Guide – Page 3 – Solo Female Cycling Around The World

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Niemo problemo” Frederyk says.

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

Cape Town…Bare As You Dare

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

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

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

What a Great Funny View For a Solo Female Cyclist!

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

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

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

Solo Female Cyclist in Ethiopia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What about Northern Kenya? How was that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zebras for Zero Dollars…Budget Tips For African Safari Travel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ask other travelers where they have spotted animals for free.

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

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

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

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

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

Matrimonial Mayhem. Is Africa Safe For Solo Women?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hemorrhoids and Heatstroke…Top 5 Outstanding Reasons to Cycle In the African Rainy Season

Number 5

You can cycle for days with a t-shirt shoved into your pants while hoping your now big bottom will create padding between your 3 headed hemorrhoid and your hard leather bicycle seat.

Number 4

Push the pedals up 30km hills with your blackening toenails while sweating like a hooker on a Saturday night in rain so heavy you are convinced that zebras must know how to swim.

Number 3

Enjoy camping inside a police compound as the flirtatious, intoxicated night guard named Lovemore insists on asking you where you are from again and again to only forget you have already had that conversation with him just minutes ago at 2:37am.

Number 2

After getting busted, find yourself in a debate about bush camping under a tree “technically” inside a wildlife preserve after sleeping there only because the posted price at the “official” campground seems to have inflated by 5 fold because you have showed up. Then have the once open gate locked in your face after trying to apologize and pay while holding back a long feisty sentence concerning the minimal differences between you and the many villagers who are also sleeping under trees in the immediate vicinity.

Number 1

Because it is all part of a day in the saddle of a solo female cycling around the world on a Cairo to Capetown adventure.

Check out the 2013 WOW(Womenonwheels) Wall many updates!!!

Robbed In Tanzania

That brown door does not look right, I think to myself as I stand facing my guest house room door, the lock has been broken, I have only been gone for about twenty minutes, I think to myself as I gently push the door open at the Baranga Guest House in Kibondo, Tanzania. Everything I own has been scattered onto the bed. The dirty white top sheet is covered with the contents of my three panniers and sprinkled with the red dirt from the arid rough road.

I lean down over the mess to take a quick inventory of my belongings. As expected, Prozac (my laptop) is missing, my camera gone, bicycle pump, sleeping map, sleeping sheet are gone, etc. “This is not looking good”, I say out loud to myself as I realize that madness has permeated my reddening tear ducts, the brown door with rusty hinges is still open. The housekeeper walks by and smirks. I close the door with Willy (my enormous knife) in my hand, mad, crying, a little bit scared and hoping that the robbers will not be coming back. I sit on the dirty bed amidst the cluttered remains of my belongings and try to sort out what has happened.

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2 hours later, two police officers arrive. The utterly unhelpful senior officer is drunk, and laughing. The round chubby housekeeper with the red bandana remembers seeing two men but doesn’t know who they are. Yeah right, I think to myself. The boy in charge of the reservations swears he was not there. Good one, I think to myself as I tuck my lips into each other, trying not scream BULL SHIT. I say goodbye and close the door, the hinges creak as I shut the door. I maneuver Pandemic the Magic Bicycle’ pedal between the wall, the bed and the door in order to latch the door securely shut. The lock is broken.

I sit on the dirty littered bed in the mess, still crying and justifying, rationalizing and convincing myself that I knew I would eventually get robbed and I always just hoped the robbers would not hurt me. I am not hurt, this is going to be ok, is this not some strange right of traveler’s passage… as robberies go, this is not so bad… I think to myself not yet, but almost laughing. And, in that moment sitting on the bed at the “scene of the robbery”, I realized that I am not crying about Proscak (my laptop), camera, photos, video and writing lost, camping gear or other material possessions but at the irony of having only gone to the Baranga guest house in Kibondo in the first place to get some sleep.

