Guide – Page 5 – Solo Female Cycling Around The World

Cyprus…How To Bicycle Tour Princess Style

As I make my way around N Cyprus, castles abound, the ocean scenery is splendid and the free camping is 5 star. As I was leaving Girne (Kyrenia) after a trekking loop of the eastern tip of the Island, I met up with 3 other bicycle tourists on their way to cycle N Cyprus. I truly enjoy trying new things therefore I was happy to pedal in my first mixed gender foursome for a bicycle tour of Turkish Cyprus.

My low maintenance lifestyle exploded into a high maintenance bicycle touring affair. My usual distances were reduced to 12km-56km a day. Our meals consisted of locating outdoor tables, and leisurely enjoying the best of the small market cuisine. Free camping became a paradise of options when we searched for camping inside buildings or free inside hotels under repair. Our lowest mileage day was 12km when my group decided to keep dry all day and watch the sky for rain. I was a little surprised by the rain day retreat of cyclists who had also crossed Asia into Europe and clearly done some rainy cycling but quickly realized that there are many ways to bicycle tour and enjoyed staying dry with the group.

photo taken by Loretta Henderson

Highlights of a princess style bicycle tour on Cyprus in a group of 4 which contained a French woman who funny enough, I don’t think was that interested in cycling included swimming at Golden Beach and a visit to Salamis the archeological site. At times it was hard to believe that 2 human women could actually be of the same gender and have bicycle touring in common. My high maintenance friend seemed to prefer spending the bicycle touring day sorting out 5 star inside camping and her laundry. This is a wonderful personality type that comes in very handy when turning a bicycle tour into a 5 star princess style bicycle touring affair. The 2 guys and I were more relaxed about how many stars our picnic table needed to have and probably would of preferred spending the time increasing the distances and speed a little. However, I did appreciate the 5 star luxuries all the same.

Here is the route, which loops N Cyprus from Girne, Kyrenia. Small food markets and fresh water are located throughout the route. Inside and outside camping options are plentiful. There’s a lot of info on the internet about bicycle touring routes and trails in Cyprus. Here’s a great resource. Here are some public FB photos taken at the charming Cyprus Dorms and Hotel (the owner loves FB friends) where I stayed at the start and end of the loop.

Special note: I also want to apologize to every man, woman and child who doesn’t like laundry jokes and/or this website.

Cheers and Gears…How To Celebrate The Holidays On The Road

As the musical sound of some unknown voice belts out the verses of the Karan from the nearby mosque, my ears resonate with memories. I am reminded not of the Christmas holidays but of the need for all mosques to update their speakers.

Realizing I am politically incorrect to mention such things, the Karan verses that are so freely sung through circa 1980’s stereo equipment on Muslim streets throughout the world would be beautiful if the acoustics were not similar to the sound of a deaf dog barking underwater.

With that said, there will never be room for Ebenezer Scrooge on Pandemic The Magic Bicycle. And, there are many people who are celebrating the holidays while singing beautiful carols around the world.

As my family sits around an x-mas tree at my sister’s house opening gifts and eating turkey I find myself riding this holiday out solo not eating Turkey but in the country of Turkey (Cyprus) half way around the world. In the spirit of a happy holiday, I refuse to give way to the sad lonesome blues as I open not presents but my many messages on skalatitude.com, Facebook, Twitter and e-mail. My long time friend or rather someone I consider a sister by choice has send me a message, she has some big news to share. She has started a blog just in time for the holidays. My pinterestinglife.com is a hit in only two weeks and rocking off the charts with huge reviews and requests for guest blogging posts. My chosen sister of 20+years, Dawn Cochrane who is as obsessed as Martha Stewart with crafty ideas, has finally decided to share her gifts with a blog.

Her blog has become my on the road holiday choice to receive some well needed holiday cheer. Her gift of household crafts is as obsessive of my love of bicycle travel. Through her creative blog writing and excellent photos, I have smiled and learned about making x-mas gift wrap out of children’s artwork and drooled while reading her Rudolf pancakes recipe. I dearly appreciate such holiday cheer but most of all I love connecting and sharing the x-mas news with all of you. I hope you all enjoy the x-mas craft tips from her blog as much as I have this year. For all bicycle gears will also need some holiday cheer in order to pedal the continent of Africa by this time next year.

