Int’l Adventures – Solo Female Cycling Around The World

Crotch Rocket…Finding Romance While Travelling

The hardest part of travelling is the goodbye. It definitely leaves me wondering why as I pedal on with an awkward smile and an uncomfortable all too familiar tingle in my chest. I should be good at this after 3 years of goodbyes, I think to myself as I straddle Pandemic The Magic Bicycle outside of the urban campground in Kampala, Uganda. “It’s been nice meeting you, I gott’a go, the equator is 80km from here…just up ahead” I casually say as I wave to an older ozzie man, a retired musician with long comforting arms. I have known him for only 4 short days.

A man with whom, a speedy romance has taken some strange but temporarily satisfying form. I feel as if I have been hit by a crotch rocket of emotional intimacy, 0 to 90mph in 4 short days. I never could stay away from the boys, I giggle to myself as I look up from my repaired cycling sandal, my shoe is lashed together with first aid tape and super glue and clipped into the rusty pedal of my magic bicycle. As I cycle off, I push my scratched sunglasses over my straining face, my chest pulls inward to only remind me once again…no strings attached, it is the rules of the road, it has been a fun few days… every good-bye opens a new door blah blah blah….have men not been playing women like this for years?

As my darkening yellow and white cotton shirt flaps in the smoky humid breeze of urban exhaust, I leave the city limits in search of the equator and a bigger set of denial soaked testacies. I pedal along for 80km to the equator amongst old motorcycles and trucks in need of carburetors. New tunes copied from Mr. Crotch Rocket, the musician beat from my MP3 player as I celebrate my manly attempts at stoic emotional non involvement.

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As I sit at a café at the equator sipping instant dark roast Ugandan coffee pondering my future days as a horny old maid, a swarm of tourists arrive by the mini bus load, 5 middle aged couples topple out of their vehicles for their photos at the equator. Their matching beige safari hats shade their wrinkled smiling faces. Their years of togetherness are easily recognizable by their highly recommended by the tour company adventure red polo shirts. Their ¾ length holiday pants flare from their elderly calves to their comfortable walking shoes. They hold hands and lean into the memorial sign for their holiday snap shot at the equator.

One man, his brimmed hat dangles from a string on his neck, his eyes squint into the sunshine, notices me sitting in the shade of the café sipping coffee and smiling at his tour groups’ photographic enthusiasm. Pandemic is leaning near the giant cactus bush, against a weathered wooden post under the Equatorial café welcome sign.

“Where have you cycled from, where are you going?”, his smile stretches wide in encouragement as he raises his camera from his pocket and begins taking photos of Pandemic.

“I am trying to cycle a line that goes around the world, I started 3 years ago, long story short, I have pedaled west on the world map from New Zealand…” I unenthusiastically utter, even boring myself today with the repetitive nature in which I repeat my own story.

The man’s eyes begin to sparkle, perhaps hoping for heroic tales of Himalaya Mountains climbed, Middle Eastern deserts crossed or African wild animals I have narrowly avoided. I vain a faint smile at his endearing support and say,

“I just spend some time with some new friends I met in Kampala…you know what the most challenging part about trying to cycle around the world is? It is all the friendship missed, it is all the goodbyes.”

Crazy For Camels

Camel as defined as a creature of arid inhabitant, they carry their own water in their hump, comes in many varieties and colors, they live in herds with camel friends and are used for work and pleasure, capable of crossing the Sahara desert…………

Camel as defined by the solo female bicycle tourist glossary of terms as a great friend on the lonely Sahara desert crossing of Sudan. An animal that renders a bicycle tourist with large smiles and it never gets old to see yet another camel while pedaling solo for far too long on isolated Sahara desert roads.

There really isn’t much difference between a camel and a bicycle tourist is there? Camels carry all the water they need and nibble on everything edible in sight. Camels have drivers and saddle bags, so do bicycles. Camels cross the Sahara desert so do bicycles and their drivers. Camels make odd grunting noises, on occasion so do bicycle tourists. Camels chew food with their mouth open as if they can’t get enough, so do bicycle tourists. Camels have really cute butts, I wonder if my butt has gotten that cute from all this pedaling. Camels have really long necks, come to think of it, my neck is a bit sore from all the sunshine of these 100mile (170km) days of pedaling with a strong wind at my back, maybe I should stretch my neck like a camel.