Madame Mzungu

“Mzungu, Mzungu,”

I hear joy hollered from the road side as I cycle past raising my tired arm from the grips of the dusty handle bars struggling to form another droopy hand wave. It is possibly the 137^th wave of the morning as the word “mzungu” imprints into my psyche. Uganda is the most welcoming joyful country I have pedaled in some time …although technically speaking these insanely happy people are calling me names, I chuckle to myself. I then pull over to the side of the road to say hello to the elated road side crowd and to take photos of more uniquely bizarre creatures. A pair of 3 foot birds with protruding double chins are stumbling around the lime green terraced hillside amidst long horned cattle. The birds are acting like drunken sailors avoiding bovine obstacles in search of a drink.

“Hello my name is Madame Mzungu”,

I say as I stretch out my freshly freckled arm to greet the brothers who are standing to the front of the group. Their rounded faces, sparkling front teeth and crab apple cheeks are uncontrollably grinning. Their dark shiny eyes dance as their bellies humorously jiggle. The morning light shines through the younger brother’s iridescent curly black hair. His brown Barrack Obama t-shirt is proudly tucked over his belly into his jeans. His torso shakes uncontrollably as he laughs at my introduction.

My new name, Madame Mzungu is a joke of sorts to keep me sane and energetic amidst so much well meaning roadside attention. Choosing to self entertain and give up on cycling too many KM’s after the 138^th kind, welcoming, sweet person of the morning insists on hollering for me to stop to say hello from the road side. I try to remember something I read about Uganda as I stop once again to chat with new friends. In the 1980’s under the bludgeoning rule of Amid, Uganda was put on the map for mass killings and giving all Asians 30 days to evacuate the country. The Ugandan spirit has weathered well although due to it’s past, the country still sees far fewer visitors then neighboring Kenya and Tanzania. Therefore, everyone is happy to just have a visitor to chat with.

“No Madame…”

The man wearing the Barack Obama shirt says laughing so hard he can hardly catch his breath to continue…

“You see, during the time of colonization, Ugandans had a hard time pronouncing the European peoples given names and invented the word ‘mzungu’, it means white person. The word has been past down from our ancestors and people laugh when they say it because it is a funny word to get out of the mouth”

“Oh…right on, Madame Mzungu is happy to hear that, although I am more pink then white due to my equatorial sunburn”, I say peering at my sun baked hands as the contagious sound of the young man’s bellowing chuckle uncorks my laughter. I feel in that instant how unusually funny I must appear in his eyes, standing over a bicycle with neon pink skin, taking photos of a herd of long horned cattle, his dinner. After a chat about Barack Obama, a hugely popular man in Africa, how to care for healthy cattle, how much we all like matoke, Uganda’s traditional cuisine of boiled plantains with peanut sauce, I say my goodbyes and pedal on heading over the dusty but lush terraced hillside towards the Rwandan border.

Friendly+Uganda=Too Much Fun!!!

Somewhere in far western Kenya in the village whose name I did not catch I was adopted, taken in by a hard working nurse named Margaret at the local mission clinic. Clients with malaria, dysentery, typhoid, some 9 months pregnant line the cement porch of the makeshift hospital, a series of concrete and wooden buildings with sporadic electricity. Patiently, the villagers wait for their turn with Margaret.

Margaret, her plump spirited smiley face and shiny short curly hair tends to everyone who comes to her for care. 24 hours a day Margaret works caring for the communities health concerns. Margaret sees me on my bicycle near the entrance gate and she openly invites me to camp on the clinic grounds inside an extra delivery room, a wonderful shelter from the rain soaked humidity that echoes from the rain soaked hills near the Kenyan/Ugandan border.

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As the full moon sparkles through the cracks of the wooden window, I set up my tent listening to Margaret preparing the room next to me. She is bringing large blue plastic jugs of water, numerous candles and mopping the floor with a grassy stick. She beams with anticipation going from my room to the next as she tells me she is expecting to deliver a baby because the full moon is good for new babies. I fall fast asleep.

