Life On The Road – Solo Female Cycling Around The World

Sissi Korhonen

Girls like to talk, did you know that? The WOW Wall is flooded with women asking for advice. Sissi Korhonen said, “My biggest resource while planning my route of South America was writing to other women to ask for advice.” The huge amount of tips on the internet can be overwhelming and, despite the testosterone dripping off some jock itch forums, bicycle touring really is for everyone. I got in touch with Sissi Korhonen while she was on a break from her bicycle tour in Buenos Aires and I asked what she thought would be helpful advice for people just starting out. Sissi said, “My best advice is: Just go! Everything will work out in one way or another. You don’t need to train heavily or be an expert to make a cycling trip. All you need is a strong will and some money.”

HAVE YOU READ THE BIG WOW BOOK?

Marlene Pioteyry

I am currently cycling from Nord Kap in Norway to the Strait of Gibraltar on a solo female touring trip. I began on 1st of June and will probably finish this tour by the end of the year. I cycled all along Norway, Denmark, went to Iceland, cycled Scotland and I am’about to go to Ireland, then Atlantic coast in France, Camino di Santiago in Spain, Portugal. This tour could probably go on to Italy and then who knows… ! It’s a 10 000 km tour and I am about half way now. I am 28, and after 7 years of intense professional experience, I quit my job of Personal Assistant in big companies in May and decided to go on the road, live simply, wildly, and ride to discover new people and magnificent natural landscapes. I don’t only cross countries but try to explore the most part of it. I am writing my adventures every day on a blog…Your website inspired me to do this tour, but moreover it convinced me that women can travel alone by bike. I intend my blog to inspire other women, and men, to fulfill their dreams and follow their instinct to ride over the world.

HAVE YOU READ THE BIG WOW BOOK?

Are You A Traveler or A Cyclist?

“You have got to love a family guy who goes on holiday to the campground in Salta Argentina with every tool possible.” I say as I clap my hands together in gratitude as I wonder how I can thank him for his generosity.

Sparks begin to fly from the family man´s grinder, my shimano pedals appear small under the mans firm grip. The metal picnic table a perfect surface for pedal repair. My double sided (clip/flat) pedals have lasted west across the world from New Zealand until South America via Asia, The Middle East and Africa.

An uncounted number of kilometers, I gave up on the statistics of my ride a long time ago, crossing the land masses by bicycle and the water by boat in a westerly direction. Often navigating by instinct and a hand drawn map, a modern bicycle computer has become a thing of the past.

My handlebars now decorated with memories from heart warming people met along the way, a bracelet from a one legged man in Zambia and a string of shell beads from a prostitute that I befriended in Ethiopia. Gifts that dangle on the handlebars between the breaks and the gear shifter, a perfect reminder of what this journey by bicycle is all about.

“You are better then a bike shop, far more skilled, thank you” I say to my new friend , as he shows me his work. The fresh sharp edges of my pedals appear new and bright, sure to provide enough traction to keep my feet from slipping off my warn out pedals on my way to Bolivia, home of the oldest form of shamanism and the reason I sailed to South America. Having spent the last 4 months travelling by bike in Chile and Argentina, the modern developed world, it is safe to say that cycle touring the developing world is more my thing.

“Mui forte cycliste (strong cyclist)!” The man says as he carefully hands me the hot pedal to look at.

“More of a traveler than a cyclist….Ah labels are for jars not human, all just words we use to neatly organize each other into easily recognizable categories” I say in poor spanish and recede to give him my best travelers grin, a deep sincere smile that often surpasses all language barriers.

Mashismo and Cyclismo…Don’t let It Be Dismal!

“Are you alone (solita)?” The aging man´s face wrinkles into the mid morning glare. The scent of fresh daily bread fills the shop. The man raises his hand and begins to wag his index finger in disapproval. Like an itch I can not scratch people here in Chile asking me if I am alone has reached epidemic proportions.

