Not travelling can make you crazy. Accordian crazy.

Last weekend at the Seattle Bike Expo I shared my Top Ten Fears and Excuses for travelling independently. This morning I caught myself counting my Top Ten Fears and Excuses for not travelling:

1. I’m too old, slow and stupid to start my next career. I’m studying to be a content and technical writer and I’m really excited about using my degree in cognitive psychology to work in IT useability. But there’s so many smart little sprouts out there. Do I stand a chance?
2. I won’t find a job and will “end up in the gutter”. This is my war-survivor mother Ursula‘s fears, but still.
3. People will think I’m a crazy cat/log/accordian lady. It’s an emerging phenomenon – just ask the other single  lady writers out there.
4. I’ll have to get up too early in the morning. Because I’ll need to learn how to select and pull on pantyhose. In the dark. Yeccch.
5. I’ll hole up in my apartment and become too isolated. Funny, isolation never seems to be a problem when I’m pedalling solo in a warm, foreign country.
6. I don’t know how to wear “civilian” clothes. Ironing? Dry-clean? Heels? What?
7. I won’t get enough vacation time
8. I won’t make enough money (for vacation time).
9. I’ll feel stuck in Vancouver. Vancouver is like an attractive and charming spouse – no one can understand why you would want to leave.
10. I’ll continue to make the mistake of dating men much younger than myself. Er, this is a whole other discussion best reserved for a whole other post…

I’ve previously referred to this as Post-Vacation-Stress-Syndrome. How strange that I experience it after just two nights away in another country. Sigh.

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Thanks for coming in out of the rain and sharing the world of Adventure Lite with me this past weekend at Seattle Bike Expo! Thank you Peter Verbrugge and the rest of the amazing, 14,000-strong membership of the Cascade Bicycle Club for inviting and hosting me. And a special thanks to the brave and curious bike riders who joined me and asked questions at the Raleigh Stage.

Reassuring truths to reduce your travel fears and excuses:

1. That could happen at home
2. We all share the same basic needs
3. You have a Home tribe and a Travel tribe
4. It’s okay to ask for help
5. It’s just a bike
6. It’s adventure LITE!

Suggested Mitey Miss posts:

• A Biased Bike Travel Packing List: a gal’s guide on how to pack panniers for a cycling trip
• What I Know For Sure: four nuggets of wisdom learned cycling the Pacific Northwest islands
• Touring Goa, India: join the Goa cycling expedition with Hostelling International

Adventure Lite photos (Flickr):

• Canada: cycling the the Icefields Parkway in the Canadian Rocky Mountains
• New Zealand: cycling New Zealand’s North Island including Coromandel Peninsula and central region
• Cuba: cycling Cuba including Varadero, Havana, Vinales valley and the ‘circucto norte’
• Belize: cycling Central America’s secret, English-speaking nation just south of Cancun
• India: cycling backroads Goa, India with YHA Hostelling International

Books and music:

by Susan Jeffers

by Lance Armstrong

by Thalia Zepatos

"Run Away" by Deee-Lite

"Amanece El Nuevo Ano" by Polo Montanez

"El Jaguar" by Strunz and Farah

"Mann Ki Lagan" by Raha Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan

Join my slideshow at Seattle Bike Expo

I’ll be at Seattle Bike Expo March 12 and 13, 2011. In an “Introduction to Adventure Lite,” I’ll share some stories, photos, how-to’s and why-not’s on exploring with a bicycle.

I’ll also join cycling writers NYC Bike Snob and Willie Weir on a Laughing At Ourselves panel, plus model (with my Dahon Speed TR!) in the Traffic Stoppers fashion show.

Browe the Seattle Bike Expo show schedule. Come by and say hi, stay tuned on Facebook.

In the meantime, go to www.ulrike.ca and you’ll find what you’re looking for with the Search bar.

Now that I'm back from my trip, there are a few things I know for sure

I ask because a hefty issue of O Magazine kept me company on a recent bike trip in September and one of its topics kept bouncing around in my head.

Someone once asked Oprah, “What do you know for sure?” Oprah thought the question was such a good one, she made it a regular feature.

Now that I’m back from my tour of the Pacific Northwest’s islands by folding bike, bus, ferry, train and automobile; I can tell you there are a few things I know for sure.