I wonder if camels ever loose their minds from solitude or overheating. What does a camel sunburn look like, maybe that’s why some camels are light brown and some are dark brown. Why do they keep looking at me, don’t they realize they are as funny looking as I am. The locals last week said, “bicycle is dangerous”, camels riding, now that looks dangerous, I guess it depends on where you are from. A lot of camels seem to be moving north to Egypt, I guess there are better job prospects for Sudanese camels in Egypt. I need to find a job soon, I wonder if I have enough money to get to Capetown, maybe I should be heading north instead of south to look for work with the camels. Camel driver, now that is a job I would love.

What the hell does camel insanity look like? Do they make straight jackets big enough for camels. Why the hell do I think that that is so funny. Keep pedaling there must be a human to talk to up ahead somewhere. Focus, focus, stop laughing, keep pedaling…..

Dear Playboy Magazine

I am writing to inquire about sponsorship. I am sure, I am not alone in the quest for support from Playboy Magazine. So why should you choose me out of the stack of requests to receive support for my world bicycle tour? The answer is because I am often mistaken for a porn star by truck drivers. As much as I am flattered and utterly humbled by the mistake, I believe education is key. A pro-active approach for solo female cyclists would be to offer rock launching educational pamphlets, that clearly demonstrate key differences between solo female bicycle tourists and bonafide porn stars. I could attach educational materials to rocks and throw them at road side masturbators heads as I cycle by.

The target audience is easy to locate. This past week, one such willy wielding weirdo stood at the side of the road with his willy flapping in the desert breeze watching me, his truck blocking anyone else from seeing him. Another such incident this week, involved three 3 guys on a motorcycle who did not fair too well. They stopped to ask me for sexual “servis”. Seconds later, I found myself chasing them down the street snapping photos like a camera wielding lunatic. Sponsorship would also allow me to set up tented private areas at truck stops for oh-la-la activities with oneself, saving the willy weidling weirdos of the world from hazardous highway chases by solo female cyclists.

pro-tip: It is perfectly normal behavior to run down highways chasing after willy wielding weirdos with a camera, a 4-way focus stabilizer is necessary to clearly capture the moment for your memoirs

Let me explain, I have been cycling around the world for far too long. As much, as I am always flattered to be mistaken for a porn star, it happens so frequently in some areas that my reaction has increased to perilous lunacy for them. The next time such a display occurs, I fear I may just try to cut off their willies and duct tape them to their forheads. Sponsorship would save the willies of the world, a mutual interest that Playboy Magazine and I certainly share.

Speaking points at the oh-la-la with oneself tented areas and of the rock launching educational materials would include tips on how to recognize the key differences between an actual porn star and a solo female cyclist.

Thanking you in advance for considering me for porn star sponsorship
Signed,
Solo Female Cycling Around The World
Loretta Henderson
www.skalatitude.com

Flip A Coin For Cairo

Pandemic is excited about trying to cycle the Sahara desert. Well as, excited as a bicycle projected with human emotions can be. The lights of Cairo radiate up ahead through the plane window, non-existing boats off of Cyprus, a distance memory, one yellow fever mandatory vaccine later from the 24hr airport clinic and I am off with Pandemic strapped to the roof of the taxi.

The next morning, after rebuilding Pandemic, I take a stroll through the streets to look for the Nile River which I will be following to leave the city for the western desert. Due to news report of recent protests, I gingerly walk towards Tahrir square. “Welcome to Egypt”, I hear bellowed over the noise of the congestion. The streets are a mesmerizing blend of honking, smiling and pedestrian traffic.

Not a few steps pass and I meet a university student who is studying law, “Go to Tahrir Square” see where the Egyptian revolution took place. I smile, for the news will tell you I am apparently already standing in it.

Tahrir square is bustling with activity. Egyptian flags clutter the dirt embankment, people smile amongst the noise, soot and overpopulated chaos as supportive giggling vendors watch me take photos. A graffiti memorial facing the square has attracted an audience. The painting depicts the Massacre at the football stadium in Port Said just a few weeks ago.

Gainfully employed men, no doubt more focused on employment then politics are slathering over the artwork of angel winged football players amongst soldier green paint. A small group of locals and tourists are snapping photos telling the men to stop the artwork defaming, it’s a memorial. The tourists see me standing to the back of the crowd with my camera, “are you a journalist” they inquire. No I laugh, I am going to try to cycle through Egypt, I leave Cairo in the morning. “Best of luck, Egypt is changing, Friday morning traffic should be good, everyone will be at the mosque praying”.