“You know…”, I mumble to myself as I look away and down at my wrist. It is empty of an actual watch but a great focal point to spend the passing seconds in silence and muffle my sarcastic outburst.

“… I prefer my daily lecture after my coffee, what time is it, (que es horar)?” I chuckle to myself as I look up at the man. His wife, who is standing next to him, is now listening and curious. She adjusts her black faux leather shoulder bag. Her tight skinny jeans are tucked neatly into her brown shiny ankle boots.

“I am originally from Canada but I had been living in Alaska… in a town named Machismo” I say for I really cannot help myself. My warm bread bag dangles on my wrist. This will not be my first lecture but it might be his I chuckle to myself. I wonder if knocking people in the head with bags of warm bread is appropriate here? I laugh to myself

“Umm, umm, umm… sorry?..umm….I am riding my bicyce around the world. When I reach La Serena, Chile on the coast it will be the official westerly point of me riding across the world in a western direction”

The wife is now grinnin, a sisterly comederia and energy that quickly melts all language barrier has formed between us.

“How old are you?” She says (in spanish).

“I turned 41 last month, there are lots of women like me on the WOW(Women On Wheels) Wall” I say

The women is standing behind her husbands shoulder. She is grinning over the shoulder of his blue and white stripped polo shirt grinning at me. He is standing there waging his index finger as the scent of girl power permeates the walls of the olfractory rich bread shop.

She steps forward around her husband, and with a gentle nudge positions herself slightly in front of him.

“Congratualations” She says in english as her husband rolls his eyes, I crack a huge smile and instantly realize that this one woman easily makes up for all my chilean lectures about being alone.

“Congratulations to you too, thank you, you have truly just made my day.”

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Photo from Ireland 4 Years Ago when it all began

I made it to the coast yesterday with a face full of tears at La Serena, Chile the official westerly mark of me cycling west across the world. 4 years ago, I had never cycled anywhere. This is my first bicycle tour..who would of thunk it? I will cycle north from here, check the right side bar of this website for daily updates. My aplogies for the lack of posts and photos lately, my laptop giggled to death on the bicycle so I am mostly communicating daily/bi-daily through my smart phone.
(Photo from Ireland 4 Years Ago when it all began)

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How Long Is Too Long For A Bicycle Tour?

The grass is always greener, I reason to myself as I find myself missing family and friends back home. The nephews and nieces, who have learned how to walk, run and dance in my absence. My friend´s new homes I have never visited.

Recently, I realized that although I love bicycle touring´s simplicity of eat, sleep, cycle, wake up and do it again, at times the lifestyle lacks intimate human connection. Time alone is a good thing, I reason with myself but perhaps 4 years solo is just too long. And, I do look forward to the day when I am not just a voyeur, only sharing a quick smile as I cycle by. I have tackled the lonesome blues, more times than I can remember. When I was hit by a bus and miraculously not injured, I realized that we all get only one life. One short great exciting life to do everything we ever wanted to do. By turtle speed on a pedal bike, to cycle a line that rounds the world is what I wanted to do, could I have not chosen a shorter, easier goal. Only ¾ of the way around the world, let me be the first to admit that I am loosing my momentum. My unending curiosity, the fuel that propels my legs to push the pedals has finally started to fade. Could I have not chosen a smaller planet to try to pedal? I have to laugh at my overly zealous self.

But that is exactly the point, is it not? No matter what this crazy world brings us, are we not supposed to laugh as much as possible and cherish our loved ones. This morning on facebook, I got both, when my oldest friends from home sent me these cartoon images. Please enjoy today´s laugh as we all ponder is 4 years too long for a bike tour?