Para-Cycling, The Balancing Act Of A Champion

Sheyda’s M. Heydar’s first bicycle was an old red bicycle that he found near his dusty stone home in his desert village, it was 1981 in Afghanistan. Sheyda smiles at the memory of riding his red bicycle to school. As I peer down at Sheyda’s identification card, it reads ‘Iran Cycling Federation of The Islamic Republic’. I am bursting and can barely contain my cheer inside, for meeting a professional cyclist is a huge treat.

Sheyda’s affection for sports began as a young child on the dusty stone streets in his village near Kabul, Afghanistan. As youngsters do, he was taught be his family how to ride a bicycle. Soon the Taliban, a notoriously extreme political group took over the country side. Armed with bombs, guns and violent enforcement, the Taliban terrorized the area with new rules. Women and children were banned from schools. Museums, medical buildings and school texts were burned, banned or banished.

Sheyda could no longer ride his red bicycle to attend school. The streets were exploding in fear and such freedoms were now a frivolous thing of the past. Bomb blasts were a daily affair. Sheyda was given a gun by his neighbor. As a boy child, it was mandatory to replace his red bicycle with a weapon. He was ordered to carry it and protect his family on the bomb laced streets alongside his neighbors. Soon thereafter, Sheyda lost his leg to a Taliban bombing and fled Afghanistan to Iran, his family had been killed.

Today, Sheyda’s around town bicycle is no longer red but is a silver Peugeot mtn. bike equipped with one spd clip pedal. He is a professional para-cyclist sprint racer and most recently competed in the international para-games in Gangzou, China. He is presently training in Shiraz, Iran on the sprint track with the other Iranian professional cyclists. He hopes to beat his sprint record in the upcoming international games. I know this sister cyclist will definitely be bursting with cheer for him on the inside and the out.

Girly Girl Gear For Guys Too

Last week, I received an e-mail, it was a questionnaire that a bicycle touring website gives to women cyclists. They wanted to know how many pairs of panties I am packing in my panniers. I told them that my be the adventure panties were none of their business.

However, if they wanted to know what kind of PANNIERS I was packing I would love to talk about it. So here it is. I love my panniers and if you must know, yes they really do keep my panties safe, completely dry and condensation free in all conditions. And the best part of all? If you buy yours at skalatitude.com it doesn’t cost you anything extra and the small percentage skalatitude.com receives goes towards the purchase of a bicycle ambulance.

Dear Universe please let a truck stop, I think I need help arranging my funeral

My stomach gives up sometime during the night as I am camping during the season’s first frost and I lose track exactly how many times I have hurled. When the sun comes up in the morning, I pack up and decide to pedal into the closest town to look for a pharmacy or a place to die, whichever comes first. With my imminent death so near, immediately after hurling again, I say out loud while standing with magic bicycle on the side of the road. I say to the frosty Middle Eastern near winter air, I say

Dear Universe, please help me find a place to die or a pharmacy

My stomach has finally collapsed and succumbed to the bicycle tourist plight of a million different foods, waters and bacteria’s. After 2 ½ years of continuous bicycle travel my stomach has cart wheeled into one food and water adventure to the next and like the TV show fear factor sometimes it doesn’t always work out. However, this time it is different from all the other times, cycling, walking, laying down, and sitting are no longer possible. About all I can still manage is a glazed eyed, head scarf straightened half smile, a buckled over thumbs up and righteous attempt to not puke on myself in the wind.

Dear Universe, thank you for intervening on my behalf

After 15 minutes intervals of cycling, stomach cramps, walking, puking and curling up on the side of the road, the universe intervenes on my stubborn, wood headed behalf. Pandemic the Magic Bicycle and I are collected by a super concerned man with a truck. About all I can still manage is a thumbs up, a smile and a thank you in Persian, the local language, as I crawl towards the saint, I mean truck. The man lifts Pandemic into the back of the truck because my stomach definitely isn’t about to lift Pandemic The Magic Bicycle loaded on this occasion.

