Dangers Ahead
All throughout my travels, local people constantly warned me of the dangers ahead. Often it was nothing or maybe just a mean dog that would attack if I rode the bike down its street. Other times it was warnings about the band of thugs hiding in the bushes that would steal everything, which never happened. Paranoia was everywhere and it was best to let it go in one ear and out the other.
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Never was I warned about the real dangers ahead though. In 1987 while visiting the Philippines, I paired up with an "around-the-world" bicyclist from England, George Craig. After nearly a month and a half of biking together, wearing only shorts, we stopped to take a break and enjoy some refreshments. I was able to see the backend of my bike from where I was sitting, but George's bike was leaning against the wall further away and was out of sight. When the time came to pay, his bike was gone. The panic in his eyes told me he wasn't joking. Jumping onto the bike, I circled the area for several hours while George and the owner drove around searching as well. We spent the next day looking and even tried buying a "hot" used bike, but again with no success. Having lost everything: money, passport, bike, and even the shirt on his back, I bought him a new shirt, loaned him two hundred dollars, and just like that, was back on the road alone once again. |
Another of those unknown dangers ahead was a simple case of beauty and the beast. Going for a walk after breakfast one morning in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, I bumped into a young lady who showed some enthusiasm for getting acquainted. Accepting her invite back to her place, to my dismay she didn't live alone, but with her sister and sleazy brother-in-law. Being offered a glass of juice was the last thing I remembered. Luckily the name of my hotel was on their keyring. I was told later that I had been delivered by taxi after being found lying on the road completely unconscious. Losing $1100 was nothing compared to losing five days of my life unable to walk or talk. She was pretty though.
I was also robbed twice in Argentina. Sleeping in the woods outside of Bariloche, I awoke to find everything gone other than the clothes on my back which I had slept in. The small town local radio station got involved and three days later broadcasted that my things had been located. This lovely ski resort was truly ashamed that this had happened in their town. All that was missing was 4 or 5 cans of tuna, a pocket knife, and a small transistor radio. The other time was on the ferry crossing the Magellan Strait, which was my fault for leaving my bags strapped to my bike unattended. They took all my rain gear, and the following morning it began to rain and continued for seven straight days.
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There are other incidents that come to mind, but one of the few rewarding unknown dangers happened on my 46th birthday. Rolling into Asuncion, Paraguay, darkness had already fallen on the city and I needed to get off the bike and off the streets quickly. This was Paraguay's capital and the streets were busy. The first hotel sign I came across said "Hotel Playboy" and they had a vacancy with a lovely balcony overlooking the street below. Returning from dinner, the entire building was now lit up. This was not just a hotel but a Playboy Club as well. Taking a quick peek into the club, the place was empty so I went upstairs to hang out on the balcony. Answering the soft tapping on the door minutes later, a Playboy Bunny walked in dressed in her tiny little outfit. Apparently, the clerk had noticed it was my birthday. She wasn't interested in my life story but oddly wanted a song instead. On the road, I had sung parts of James Brown's song, "I Feel Good" at least once a day for the past couple of years. I didn't know all the lyrics but at the moment, that didn't matter. |
Right after the very first "I Feel Good," she started wiggling and dancing, and quite frankly, I felt like James Brown and kept singing. At the song's end, I was richly rewarded before she scooted back to work. For a while, I thought about going downstairs and thanking the front desk but another tapping on the door stopped me, and in stepped another Bunny. I sensed she wasn't interested in my life story either, so I butchered "I Feel Good" once again. Never figured out what it was about that song, but it sure had a way of getting some women wiggling, or at least Playboy Bunnies. She didn't mind the mixed-up lyrics and I was richly rewarded for the second time.
Finally, in bed, the clock had passed the point of being tomorrow, and the reminiscing of a magnificent birthday was fading away when another tapping on the door broke the euphoria. This time it was two Playboy Bunnies that looked like twins in their cute little outfits. I still had a bit of James Brown left in me so I belted out "I Feel Good" one last time. In the morning my knees were so weak, it was difficult to get out of bed, but the smell of breakfast in the air helped. My birthday was over and the hotel was too expensive to stay a second night so I packed up and rolled back out onto the street heading toward the border of Brazil. It was a long ride giving me plenty of time to realize it wasn't me, it was James.
For more tips on traveling safely, visit: https://global.psu.edu/article/travel-safety-tips-know-you-go
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Money WorldToday's travelers don't know how good they have it when it comes to accessing their money. Although local forms of debit cards date back to 1966 when first used by the Bank of Delaware, it wasn't until the mid-2000s that debit cards issued in one country could be used in other countries, as well as their use for internet and telephone purchases.