Hit By A Bus In Patagonia

A friend of mine once told me ´the reason you get to cycle around the world is because you have a team of angels with you but to never forget that even angels wings get tired of flapping sometimes´´ I laughed back then but today I started to believe there is something to that theory because at around 4pm, Oct 8th 2013 I got hit by a bus. I was cycling in a strong head wind 140 km from Puerto Natales, Patagonia, Chile and the bus did not see me. The bus drove at 94 km/hr (I found out the speed later) into my Ortlieb pannier. The pannier exploded and shredded from the impact essentially saving my life. My shoulder rolled forward, the colors on the bus literarily blurred before my eyes. I slammed my left shoulder into the moving bus and then Pandemic The Magic Bicycle and I crashed hard onto the rocky ground. I do not know how or why but I am completely uninjured. I have no road rash, no broken wrists, no head injury, only a bruised shoulder. I got lucky, very very lucky.

Solo Female Cyclist Patagonian Angels (photo taken by Mithun Shaw)

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´´Yes I am fine, but you just hit me with your bus´´ I chuckle with relief to the bus driver. His concerned eyes are staring at me in disbelief that I just stood up smiling, laughing that somehow I am not injured. He watched me lying on the ground and had thought the worst. His blue official vest is tucked into his grey pants. His hand is pointing to the ground to the ´blood´. My belongings are strewn across the road, many of them are shredded, plastic bus parts are everywhere.

The collision broke the plastic molding off the bus, I kept it as a souvenir

´´Where is the blood? ´´ The group of 3 bus officials have gathered from inside the bus ask as I look down at my knees, and take off my jacket to check for blood. One man finds a plastic bag full of ´blood´ amongst my belongings and sorts out it is not blood but a broken jar of raspberry jam.

“We need to fill out a report, we must drive you to the police” the man who is fluent in english and is now translating says. My language skills for speaking spanish have flown away in the andrelin and realization that I got hit by a BUS, a big fast hard bus. The bus driver messed up and drove into me with his big fast hard bus.

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The police gather around me, the bus driver and his friends explain that I and the wind are at fault and I must sign a form, it is their explanation of the events, I am told it is just documentation. I refuse to sign it. Since when is a bus allowed to plow down a cyclists who is cycling down the yellow line on the shoulder.I think to myself.

“Are you hurt? The bus will drive you the 140km into Puerto Natales to try fix your gear, are you hurt” The police say

“No I am not hurt but my pannier and belongings are destroyed, I think I must have angels, I am just glad I am ok but no thank you, I am not signing that explanation. “ I say unaware of the full extent of destruction to my gear amongst the stench of a patronizing crowd who are kind although clearly watching each other´s clever backs.

(my peace love and please don´t hit cyclists note for the bus driver)

“I am very lucky I guess I am just a good bouncer but please tell the driver to try to stay alert because in a few months during high season many cyclists will come to Patagonia to pedal and if there is a next time someone is going to get hurt or killed. Stay alive, give a cyclist 1.5 meters minimum of space. I got lucky, I think I must have angels, tired tiny combat angels that flapped their little wings for me once again while trying to cycle around the world.“

Don’t Tell Your Mom You Are A Cycle Tourist

Tell a friend you are going to cycle the length of Africa and their response will most likely range from planning your funeral to calling the closest mental hospital. In my case, three concerned friends actually called the CA embassy in Canada, Ethiopia and Sudan to question my decision making abilities. Apparently, after I pedaled through Pakistan and Iran in hijab they started to question my mental health. One friend said he would pay me to leave Africa asap. Another friend called my Dad who laughed and insisted that I wasn’t acting anymore wacky than I have always been.

The authorities did find me about 40km into Ethiopia but I truly thought the officials were joking. After the officials at the Gedaref Checkpoint in Sudan grabbed my handlebars and demanded a bribe, I reacted to the officials of Ethiopia with my best “go on, get out of town, you are joking” face and cycled on.
This week I learned that WOW(WomenOnWheels) Jo Rust was mugged a while back in N. Angola of her bicycle. She was approached with machetes and lightened of everything, the crooks fortunately did not touch her. Not, that it stopped her much, with financial support from Angola, she picked up a motorcycle and continued her quest to circumnavigate Africa.

