Guide – Page 4 – Solo Female Cycling Around The World

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!

Back In My Wheels, My Hubby Rohloff Could Soften Any Heart

The creaking door swings wide on aging post office hinges that have watched closely over many a reunion. The shipping counter is cluttered with stacks of patrons; piles of invoices, blur my vision as I gaze through the distant crowd looking for my hubby Mr. Rohloff Wheel.

Will he look the same, more importantly will he feel the same between my wheels, I wonder as he rounds the shelf and he appears before my eyes. It is a glorious reunion, for almost a month apart, can soften any cranky soul who has longed for their partners return. Vowing to change on the parting, the impending courtship of a larger sprocket and repaired bearing on return, I can only bask in contentment of the glorious sight of a renewed relationship.

True to form, of any man longing for another ride between my wheels, my hubby Rohloff has arrived with gifts, Rohloff AG t-shirts, oil change kit, new cables, n/c sprocket change, new gear cables and most importantly a large apology, that I fully accept from the Rohlof AG Hospital for his delay. A no cost visit to Germany will certainly derail any worries I may have had about his long awaited return. For after all, even Rohloff AG hospital staff at times can make mistakes and choose ineffective return shipping options. No more can be said, I must go, for after all it is our first night of many back together again. Updated lubrication, sexy t-shirts, a more efficient sprocket for my riding style and new cables, it will certainly be a night to remember. What will those crazy Germans think up next. Perhaps, even giving my hubby a run for his money.

photo credit

Top 5 Symptoms You Are A Psycho, I Mean A Cycle Tourist

Number 5

Your clothes have gotten so mangy that even stray dogs are frightened of your appearance

Number 4

You are stuck in a vehicle and you want to get out and cycle

Number 3

Walking seems like too big of an effort

Number 2

You decide to use an old map as toilet paper because the last three shops you have been to don’t stock TP, because the locals don’t believe that paper is any better than a hand as a bum wiping utensil

Number 1

You know the words for ‘beer’ and ‘can I sleep here for free’ in half a dozen languages

Bicycles and Brie…Why You Will Love Cycle Touring In France

Wow (woman on wheels) participant Susan Minnich returned from her second bicycle tour in France recently. Suzecyling routes cover the Atlantic to the Mediterranean and the Pyrenees mtn. regions of France. I caught up with Susan through an e-mail Q and A. Here is what Susan had to say about cycling in France.

suzecycling

Cycle touring is not that popular where you are from, how did you get into cycle touring?

In the 1970s I spent quite a bit of time backpacking and cross country skiing in the mountains of the US and Canada. During the same period, I commuted to work on my beloved Fuji 10- speed and rode for fun on weekends. Even then I so enjoyed cycling and bike touring seemed like a good, tempting idea to me…30 years happened next, but how time disappears like that I really can’t explain. Got married, left NYC, built a solar house in the woods and a big garden…and never had both time and money to travel, by any kind of transportation.

My job now provides vacation time. The first two years I stayed home to work in the garden and on our still-not-really-finished house, hike in my nearby woods and hills and enjoy life here. But a year later something gave way. I had long since given my Fuji bicycle to a friend’s child and I missed it. I walked into my local outdoor store and bought a bike. I never, ever spend $500 or so that fast. Fell immediately back in love with moving myself around on two wheels. That was in September 2007, with almost no riding weather left here. The next year I went on my first tour.

What do you love about France?

…A lot of people ride bikes there. I love being immersed in such a rich and old culture, one that has in many ways informed the culture in the US, but that remains so uniquely different. In the US, the operating ethic is new, new, new, more, more more, bigger, bigger, bigger. Older things, buildings, roads, communities, are very typically destroyed to make way for the new. In France, human culture has written itself, embedded itself on and in the landscape in an intrinsic, respectful way that we don’t see here… You don’t need to ride great distances to experience changes…Every valley or mountain peak brings something different. Cycling is also respected there, and so many people have ridden a bike. Usually cars give you a good amount of space, and I’ve never been hassled.

Photos from Susan’s Nature Reclaims Culture Photos Series

Was France your first tour location?

My first bike tour was in September 2008 when I rode around Lake Champlain, a very large lake in Vermont, USA and Canada, a bit north of where I live. My husband had foot surgery and it turned out his recovery took longer than anticipated. So I went solo. My memory is that it was about 300 miles, pretty flat, mostly.

Do people at work understand your passion for touring?

Not at all. People are mostly supportive and intrigued but I think my cycle touring is generally considered a bit eccentric, or whacky, especially so because I tour solo. Several colleagues do quite a lot of bike touring, but always in supported tours, and that’s true even of the serious cyclists, who are no doubt much stronger riders than I am. They come closest to understanding, but they don’t get it why I would ride carrying my own gear, much less solo … and certainly not camping!

What’s your favorite road side snack?

Hmmmm…. in the morning I snack on whatever I take from breakfast — often cheese and baguettes. I stopped being shy about asking to take food from the breakfast table with me, explaining that I was on a cycle…..Oh yes, you asked me for my favorite snack. That would be fresh locally grown fruit and local goat cheese, with a bit of baguette.

Your bicycle has a great name. How did you come up with that?

Thanks!! Papillon. It is the word for butterfly in French. During my Cévennes trip, one day I was slowly working my way up a pass. It was hot, and I kept climbing up, up, following the shade from one side to the other of the road. I noticed small green butterflies, fluttering seemingly always just in front of me, from side to side, making their way, gracefully, if slowly, in the world. My bike is also green, so the phrase “ma bicyclette, mon petit papillon vert” came to mind. That is an awfully big name so she became just Papillon. We flit along, not too fast, but make our way to many truly beautiful places.

What type of bike is Papillon?

Papillon is a Cannondale Touring 2. I bought her just before my Cevennes trip, knowing it would be a lot better riding in steep country, with weight, than on the Trek I bought earlier. The Trek is now on an indoor setup for winter and I ride on it sometimes locally especially on our dirt roads. I’ve been lucky and not had any substantial problems….

Any plans for your next tour?

Not yet a plan, it’s still in the dream stage…however, I’ve never seen the Alps. My imagination starts on the Atlantic … in France, slips quickly into Spain, rides some of those high Pyrenees passes, crosses the Midi, riding Aigoul and then Ventoux, finds the Alps and finishes with a quick dive into a tiny bit of Italy .. on the Mediterranean.