Bicycles are precious

Elsewhere in the world, you can toss a bicycle into a bus, train or ox cart without much fuss or cost. But here in North America, Greyhound considers a bike so precious that they require it be boxed, labelled and charged passage. While my own fare added up to about $30 at the ticket counter my bagged, folded bicycle commanded $33.

The whole idea of travelling with a folder was to avoid this backwards-thinking ridiculousness. I was choked and told my driver so. “You shouldn’ta told them it was a bicycle,” he countered.

Pedaling is meditation

Cortes­–like the other Gulf Islands in British Columbia–is very hilly. It is also home to a spiritual wellness center called Hollyhock. I suggest that–rather than chant mantras or punch cushions–its visitors spend a couple of days contemplatively pedaling Cortes’s steep inclines in the granny gear of a 20″ wheel bike. It’s easy: focus on the pavement at your front wheel, empty your mind, and and don’t forget to breathe.

Prepare for spontaneity

VIA Rail runs a historic rail journey up and down Vancouver Island. The Victoria-to-Courtenay train service is run by the Government of Canada but isn’t well-publicized and–despite the scenic region’s growing popularity as a cycling destination–doesn’t allow bicycles.

Burned by my Greyhound experience, I bought a ticket online without mentioning the folding bike. On departure day I took a stand on the platform with my bicycle bagged in a clear VIA Rail bicycle bag. Four panniers and a drybag of camping gear leaned against it for support.

I waited for the other passengers to load, then passed the conductor my folded Dahon. He carefully placed it at the front of the rail car, positioned the bags around it, and actually thanked me for preparing my bike so thoroughly.

Cycling slows you down

The Pacific Northwest has a powerful cycling voice in the Cascade Bicycle Club and this became apparent when I stood in line to board the Black Ball ferry from Victoria, BC to Port Angeles, WA. Suddenly my lonesome folding bike was joined by a tie-dye tandem, a family of BMXs, and a couple of recumbents.

I overhead the two recumbent guys tell the tandem couple that their goal was to cycle to the Mexican border.

“You guys are lightweights,” I joked as I surveyed their pannier-free bikes and shifted the weight of my own laden Dahon.

“Yeah,” they joked back, “We’re packing credit cards. We want to make it to San Diego in twenty days and we don’t want anything to slow us down.”
“You mean, like, scenery?” I asked.

What I know for sure is that I am not myself unless I can explore. The most authentic, efficient and balanced way to do that is with a bicycle. Cycling lets me move, meditate and mingle at the same time. And it’s fun as hell.
I wonder if Oprah has given it a try?

A typical cyclist muses on a typical day

“You cyclists,” spat a driver as I caught up to his beat-up hatchback at a red light, “You ride around like you own the streets, you break all the rules, you bang on my car – “

“But that’s not me,” I huffed, “I’m not like that–”

“It doesn’t matter,” he roared as he furiously rolled up his window, “you cyclists are all the same!”

Sometimes when someone like him sees someone like me on a bike, he sees all cyclists and I become a typical cyclist.

For example, when I savor a steak, arrive at a gala or call myself lazy, a non-cyclist will look at me incredulously.

“You eat meat? But I thought you were vegetarian! Why? Well, you’re a cyclist – you know – the environment and all that.” “You rode a bike here? But you look so – dressed up! Usually bikers wear those loud yellow rain jackets!” “You? Lazy and out of shape?! But you ride your bike every day! You’re an athlete!”

Apparently, because I ride a bike, I am a superbly-conditioned, badly-dressed, soy-sucking environmentalist. Don’t you hate when people generalize?

A typical cyclist’s day

The next day, the hatchback driver’s words stuck with me as I went about my errands. I started the day on the computer, assembling photos of tire treads for a friend’s bike shop. “Bike Doctor” Paul wants more novice-friendly signage at his store and I offered to help him with marketing materials over the summer.

Later in the afternoon, I pedalled over to Main Street for an americano misto to get caffeinated for my next stop, a meeting with my local cycling policy advocates. I’d recently been elected to the board of the Vancouver Area Cycling Coalition, and I was keen to hear what the marketing committee had to say about rebranding and (in my words) “sexing-up” the venerable organization.