In a comment on twitter this week, some folks had never heard of a cycle tourist being robbed of their bicycle. Jo Rust and I both agreed and laughed that some how knowing about these worst case scenarios before hand helps in the planning. Would we change our minds and not go? Definitely not, because these incidents are rare and do not account for the 100’s if not 1000’s of bicycle travelers that come home with nothing but good news and fun photos.

Mom’s out there stop reading and go comb your now graying hair!

I have a machine gun… so, give me your stuff

I left to cycle out of Cairo in a sandstorm, my instincts were kicking hard that it was time to go. With the help of an amazing tail wind I covered 200km plus a day cycling scared and fast through most of S Egypt. On the same road in a two week period I met 4 separate solo cyclists who were robbed. (Luxor to Aswan Nile and Desert rds).

The ‘it is not safe, you must get in’

Africa Cycle (FB fanpage) -A truck insisted the road was not safe. He got in and was robbed of electronics. Fred returned to France bought all his gear back, flew to Capetown and cycled north instead of south. I camped with Fred in Malawi and he told me he will be flying home before he reaches Egypt. Fred is now cycling across Ethiopia.

Cut The Locks

During a loud thunderstorm while crossing the Stans, Kevin locked his bike to a fence. It it was cut free. The police went looking, apologized and found his bicycle. I met Kevin happy to be rolling on the KKH Pakistan.

The ol’e guest house trick.

I was robbed in a guest house in Tanzania. Peter Gostelow was as well in Kenya after spending 6 weeks recovering from a machete attack in the Big Africa Cycle. World Biking lost one of their two bikes in a guest house in Bolivia. Whether you lock your bike to the bed is up to you but whatever you do don’t tell your mom you are a cycle tourist.

Special Note: Posted in memory of my mom who died of cancer 10 years ago today. I raise my glass high in her memory to all the gray hairs she said I gave her before she passed away. In spirit, I am sure she is proud to know that I am indeed a cycle tourist.

Is It Better To Wrap Your Legs Around A Boy Or A Magic Bicycle?

I have shagged the boss and now I need to find a new job…I am looking for something more extraordinary” Bridget Jones famous words echo through my amused mind as I sit on Chizumula Island, Lake Malawi, Africa waiting for the second replacement set of gear cables from the infamous not so reliable world wide shipping malorky from SJS Cycles in the UK, a story for another post. Now back to the various leg wraps…….

(Please enjoy these photos that have nothing whatsoever to do with the words in this blog post…However, FYI, I have been having loads of fun with the new Canon Powershot G12 camera, thanks Dad for sending the packages out to me, you are a great Dad)

With another birthday approaching this month, and my singleton status firmly embedded into my “hard on all types of relationships” lifestyle of constantly rolling on for the love of travel and quest of cycling a line that rounds the world, a grand debate has taken hold of my fearful horny old maid almost 40 year old mind. Is it better to wrap your legs around a boy or a magic bicycle? Why the hell DO I choose to cycle tour solo? Something that has been heavy on my mind due to my upcoming interview for the BBC solo women in sports news hour.

I will be the first to admit that getting chased down the street by some mind baffling lunatic in Ethiopia who clearly did not understand that he could not have a visit in my pants, left me digging deep for an alternative solution to the attention from a couple of local perves. Finally, after all other passive wise cracks and humorous hand gestures, I resorted to threatening the last of the willy wielding skeevey perves with a coke bottle. Which sent him running off, at least then the correct individual was the one running,I reasoned to myself as I pedaled Pandemic The Magic Bicycle south through East Africa with an injured sense of humor and Willy my x-L knife at the top of my panniers but otherwise unscathed.

After getting robbed of laptop, camera, gear etc in Tanzania, halting my writing and the WOW (womenonwheels) wall, it was time to retreat from the road, time to find something else to do with my time. I had to wait for replacement gear cables and packages to replace my gear twice this past 7 weeks anyway. So find something else to do I did. I tucked away at the Wakwenda Retreat on Chizumulu Island, Malawi to volunteer at the lodge, swim everyday, gain some needed weight, see a dentist, dry out the tear ducts, cook for guests, carry some rocks for a new chalet, offer unasked for managerial advice, oh la la with the boss, and repeat. What can I say here, I could never stay away from the boys and what is the point of retreating unless ALL hedonist pleasures of thoroughly covered.