Before the use of debit and credit cards, getting money while traveling could be a complicated thing, sometimes even a several-day event. Stuffing the wallet with a bunch of money was a simple solution, but traveling around in foreign lands with a fat bulging wallet was not a good idea. Some travelers strapped their cash around their waists while others hung their travel funds around their necks on a string. But neither method fooled someone intent on robbing tourists. And besides being risky, traveling with a lot of money also meant sleeping on a very lumpy pillow at night.
After ten years of working as a graphic artist in Costa Rica, I managed to put away a small nest egg, large enough to jump on a mountain bike to see how far I could travel until the money ran out. How far I could go would depend on what I was willing to put up with. Fortunately, my father had encouraged us to like bargain food by always picking the cheapest items on the menu. Sixty years later and I still follow that |
advice and highly recommend it. His advice about budget hotels was a similar great lesson. But then after a year of sleeping beneath a sheet of heavy plastic in the Vietnam jungle, were hotels even needed?
Instead of jumping on the plane bound for the US with a giant wad of dollar bills, I purchased a certified bank draft. Easy to carry, I later walked into an American Express office in Seattle and opened a personal account. I wasn't rich but had more money than I could, or should, stuff into an already jam-packed camera bag. Banks in the 1980s were no different than today and were happy to accept money; setting up an account was the easy part.
Even though American Express had branch offices in much of the world, only in major cities could I walk in and be handed a pocket full of money. More often than not, the transaction took 72 hours involving faxes, long-distance phone calls to Seattle, and waiting. Once authorized, I could receive either US dollars, American Express traveler checks, or a combination of both. Staying in two-bit hotels, traveler checks were much safer than cash. In addition, whether checks or cash, I still had to find a bank to convert them into local currency.
Traveler checks were as good as real money and anybody could cash them if you could find someone who wanted them. Bigger hotels were candidates as were fancy restaurants, neither of which I frequented, but the cleaner my shirt the easier it was to cash one. The major benefit of traveler checks was if lost or stolen, American Express replaced them. This service was built on the trust system and worked well. American Express trusted their clients until they had reason not to. I had mine stolen twice and the bank replaced them within a half hour requiring no police reports or witnesses, earning them a five-star rating in my book. Though rarely used and nearly forty years later, travelers checks are still available for those who enjoy standing in line in foreign banks and don't mind a 1-4% commission deduction.
To buy American Express traveler checks: https://www.americanexpress.com
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Hash House HarriersFor those who have never heard of the Hash House Harriers, it's an international drinking group with a running problem. I can honestly say, that becoming a member will change a person's life. I joined the San Jose Hash House Harriers, the SJH3, at the end of 1979, and my life hasn't been the same since. Every week we met on Monday evening with just enough daylight left to run a cross-country, hare and hound-type event held in different locations each week. Traditionally, trickery is used in marking the trail adding unknown twists and turns to get to the finish line where the beer is waiting after a grueling run.
There are Hash House Harrier groups in just about every country in the world, except maybe North Korea. Each group has its own traditions and methods for setting their runs, the only constant being the beer afterward. The group as a whole is known for its song, dance, unique entertainment, and comradeship. Being a member of any chapter earns a friendly welcome at all other Chapters around the world. |
Besides individual group events and celebrations, such as Anniversaries, Red Dress Runs, Farewell Runs, and many others, there are large 4-day events where thousands of visiting "Hashers" gather and stay at the same hotel. These events are held at different chosen locations around the Hash Globe and are embedded in the minds of the attendees forever.
Southeast Asia is the Home of the Hash House Harriers, specifically Kuala Lumpur, going back to 1938. At a local bar where British colonial officers and expatriates often met known as the "Hash House," the idea of one member taking off with a five-minute headstart setting a paper, chalk, or flour trail for the rest to follow back to the beer was reborn. The idea was not new, but the 1938 version opened the world's eyes to the tradition. The expansion of the group began much later in Singapore in 1962 and spread around the world like wildfire. The World Harrier Organization maintains the largest directory with 2027 groups in 1320 cities and 184 countries at the time of its recent publication.
Part of my 10-year journey was visiting Hash House Harrier groups wherever possible. The hospitality of each group was amazing being treated like an Ambassador at almost every run. Visiting over a hundred Chapters meant a lot of beer drinking, but it was well worth it. Running with some groups numerous times, I was almost considered an unofficial temporary member. Although just a walker now, the Hash was a tremendous influence on my life and the source for most of my best friends. The Hash is famous for that, making friends.
(The photograph above is presiding over a "wet t-shirt" contest in Pattaya, Thailand just before the 4,000 Hasher invasion of the "once every four years" InterHash of 1986.)