Paul had invited me over for salmon and hemp beer after the meeting, so I headed up to his house and locked my bike next to the tall, cargo, art and kids’ bikes in his backyard. We grinned at a video of a marriage proposal spelled out in MonkeyLectric bicycle wheel lights.

Paul slipped on his shiny western with Scotchlite fringes and we pedalled through the drizzle to a Gastown warehouse space. Paul’s partner and a collective of other bikey women were hosting a B:C:Clettes sock-hop. We locked our bikes under covered racks at the Woodwards building and navigated souvenir shops, night clubs and a dilapidated staircase to join the party.

My caffeine-and-hemp-beer buzz fizzled about midnight, so I bowed out and descended down to the boozy alley where smoking nightclubbers joked with a bar band loading up their gear.

Maple syrup tea?

As I approached the bike racks I noticed an older fellow curiously circling the bikes. He was frayed  from years of living on the streets, but his gaze was clear as he surveyed each bicycle.

“What’s with all the bikes?” he asked as I unlocked my own. “Oh,” he chuckled, “I guess it is a bike rack.” He looked up to where a building span formed a shelter. “And it’s covered from the rain, that’s good.”

I straightened up and smiled at his astute bikey observation. “Yeah,” I said, “That is good.”

He wandered over to a bike and beckoned me over. “This one, they left the light on – maybe you want to turn it off? I’d do it myself,” he shrugged, “But I’m a homeless guy, and you never know…” He stepped aside and I flicked it off.

I returned to my bike and he followed me. “Listen,” he said as he opened his black backpack and reached inside. “I want you to have this. See – it’s sealed, it’s good. My gift.” He pulled out a package of maple-flavored tea – the kind tourists buy from the nearby souvenir shops.

“You’re a cyclist, right? Tea is good on a rainy night. I know you cyclists like tea.”

“Yeah,” I said, accepting the cello-wrapped box, “Us cyclists like tea.” I thanked him and wished him a safe night.

You can try to lump us together, but there’s no such thing as a typical cyclist. We ride for different reasons. Some of us cycle to connect with the world around us – for better or worse, for insults or tea. It all seems to balance out. We get it all, just riding a bike. Us cyclists.

Published in the July/August 2010 issue of Momentum: the magazine for self-propelled people.

Cycling Playa La Ventana (south of La Paz) in Baja Mexico

People fuss over bike travelers and how brave, adventurous and fit they are. But really, a bike traveler is just someone who wonders, “What if I rode my bike somewhere else…?” and does.

If you get around by bike at home, why not take it with you the next time you go “somewhere else?” It’s easy: pack your bike, pack some stuff, start pedaling and ta-da! You’re an Adventure Cyclist!

I credit my first foreign bike adventure – a winter getaway to Mexico’s Yucatan – to the fact that I’m too stubborn to break my daily cycling habit; too lazy to haul a heavy knapsack on and off buses; and too curious to just sit on a resort bar stool.

I aim for destinations that are warm, flat and mildly touristy. Why? Lighter gear, fewer hills and more places to enjoy a cheap, chilled, sociable beer at the end of the day.

Novice bike travelers agonize for months over what to bring on a trip, so I’ll share my own highly-biased, female-friendly, low-tech cyclist’s packing list. You may notice the absence of a cell phone, GPS and laptop, and the presence of mini-pads, brassieres and hair ties.

Did I mention the list is biased? Use it as a starting point, and share your comments, questions and travel tips.

The Mitey Miss Bike Travel Packing List

Bike Gear – I travel with a rigid mountain bike equipped with racks, suspension seat-post and dual (flat/clipless) pedals. Add front/rear panniers, handlebar bag, multi-tool, flat repair kit (inner tube, pump, tire levers, patch kit), bike computer, rear light, lubrication kit (oil, rag), cable lock and sometimes – a helmet.

Camp Gear – I pack either a 1.5-person tent with full fly and vestibules (room to move and storage) or a bivouac tent (really small and light). Add a sleeping bag and Therm-a-Rest under-pad.