After having pedaled 30,000 km ( at best guess) in the last 3 ½ years, it is not my legs that I have been resting, it is my sense of humor and questioning whether or not to continue this adventurous some times lonesome life on the road. Is 3 ½ years of continuous solo touring too long? Was this world line not supposed to be covered over my lifetime? And, not about taking my first ever punch in the face in Ethiopia and cycling through the strong “rob me now” vibes of Tanzania. Almost, grateful to finally be robbed on the African continent and end the suspense. Practically offering people money to NOT hit me with a rock, machete or hold a gun to me and to just take what they want and leave me standing with a smile. Which, I am truly grateful that they did.

Do I recommend East Africa by bicycle Cairo to Capetown, you will have to ask me later. But, will I carry on to Capetown with a repaired sense of humor new gear cables, gear shifter, camera, laptop, fresh gear etc? YES, after celebrating a moldy 40 on Chizumula Island, I will head out choosing to wrap my legs around my beloved bicycle once again heading into the rain season from Malawi across Zambia, Namibia and then South to Capetown with a fresh gregarious giggle pondering the many pros and cons of riding boys and bicycles.

Dollars For Dough Heads. If You Can’t Have Your Way, You Indeed Must Pay

“Can I have a copy of that photo?…it reminds me of my grand-ma” A short sighted man who works for major Hollywood productions in London, straightens his artistic glasses. He leans over me, he peeks at my photos. They are spread across my computer screen. I am sitting at a table eating lunch in Addis, Ethiopia admiring the photo I took this morning of a wise old lady, her rounded spectacles focus on her years of experience.

Sure you can have a copy, I think to myself, everything is being spread around on the internet for free these days anyway, as I transfer the photo from my computer screen to his memory card. I would find out later, Robert intends on putting together a for profit photo exhibition for his affluent Hollywood friends when he returns home to London from his holiday in Ethiopia. I hope his grand-ma can afford to attend, I think to myself.

Moments later, I open an e-mail from my concerned Canadian cousin, she is trained in IT security. She has discovered that a fan of this website, has recently started 2 blogs of her own. She is not a writer, traveler with nice camera or a cyclist. She has cut/copy/pasted my most popular articles and photos onto her 2 blogs. She hasn’t credited the original source, my website. Why didn’t little Miss Copyright Violation ask me first, I would of said yes. I have been taking photos and writing for travel magazines for free anyway, I think to myself.

After a decade of being distracted by my career, a relationship and owning a home, at 36, I found myself committed to traveling. 3 years ago, with exactly zero cycling experience; I left Alaska via suburbia to cycle around the world. As the news of my unique story spreads, requests for my travel writing and photos are on the rise. My e-mail box is fat and happy these days, an expert in the women’s adventure travel industry, I, apparently, have become. I am truly flattered and happy to answer the many requests for information, as the budget travel industry blossoms in popularity.

(wise, blind and beautiful Mongolian woman that I met a few years ago while visiting her communities shaman, one of my fav. photos (Sept ’09)

My upcoming inspirational paperback book is looking for a publishing house. I find myself too busy cycling through Africa and masterminding more metaphors, to look for the appropriate contacts. As I write, happy to be propped up by my sleeping bag in my beloved tent on continent number 4.

Up next is North America, where I will be making photo presentations (for donation) and speaking about the book. Are you interested in reading the book or arranging a photo presentation? Do you happen to know of a publishing house in USA, Canada or Europe? Leave a comment below or get in touch through skalatitude@gmail.com, FB, Twitter.

Chewing bubble gum with Mongolian nomads as they escort me to meet a Siberian Shaman, mistaken as a porn star in the Indian Himalaya while cycling at 17,500 feet, meeting the Dalai Llama, hospitalized in Iran and spitting on camels in the Sudanese Sahara while straightening my headscarf are the funny stories of a solo female cycling around the world. Memories not often obtained while travelling for many other writers and those who have gotten too comfortable behind a desk, bus bound, Hollywood photographers.

