Life On The Road – Page 3 – Solo Female Cycling Around The World

God Bless The Sinners

Oh, Father Pedal, please forgive me for I have sinned, I am not worthy of the pulpit or spandex for that matter. It has been 7 days since my last ride in the brooks saddle on this bicycle tour. I am here today to confess of my sin of having taken almost a week off from bicycle touring. The guilt provoked by my sin has consumed my lazy soul. The guilt wallows in my soul for I have spend one day site seeing and the other six lingering around consuming Beer Klang, chilling out with new friends and aimlessly lounging around the overly touristy lake area of Phenom Pehn, Cambodia.

While my sinful liver and pedaling legs chilled out in Phenom Phen, I met some fellow sinners or bicycle tourists who have come from Britain overland by bicycle.

Their sin deeply masked by a tale of unwarranted guilt for having taken the train with bicycle through the center of China due to a short visa. They explained that they had “cheated” on their bicycle tour from Britain through Asia into OZ and New Zealand, unfaithful, adulterous bicycle tourists, rat bastards of the worst pedaling kind, I jokingly assured them.

Another sinner or bicycle tourist I met admitted to having to make up excuses in order to take one day off from his bicycle tour through Africa. For instance excuses such as, unnecessary bicycle check-ups and double checking maps on the internet became prerequisites to getting off the bicycle for even one day. Simply being lazy or not riding for one day just because was not an option for his and many sin cloaked addicted bicycle tourist souls.

Other Issues For Father Pedal To Sort Out Include, Finding Hats on the Road and Wearing Them

Oh Father Pedal, why does bicycle touring involve such addiction, withdraw and guilt? Is it the endorphin high and withdrawal from 4-7 hours of daily exercise? Or perhaps our egos are unaware that there is other less attention getting acts in life. Or maybe, it is the inner child trying to relive our favorite child hood moments of riding a bicycle. Father Pedal please give me the strength to repress my passion for finding great treasures out on the roads of the world. Oh Father Pedal, please forgive me for I have joined the other sinners. Please help me twelve step my way back into the saddle, continue this journey and seek solace amongst other sinners or bicycle tourists along the way. And Father Pedal please forgive me because God Bless The Sinners has become my favorite expression for all acts of joyful blasphemy.

(written shortly before throwing myself and magic bicycle out of Phenom Pehn for a 124km (77 miles)hot and sunny soul redeeming ride north towards the Loa border)

Hasta La VISA Baby…How to get a Travel Visa

Bureaucracy moves at a glacial pace, the tourist visa stamp floats like a retreating ice berg in the luke warm administrative waters. The long desired tourist visa , the monopoly card, the terminator or determinator of forward travel. A little stamp or sticker, a you may now pass go card posted in my passport in the monopoly travel game of life.

As the icebergs melt and the arctic warms another visa is achieved, this time thanks to the assistance of the unofficial Indonesian tourist visa extension coordinator, a hairdresser/hotel manager I met last week.

With the mind baffling complexity of meta-physics, variable rules and conditions apply to visa politics in every country. For instance, the hairdresser/hotel manager I met last week became my Indonesian sponsor. A local Indonesian “friend” is required to sign off on all Indonesian visa paperwork. A fee is charged for this service and then my hairdresser/hotel manger sponsor then pays an additional “fee” on my behalf to the visa office. I receive my pass go card, a blue stamp in my passport, half the Indonesian population stays employed for my efforts and the pulp and paper industry is down another tree.

In China, I made way for the bureaucratic glacier to float on by me without incident by simply rolling Pandemic The Visa Gett’in Magic Bicycle into the Chinese consulate office in Luaprabang, Loa, (visas can be obtained in major cities in neighboring countries). As Pandemic sparkled with all her charm in the back of the visa office, I smiled with the strength of 36 spokes and scored a 4 month double-entry (two visits) Chinese visa instead of the standard 15 day visa. Pandemic was all about it, we REALLY wanted a visa long enough to pedal from Vietnam to Mongolia, through China and then roll back through China, sneak through Tibet and go ice climbing in Nepal. (Pro-tip/ the word Tibet is considered blasphemous in the Chinese visa office and will result in not receiving the pass go card, magic bicycles are allowed). I handed the “official” Chinese official a hand written 4 page destinations list of Chinese villages on the east coast, a long way away from Tibet that I wanted to pedal through and assured him that I LOVE CHINA. In reality, the best thing about China is that it is attached to Mongolia but when given the opportunity to feed China’s ego it is best to smile hard and start cooking Chinese dumplings. In summary, three tips on getting a tourist travel visa

Tip 1-Issuing a visa can be a lengthy affair, ranging from immediately to 3-10 days, so plan ahead

Tip 2-Visas can be issued on arrival by plane, at home before you leave at the consulate, in major cities in neighboring countries or at land crossings by bus or bicycle

Tip 3-It doesn’t hurt to bring a magic bicycle to the visa office

Click here for specific visa regulations for all the countries of the world

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Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

I have read many times in magazine articles and travel guides, in reference to solo female travel that it is best to tell a few white lies. Some female solo travelers garnish fake wedding rings others make up lavish tales of husbands. Up until now on my solo travel, cycling adventure, I have stood firm and honest about being single, solo and without children. I have never been very good at lying, in fact, the guilt sinks deeply into my soul if even the thought of a lie creeps into my brain. And long before said fictitious thought ever gets to my lips and God, Allah, Buddha, Goddess, Higher Power, Spirit or what have you, forbid, hears it, I squash all lies and opt for speaking the truth.

