Guide – Page 6 – Solo Female Cycling Around The World

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.

Oh Shit!

“Oh shit” RUN!!!! I hear my two friends say as we stand midst a joyous crowd of thousands of dancing, singing, honking and smiling people. I am short in a crowd, actually I am short even not in a crowd. However, regardless of my vertically challenged position, I cannot see that the riot police have just pulled a AK-47 on the crowd. As the crowd turns toward me with childlike playful smiles, the seas of running Pakistani men engulf me like a bore tide on a full moon.

Where I come from, it is what you call a stampede. I get separated from my friends and after running 100 feet like the lunatics among me, I find myself beached to a standstill, amongst the crowd, giggling, thinking WTF am I doing? After all, doesn’t every travel advisor on the planet right now warn against non essential travel to Pakistan and issues a strict warning to avoid all public gatherings, especially of the nationalistic kind. But this is so much fun and the crowds of folks are so happy to see foreigners that we are welcomed as guests by drum circles and dancing. It is hard to say it is unsafe and much easier to say it is the best party I have been too in quite some time.

As I look up amongst the shoulders and backs I see a riot policeman high on a horse laughing at me as I stand alone giggling in the mess of happy crazed people. He motions me towards him and from his horse tall view can see my friends and reunites me with my two crowd loving friends, an Ozzie woman who is a English teacher in China and British hitchhiker from Oxford University. Amidst the parting of the rioting sea of lunatics, we were scattered in opposite directions.

We are two wooden barricades, and only ¼ kilometer from the Independence Day Celebration at the Pakistan/India border at Wagagh. However, thousands of people and a general atmosphere of compete joyful insanity quickly ends our scurry to go see whatever is up ahead. For, the journey had clearly replaced the destination, on this Independence Day celebrating Pakistan’s separation from India, for 3 travelers from across the globe.

(all photos in this post are courtesy of Lune Staar, Ozzie woman who is a English teacher in China)

One Stone At A Time…Life Goes On In Yushu

As my shoe steps down into the mud, the rain continues, a woman stands up, raises her head from the debris pile and smiles. She looks up, a proud smiling face full of mud freckles and points me to a drier path. She is hard at work removing rubble one stone at a time.

Her team is passing pieces of concrete from one hand to the next, forming a line of hope and a pathway into the future. Her dirt stained, calloused hand from a year of hard work points towards a long metal pipe salvaged from a collapsed building. It has been fashioned into a bridge over the never ending maze of earthquake debris.

I balance my mud heavy feet one in front of the other and follow the others over the bridge pipe through Yushu’s town center. It has been a year since the entire town and surrounding infrastructure shook to the ground when a mind boggling, 7.1 magnitude earthquake brought the region to a pause.

As the rain persists, the rubble softens, I continue to climb over a bank of mud, loose concrete and dirt. I proceed along Yushu’s main trail in search of the internet/communications tent. As I join the locals and bounce like a child over dirt puddles, my shoe saturates with wet sticky mud. I pass by blue tent after blue tent of businesses in recovery housed by smiling shops keepers. Fruit and veggie tents, hardware store tents, cell phone tents and restaurant tents line the rock rubble forming a new town of spirited community members embracing progress. A labyrinth of new life, a trail of hope built out earthquake debris. Yushu, an impressive, determined community that is on its way to recovery one stone at a time.

Perk My Pedal, The World’s Greatest Men

On my, oh la la, look at him. At times, while pedaling the world there is a shortage of snow peaked mountains and cascading rivers on which to drool. Therefore, I find my attention drifts with a girlish like grin towards the men that surround me as I cycle the world. After all, I never could stay away from the boys.

New Zealand is as sexy a destination as any to venture by bicycle. Due to it’s proximity to Antarctica, one can enjoy pedaling next to tepid snowy mountains one day and delicious warm sandy beaches the next. But it is the men that drew my heart to this country of islands. They are outdoorsy by nature, honest by design and everyone seems to head out for a weekend bicycle ride. The men are nice on the eyes and always up for a chat. These guys are about as appealing and cute as it gets.

