Guide – Page 4 – Solo Female Cycling Around The World

7 Surprising Destinations For A Great Bicycle Tour

Is it safe? Is that a good location for a bicycle tour? Personal safety tops the charts in everyone’s minds when it comes to travelling abroad especially for a bicycle tour. Europe, France in particular comes to a lot of people’s minds in terms of tourist in fracture and a long standing history of bicycle travel. In fact, having never cycled before, I began my world bicycle tour in Europe. I started in England, and pedaled the coast of Wales and then took the ferry to Ireland. The sustran network has some wonderful maps of local cycle paths through Europe for slow going recreational bicycle touring. However, many of the larger open roads remain not bicycle friendly and more cycling accidents do occur in Europe than say Ethiopia, my current location.

Ethiopia is a challenge not due to traffic but a largely hilly terrain and the occasional shenanigan of a rock throwing child.

However, what you will find in Ethiopia and much of the developing world is slow gentle traffic and near empty roads. Laos and the entire world renowned bicycle touring loop in SE Asia delights cyclists by the dozens from the around the globe. Year round cyclists flock to revel in the delicious inexpensive cuisine, short distances between accommodation and friendly locals. Often, there is not another vehicle in sight except another bicycle tourist enjoying another delicious snack.

India might just be the most dangerous place I have cycled; I do believe I was the only one trying to stay alive while on the road, after all, beliefs in reincarnation do have their limits. However, the Manali to Leh highway is an oxygen gasping testament to altitude cycling and a must pedal for many mountain enthusiasts.

New Zealand may have a “we rarely lock our doors policy” but also hosts non existence roads shoulders and quadruple length logging trucks. After announcing that he wants to be the all time most cycle friendly governor, NZ’s top dog is now busy lengthening the cycle tour network of routes throughout New Zealand. With a little planning reducing cautionary yellow hazards can be easily avoided and the far southern hemisphere scenery is stunning.

Mention my favorite destination of Pakistan’s Karakorum Highway for cycle touring and many people conjure up images of pedaling amidst terrorists and bombs. However, while I pedaled through Pakistan and also Iran and Sudan, deeply ingrained in the Muslim religion is a welcoming of visitors with open arms. A warmer welcome and safer more beautiful road, I have never felt among the general public then in the Muslim world, particularly on the KKH of Pakistan.

Sudan is another destination that makes for a wonderful bicycle tour. An unusual destination but Sudan boasts empty paved roads, a non-existent crime rate, wonderful freedom camping, nice people and water and food every 50km. The South Sudan conflict now peaceful, so readily spoken of in the media is truly a world away from North Sudan and an amazing camel laden cycling route that crosses the famed Sahara desert.

Is it safe to travel there? Is that a good location for a bicycle tour? Questions, I usually dodge because the best place for a bicycle tour is the one unique to you, it is the one that leads out your front door.

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Up and Down With A Baboon Frown… Enjoying Those Big Climbs While Cycling

Swooosh, the steepest descent since leaving the Dali Llama’s Himalaya hill top months ago is beneath my smoking wheels. Literally, my back wheel rim is practically smoking, too hot to touch. The break seizes and the rubber brake pad wears thin.

My front break, disabled for some time due to a never ending friction problem, flaps open incapable of assisting to slow my speed. A rock bounces off the ground, as I swerve into the morning wake me up air. The children here in Ethiopia continue to play their rock throwing game.

I am not sure who threw this rock that bounces through my vision, launched by either a child or an adult throwing a rock at a child for throwing a rock at me. My best advice for all the locals big and small is everyone really needs to put down the rocks. I skid to a halt and the children scatter. Ethiopia’s shenanigans are notorious.

The front brake now clamped and engaged. The extra friction of my broken front break could only help in slowing me down to ride the sharp switch backs down to the Nile Gorge Bridge. Like tea pouring from a kettle, I continue to spill forward, halted again by a sizzle of the front wheel. A puncture, unique due to heat, has blown the valve to a hissing bubbling release. Cold water splashes to a sizzle on the front and back rims. Puncture repaired, front brake disabled once again, the bottom of the canyon is in sight, a 1000 meter drop in 22km.

