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Three years ago I set out on a journey and exploration of myself and China. Now I sit here, seeing the greater purpose of my life, direction, and vision. It was never just a bike ride for me…it was something so much more.
Oh dear God, Allah, Buddha…it’s been ages since I’ve sat down and pecked out my thoughts to share with you and you and you and you and you.
Here I am, sitting in Dayton, Ohio listening to some modern folk, alt-country rock and sipping my herbal tea with soy milk…my stress at an all time high (unable to sleep and eat) and my back in constant pain. Okay…okay…okay…here we go. Are you ready?
Like I’ve stated here before, “I’m more woman than you could handle.” I know this simple fact about me, but here in the other “real world” when I’m sitting here alone in my room behind a flickering computer screen hoping for a loving transmission from anyone…the doubt creeps in faster than the cold into my feet on the Tibetan plateau.
Don’t get me wrong, I have no desire to go on a date. I have no desire to have to do all that relationship stuff because I just don’t have time or the energy for it. Everything in my life, I have made or chosen, is difficult and love is one thing I feel like I shouldn’t have to work so hard at. Frankly, because, well I deserve it…damn it! (To be quite honest, I’m not yet over something of the past.)
Okay, I’m trying to keep this cohesive and lucid, before I run off the rails.
I do NOT have “balls”. –edit- Perhaps this just comes with being in a territory that is predominately men. My hair has come up in conversation close to a dozen times and I really doubt men have these types of comments made to them. For the record, I do not shave my armpits or leg hair…so men make comments about this and sometimes it goes further. I’m realizing that the people who make these comments to me are making cheap shots because I threaten their masculinity. Such a pity. Such a pity that a human life form that has a frailer bone structure, less muscle mass (generally), can conceive and birth life form, has a higher thresh hold for pain, and generally better at endurance challenge your XY chromosome. -edit-
This is not to be a men bashing post at all because some of the worst bullying I’ve received in my life was from female peers. Also, I want to state that all the men I’ve traveled with were always decent. Most of the men I’ve crossed paths with on two wheels have been, there are a few rotten ones I have encountered…or maybe it was over inflated egos.
I was a “tomboy”. The only girl in a neighborhood of boys. The baseball was hit further, the tree was climbed higher, and the punches thrown harder. When I got tired of being the “nurse” when playing “war” or having to tend to the fort while the boys were out hunting and gathering…I would retreat to my room and play Barbie’s – ALONE. Once a week I would attend Girl Scouts and my dance classes that went on for about eight years – the one thing in my life I regret giving up. I wasn’t all boy, I was still a girl…with long stringy tangly brown hair.
There is a memory of getting ready for my First Communion and I remember looking at my knees. They looked horrible…scabs, cuts, bruises continuing all the way down the calves. Of course I couldn’t remember how I got them, of course outside having fun as any normal child would. My mom told me it was nothing but I remember looking at other girl’s legs and they didn’t look like mine. I knew I was different from a very young age, and it’s been a battle every day.
The internet personality, the Wander Cyclist, probably appears cute and confident. You may think that I was a pretty popular girl growing up. “Popular” if you mean teased and gossiped about. If you mean not getting invited to slumber parties, and later on “make out” parties. I always had the pretty friend (or “easy”), where I was left in the shadow. Ellen of yesteryear was terribly awkward and “different”. A very small southern town in Virginia, I always knew I didn’t belong with the masses. With the gangs. With the others.
Maybe the reason I’m so “tough” now, why I can handle what I’ve put myself through is because growing up was far from “easy” and “comfortable”.
Gender roles. This is what I’m trying to get to. Defining attributes, physical, mental, and emotional.
It’s 2013 and I’ve been reading articles on the internet and following some popular culture. What is with all this women bashing.? I’m also talking about women bashing other women, i.e. a woman stating that a cheerleader was too chunky to be cheering. What is wrong with us, WOMEN?! Damn it, you and I have it hard enough and then we go around criticizing one another for their body type and what we’ve chosen to cover it with.
