the steep loose rocky path for 6hrs. Eventually, I decided it was time to start having some fun. What a perfect opportunity for my new “photo bomb’ hobby. Moral of the story, when lost and getting your ass kicked by altitude and confusion a photo bomb can greatly improve the situation.

The only thing that remains now is how to end this world tour. Forest Gump it? I am tired now, I think I will go home…just stop. Interestingly, carrying on is not an option, not unless I rename Pandemic The Magic Bicycle ‘Wilson’ from Cast Away. Socially speaking, I am long over due for a stable social life.

I read somewhere that to go around the world, one must cycle in a continuous direction a minimal of 18,000 miles (29,000 km) and cross the equator at least 3 times. I have never been interested in mathematics, my actual mileage is unknown but since I cycle everywhere except when removed from my bicycle because of security that I have doubled or more likely tripled that distance. Ending on the equator, on the Pacific skinny dipping with a beer in my hand, that sounds good? How would you complete a bicycle tour?

Will I ever meet THE ONE?

Nearly every social interaction I have had for the last 3 weeks begins with one simple question. “Solita?(alone?)” followed by porque (why?). I can be entirely oblivious to my single, one woman status and all of a sudden I am all boo hoo hoo very much alone. The lonesome ache of travelling about alone by bicycle creeps back into my stomach like a long forgotten cramp. I’ve daydreamed about Mr Right, Mr. Wrong and just about every other kind of Mister in order to fill the familiar ache of lonesomeness. I am tempted to give rewards to people for NOT asking if I am alone, gifts of sweets? hugs? It happens so infrequently that I could even afford to give folks a crisp 20USD bill. On the 20USD bill it would say “thank you for recognizing that a woman travelling alone is not a safety hazard, she can take care of herself”

Yesterday, while pedaling, as I was pondering the tattles and tales of twenty dollar bills, some government road workers stopped their white pick-up truck to say hello, a pleasant change from the white trucks that slow down and drive next to me just looking. This friendly driver’s reflexive orange vests draped over his belly. His elbow protruded from the open window.

“hola” I said hoarsely, my throat was dry from not talking to anyone for a few days and from the altitude 15700-14100 feet (4800-4300 meters). Grateful to have someone to say hello to I smiled.

“Solita?” The man said, a shiny wedding band was secured around his finger, his hand firmly gripping the steering wheel. His black leather boot was pressed firmly on the brake pedal holding the truck back on the steep mountain road between Cusco and Nazca, Peru.

“Yes, solita” I said, trying not to roll my eyes or bust out in hysterical laughter at the mundane boredom.

Just saved 20usd, that guy doesn’t look very huggable anyway and his teeth don’t look very good, sweets would not improve his oral health situation…and I don’t think the color bright orange should be in his or anybody’s wardrobe, it does nothing for his eyes I think to myself

“Yes, solita…” I said

Like an x-mas tune in December, the incessant drawl of a repetitive conversation begins again.

——————————————

A never ending valentine show of twosomes unveils before my eyes as I pedal along, funny faced alpacas, llamas and rare Peruvian vacuna line the emerald green valley, all of whom are paired up, some mating for the moment, others for life. A Quechua elderly woman, the shadows hidden within her wrinkles reflect the frigid morning sun of the high altitude Peruvian Andes. Her head tilts in greeting, her smile grows as she sees me approach.

“Esta Frio? (Are you cold)” The elderly woman questions, her weathered well used fingers hold a piece of firewood that she has collected from the road side. Her three layered skirts dangle over her blue wooly leggings. Her ankles are covered in knitted alpaca fur leg warmers. She places the firewood on the ground and covers her shy grin with her strong coarse fingers.

“Hola, ques estes yamos?( Hello, What is your name?)” She asks. Her piercing kind eyes sparkle with years of wilderness wisdom. They are clearer then the nearby cascading stream.

What a great morning, it is 6:30am and I have a new friend, a Quechan and Spanish speaking beautiful indigenous woman. I genuinely enjoy meeting old people, full of history and culture, my favorite museums. Perhaps in this life time, I have already met THE ONE, the love of my life… the love of TRAVEL! I love the unknown, not knowing who I might meet, what will happen with the day, where I will sleep, what I will eat, where I might bathe. And just when I get so lonesome that I think the ache might do my head in some magical moment unfolds before my grateful eyes, reminding me how much I truly love to travel. My new friend did not even ask me if I am alone and she definitely looks huggable. Often, I find the indigenous population in any country to not be as concerned about such things, just one reason why I love travel amongst the indigenous peoples. I smile to myself as I push the breaks and say

“Buenes Dias (Good Morning), it is so good to meet you, My name is Loretta, I love to travel and like most loves there are some trade-offs. Thanks for being you!”