Hardware – When I travel overseas, I leave behind the camp stove, pots, soap and scrubbie pad. Why? A stove needs fuel (a pain to locate in a foreign country) and it’s a lonely companion to eat with on a solo ride. I’d rather share a meal in a family-run cantina. Other hardware: bowl, cutlery, lightweight cord (laundry line), head lamp and Swiss army-style knife, two bungee cords and cable ties (“zap straps”).

Food – I shop en route, but pack home-bought powdered 3-in-1 tea and sports drinks, bagels, cream cheese, peanut-butter-and-jam-in-one-jar, energy bars, trail mix, ramen soups, beef jerky and dried fruit.

Clothing – I organize clothing into categories:

• BIKE: worn only while cycling, a typical outfit is padded shorts, short-sleeve blouse, stretchy bra.
• NON-BIKE: civilian-looking, knee-length shorts to go over padded shorts, modest dress, non-wrinkle light long pants and tops (suitable for nice restaurants or temples), cardigan/fleece, underwear, regular bra, bathing suit.
• SLEEP: tank top and loose briefs.
• SUN: soft hat, sunglasses.
• RAIN: light shell with hood.
• FEET: bike shoes, walking shoes, flip-flops. Socks for biking and non-biking.
• COLD: toque, gloves, neck warmer. A “deal breaker” is what I call a puffy compact jacket, vest or mid-layer that not only warms you instantly, but doubles as a comfortable pillow.

Bathroom – Everyone likes a non-stinky cyclist at the end of the day, including your sleeping bag. I organize personal items by body part: teeth (toothbrush, paste), eyes (glasses, contacts, case), skin (soap, bug spray, sweat-proof sunblock lotion, towel) and hair (shampoo, comb, elastics).

Resources – The useful little items that are so easy to forget. Maps, guidebooks, schedules, large clear Ziploc bags. Pen and notepad. Wristwatch with alarm. Camera and batteries. First aid kit. Phone card.

Guilty Pleasures – Additional useful but less necessary items: ear plugs, safety pins, bulldog clips, needle and thread. A convertible stuff sack/pillow case. Sarong/ pashmina. Menstrual cup, panty liners. Silk pajamas. Loofah (scrubs off salt, sand and sweat). Soft-sided cooler bag, candles/lantern, bread bags (for feet), collapsible water bladder. Booze. Books. And my new favorite: the Alite Monarch ultra-light camp chair.

Published in the May/June 2010 issue of Momentum: the magazine for self-propelled people.

Khadim Hussain, 37, Driver
Islamabad, Pakistan

“If I really think about it, I realize there is nothing I cannot do without. I think once a person sets their mind to it, it is possible to do withut any of the modern conveniences. I think even if I had to walk hundreds of miles to get somewhere, I could do it if I just set my mind to it.”

John Naccarato, 43, Artist
Ottawa, Canada

“Espresso Maker, to get up in the morning and have that kind of persistent buzz to get me through the daily grind.”

About two years ago, my housemate Annie found a shoebox down in the basement when she was packing up to move out. She gingerly  passed it to me, knowing I would know what to do with it. It said “Shimano” on the outside, and a quick peek at the French writing inside confirmed my nauseous suspicions: it belonged to P.H.

Long after he meticuously made his bed, emptied his desk, and killed himself with a laundry hose and the tailpipe of a running car, I discovered that my boyfriend had uncharacteristically left something undone.  He’d forgotten a shoebox of love letters.

I successfully ignored and even forgot about that box until today. I stepped into the basement to put some camping gear away. I turned around and the Shimano box caught my eye. I stared back at it and finally took it into my hands. It was heavy – packed full of lined paper letters written girlishly. I opened a letter dated 1998.
Nicole, writing from Quebec. Nicole and P.H. were together for two years, and had been separated for two years when P.H. and I became involved. I knew he was still in love with her, but it was clear that beyond being “just friends” Nicole was no longer in love with him.

She could speak French and on the RCMP’s insistance, she was the one to call Pierre-Henri’s parents in France to tell them the bad news.
They asked her to look after “the arrangements” and she interpreted that to mean that she could move all his possessions into her apartment. Over that time, I learned how much pain one human can obliviously inflict on another.

” I met P.H. for lunch not too long before he died,” Nicole told me one time. “We got to chatting about him and you and you know what he said? ‘I don’t see this relationship lasting.’”