From the canyon floor looking up at the mamma of all climbs, 1000metres back up in 22km, now thoroughly awake; I realize I am getting the stink eye, a pleasant change from dodging a rock. Baboons perch, sitting on the canyon walls and just stare. The locals give them bread, I have come empty handed, hence the stink eye.

Four climbing hours later, the canyon ridge top in sight, I am serenaded by a fossil lemonade stand. Industrious kind children are selling fossils they have collected by the river.

I thoroughly support their effort of not begging but simply offering to sell their treasures after school on their way home. I take out my rock pouch and they name my other Ethiopian minerals that I have been collecting for some time. Accumulating rocks, fossils and minerals, weighing down my panniers is probably not the best hobby but sometimes while climbing up and down with a baboon frown the earth’s treasures are too good to leave behind.

Stick To What Rocks…Why You Should Bicycle Tour in Ethiopia

What the….? The infamous Ethiopia is in sight. The border is a medley of mayhem, merchants, touts, money changers and self appointed guides. The wonderful thing about a magic bicycle is, it also serves as a getaway vehicle. A remarkable easy way to politely turn down the hassles that surround the business minded beggars and the crowds of folks ready to pounce on an obvious tourist dollar. The “official immigration” procedure is fast and quite pleasant; the officer laughs at my tactics, as I skid to a halt at the door of the immigration building, completely ignoring the overly helpful shouting crowd of self appointed uneccessary guides.

I receive my entry stamp and off I go through the gates of the legendary Ethiopia. A country that is so renowned for its challenges that many including myself attempt to avoid it all together by traveling through Uganda and Rwanda. Tackling Ethiopia’s stone and stick wielding children, roads with hill gradients build by sadistic lunatics and an extremely high petty theft rate, never seems to rate too high on the must cycle list. This route was my second choice when the Sudan, Uganda and Rwanda option was not available due to politics and ferry boat cancellations. However, actual violent crime in Ethiopia is rare and almost unheard off against tourists, proudly brimming with a far safer crime rate than many North American cities.

3 days later….sticks are flying and stones bounce off the insanely hilly ground. Children hold the bicycle back rack and attempt to take anything that they can lodge free. Everything flying my way, I pick up and take with me. I now have a stick on the front handle bars and a dung ball strapped to the back rack. I do not blame the children or the general mistrust on the part of the public. In many ways, Ethiopia has been destroyed by foreign aid swopping in with very short well funded non-sustainable projects. I have been asked for my shirt, my shoes, my braided hair, pens, medical supplies and many people are begging for food and water. A people rich with wounded pride now accustomed to foreigners giving out non-sustainable solutions, teaching a misguided failed altruistic message of “we know best, you can’t take care of yourself, you need our help”.

A brief band-aid solution leaving many angry without community based sustainable solutions to problems that persist for far longer than the provided funding period of a couple of grants. However, deep within these challenges of cycling in a country so hilly that at times even defeats my super low Rohloff gearing system, leaving me pushing up hills, lies a beauty. Hidden deep below the surface, an intense sort of near manners soaks through in the kind folks that also dot the hillside villages.

Many children and young adults just peer at me with their devilish smiles, as I stop the magic bicycle and offer to shake hand after rock and stick wielding hand along the road side. I simply figure, if they are going to throw things anyway, I might as well stop and try offering some attention instead. Shaking the hand of a might be beggar or stone throwing child is pretty effective thus far. I do believe being female also could help me stick to what rocks, as I continue to ponder the beauty of bicycle touring in Ethiopia.

Could You Tap That?

The parched hills of the Sudan/Ethiopia border region are a pleasant distraction from my own thirst. Dehydrated river banks lead into arid stream beds as the region is parched for a water source. Daily activities of tending to cattle have forced a nomadic lifestyle of travelling for long distances in search of more fertile land.