Why is that the only thing a woman has to offer society is her looks?
Just go take a gander at any modern man’s magazine and look at the imagery of women. That is not real! Real women do not look like that. Real women have something so much more to offer. Real women are mother’s taking care of their children, with extra weight and perhaps stretch marks. Real women are the ones in politics fighting for justice, using their brains. Real women are those that are on the front lines in our military. Real women are the ones that live for themselves, that better themselves, that have something more to offer this world than a good pair of perky tits and a slim waist.
I recently watched the first two minutes from a comedian, Miss Marbles, and she was ranting about the people she hates at the airport. She spent two whole minutes explaining how she doesn’t trust girls who can travel with only a backpack. “What kind of girl are YOU?” I’m watching her overly made up face, and coiffed hair to have a “messy” look ramble on about how her makeup takes up a certain amount of space. I don’t know Miss Marbles, what kind of girl AM I? Yes, I do wear makeup…stick of eyeliner, mascara, one eye shadow, and maybe a lipstick or two. Simple. Yes. Hey, and get this…I love wearing dresses too. One major reason is because I have difficulty with pants because of my cycling legs. What kind of girl AM I? I’m a girl that wears sports bras all the time because wires jabbing into my rib cage are uncomfortable and only to give perky breasts for the benefit of WHO?
Am I a woman?
Well, I’m beginning to think I’m not by the standards that are sent through the media. That I may never be. I honestly should quit spending time on this question because I know something most people will never know. I know me. I know who I am, what I stand for…I can spend days and days with only myself. No fear of what I may learn or realize. Comfort with who I am.
This isn’t so cycling and tour related, or even photography related but I really felt like some things needed to be stated.
I do think my tour took some characteristics away from me that are usually deemed “female”. OR…or…MAYBE, JUST MAYBE…I never had them to begin with and my struggles pre-tour was more about trying to fit into what was expected of an XX human.
Maybe we are all a blank slate and we become conditioned by media, friends, and family to fit into a certain gender mold. I know that straight men who may be seen to have female characteristics have it much more difficult than us straight females. So, to conclude this post I’d like to ask all of you to do a simple challenge is to drop the definitions, to quit being a “man” or a “woman” and just be you.
With these conclusions, I do know that when I’m ready for love it will not be a man and a woman, a boyfriend and a girlfriend, but two completely equal human beings. Undefined. The other will not define the other. The relationship will not define anyone’s worthiness. Each will be a protector. Each will be a provider. Each our own. The most important, the respect of each other’s solitude.
Well folks, I’m not sure how this went but I hope you can take something from it. Mostly, I hope some little odd ball girl stumbles across this post and realizes she is far from alone. That the whole wide world is out there, waiting for her. That she has the courage to do it alone…and it’s best that way.
Men make comments about how there are few women like me out there in the world. Well, I’ll tell you this, by the amount of private emails and notes I know for a fact a lot more of us exist. But, it’s a fact we are more difficult to find and even more difficult to catch. You’ll find us tucked away in bookstores, on a lonely trail, in a tent on a plateau, in an NGO office in some far off country, or as simple as standing alone in the grocery with a frozen pizza under one arm and debating over which micro brew to indulge in for the evening.
Don’t forget about the Etsy store. I’m trying to raise funds for my big move back to Shanghai and unfortunately things aren’t going so smooth. I ACTUALLY cried last night. I thought I couldn’t do that anymore…I’m trying to soften up. The life on a road has toughened me up, perhaps too much. A boy nicknamed me “Ice Princess” in my early twenties…and I guess it’s just gotten colder since then. But we all know that usually the people with that thick and cold exterior are often the softest, warmest, and most loving under it all.
http://www.etsy.com/shop/MosemanPhotography
Also, my website is under construction, 4 portfolios up now. Go check it if you’d like to kill some time today. Ah, yes, and the book for the Kickstarter rewards is in progress, and additional will be for sale.
I’d love to write more, but maybe I should save some stuff for that book I’m supposed to write someday.