Big Mac Attack…What To Eat On A Bicycle Tour

As I wander through the streets of Nicosia, Cyprus, I am distracted not by beautiful mosques or historic Venetian city walls but by the fact that I am ridiculously hungry and nothing is open. The damp, dark, after rain soaked, dimly light streets are asleep, perhaps because the relentless rain, the worst winter on record in 25 years, has closed the shop doors until drier days.

Nicosia is divided by two countries and with a quick flash of my passport, I walk from Turkey/Cyprus over to Greece/Cyprus in search of food. The only thing open is McDonalds’ which I never eat. Out of a perceived dramatic death due to insatiable out of control starvation, I scarf down a cheeseburger and fries and walk back to my guest house in Turkey. I have successfully imported McDonalds from Greece to Turkey at 10pm on a Tuesday night. Yes, that’s right folks, I walked out of Turkey like a turkey to go to Greece to eat grease. No duty paid and no import/export fees were sought, not yet that is.

I was stopped from taking photos of the menu. Apparently the recipe of that Greek Mac is now top secret! I wonder why?

About 5 minutes later, I am writing and drinking a glass of local red wine. Somewhere between a mediocre metaphor and a powerful punctuation mark, I am vaulted by a nauseating alarm. I leap up and run for the toilet to barf. Like superman on a mission to save the world from bad food, my cloak of humbled hunger gets tangled. I trip over a table, break my boob, bruise my knee and my injured toe nail falls off. Curses of bite me Ronald echo throughout the building as the Cyprus sewer system is up by one McDonald’s meal and a solo female cyclist is reminded that McDonalds is a poor choice of food even in cases of perceived dramatic death due to out of control insatiable hunger. What to eat on a bicycle tour? I am not sure I know right now, however …..two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun… certainly comes to mind!

Laugh Until You Bust but Pedaling In Pakistan is A Definitive Must…Top 5 Reasons To Pedal In Pakistan

Number 5. Road Side Bombs For some road side bombs and the Taliban is what is conjured when one thinks about Pakistan as a must see bicycle touring location. However, as the media drops bombs of bad news about Pakistan you can be content to know that you are part of a brave posey of bicycle tourists. Travelers, shielded by the adventurous spirit are rewarded with a hospitality that will quickly detonate any misconceptions the media has fired up about the place.

Number 4. Karokorum Highway (KKH) The construction of the KKH is considered to be the 9^th wonder of the world, an engineering feat of friendship between the Chinese and Pakistan. Not only will you make a lot of local friends on the KKH, you will be pedaling by glaciers that touch your pedals, cascading rivers and white snow capped mountains. I am a solo female who pedaled the KKH in a headscarf in July 2011 and the views were almost as beautiful as the people I met along the way.

Number 3. Down Hill From Here Visas are available for most nationalities on arrival at the Sost, Pakistan/Chinese border or in your home country. The road cascades downhill from China with no real climbs all the way into Islamabad. A lot of folks stop at Gilgit, I pedaled the final 470km of the KKH. into Islamabad on a decent half dirt, half asphalt road. I continued pedaling to Lahore and crossed into India.

Number 2. Got To Love A Good Adventure The KKH north of Karimabad in the Hunza valley was washed out by a landslide which caused a lake. Board your bicycle on to a boat and experience the added bonus of an adventurous boat ride with your bicycle. While peering at rock cliffs and glacier fed crystal blue water, the boat will brings you back to the main KKH road.

Number 1. Peace Go now and hope for world peace and harmony while you are at it. The KKH is a doable bicycle tour (2011). However, cycling some parts of Pakistan remain not possible. After all my website skalatitude.com is described as “when humans and nature are living in harmony there is magic and beauty everywhere”. That’s why, this solo female continues to cycle around the world on a magic bicycle.

For a slide show of Pakistan and to enjoy the other new slide shows check out the

Camera Carnival(Gallery)

special note: (fast forward 2 months, I a posting this 220km from the Pakistan border after pedaling a detour loop of north India. I am now on my way west back through Pakistan for the second time and into Iran)

Good Curry And A Spicy Conversation, Canadian Women Cyclists Unite For Dinner In India

The Canadian flag can be hung high and proud this evening for Canadian female cyclists. 7000 miles (11000 km) from home, 5 Canadian cyclists meet by chance in a church court yard in Shimla, India. We immediate say hello and decide to meet for dinner for some good curry and a spicy conversation.