In response to recent events, below you will find my new donation program. (A percentage of all money raised will continue to be donated towards the Bicycle Ambulance Project. The remainder will keep me and this website going as I pedal through Africa. Thanks everyone for purchasing the t-shirts, we are now all sold out. Thank-you.

$4.99 to $9.99 Thank you, I will send you a postcard, with the latest news from Africa

$10 to $29.99 Thank you, Choose your favorite photography print, samples found here

$30 to $69.99 (based on word length) Thank you. After 3 years of continuous solo female bicycle touring through 22 countries, (33,000km-at best guess), my unique travel writing has been published in 6 countries and 3 languages. Original funny articles are available on your choice of topics. They include, Budget Travel Tips, Top Gear Choices, Solo Female Travel and Safety, Budget Vacations Destinations, Planning Your First Bicycle Tour and more.

Earning Your Tassels While Graduating From Hassles…Tips On Avoiding Scams While Travelling

While cycling into the tourist town of Bahrir Dir, touts abound with promises of boat trips to monasteries and transportation to the local Blue Nile Falls. I park Pandemic The Magic Bicycle in a $3USD guest house, which is cheaper than the campground, and continue through the streets in search of a glimpse of the lake and it’s flamingos. My hat hangs low shielding my face, my sunglasses are firmly planted on my eyes and music blasts distraction in my ears.

The touting calls continue but I am joyfully oblivious, endless entourages of offers linger near the hotels quick to charge a huge tariff of questionable believability. However, Ethiopian touts do back down fairly easily under the efforts of my complete ignorant bliss.

The street side circus approach to conjuring up business is often successful on tourists who actually want a boat trip or an overpriced private car with 3 guides to local attractions. For me taking photos, while not rolling on the magic bicycle is what I would prefer to do with the afternoon, an inexpensive and fun way to capture the beautiful people hard at work and rest. As I take a lunch break, I get to chatting with a fellow traveler about touts and hassles and how to steer clear of a scam.

What A Flirt! The World Really Does Need Less Touts and More Winking Goats

Here are some tips on earning your tassels and avoiding the hassles while travelling

The Helen Keller, I can’t see you, I can’t hear you approach. Completely ignore all offers of tours, boat trips etc from street side vendors. A hat that hangs low, dark sunglasses and or music in the ears helps to block the chatter as well.

The Flailing Lunatic: Act like a deranged lunatic. This could involve flailing your arms, twitching uncontrollably and drooling, meowing and barking may help as well. This approach plays directly into the long standing taboo and superstitious fear of the mentally ill in many countries. It is very fun, if done with a dramatic flair. Also, a favorite of a couple that I met who are driving a Toyota Camper Van from Europe to South Africa.

Go For An Academy Award Winning Performance: Say No and steer clear of these people. If a local would be aggressive, then put on your best academy award winning performance and say NO just as aggressively. Keep walking and say NO as many times as need be, altering the volume higher with each attempt. It helps to learn the word NO Thank You in the local language as well.

It Always Rains At My Parade: I met a solo traveler in China who always carries an umbrella. She simply pops the umbrella open in the face of all unwanted attention, clearing the space and blocking eye contact. She also admitted to occasionally laughing and poking locals if they did back away.

The Snap and Point: In many countries, snapping your fingers and pointing go away, is the equivalent to bugger off. This will often get the attention of good hearted locals who may laugh and/or come to your defense.

The Dude, Are You Serious Method: My most effective tactic to date is simply saying, Dude, I am seriously not into you following me. This is bad business. If you act normal, I might just say hello, but Dude, are you seriously going to keep following me, you must have something better to do.

Despite the present touts of Ethiopia and many countries, the landscape and people are wonderfully photogenic making any minor hassle well worth it.

Please enjoy the slide show!