How To Practice Gratitude, Cycling and Meditation

Just a few months back, I was tossed like a ragdoll after getting hit by a bus miraculously suffering nothing more than a mildly bruised arm, a couple of shredded fingernails and destroying a bunch of expensive replaceable gear. The vivid memory drifts into my conscience while pedaling towards Cusco, Peru.

Breathe in, breathe out, focus on breath…push, pull, push, pull, coast… My legs repeat the circular motion of pedaling.

The financial loss of the accident or bus assault is the least important of the potential outcomes. I find myself grateful to new sponsors for replacing some of which was destroyed. However, all these months later, when I am passed by a big hard bus while pedaling, I can still see the blurry smoky blue color of that boisterous bus that hit me at 94km/62mph in my peripheral vision. The holler of scratching metal against my shoulder and bicycle has faded but the memory of the noise remains in my ears, near body trauma or possible death does have some lingering effects. I cycle on feeling extremely fortunate and very grateful to still be around.

Breathe in, breathe out, focus on breath… Push, pull, push, pull, coast…

A repetitive cathartic rhythm I find meditative propels me northward through South America and into Peru. The altiplano of Peru at 13,000 feet provides a spectacular backdrop of red hued mountains, Inca ruins and lush cascading rivers, a perfect location for meditative, rhythmic cycling and practicing gratitude.

“This is better than a Buddhist Vispassana retreat, more effective that sitting meditation and much more fun than an indoor yoga class, Thank you Peru”

I say out loud while leaning over the handlebars. The road is descending rapidly out of the high altitude altiplano region before climbing again into Cusco. Peru’s cultural center infamous for the Machu Pinchu Inca ruins.

“Thank you, Peru for large road shoulders AND putting up ‘caution cyclists in the shoulder signs’, what a great effort” I say while chuckling, bubbling with gratitude and bursting of new exhilarating oxygen supplies.

Herds of shaggy sheep, their lean bodies covered by a matted mass of superfluous fluff waddle across the road in search of the adjacent river’s hydration. Villagers clad in vibrant purple crinoline lined skirts carry bundles of fresh green sticks tied to their backs. Their blue and white checkered smocks protect their skirts from the falling leaves. Sombreros (hats) of every variety protect their bronzed faces from the craggy mountain’s sharp sun rays.

“Thank you to the people of Peru for being so beautiful and for wearing hats. I love hat countries and Peru is definitely one of the best hat countries I have ever seen”

I say to myself as I steer around the populated roadside. Plenty of bicycle carts congest the road shoulder, large rectangular metal signs erected by the Peruvian government provide a constant remainder to motorized traffic to stay alert and slow down, providing parochial Peruvians time to wave, smile and honk as they pass me.

Focus Retta, Focus…Breathe in, breathe out…push, pull, push, pull, coast

The mountain road begins to climb.

“Being off the bike for a month to see a dentist in La Paz, Bolivia is the best idea I have ever had. Thanks to Christian at the La Paz Casa De Cyclistes for the great stay. Thanks all at Dental Mundo, I love my healthy teeth”

I blurt out through my sparkly pearly whites to the shaggy sheep in need of haircuts.

Breathe in, breathe out, focus on breathe, breathe in, breathe out…push, pull, push, pull, coast…

Rounding the world alone by bike for the last 5 years is how I have developed my instincts to stay safe in every imaginable situation. Taking the occasional month long break and resting those instincts is how I have developed my instinct endurance. The ability to try to stay tuned on and tuned in to my surroundings at all times and being as genuinely happy as possible through the practice of active positivity.

“Thank you, well rested instinct endurance… practicing gratitude is fun, the more I practice the easier it rolls with me… this has got to strengthen the instincts” I say to the steep mountain incline. The road is a never ending platform on and of which to be grateful.

Focus Retta Focus… Breathe in, breathe out, upward, onward…push, pull, push, pull, breathe

Peru Photo Album Click Here

Have You Thrown Your Egg Today?

As I stand on the street corner in Puerto Natales, Chile, my pockets bulging with a roll of duct tape and zip ties, my eyes catch a glipse of a shiny royal blue bus, the big hard metal beast that drove into me at 94 km/hr from behind, a few days ago when I was hit by a bus.

´´Grr, I don´t like you very much´´ I say out loud into the breeze. The dark demonic bus revs it´s well tuned engine as if responding with a snut-nosed snarky reply. The new black tires, weapons of potential mass cyclist destruction roll forward.