The Tibetan Region, Western China My current location, in fact, I am writing this from my tent waiting out the freezing rain as the snow accumulates around me on the surrounding Himalaya Mountains. Hot it is not right now but the people here in the Tibet region of Western China are as warm and beautiful as people get. Smiley, welcoming, caring and kind, these folks will warm your heart faster than a hug. At least a dozen men today have stopped to check on me, give me water, food, or offer me tea, a ride if I wanted and a Tashi Delai, which means good luck and good wishes.

On shear heart size and energy alone, the people here will certainly perk your pedal. Long haired men, colorfully adorned and the occasional nomadic herdsmen to bout, no joke, I have always had a thing for nomadic men that smell like horses, oh la la the smell of a nomad. Now that’s my kind of company.

Mongolia. I do believe that I have more testosterone than a lot of the men in Asia. I have never been the tallest kid in the class. However, I tower over many Asian men in size and clearly have minimal issues with getting my hands dirty. Now with that said, venture across any land border into Mongolia, my favorite country and it is a whole different world of Asian oh la la. The men flirt, are tall and strong in stature and joke around without end. Life in Mongolia gets sexier by the mile, nomadic by nature, with an instant connection to a fellow traveler. The men are self sufficient, jack of all trades, playful, kind and a whole lot of fun. I do believe I love Mongolia and it’s joyous men.

What, where, who perks your pedal? Let’s hear it with a comment below.

Is This Skalatitude Or Shangri-La?

As the sun dips behind the mountains in the Yunnan province of western China, the alluring clouds of the afternoon majestic light propel me frontward. A splendid day of pedaling over the charmed mountains down to the alluring Yangtze River and my first wide eyed glance at spacious snow capped mountains burst my vision with energetic exhilaration.

An enchanted spirited region at every turn, Pandemic the Magic Bicycle, an unforgettable companion and another beloved cycling experience embedded into memory. The rushing river echoes from the banks, ricochets from the surrounding hills and creates a harmonic percussion, a warm auditory delight that sparkles within my colossal beaming smile. The 5400m snow topped mountains stand watch as the afternoon begins to cool. The chilly air, darkening clouds and a 20 minute near bruising hail storm is quickly forgotten as Tibetan prayer flags flap in the breeze.

Please come to my Tibetan home for some butter tea? I like bicycle. A beautiful woman with a heart the size of the hills has adopted me and would like to warm me up. As we sit crossed legged by the rustic oven fire, Ms. Zhe Zhu Zhuo Ma and her son prepare butter tea. My new friend has taught herself English because while in the city she ate some western pizza and discovered that she loves pizza. She would like to turn her Tibetan home into a pizza restaurant some day. Her husband bought her a pizza maker/flat waffle iron and she now makes her Tibetan bread on her “pizza machine”. As I warm my tummy with butter tea which is closer in consistency to soup then tea, I enjoy a fire cooked meal of cabbage and Tibetan bread made on a pizza machine. My new friend tells me that the mountain, I have been grinning at all day is a very special mountain for the Tibetan people; it is a place of pilgrimage for many and mentioned in the seventh section of the Tibetan spiritual book.

4 pot traditional cook stove, one each for water, milk, yak butter and tea

As the fire cools, the afternoon slips by and with my belly full of butter tea; I am saddened to say good-bye. I tuck my departing gift, a piece of wolf fur into my pocket and continue to pedal the final 30km (about 19miles) through the chilly air into the city of Shangri-La. The pelting hail returns as I smile with gratitude and reminisce of a wonderful afternoon of Tibetan hospitality. I ponder whether this is Skalatitude or Shangri-La as I arrive into the town amidst smiles and warm welcomes to warm up with more butter tea and a stroll through the cobblestone streets of Shangri-La.

