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Photo by Adam Coppola
If you enjoy long, slow, epic climbs, I'd highly recommend you conquer The Condor (Paso del Cóndor). At over 4000 meters, it is the highest paved road in Venezuela. If you begin your bike journey in Barquisimeto at the northernmost point of the Andes, you'll have plenty of time to warm up for the big climb.
Most bridges (new and old) carry huge volumes of traffic. Cars, buses, and trucks make a lot of noise. This kills the esthetic experience. Imagine what it would be like to travel across the Golden Gate bridge completely closed to traffic? That's what crossing U Bein bridge near Amarapura in Myanmar is like.
This post is an update on Tiva (aka The Reluctant Traveler), our rescue dog we adopted last year. My blog post last summer, which was expanded into a column in the Feb 2014 edition of Adventure Cyclist magazine, talks about our journey with an amazing, but fearful, dog.
I'd like to introduce you to one of my bicycling heroes. He hasn't cycled around the world or across the country. I'm not sure if he has ever cycled outside of New York City. He has pedaled his bike around Manhattan for over 50 years, taking photos of what New Yorker's are wearing. He is still going strong at 84.
Oh my God! The most beautiful moth I'd ever seen — as if a forest sprite had decided to go under cover. It was the size of my hand. We weren't gazing at it on some distant wildlife reserve trail. It was lounging on the back of a plastic chair at a roadside restaurant in Myanmar.
During our bike trip in Myanmar last year, we shared the roads (and paths) with a lot of bikes. None of them had carbon fiber frames. They were not equipped with index shifters, or disc brakes, or 9-speed cassettes. Their chains were not replaced when they reached .75% wear. They creaked and moaned when pedaled. They were beautiful, efficient, human-powered machines.
The world lost a truly great man last week with the passing of Nelson Mandela. Sometimes a bike trip is just a bike trip. And then sometimes you find yourself in a place in the world at a time in history that you will never forget.
There is nothing quite as enjoyable on a bike tour as a breakfast break. You've put on a few miles or kilometers, your body and mind are alert, and your taste buds are tingling. You park your bike outside a diner and go in, look at a menu, order coffee or tea, and wait. It generally doesn't take long, ten to fifteen minutes. But when you are bike trip hungry, minutes feel like hours.
One of the delights of pedaling along the dusty back roads of Cambodia, was coming upon a roadside wedding party. There were days when we encountered a half dozen of them.
Bicycle travel is not only one of the best ways to see the world, but to hear it as well. I love how varied the soundscape can be from country to country. Sometimes I like to close my eyes and simply listen to a country—the different bird calls, market sounds, even traffic sounds.
"There is nothing like having an encounter with a grizzly bear to make a tiny cabin feel like a castle fortress. We slept like logs. You see, bears just make travel better."
Almost any day on a bike trip is a good day. But every once in a while, a perfect day comes along. I don't have an official checklist of what qualifies a day as being perfect. But there are those days when your heart sings, and you couldn't keep a smile off your face if you tried. They are the days that first pop into your mind when it's been too long since your last bicycle journey.
When it comes to the stuff I carry on my bike, no one would ever accuse me of being an ultralight bike traveler. When traveling solo, I've been known to pedal with a tent big enough for me and my bicycle. Before the digital camera revolution, a large portion of one of my panniers was devoted to 80 rolls of slide film. I regularly find room to pack a bottle (or two) of wine. How much is too much? 20 lbs? 40 lbs? 60 lbs of gear?
It's always fun to pedal by a school on a bike trip. A bicycle loaded down for an adventure is always a draw. The reaction can vary from polite waves, to smiles and shouted hellos, to all out classroom-emptying chaos. I've never been a rock star, but there are times on the road when I think I've experienced what it's like.
When we first pedaled up to this intersection, I thought I'd see an accident within sixty seconds. This traffic dance fascinated me. An hour later, not a single scrape. How could that be possible without any traffic signals, stop signs, or traffic cops?
At first glance, Cambodia doesn't have the elements most travelers are looking for in a bike trip — there are few paved roads and lots of dust. The country is relatively flat, so no epic mountain passes to climb. And yet, this small country is one of our favorites.
Kat and I first encountered Bangkok traffic from the perspective of the backseat of a taxi. The chaos of any big city can be daunting. Though neither of us spoke the words, I know we were both thinking, "Not going to bike here." But over years of travel, both of us have learned that first impressions are often wrong.
I enjoy the luscious sense of freedom and speed of a long, well earned, downhill. But more often, the most memorable travel moments come when I am forced to slow down.
I look into the frightened eyes of this lovely, friendly little animal that I adore, and am reminded that conquering fear is almost always an incremental process.
The back roads of Laos can be a challenge, even when they are dry. But add water and you have a road surface that can be both slick as glass and sticky as tar. The rains come often to the Bolaven Plateau, where some of the most expensive coffee in the world is grown.
Cargo bikes are all the rage these days. Each year more amazing models hit the marketplace. For someone who hasn't owned a car for eight years, a bike with a lot of carrying capacity is high on my list of desires. Hauling a couple of bags of compost, and/or large ceder boards for a garden project is not an easy task with your average bike.
There are two items that represent the joy of childhood to me: bikes and kites. Riding a bike was easy for me. Flying a kite ... not so much.If I crashed my bike as often as I crashed my kites as a kid, I wouldn't be alive today. Watching the kids in Myanmar fly their kites with an ease I've never known, I suppose my mistake was always going for the largest kite at the store--bigger was better. Except that no matter how fast I ran, my kite would get about 50 feet off the ground, start doing pinwheels, suddenly nose dive, and crash with a fatal thud.
Instead of cycling the main highway in Southern Laos, we opted to pedal the tracks and foot paths along the Mekong. It was slow going, but the ability to be so close to people's daily lives was worth the effort. One early morning we came upon a man who was busy mending a fishing net. I asked if could take a photo and positioned myself so I could capture his silhouette. He was such a master at his craft that his movements, rather than being abrupt, were balletic. Kat was on the opposite side and snapped a photo of the fisherman in the glorious morning light.
Just how many times did I say "hello" today? I asked myself that question recently in Cambodia (where we are currently cycling). We have been greeting warmly everywhere in this country, but while cycling the tiny roads and paths along The Mekong, the greeting got intense.
The smell of wood smoke is in the air along with the squeals of little pigs darting across the road. The roads had wound up and down for days (500-foot to 2,000-foot climbs all day long) as we crossed from one river drainage to the next. There were no restaurants or stores to be found, so we asked a local if she would cook us breakfast. She held a newborn in one arm as she fried up spicy eggs with greens and sticky rice over a wood fire. We kept glancing up to see dozens of kids peeking in to see the foreigners. We emerged out into the brilliant blue sky of the highlands of northern Laos.