“Therefore, dear Sir, love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you. For those who are near you are far away… and this shows that the space around you is beginning to grow vast…. be happy about your growth, in which of course you can’t take anyone with you, and be gentle with those who stay behind; be confident and calm in front of them and don’t torment them with your doubts and don’t frighten them with your faith or joy, which they wouldn’t be able to comprehend. Seek out some simple and true feeling of what you have in common with them, which doesn’t necessarily have to alter when you yourself change again and again; when you see them, love life in a form that is not your own and be indulgent toward those who are growing old, who are afraid of the aloneness that you trust…. and don’t expect any understanding; but believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
I wake up to Jalabad’s fishing friend knocking at the door at 5:30.
Already having been up for 30 minutes, after hearing Jalabad’s phone ring over and over, I roll my loaded bike up to the door and greet him.
He makes an attempt to wake Jalabad but neither of them stir, so there are no goodbyes.
We walk to the road and wait in front of a little shop.
The first bus has no room for the bike and bags.
The second bus does.
His friend instructs where I am to get off at. Balhash, approximately 130km North.
The Russian drivers instruct me to sit in the first row, behind the current driver.
Within a few minutes, the driver pulls out a cd case. I notice his hands, wearing some pretty metal driving gloves…mesh and leather. His balding head and some mean lookin’ sunglasses.
By the look of the cd cover, I’m expecting some Norwegian metal.
If you know me personally, you may know I have a bit of passion for metal. I’ve been away from home awhile, and anything small, even if it’s not the type of metal I would prefer…it brings a nice warm feeling of familiarity to me.
I sit in my seat…thinking, “wow, I’m riding a bus through the Kazakhstan Steppe, with my bike in luggage listening to some intense metal…life is crazy”.
When we arrive to Balhash, there is some confusion of where I’m trying to go.
They think I’m continuing on, so after unloading, they load me back up. I hand them my map in the bus and after about a half kilometer, they realize I need to be let off now. I’m given an offer for a free ride to Astana…but I politely decline. My bus ride was free and the driver introduces himself, then I, with a thank you over a hand shake.
In Balhash around noon and I try to get directions to try to get to a small “town” North of the lake. I ask one man and he gives me directions, not in English, in Russian…but I make do at this point and can understand.
As I head in the direction…he pulls up in a car and tells me there is no road and I need to go back to Almaty and then come up from the East side. Okay, this is possible…could be very possible.
I go to a shop to buy supplies and tell them where I’m going, to see about their response. They seem to be familiar with the name and just kind of nod a “yes” and smile.
I go to another shop to do the same test. Same response.
So I decide to head out.
There are no signs to the road and it leads North and then towards the East.
Friendly Russians pass me in their cars. One stopping and asking, “Adventure”? I respond with yes. He hands be a big bottle of “Kvas” and a cold Vitamin C and tells me, “gift”. Holy shit, thanks!
I continue on and soon I can see the lake and there is no traffic except some local vehicles.
There is a headwind and at one point it catches my toilet paper on the front rack and before I know it I have 4 meters of white TP trailing behind me. I jump off with a few choice swear words and salvage what I can.
Only 2 small villages and about every 20 meters some sort of shed/shack that has some electrical facility. There seems to be some areas for growing plants as well, perhaps 3 or 4. I’m now questioning if this is going to turn into a service road of sorts.
After about 24 kilometers into this crappy headwind I see some abandoned concrete apartment buildings and offices ahead.
I can see, and hear, some construction going on. Trucks loaded with concrete and I can see a few people in a shell of a 5 story concrete building. Appearing to be very Chinese, I can see that they are taking down the old bricks and stacking them to be reused.
With a little more pedaling, I can see that this appears to be an old Soviet military base/testing area. Continue a little further on the crumbling road…and then…pass the base…and then…AND…THEN…
…THIS…
Here the road would be considered in “great condition”.
The temperature is in the low 40’s (C), being swarmed by mosquitoes and flies, and…and…hundreds of empty vodka bottles.