Melissa Yule and Kate Harris are on a bicycle tour of border areas researching conservation areas. Their website cyclingsilk.com, highlights their 10 month pedaling excursion through Central Asia, Tibet, Nepal and Northern India. They have also shared their findings in a cool interactive website for geography teachers and students, www.reachtheworld.org. A friend, Hana Boyle joined them in Nepal for the final stage of their cycling and research journey. Robin Mackay also attends our table. Robin is an experienced international bicycle tourist and has been cycling solo in Northern India for the last month. I round out our table, on the road longest but WOW am blown away by the stories we all have to share at this wonderful table of (WOW) Women On Wheels.

Meet Hana, Melissa, Loretta, Robin and Kate

How Do You Handle All The Attention?

All 5 of us in attendance had been told numerous times that camping in our tents or pedaling over that mountain pass was impossible. The local men discouraged us and insisted we all take local transportation due to the fact that it was too dangerous. Melissa, Kate and I have all fallen for this at least once. I took a truck ride in a mountain pass that the locals insisted was full of snow, I jumped out after 10km when I realized it wasn’t snowing but only raining a little. Melissa and Kate took a bus for a short jaunt in Nepal because some local men said they were in extreme danger. Seems the local guys are a wee bit protective of us foreign women and may not realize that we get to the top like the rest of the guys pedaling the Indian Himalaya this year. We all laughed at ourselves and said we would never fall for that one ever again!

How Many Hours A Day Do You Ride?

Melissa, Kate and Hana spend 4-5 hours in the saddle a day, either in the morning or the afternoon; sometimes they spread it out throughout the day. Robin usually finishes by noon when the weather is coolest regardless of distance. I have a tendency to just ride all day regardless of the weather, about 100km, sometimes more sometimes less.

Have You Had Any Problems?

Robin and I were the only two pedaling solo. Unfortunately, Robin had been groped while getting a cold drink in a shop while pedaling towards Dharamasala and another similar insistent occurred in an internet café. Robin is not the first woman I have met in India who has had a local man grab her bum or crouch. However, the young man who groped Robin did not fair too well. In fact, he may of gotten some sense shock into him, literally. In both incidents, Robin grabbed the guys by their collars and made herself perfectly clear that doing that is not acceptable. You go girl!

What Are You Going To Do When You Get Home?

Kate will be expanding cyclingsilk.com and writing a book about the bicycle adventure and their research. Melissa has a boyfriend and a move from Ottawa to look forward to. Robin meets her husband tomorrow at the airport and will continue pedaling with her him throughout India. Hana originally from Whitehorse, returns home to Vancouver after pedaling the India Himalaya to a new job as an indigenous rights lawyer. And me? Well, I will continue to raise awareness concerning bicycle ambulances and sell charity t-shirts as I pedal back to Pakistan, Iran, Turkey and into Africa. I hope, I will meet these remarkable (WOW) women on wheels again someday, perhaps, back in Canada for some Indian curry.

Booteh Call…Six Tips For The Solo Female In India

How about one kiss? Ah, no thanks man, I am all set. Sex, sex, sex? Nah, man. Rupees, rupees, rupees? What, dude, you got to be shitt’in me, right? For everything you must think about me right now, I do believe you should be giving me money for sex not the other way around.

There is a serious misunderstanding going on in Northern India concerning western women. Apparently we are all sexual pariahs of the street walker variety. The western women status is glorified with wild amounts of exposure to western movies and pornography. The biggest question I ask myself is how often has it happened in the history of Indian tourism that a solo female on a bicycle in the big ole Himalaya has actually put down her bicycle and dropped her drawers right there on the side of the road and got busy with a construction worker.

Performing the romantic road side oh la la with a shovel wielding skeevey pervert who wipes his bum with his bare hand can’t possibly be considered a romantic tourist destination, can it?. Adventure tourism is big these days but that’s stretching it a little. Seriously people, has this particular courting tactic ever actually worked? Here’s a tip for y’ah, show me your hand soap and I might just show you mine.

So What Can You Do? Six Tips For The Solo Female In Northern India

Bring It On, Buddha…Buddhist villages, and areas with temples and stupas are scattered throughout Northern India. Plan overnight stops in these areas. Buddhist folks are kind, gentle and welcome road weary travelers with smiles and kindness.

Fall In Love With Wrinkles…old ladies rock and almost always seem to pick up on the fact that solo women could use a proverbial warm cup of chicken noodle girly girl soup. This past week I slept with two old Tibetan sisters and one of their husbands. They adopted me and welcomed me into their home for the night.

Avoid, Avoid, Avoid being alone with some guys. Give police officials and military personnel a very small amount of your time. Don’t go inside buildings or official tents where you will be outnumbered or alone. They can do their job of checking your passport just as easy while you are anchored to a magic bicycle. A magic bicycle also makes a great getaway vehicle if anyone decides to go down skeevey pervert lane.