For more information about the Hash House Harriers: https://www.gthhh.com and https://gotothehash.net
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Long and Strenuous Right from the beginning days were often long and strenuous. The 80s and 90s had yet to be blessed by Google Maps, GPS, or even easy-to-find paper road maps, so each day was kind of a mystery. I usually knew the town I was aiming for, but rarely knew how far it was to get there. There was too much daylight to just pedal 30 or 40 miles then stop and wait for the night. On some days, that would have been a good plan, but there was too much to see and do to be satisfied with only half days.
Looking back, I believe I was convinced that days had to be long and strenuous. Why, I'm not sure, but eighty-mile days were satisfying and generally easy. Rarely though was my destination only eighty miles away. More often they were a hundred miles or more, which meant a lot of pedaling and a lot of water. Food was less of an issue as I would eat when I could. Getting in twenty or thirty miles before breakfast was the best way to tackle a long day of pedaling. Eating nothing but bananas and watermelon all day was fine with me. The thought of a great meal in the evening was all I needed to keep going on those really difficult days. |
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What made some days longer and more strenuous than others were long winding mountain passes, steady headwinds, and making wrong turns with nobody around to ask for directions. Nightfall ended some days with too many miles left to go and not enough light to see the road. Flashlights in the 80s used big batteries with short battery life, leaving no choice other than to find some bushes to hide behind and call it quits for the day. Lying on the ground, dirty and hungry, swatting mosquitos most of the night was not the destination I had been imagining the entire day.
Eighty to a hundred miles a day may not sound that long and strenuous, but mountain bikes are not that streamlined and the bags strapped to it were bulky and heavy. The camera bag alone weighed over twenty pounds and with two completely full panniers, I was hulling quite a heavy load. |
My record day during the ten-year journey was 211 miles in Thailand, which was only possible due to a steady tailwind. But no matter whether it was forty miles or a hundred and forty, mountains or no mountains, with or without headwinds, butt-blisters were a bummer.
For more about traveling by mountain bike, read: https://freehub.com/
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The Great WallAlthough the Great Wall was not my reason for entering China, it certainly was a major reason for spending two years there. The first time I entered the country from Hong Kong in 1986, I cycled north to Beijing. Considering most of the trip was off-limits to foreigners, I was never stopped nor harassed. Beijing was a great place for biking with so much to see and do in the daytime, but absolutely nothing to do at night but eat dinner and go back to the hotel. In the mid-80s, entertainment had yet to reach the capital.
Badaling is China's most visited place for seeing the Great Wall, so along with many other tourists, this mandatory trip was my first bus ride in this communist country. The two-hour bus ride was pleasant enough, but the first glimpse of it got my blood-tingling. Everyone has seen pictures of the Great Wall so nothing was surprising, but its massive size was astonishing. Joining the ranks of the more adventurous I could barely climb onto the final bus back to Beijing at the end of the day. Too many steps and too many ups and downs was quite a workout.
Back in Beijing, I couldn't get the Great Wall out of my mind; I needed to see more. |
The Lonely Planet's "China Guide Book" mentioned Shanhaiguan on the coast as the place where it starts, and Jaiyuguan in the desert, as the place where it ends. Just a short single paragraph leaving the Great Wall, China's largest tourist attraction a complete mystery. Finding a place to store the bike and collecting a week's worth of food, I jumped aboard the bus to Shanhaiguan going straight to the head of China's most famous Dragon.
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At the sea, the Wall passed through a cultivated valley of scattered farms before it climbed the nearest mountain and disappeared over a very distant ridge. Shanhaiguan was a city inside a fort. Practically all the tourists scurrying around the fort were excited Chinese exploring this magnificent architectural wonder. Being in a valley, climbing was much less demanding than at Badaling, but I still needed to climb up the mountain at the end of the day instead of jumping back on a bus. My only plan was to spend five or six nights camping on the Wall, or until the food ran out, and then bus back to Beijing.
Well the food did run out several times, but it was five weeks before I got back to Beijing, only to take a week's break from the daily treachery and minor wounds. The Great Wall had captivated me and I couldn't get enough and I couldn't leave it. Five days turned into eleven months, although that was spread across three summers. |
Along its 4000 miles, I was arrested five times, escaped captivity once, suffered several injuries, and nearly starved myself the whole way, but even worse, was fighting a daily battle with dehydration while dragging myself through the inhospitable desolation of the Gobi Desert at the end of this grueling solo journey.
A photo journal of this journey with 150 full-size images of the Great Wall in areas that hadn't been walked on in centuries and never photographed before is available on Amazon in eBook, paperback, and hardcover:
"The Great Wall End to End" by Millard Farmer - - - available on Amazon (Click here to take a peek)