´´Fucktard!´´ I mumbled while my eyes squint like a canon about to launch. A glance that could melt the pants off of Lucifer explodes from my eye sockets. I am definitely having anger management issues I think to myself as I find myself stuck in a frenzied, desperate, all encompassing desire to throw eggs at the bus.

Ostrich Egg or Chicken Egg, What Kind of day Are You Having?

Ah good old fashioned eggs… there are fried eggs, boiled eggs, scrambled eggs, eggs souffles, egg quiches, egg omelets, ostrich eggs, poached eggs, sunnyside up, sunny side down, deviled eggs…where´s Forest Gump when you need him?…. In fact today I officially declare as ´´Throw A Egg At A Bus Day´´. Have you thrown your egg today?, please let me know how it splatters in the comments section below.

Stupid Bus Company Sur, thanks for the fancy NO to my request for gear replacement, I too am grateful to be alive but my letter was more of a way to document the incident than a financial request, I was hoping it would be a way to remind Bur Sur drivers to be more careful so somebody doesn´t get smashed like an egg. Maybe I have just cracked like an egg, I didn´t even hit my hard boiled head so it can´t be that. I think to myself. I continue walking in a bubble of gratitude, still surprised to not be injured in search of bungee cords and bailing wire. An action that seems ridiculously insignificant after getting hit by a bus but not physically injured.

Thank you to everyone for the well wishes on this blog, facebook and twitter. Please enjoy the new photos from Patagonia.

Rehab is For Quitters…Why You Should Winter Cycle Tour in Patagonia

Ah fuckity” I say out loud into the frosty Patagonian air.

My gortex gloved hands grasp the frigid wobbling handlebars. The mighty force of the gale triumphs over my futile attempts to hold the handlebars from wobbling. The winds velocity slams me in the forehead like a hindi dot. My mind wonders to all things warm. Thoughts of spicy Indian dahl and chicken tikka massala pass the time as the Indigo Girls song ‘…Let’s Make Peace Tonight’ blasts into my MP3 player. The brittle plastic headphones are tucked into my warm ears under my fleece head wrap.

Ah fuckity…this wind tunnel must lead to the looney bin!”

I begin talking to myself and dismount from Pandemic The Gale Force Magic Bicycle. My leg which has done more walking then cycling in the last 100km, flings high off the bike into the wind. My keene sandal and neoprene sock covered foot lands on the rocky dirt road somewhere near C. Sombrero, Terra Del Fuego, Patagonia. To test today’s wind speed, I tilt my head back and spit into the now sideways wind, hawking loogies for distance is my new hobby.

She shoots, she SCORES” I shout, my spit ball clears the two lane highway.

My eyes redden and tear from the cold wind. The puddles appear blurry, they are frozen over with ice and loogies. My cycling spirit flourishes as I lean down and continue to walk forward like a junkie looking for a easy fix.

Donde es uno hospitale mentalite? Where is a mental hospital? Ah rehab is for quitters!..I am now losing the other ½ of my mind in 2 languages”

I say to myself as I push for the afternoon in a wind storm fit for the ‘Nationa1 Geographic Edition of Morons Pushing Bicycles in the Worlds Windiest Places’. I call off the quest at 4:30 after 46km, 3- two lane loogies, 1- shoulder penalty loogie and 11- ¾ lane loogies to camp under the road at the first available form of shelter, a culvert.

Where did it all go so wrong? There has always been a fine line between a bicycle tourist and hobboist” I reason, as I unroll my gorgeous helliberg tent. Surprisingly, it fits perfectly inside the dirty culvert.

Who knew?..It IS named the (helliberg) Jannu…ah fuckity…I am a poet and I didn’t even know it. A Kryptonite cockail…now that would help the cycling…This is where a junkie would sleep, I talk to myself too much. Ah, conversations with my self about talking to myself is definitely a side effect from winter cycle touring in Patagonia…rehab is for quitters…” I babble on, laugh and look around at the crack in the ice on the ground.

UPDATE:WOW (Women On Wheels) Wall
I just finished my first solo tour across the United States! I found this blog before setting out and thought of it often during my tour. Ladies- We can soar like birds, traveling the world on our bicycle, embracing our independence, and making our lives our own. I’m so proud of all of us! Pedal on!” Heather Jones

If I ever get on a sailboat like that again for 6 weeks with three smelly boys to cross the Atlantic ocean please feel free to hit me over the head with a large hammer”

I say while laughing out loud with a huge smirk at the Sao Luis, Brazil immigration official. Perspiration drips from my upper lip. Cycling in 100 degree humidity has gotten the best of my sweat glands.