I carried the shoebox upstairs to the fireplace. At 2pm on this Sunday afternoon, I decided to build a fire. I pulled a few sheets of yellow foolscap out of the box and rolled them into paper balls. I lined the grate with the paper balls, then laid some wispy twigs over top. I carefully turned the box upside down over the twigs, and left the bottom of the box on top, to hold it all together.

I imagined that once I lit the balls and once the twigs had caught, the box of letters would burn like a log. At first, flames nibbled at the box’s edges, and thick grey smoke reached up the flue. But the flames diminished as the outer pages became charred. A poke revealed that every letter underneath ~ and the words and heart drawings that they contained ~ remained intact.

It must have taken me forty-five minutes to continuously turn the pile of papers so every letter was illegibly burned. It gave me time to think.

P.H. loved Nicole, and I was in love with P.H. Four years later, I’m finally learning that loving someone ~ and being in love with them ~ are very different things. Being “in love” actually has very little to do with love. It’s more about one-sided dreams and expectations.
And “love” ~ it’s either there or it’s not… you can’t force it.

Four years later I think I can finally say my grieving is done. I can accept that though the person I was in love with decided to end his life, he was not in love with me. I can say that I know how it feels to be in love under the ugliest of circumstances. And I can feel compassion for those who fall in love naiively, wishfully, one- sidedly ~ including myself.

It’s not the stuff of greeting cards ~ but that’s just paper, isn’t it?

So now I’m suspended between these two worlds that I’ve created for myself hesitant ~ no, the hesitancy is more severe than that ~ negligent to shallow-wade from one to the other. It’s a Saturday. Yes, I’m still in bed, still pajama-ed, still sipping coffee and still (as my boss Dave puts it) suffering Post-Vacation-Stress-Syndrome.

The panniers are unloaded and the laundry done, certainly, but the bags’ contents of beach sand remain un-shaken-out. The bike waits, cramped, in its travel bag, the maps and booklets remain sealed in Ziplock bags, and I remain wrapped in sensory memories not willing to be pre-emptied by the current sensory facts of a messy bedroom, a dusty house, unwashed dishes, piled up garbage, and ~ outside ~ a type of low-level illuminated environment us Vancouverites mistakenly call “daylight”.

A large part of it has to do with decisions. On my first day back, Dave asked me to review a two-page document that he’d be sending a client. It discussed rates, fees, services…standard proposal jargon. I stared at it a moment, peered up at him and blinked.

“Er, NO salt on the rim?” He forgave himself his error, and said something about it being too soon.

My decisions up to a couple of days ago included: how many slices of Bimbo tostados to spread my peanut butter-and-jam on; how much sun block 30 I should spread on my shoulders at 9:30 in the morning; whether I should keep my tires hard for pavement or let out some air for dirt; how many kilometers I should travel that day, and do I have enough water and toilet paper to carry me through another deserted, Sea-of-Cortez beach, or should I pull into a hot-shower campsite stocked with curious RV’rs offering cold beer in the evening and hot coffee in the morning?

Will I dream another night of soaring through the stratosphere like an outward-bound comet, or do I dream of a life where I am stuck with these difficult decisions everyday?

Back in my room, my house, my job, my life (did I ever leave these behind or did they follow me silently on the East Cape Road, mutely waiting for a moment’s hesitancy) I must also make decisions albeit more philosophical:

Do I dissolve back into what is speedy and routine, or do I pinch-myself-remember daily that I do not forget how long and luscious a day can be? Do I knuckle the sleep and sand out of my eyes, brush my teeth, change into civilian clothes and face the chores and Lego-block tasks of everyday life, or do I stay in bed, immersed, in vitro, unproductive?

It would be self-defeating to say, “Back to the chores, you have no choice,” because this has been (“has been”) my choice. I am committed to it like a faithful lover and I know this room, this house, this job, this life is what I have chosen for myself.

I do not regret it , but at the moment the lover looks frumpy. I am not impressed.

TO DO LIST:

Bank. Mailbox. Groceries.
Put away laundry, restock camping supplies, unpack bike.
Clean up room, take out garbage, do some dishes.
Think less about sand, sun and angels.
Think less about love and loss, more about movement, adventure, progression, wisdom, warmth, gifts, empathy, worthiness.