Donkeys are hard at work as they pull metal barrels of water from any available source hardly able to quench the thirst of nearby communities. Families without donkeys or resources buy water by the bucket, as wagons commute all day and night buckled with the weight of survival. Lakes, streams and river beds have been dry for many seasons as the price of a bucket of water continues to double. The constant battle for hydration persists throughout the chores of a struggling existence.

As I cycle by endless km’s of crops that once were, “Moire, Moire, Moire” (water in Arabic) I hear gleefully shouted from the road side. Nomadic farmers huddle under a wobbly wooden shelter, they are celebrating, cups held high. Smiles crack wide with generosity. They have found water and I am invited to share in the jovial celebration of long sought after liquids. All preventative thoughts of water quality and purification are cast aside into the dry desert air, as I sit and share a pot of golden water. Their spirited pride insists that I take many photos of their healthy cows, as the celebration continues into the prism of the high noon sun. With my water bottles brimming with gratitude and their happiness, I continue pedaling through Gederaf state, Sudan towards Ethiopia. Dysentery will most likely find me soon. However, my forgiving belly will never regret sharing in the treasured celebration of laboring amongst the humanity of discovering ample water.

If the kindness of the human spirit in sharing a puddle amongst a herd of cows, a large family of farmers and stranger on a bicycle could be tapped, the earth’s water resources would be fairly distributed. Harvesting the munificence that sustains the people of the region would certainly fill the tributaries of the lakes of compassion for centuries to come. Could you tap that?

What Are The Best Roads For Cycling?

“Neehow”, the little boy waves hello from the side of the road, “Neehow” I think to myself is not Arabic, the Sudanese language or English, “Neehow” is Chinese. The newly updated road surface here in Sudan is a familiar delightful site.

A road built for exportation and a quick delivery of oil and goods or a bicycle tourist heading across Sudan on her way to Capetown, South Africa. During the recent world economic collapse, China put money into their domestic economy and under communist rule put people to work building roads within China. China’s economy bounced back. Trained Chinese construction workers, civil engineers and architects were then sent to build roads throughout the world, “Neehow” new superpower.

Sudan checkpoint police man catching some shade in his new hat

Sudan contains a wealth of resources and has an important location next to the Red Sea. Port Sudan is the waterway exit of oil and the transportation hub out of NE Africa. Some superpowers have ruled through military force while China quietly builds an empire of development and the necessary infrastructure. Cell tower construction is also rampant throughout Sudan. Villagers are relocating their homes next to cell towers. Homes of Nubian Desert grass, cement, clay and tarps are popping up next to cell towers throughout the region. Men now ride their camels and donkeys leading herds throughout the hills while chatting away on their “mobi” cell phones as I cycle past having left such technologies happily behind.

I have cycled throughout China and it’s borders roads (border roads of Vietnam, Laos, Mongolia, Pakistan, Tibet) on this around the world tour and it is safe to say China builds phenomenal roads for cycling. Roads with fresh fast new tarmac, spacious safe shoulders, two wide lanes for oncoming traffic and hill grades of symmetrical switchback portions for wonderful mountain climbs. “Neehow” China, keep up the good road work!

Gritty Grin of Grime

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

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

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

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

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

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

Serendipitous Sunshine

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy The Egypt SlideShow

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

Girl Grateful…Dealing With Check Points in Egypt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Winnie The Pooh was a mighty fine bear

I will venture a dare and say without a scare

That at times when the toilet paper was rare

Even a pooh bear may have gotten some on his hair

Bring in a tire with tread so thick that gooey excretion

Couldn’t possibly justify the need for bicycle tour completion

We all have goals of which to stay true

But geez’ people even cycling through pooh?

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

While longing for rare spotting of some exotic species

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

Indonesia is no different for PVC piping is utterly inconsistent

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

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

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

Comment you might , no need to have fright

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

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Laughing At Lingams, Top 3 Phallic Tales Of Explosive Exposure

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

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

Number 3 Horsing Around In Mongolia

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

Number 2 Peek-a-Poo Peeing In Western China

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

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

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

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