Hospitality in Muslim countries is legendary. My new friend thinks I have a injured leg, probably because I am walking doubled over, I motion it is my stomach. He wants to take me to his home and feed me. With my best travelers gesture I motion that I am sick, and say I need a pharmacy, a medicine store. He drives me to a hospital.

Pro-tip while gesturing sickness in any language always remember to be comically obvious, sound effects are helpful as well

As a tourist in Iran, I am guest of the country and it is very important that I have a good experience while travelling here. Police man, medical directors, hospitals managers, head nurses and anyone who knows 2 words of English are brought to my assistance when I ask about a pharmacy to buy some antacids. Not having any idea what is wrong with my belly I decide I should start with antacids. The hospital rolls Pandemic The Magic Bicycle into a treatment room behind the curtain and I realize I might be there for a while. Are you Anorexic? I mustered a laugh and said no, I am a bicycle tourist, however, anorexia and bicycle touring are remarkably similar in the hunger department. Where’s your Husband? Casper (the ghost), he is on vacation. Are You Alone? I am part of the International Social Club, we are always looking for new members…the questioning begins.

After a day of sonograms, iv bags, blood tests, 8 more pukes and 7 hours of observation for a sun burnt face that isn’t a fever , appendicitis, peptic ulcers, non-existent diarrhea, anorexia and being single, I decide it is time to leave the hospital. For the same reason that I would never take an old car to a mechanic because they will only find something to fix. My old worn out stomach is not improving what so ever so I decide to go into the next big city and self medicate and if it doesn’t improve I will go back to the hospital. I legally discharge myself with a written statement that says…

Dear Universe, thank you for healing my tummy

My treatment in this hospital has been wonderful. I love Iran, I will definitely visit again, blah, blah blah…. That’s where I am now, discharged, feeling better in a guest house, drinking chamomile, peppermint tea, flat 7-up, eating plain pasta, bread and antacids, sleeping and waiting for my belly to settle so I can pedal the rest of the way through Iran before the snow flys in the Middle East.

How Great It Is To Be a Man in Baluchistan

As I sit and wait at sun rise in the no-mans land between Pakistan and Iran, I patiently wait for the Iranian border gate to open.

I have learned that the Baluchi, Pakistan people are as jovial as it gets, with a laugh that jiggles their bellies, a laugh that Santa would be proud of. The Pakistani military police and I have become intimately acquainted lately when I was scooped up in Quetta in the Baluchistan province and prevented from cycling the majority of the way to the border by some surprisingly super fun police.

I cycled the remaining KM to the border at sunrise keeping a low profile. I park Pandemic the magic bicycle with the Pakistani border police, sit and wait for the Iranian gate to open. I get to chatting with one of the guards. He tells me, he is looking for a wife and the rest of Pakistan has gotten too liberal and it is not good. Funny enough, he is very handsome and has a likeable demeanor, which is, until he starts talking. He is what I would call an unique conservative man and not your average Pakistani. He tells me with a big friendly smile , that he is 25 years old, that he can’t wait to become a man, he asks me how many women the boys at home have slept with at 25, and says he has only slept with one, he tells that my downtown area has gotten too old for these sort of things because of the cycling. As the sun continues to rise, I am trying not to laugh and therefore encourage any conversation that may take us further downtown or encourage a debate about the present fitness status of my aging hoohaa.

I put on my best curious travelers smile and sit back and listen. He continues with his views about how women are to stay at home and only after having birthed two boy babies will his wife be allowed to leave the house wearing a burka with full face coverage to go to the market. She will not be allowed to have friends, an education after 10th grade, and marrying at 15 is good. He is considering having a couple of wives, he is allowed 4. However, he is not sure he can afford it. You have got to love money for at least that, I think to myself. I ask him about some burn marks I have seen on some women’s faces, he tells me she did something at home and it’s ok that the man burns and/or beats her. As my teetering smile and eye balls pop out, I force myself to keep listening. I am genuinely fascinated and try to be respectful of differences; however, I think my tongue might be bleeding.