Separate Areas Women In India have the right to go to the front of the line and have a separate area for bus travel, banking lines and general shopping. Remember this as you blatantly shy up while being shown an all male ‘pants a tingling’ communal sleeping and eating area often found in roadside rest houses. Camping way out of site is also a good option and there is plenty of camping places in the mountains.

Become a polygamist. My apologies to every solo guy on a bicycle I have ever met because sometimes I show people your photos on my camera and make up lavish tales. Presently my husband is from Slovenia, he is a 2 meter tall engineer, he wears rainbow spandex, is a much faster cyclist than me and is always waiting up ahead. And Mr. Slovenia if are reading this, thanks because it is very easy to show everyone your oh so cute spandex clad smile. India is now my third country out of 16 in which my nose will surely grow from all my lying. For more on that read Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire.

The Motorcyclists On A Holiday Crowd. Educated folks seem to have a more liberal westernized understanding of friendships between men and women. There are plenty of local guys on a motorcycle holiday who are fun to chat with, share tea or a dormitory style sleeping room, if you feel like getting to know some locals.

Laugh, and realize that it is funny to be considered a sexual pariah, and drool over those Himalaya Mountain tops as much as some men you will meet will drool while in visioning you as a porn star. For more funny stuff on that, read Porn Star about some cycling adventures in Borneo.

Lahore Never A Bore…The Photo Show

The city of Lahore is never a bore

My camera and spirit adamantly beckon for more

Green sunrises are in bloom as the smell of pollution shifts and looms

However, my soul cannot be full of gloom

The streets are in a hustle, and crossing the street is a death defying shuffle

With fresh visas is hand, Northern India calls me like an opening band

Pakistan I will miss and is definitely worthy of a goodnight kiss

My last night in Pakistan, Pandemic The Magic Bicycle awaits and the bags are packed

For in the morning, I will be pedaling to India with the 40 (104) degree temperature hovering upon my perspiring back!

Rapping With The Man In Pakistan

As I venture fourth in a motorcycle rickshaw my headscarf flapping free in the chaos of the flooded Lahore streets, I am oddly bouncing away. Not due the absent shocks of the rickshaw or the fact that we are going about 90MPH zigzagging inches from every vehicle we approach but bouncing to the beat of the Beastie Boys screaming rap songs into my headphones. For some reason, I really enjoy listening to the Beastie Boys rapping on full volume while wearing a headscarf going ninety MPH in the back of a motorcycle rickshaw through the flooded streets of Lahore, Pakistan…who knew?

The monsoon has arrived since I arrived the first time in Lahore six days ago by bicycle. I return now by public transport with new visas in hand for Indian, Pakistan and Iran. The streets are full of floating debris, sewer run off and knee deep fresh monsoon rain puddles. The driver is barefoot due to the fact that he has been walking around in knee deep street phlegm for most of the afternoon.

The sun is setting ending another day of fasting during the holy month of Ramadan. The people on the streets are finally indulging in the day’s first water and fresh fruit. Goats nibble freely from topless tables that have been fashioned into eating troughs. Food is being prepared as people huddle together in the last drop of the day’s sunshine to eat, adding urgency to the thick smell of urbanization.

As I wiz by, the chaos of this alluring Asian city unfolds before me. The noise of it all deafened by my new friends the Beasty Boys, an appropriate musical choice for a country so visually heavy on the testosterone side of life. Women too often at home behind closed curtains or seen faceless in public bundled in layers of secretive fabric, leaving the men to an overwhelming majority out on the streets.

The sight of the traditional mans dress, the salwar kameez in a haze of pastel colors dart by me as we venture alley after alley in search of my guest house. Often in the midst of a flooded out street we come across men embracing. Hand intermingled with hand crossing puddles, a familiar display of affection not to be misconstrued as romantic and is commonly seen in Asia as a gesture of friendship between men. Interestingly enough, a similar affectionate holding of hands can be seen between star crossed mixed couples in the west.

As the screaming, rapping, Beastie Boys come to a end I can hear the siren echoing throughout the streets and the loud speakers of nearby mosques singing the day’s final prayer. It is the official end of the days fast. We pull up to the alley Guest House; I straighten my headscarf, and thank my rickshaw driver for a fine speedy delivery amongst the chaotic streets of Lahore. I dart inside to find some electricity to recharge my headset so the Beasties, my headscarf and I will be ready to set off by bicycle for Kashmir and the Indian Himalaya the day after next.