I sit on the side, in the sand, sweating…and think about what I could be getting into.
No traffic, no people…oh wait…a massive olive green military truck passes with 2 Russians…no water (a salt water lake), possibly at least 5 days without water/food, headwind, empty vodka bottles: drunks?, eaten by mosquitoes and flies, LOTS AND LOTS OF SAND.
Okay, maybe that guy was right about no roads…be smart Ellen, turn back. Screw your pride, love your life.
I turn back.
I’m waved down by a couple truck drivers that are curious of what I’m doing and after stumbling over my broken Russian I move on. I’ve got a hell of a tailwind and I’m pedaling over 30km/h.
About 5km up a car comes up to me. A man and woman, Kazakh. They insist to come back to where they are working and they will drive me to town. I can stay at their home for the night. They look about my age and decent folks. I insist it’s not a problem, I can do this…but they are very very insistent on me spending time with them
They are at the old military base breaking down the walls and salvaging the bricks.
We have a bit of a picnic, with 2 other men that are working with them.
One is a bit older and he makes me laugh, the other is a sex pest in the making. Asking me for kisses…peering at me behind corners asking for more kisses. No dude, you aren’t getting any kisses.
So, after some work…and the older dude getting shit faced on vodka…we head back.
In the car, I’m in between both men and the older one on my left is really truck and accidentally grabs me a couple of times. As he is really excited to be talking to me. He means well…I just laugh.
The OTHER dude gives me that handshake with the wiggling middle finger in the palm. I pull away and look at him sternly and let him know I do not appreciate it at all. No more games with this shit…I’m tired of it.
We have to pull over to let oldie vomit.
Arriving to a classic Communist apartment block, we go inside.
Wow, it’s very nice and has really warm feeling about it. The couple’s son arrives and he can speak a little English.
We have dinner and then I retire to the room with the tv. Mr kissy is in there and asks me for a massage. “No.” or rather “nyet”. He begins to beg and I ignore him with my constant “nyet”.
He finally gives up and actually apologizes to me. It’s time for sleep.
A storm was rolling through all day…even a few raindrops.
I wake up around 9 and feel like a bag of bricks was dropped on my head and I’d been eating cigarette butt flavored sand paper. Baijiu still puzzles me, I can handle any liquor/beer but that stuff is like pure poison.
After a run to the “bathroom” (hole in the ground) I go to get water from the hostess.
She says something about me being drunk last night. Are you insane? I wasn’t drunk but I know you fools were.
I ask her for some water to fill up my bottles and she offers me some food before leaving. Sure, why not.
After about 15 minutes sitting there filling up on water and watching her put her make up on, clean her face, and wipe up stuff, I apologize and tell her I must get going.
Walking with my bag to the police station, I see a Kazakh shepherd with his flock and a give a friendly wave and a “Hello”. He smiles and waves back. Whoa, maybe I shouldn’t wave, it made me nearly fall over. Damn, this is going to be a long long long awful day.
The man from the night before without a uniform helps me get my bike. No one comes to me, no one really says anything except for the guy that grabbed my bum screams something about me going. Yeah, don’t worry buddy, I’m ready to go – trust me. The civilian clothed man asks if I’ve eaten and lie. “Yes, she fed me”.
View behind, the entrance to the town of hell:
View ahead, get the hell out of here…take a deep breath, it’ll be okay.
I get on on ol’Nelly and feel my head spin. I can’t wait to get out of here, 50 less kilometers to a town where I can eat and crash. Shouldn’t be too bad.
Wrong, head wind. Feel like death. Scenery is crap.
I pass SanTang Hu the first time and as I’m going up out of the basin I notice from my compass that this is all wrong. There was a turn off and with an 8km descent to town. I turn back reluctantly but with a tailwind this time and descend to the edge of town. A typical truck stop town, “Brown Frown Town”. It’s more black and lots of frowns.
There is a sign for the town with about 2 km more to go. I arrive into a very small, dusty town and ride to the furthest part to find a luguan. It’s clean and laoban/laobanniang are friendly. I also get to pull my bike into the room for 15rmb.