I asked the guard what he thinks about me. As a women bicycle travelling alone in Pakistan, I have often felt guilty about my tremendous freedom and significantly concerned about my sisters of the world. He says he thinks it is fine and wonderful because I am not a Baluchi woman. I wished him well finding his 4 wives, apologized that I wasn’t a polygamist and off I went pedaling into Iran on my aging hoohaa grateful for the education and that much more concerned about some of my sisters in Baluchistan.

A Snowball’s Chance In Hell…How To Prepare For A Winter Bicycle Tour

Some would say that there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that they would undertake a winter bicycle tour but for WOW(women on wheels) member Ellen Moseman sees it differently. Ellen, an English teacher living in China took time away from her preparations for her upcoming winter bicycle tour of central Asia and the Pamir Mountains to answer a few questions for us all about winter bicycle touring.

Are you expecting snow? What kind of tires do you have?

Ellen is expecting blizzards; she has equipped her Soma Saga bicycle with Schwalbe Black Shark folding MTB tires ordered from America and shipped to China. She will also be ready with a stick on board to clear out the snow and ice from between the tires and mudguards and a lightweight tarp to cover her bicycle from the harsh elements while camping. For gloves, she will wear a pair Pearl Uzumi with mittens over top, she wishes she had lobster claw gloves but they are too spendy so she is going with what she has got. For more tips on budgeting for your outdoor adventure see No Money, No Honey.

How much money does a winter bicycle tour cost?

On past tours throughout China, Ellen budget ranges about $120 USD a month. She is documenting nomads and religion through a photography project. As a solo female bicycle tourist she is often invited to camp with local families. Emily’s photography work can be found on her excellent website, 2wheels4girls.com. At $4USD a day, with her camera and keen eye for beauty Ellen hopes to be on the road for about 6 months concentrating on the nomadic areas of Kazakhstan.

What items did you add to the panniers, specifically for winter bicycle touring?

one set 100% merino wool thermals top and bottom
one set synthetic thermals top and bottom
Stove, MSR whisper lite international bought new for this trip because her alcohol stove doesn’t burn well in colder climates
Full extra set of clothes stored in a dry bag to warm up quickly and prevent hypothermia in wet weather conditions
A silk liner for her winter sleeping bag
Gortex hiking boots
2 merino wool hats
Merino wool balaclava
2 extra pairs of thick outdoor trekking pants
Tent, a cheap Chinese made tent that she curses at. Ellen hopes to purchase the storm proof Vaude Hogan Ultralight Argon after selling some photographs of her trip

What does this winter adventurer dream of doing next?

Ellen has heard rumors that sometimes the NW passage freezes over enough that you could pedal across the frozen ice but she did mention to not tell her fiancé.

HAVE YOU READ THE BIG WOW BOOK?

The Tibetan Dance Of Tardy Technology

High up on the Ladakhi plateau at 3500 meters, I find myself lingering for the day while arranging bicycle replacements parts for Pandemic The Magic Mountain Climbing Bicycle through friends of friend in Germany. My altitude junkie soul and mountain legs are antsy to pedal south over the 5325 meters (17470 feet) Taglang Pass that lay ahead in the Leh to Manali via Spiti Valley. The route is famous for altitude cycling and often considered one of the world’s best cycling routes.

Due to my September start and the surrounding accumulation of snow high up on the mountains I am sure to encounter some cold temperatures and snowy adventures, The road rises to over 5300 meters just south of here and then continues on over 4 more high altitude passes. Regardless, The Ladak Festival and the dance of the Tibetan Buddhist monks is surely nothing to complain about for a day, while I wait for an e-mail from friends of friends in Germany.

As the monks descend from the temple steps, the trance like rhythm of wooden flutes and trumpets indoctrine the mid-morning morning crowd into a peaceful post breakfast glow. A tempo of rainbow colors beat in the high altitude shimmering sunshine as the dancing monks of the temple, circle round and wave, sway and jump in rhythm.

A cadence of didgeridoos pulse throughout the Himalaya, ancient ceremonial flutes echo from the snow capped hills as the gong of bells reminds me of the Buddhist nature of finding spirituality in the beautifully mundane nature of life. My multihued impatience of waiting for an e-mail quickly succumbs to the tempo of bells, drums and dance.