His English is strong. His sense of humor is not. His wide bronzed left hand holds my faded blue passport. His sweaty right hand holds my country visa entry stamp.

So sorry misses, but I cannot stamp you into Brazil because you have already cycled 900km into Sao Luis, where is the sailboat, why didn’t you stamp in when you got here?” He rightfully questions, why I am on a bicycle and not a boat.

( I am such a girl sometimes. My new Helliberg Jannu matches Pandemic)

The boat of boob-heads came here illegally, I didn’t know when I volunteered to crew on the captain’s boat. A remarkably offensive man who I have nick named Captain Banana Hammock after his squeevey red speedo. Ah speedo my libido one final time, I chuckle to myself while realizing perhaps the official doesn’t need to know the whole ‘I bailed off the boat’ story. Or, my belly aching that I will not be getting a valid visa or an extension or be able to cycle across South America via the amazon of Brazil.

The sailboat is not here Sir,, they have left Brazil, what should I do?” I ask with a time rich, cash poor traveler’s willingness to be flexible.

Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans I think to myself knowing this situation is either going to take time or money. The two great riches of slow bicycle travel.

Go to the border, go be illegal and take care of it then. You have 12 days” The official utters. The damp pocket of his lime green cotton shirt hangs forward. His silver immigration badge dangles. It is shimmering in the glow of the humid rain season air.

Brazil, a massive country is bordered by about a quazillion countries. North to French Guyanna is expensive, the Bolivian Andes my first choice is 12+ days of non-scheduled boat travel and a week of pedaling. South to Argentina is a 3 1/2 day bus journey, buses have never been my chosen method of forward travel. My only real goal is to see the Andes and cycle across my final continents…finish this full-time world cycling this.

(memories…when riding in humidity was so much more fun)

Thank you sir, maybe I will go be illegal” I smile, the irony not missed about how there are illegal immigrants all over the world and here I am ‘illegal’ in Brazil. I leave the stuffy building and head towards making a decision…

Ok there is no bad weather for cycling. If the weather is gonn’a be extreme, as in boiling in Brazil, it might as well be beautiful. This is just a false start in South America, that all it is. I will bus to the Iguazu Falls border and cycle to Uruguay to pick up gear and start again at the bottom of the continent. I know it’s winter in the southern hemisphere that close to Antarctica but f##ck it that is what I am gonn’a do, I just need the right gear and a little luck with sponsors.

(Absolutely humbled by Iguazu Falls, Argentina. Back to the bike. Iguazu Falls to Montevideo, Uruguay to pick up gear. Thanks sponsors, my family and all those involved with int’l shipping for sending me the gear)

Winter Bicycle Touring Gear List
Feet:
Neo villager overboots (Amazon.com cost $60 USD
Fleece lined Neoprene socks (E-bay $10 USD)
Baffin synthentic booties (Amazon $30 USD)
Keene sandals ($80 USD)

(Neoprene socks inside these sandals. Neos Over shoes over top when it gets slushy)
Hands:
Overmitts (cost $30 USD, not label)
Fleece mitts (no name cost $6 USD)
Fingerless “magic gloves” (no name cost $1 USD)

Legs:
Gortex pants (15 years old, cost $99 USD)
Wool thermal bottom (icebreakers-sponsor)
Prana pants ($100 and worth every penny)
Ex-offcio ¾ length Capris
Ex-officio Nomad shorts

Upper Body and Head:
Wool thermal zip tee top (icebreaker-sponsor)
Nano puff patagonia jacket ($160 USD ½ price online clearance)
Rain shadow patagonia jacket ($100 USD E-Bay)
Synthetic tank-top (3 USD in Zambia)
Icebreaker short sleeve wool t-shirt (second hand)
3 Buffs (One arctic fleece and 2 synthentic, $20-30 USD purchased in Namibia)

Sleeping Bag:(sponsor) Jacks R Better High Sierra Sniveller down quilt. It is a warmer bag than my present 3 season mountain hardware bag which is approx. 950 sleeps old)
Mat:(Thermarest X-therm, it is more quipped for consistent sleeping on snow. A replacement of my 3 season $38 USD no-name mat from South Africa)
Tent: Helliberg Jannu (sponsored) (4 season mountaineering tent)
Eating:
Koveo Extreme Stove with fuel compressed gas fuel cannister (I find it to be more reliable than my MSR int’l multi-fuel. I am sleeping with the fuel canister to keep it warm)

30 x-L Seal-Line dry bag (sponsor). Winter touring takes about twice as much food. I’ll also be eating sweetened vegetable shortening by the spoonful. A trick for the skinny that I used while living in Alaska for 9 years.
PandemicThe Magic Bicycle (enough said)