Top 3 Things To Do On A Rest Day…Eat, Sleep, Pole Dance!

3. Eat, Eat, Eat After 2 breakfasts, 3 lunches, one ice cream cone, 3 bananas , 1 apple, I peer down at my wooden leg , begin to ponder how similar my diet is to that of a pregnant obese lady and wonder what I might find to eat for dinner.

We all know that daily exercise does require calories and muscle recovery does require protein but at times on a rest day I wonder exactly how someone who weighs 49kilos (108 pounds) can possibly consume her weight in food in one day.

Pig Heads…could I ever be that hungry?

2. Sleep. I met Nico a French cyclist who has been bicycle touring for two years. Today is actually his two year anniversary and we had ice cream together to celebrate. Nico was laughing because he told me that while on a rest day he often goes to sleep at 2pm and wakes up the next morning, full of smiles and energy to continue his bicycle tour. I personally am a huge fan of the nap. Wake up, eat breakfast and while fully fed go back to bed for another power snooze.

Two Cyclists Catch A Quick Nap On a Slow Boat Near China

1. Take A Pole Dancing Lesson. Why does beer taste so good in foreign lands after days of camping and pedaling? As my nickname Betty Ford resurfaces in a dozen countries due to my Canadian’s livers love of international barley drinks my vocabulary to say the word beer in at least as many languages has been growing by the continent. Relaxing in the local expat bar can also have recreational benefits as well. Last week in Dali, China my fellow bicycle tourist Tim from Sweden got a pole dance lesson from a professional pole dancer.

She was kind enough to show us her newly acquired skills that she learned at the pole dancing academy. I also gave pole climbing a shot and will report that flipping upside down and then sliding down a 55mm metal pole with any amount of grace is far more challenging than it looks.

Splash!

Splash! What the???? What is going on here? Throughout my 20 months of bicycle touring I have been handed bottles of water from cars and thumbs up of support but here in the Yunnan Province of South West China things have drastically changed. Buckets of water are getting thrown at me as I pedal along.

The temperature is sticky and sweaty, and a quick bath is not a bad idea after weeks of camping. However, being blinded by copious amounts of beige water from various sources has left me with a new found respect for Ray Charles.

Ironic Camel Rides At The Water Festival

The water festival is a national holiday loved by the locals and feared by cyclists. As the sadistic saturation continues I drip dry and make my way north into the Yunnan Mountains.

Pedaling down a 21km (14mile) descent in the mtns.

As I climb high and tackle 30 km climbs, crest the top and receive from the cycling gods, a 21 km descent, a car with tinted windows pulls over, rolls the window down and points a yellow high power water rifle out the window. Armed with a water gun, the jovial man takes a shot at me, a drive by bucket bath, gangster style in the remote mountains. I am hoping he doesn’t return reloaded with more blinding pond water.

As I arrive into the hillside stoned walled village of Dali, locally known as Chinese Disneyland due to it’s popularity, the water festival is a passing memory. The temperatures have plummeted and with several 4000metres plus passes ahead on the road it is time to stock up on winter pedaling gear for the cold winter nights and predicted rain ahead.

Rub A Dub Dub In The Photos Bathtub

Rub-a-dub-dub,Three men in a tub,And how do you think they got there? The butcher, the baker,The candlestick-maker, They all jumped out of a rotten potato, Twas’ enough to make a fish stare…

While 5 cyclists head up the Nam Ou river in Northern Laos during the dry season the adventure begins not with 3 men in a tub but by 5 cyclists loading 5 bicycles with full gear and 14 passengers aboard a shallow long wooden boat. Together we all venture NW along the river through the cascading shallow current , amongst local fisherman and happy children as we head towards the starting point for the mountain road to China. After we destroyed propeller number three on the river floor rocks, trekked up the river bank on foot around the shallow rapids and then pushed the boat through the river, the adventure to China begins…..Please enjoy the photos for words alone cannot do this adventure justice.