Cloaked masques soar high above as watchful prayer flags flap in the peaks of the crystal blue air. Tasseled capes brush by like soaring Himalaya eagles, as the gathered crowd smiles and sense the percussionist gong of an experience remembered. As the music shades the afternoon cool breeze, the lingering sensation of a last dance wafts through the cobble stone alleys of Leh, Ladakh. I hesitantly return to Pandemic The Magic Bicycle to finish preparing for tomorrow departure for the mountain tops, where I hope to find my subsequently imposing dance, the magic bicycle mountain dance of the Tibetan no longer tardy e-mail.

Honk, If You Like Cycling In India

HONK, HOONNNNKKKK, HONK, HONK!!! I am positive, I now need hearing aids. Yep, I am sure of it. The growing market for hearing aids for cyclists just got one bigger. I do believe the folks here have some serious honking issues. A unique technique of horn pushing is in use at all times here in the India Himalaya. There is the carnival horn, the never ending can life on mars hear me honk and my personnel favorite, the 6 part medley chorus of various octaves and ear drum vibrating you deserve to be swore at honk.

The special horns of India get a lot of use due to the fact that ramming into oncoming traffic seems to be the genetically engrained driving technique so often used throughout the day. Also, the spectacularly scenic mountains roads of Kashmir and Leh are hardly wide enough for a truck and a magic bicycle therefore I am now deaf as I enter Leh, Ladak. Good thing I am solo, cause, what’s that you say? I would not be able to hear you talking anyway.

I have replaced my headscarf with a new set of hearing aids in order to continue pedaling forward into Leh. I also have purchased a new outfit. A sexy shiny metal body armor, a second hand military metal suit left over from the 3 wars between Pakistan and India over the Kashmir region.

The irony is that the region is dotted with villagers of Muslim, Animism, Shamanism, Tibetan Buddhist and mixed religions, a spiritual salad of colorfully adorned people and glowing smiles. The people of the gorgeous mountains are a gentle sort with the most unique driving technique I ever hope to encounter. Remarkably, I do believe I might be the only one on the road actually trying to stay alive in India.

Here’s The Route At A Glance-Srinagar to Leh via Kargil local Rd. 450KM (280 mi)

Necessary Equipment: hearing aids and a metal spandex outfit, including a tank to clear the way

Preparation Prior to The Trip: Middle finger exercises, so that flipping the bird one hundred times a day at honking trucks will look graceful and natural

Highest Pass: The one you will have to make at the military personnel who decides to dispute your permit and say women alone on bicycles aren’t allowed down the line of control local road. This will either be a pass or a punch depending on the size of your ear ache and acquired mood from cycling in 10 tons of metal at 3500 meters. (And yes that’s true; some military man in a bad mood said that to me. I laughed, he eventually smiled, I pedaling away).

For more specific info on this auditory odyssey, feel free to post comments below

For Northern India Slide Show Click Here

Windows To My Doors Of Perception…India

Hello misses, yes we have a room, this way please. I climb three flights of humid rain drenched stairs while carrying Pandemic The Magic bicycle to my room. The door isn’t really a door, the door is a window, not a window fashioned into a door but an actual window.

The kind of window so often found at grandmas cottage on the lake. The interior of the room is rustic with aging brown ply wood walls. A large, oddly wired ceiling fan hangs from a nail overhead. It wobbles around with an air of stubborn wisdom, and will not give up spinning an appreciated breeze without a dutiful effort. The floor is covered in colorful mats and warm almost wool blankets. It is big enough for at least a dozen people. It is a simple and a perfect retreat from all things “India” out on the street.

Have tea, relax misses. As I chat with the owner and his brother over tea I have to laugh to myself for having to crawl through the entrance window instead of a door seems remarkably appropriate. Is this your first time to India?

Apparently, I am not hiding the shock and awe or the excitement and tribulation of being in India all that well. I have been in India for three days and now sit here at ‘ the windows to my doors of perception guest house’ wondering if my finger tips can unravel a story from my smiling baffled over stimulated mind. After all three days is four thousand three hundred and twenty seconds.

I will sum it up like this. I now truly and whole heartily understand why so many people have been coming to India for so many years either on drugs or to be on drugs. In fact, the next high potency strain of anything really should just be called INDIA.