In the morning, I open the door of the delivery room where I camped and peer into the open cracked wooden partition of the room next to me. I smile and say good morning to Margaret and a group of glowing new mothers, grandmothers, sisters and cousins taking turns holding their newest community member. Margaret tells me that the new baby girl is very tiny but strong with a good heart, Margaret had delivered the baby by candle light. I mention how well I slept and that I didn’t hear a thing. Margaret tells me that Pokot tribal women did not make noise when they deliver and they do not use drugs.

I thanked Margaret for the too short of visit and offer her a thank you gift of hydration salts, paracetomol and ibuprofen for malaria fever that I had in my bags. I say goodbye and cycle towards the Uganda border.

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After the border formalities, I pedal to Jinja delighted by the Uganda welcome. The Uganda spirit equally as kind of the Kenyans with an extra splash of sunshine, the children wave and holler hello and the adults flag me down to say hello. Musical beats of African drumming and rhythmic hip hop pound out of every available shop. You have got to love a group of folks that always seem to feel like dancing, I think to myself as I cycle and smile at folks hanging out by the shop doors dancing while sitting, bopping while selling fruit, and singing while driving by me on their motorcycles.

If Africa kindness and good times stay this pleasant it might take me quite some time to pedal through Uganda into Rwanda for there are an awful lot of wonderful people to meet along the way.

A Cup Of Humanity

As I push forth through the final hill on the outskirts of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, the firewood carriers have captured my attention. Women, bundles of firewood strapped to their mule shaped backs. peer down into the shadows of the mountainside. Their tiny strong thighs stride forward up the road to greet another day. Fueled by nothing but biscuits due to a rotten food encounter, Pandemic The Magic Bicycle continues to cycle upward through the mountains into the surprisingly modern city’s edge.

However, I cannot focus on my own pedal pushing endeavors. The fire wood carriers, as refered to by int’l human rights group, are baring the steep gradient barefoot. Is there not an alternative. Could the needed firewood used for cooking fuel not be obtained more humanely? Where are their husbands to help share the weight? I think to myself. Multi-generation mule type activities imposed on the family’s females has heightened my emotions many times before while pedaling through Asia, the Middle East and now Africa.

Angered by women’s slave like circumstances in many places in the world, I climb. Overwhelmed by their stout determined roadside stride, I climb. Confused by accepted genre roles in many cultures, I climb. Amongst frowning females and the occasional grin of a ignorant to an easier life youngster, I climb. With the modern capital city of Addis Ababa in plain view I descend, an age old traditional Ethiopian coffee in the city a waits.

“I want to open an orphanage to teach boys how to be men”, I am enjoying famous Ethiopian coffee in the heart of the city with an Ozzie man with a dream. “What do you mean?”, I ask, although after seeing women carrying loads of wood and other goods on their mule shaped backs for weeks, I am fairly certain I know where this Ozzie with a dream is heading.

“Women bear the brunt of the heavy lifting and daily work, men here are lazy”. I sit happy to have found an evolved mind, and smiling to have not ranted my angered rowdy feminist thoughts first. Struggling to accept with any amount of support what I continue to see, like a firecracker to it’s first flame, my westernized mouth explodes. “I don’t understand why people don’t realize that a job like carrying huge quantities of wood every single day would be accomplished far easier if everybody helps, although, what these tiny women can carry is truly remarkable.” The Ozzie man with a dream simply grins and says, “Yes, I want to open an orphanage so I can teach boys how to be men and teach them how to treat women with admiration and respect”. With my grateful enlightened grin fueled by a cup of humanity and manly wisdom, I pedal up another of the world’s hills in the remarkably modern capital of Addis, Ethiopia

(Shortly after writing this I picked up the local English language newspaper, The Reporter. Inside was an article about the firewood carriers. Turns out while collecting the days firewood there is also a rape problem. If they have the money they can bribe the guards in the forest not to rape them. Most can’t afford the bribe.)