Today this all changed for even Pinocchio’s nose did look cute even when it was elongated with unreal fairy tale wishes and tall, tall tales. Indonesia is a Muslim country, and the island of Sulawesi has a Muslim majority at 83% and in the rural villages being single, solo and female is not an option or something most people have even heard of. The vast majority of women will marry by the time they are 18 and then make babies soon thereafter. Some women will become university educated and become teachers or nurses then marry and then make babies. I met a progressive woman not long ago traveling to her job as a “maid” in Singapore who told me with a child like devilish grin that she was on her second husband. She said she had bad luck. I couldn’t sort out if her first husband had died or not but her second husband was a good man. She had a son with her first husband. She clearly missed her son a lot because her son had to live with her mother. She said her second husband wouldn’t give her son any food when they lived together so her son went to live with her mother and she was sad that she didn’t get to see him.

In Indonesia and Asia, personnel questions on first meeting are standard practice. Everyone I meet asks my name, where I am from, if I am married, if I am Muslim and if I have children, etc. I usually answer all of the above with truthful responses. Even now, if an old women or little girl asks me such things I answer truthfully.

However, If a group of men on motorcycles who have been fasting all day for Ramadam, doing their best to obtain from all sexual thoughts and are bored and have nothing else to do with their time then to harmlessly follow a single women on a magic bicycle for hours asks me personnel questions, I have started to make a few things up. In my head prior to speaking such fun lies I say to myself, dear universe I’m a liar, liar pants on fire, I am sorry for lying. If the universe ever answers me, I would first lose my mind and then listen to the universe say YES you are a liar, liar pants on fire but you get a free pass on this one because it concerns your safety.

I have never wanted to be an actress but it sure is fun to try on new pants. I have told people that my husband is meeting me here, that there are 5 other cyclists coming and excuse me I have to go because my friend is up ahead. I never say that I have children or that I am Muslim although I am tempted to see what would happen and what nutritious Ramadam cultural sun down family dinner gathering I might get invited to, if I did.

And speaking of pants, I also do not dress in Muslim attire, a “blending in” solution that many solo female travelers have opted for. The other end of the cyclists fashion spectrum is the popular option of wearing spandex bicycle shorts and sporty tank tops. I receive plenty of attention being a solo, female on a magic bicycle in a foreign country and I really don’t need any more attention so I cover as much skin and curves as possible and would cycle in a long skirt if it didn’t keep getting caught in the bicycle chain. For in a skirt, saying liar, liar pants on fire, wouldn’t be so far from the truth.

Dansey’s Pass

I went out on a date the other day. I am still not sure if it was the best date or worst date I have had in my life. The man who took me out goes by the name of Dansey. He made a pass at me and to my surprise I kind of liked it. So against my better judgment I began flirting with disaster and agreed to go out with him. He is not the first man to make a pass at me but his bad boy allure and sexy mountainous curves made him hard to resist.

Dansey is a curvaceous tall fellow say about 935 meters (3068 feet) tall with sparkling rock brown limestone hair with a jagged pointed sense of humor. He enjoys bathing in the rain and exhausting petit flat chested brunette cyclists. Dansey is multiracial, a gorgeous tempting mix of tar seal, dirt and white gravel pebble rock road. He is equipped with rock hard abs and lickable drop off cliffs. Dansey’s idea of a fun date is 25 kilometers of very steep switch backs, gradient a quazillion in the freezing rain followed by rolling hills for another 40 kilometers into a wet winter head wind. The kind of wet head wind that laughs at gortex rain gear. I considered postponing my date with that too cool for my school Dansey fellow but quickly realized that the rain would be turning to snow in a few days. And since I was already wet, from the rain that is, the plans were set for a cold early winter’s day.

I can’t say I wasn’t warned about this Dansey character’s reputation. The locals chuckled and politely said Dansey? And then silently gawked at me leaving me to wonder what I was getting myself into. Other folks just busted out with it and said Dansey is up to his old tricks again. Normally I would of cancelled a date with a character with such a wide spread reputation for making passes but Dansey had my blood pumping so there was no stopping the encounter. Also, I had just purchased new woolly socks and glove liners and was dying for an excuse to wear them.

Well the socks and gloves didn’t last long they ended up on the floor I mean pannier after the first 10 km(6 miles) and didn’t return until the sub-arctic summit a good 4 hours later when I decided to put on almost everything I had in order to stage my parting with Dansey. Dansey proved to be quite the player he came on very strong, was a little rough and left my thighs burning for more. I managed to escape Dansey’s final play of rescuing me as I froze solid upon his summit. I didn’t want to be considered frigid so I split pretty fast. I avoided the long awkward goodbye knowing I had a huge decent and another 40km(26 miles) of chilly rolling hills home to my icy wet tent. That Dansey had done it again and certainly proven his reputation for memorable passes.