A little quick laundry and head to get some noodles. It’s only about 5:30 and I’m glad to finish for the day. The blasting headache finally disappeared.
Find a Chinese restaurant and order Chow Mein. Okay, so…it arrives. It doesn’t look as tasty as the other 500 bowls I’ve eaten but I begin to dig in.
There is a strange meat/texture of something. I put it to the side, it’s also a little cold like it hasn’t been cooked. Then, there is something sharp in my mouth. I pull it out expecting to see the stem of a vegetable and to my disgusted surprise it’s a claw/nail. I’m telling myself it’s a chicken claw but it more resembled a large cat claw or small dog with a little blood vein to the nail still attached.
“meow meow” I hear the cat pass by me to the door. Yes! The cat that is in the shop. I’m literally starving and tuck the nail under the plate so I don’t throw up from seeing it and finish the noodles scraping everything else to the side.
I had seen police around town earlier and as I was inside the restaurant a military jeep pulls up out front. An officer barges into the place, looks at me, and barges out as fast as he entered. Yep, that’s probably for me.
As I exit the “xiao mai bu” next to the luguan with my cookies, breads, and soda, the jeep is pulled up out front with 4 officers and 2 locals. I walk past minding my own business.
Within 5 minutes they are there. “Where are you from? Where did you ride from? Where to? Where are you going? Where have you been? What are you doing? What do you do in Shanghai?”
This is the second time where they photograph the cop checking my credentials with me sitting next to his side. Do they submit these to Big Brother to let them know they are doing their jobs in the desert where all the crazies are stationed?
After this ordeal the cop tells me that if I have any problem to contact the police, they will help. HA! ARE YOU SERIOUS?! He also gets my phone number because he’s going to phone the town ahead to expect me and to help me find a place to stay. I’ll have to figure out how to get out of this one.
The owners are sweet people and chat me up for awhile and give me a Hami melon that I have to leave behind because of the weight.
Making a sweet porridge for desert and to hopefully erase the idea of a eating cat/dog out of my head.
As I’m cooking there is a knock on the door and a middle aged man walks in and looks at me and then leaves.
He returns in about 10 minutes and examines my food and says it’s not good. Asking where I’m from and how he’s going to Miami in 2 years. He gives me some sweet caramel candies too. After a short chat he leaves, but also telling me he’s going to go get me some food.
Again, he returns, after knocking comes in and gives me some instant noodles and a cup of instant milk tea and some breads.
Then he returns. He asks me to come over to his room so he can get a photo together. “It will be quick”.
Ah, okay, whatever…I’ll play along. I enter the room and there are sunflower seeds everywhere and a small table. There is also a young attractive boy. Turns out to be his 18 year old son. He takes the photo of us together and poses a polished stone on a pedestal next to us. The boy seems to have problems with the camera and Dad laughs at it all. I’m offered some baijiu and the thought makes me want to puke. I smile and wave my goodbyes.
He returns to check on me and sees my instant noodles. He takes them away. Only to return with them and a bar of foreign CHOCOLATE! A big bar of too…holy cow. This is a treat. I need to return to the room for a retake of the photo. Okay.
Ah, and I think it’s over…smiling at the thought of that delicious chocolate and eating my instant noodles.
He returns with some boxes.
They are opened and more polished and colored stones. He hands me a stand and tells me to take a rock. I’m not sure if he is selling them or really just offering me one. To play it safe I tell him, “I’m sorry, I can’t, they are too heavy. Thank you so much but, really, I can’t, I’m on bike.”
He seems okay with it but we go a little back and forth about it. His son is standing at his side, smiling.
I exchanged QQ #’s with his son, which I still have to send this photo to him.
As I lie in bed, I relive the past 48 hours and I remind myself that the days can vary from light to day. That the people drastically can change from 50 kilometers. What I’m saying, people, generally are so awesome and I’m not going to let a few rotten people make me think differently. Of course, I’m a little damaged from 2 experiences and I’m a little weary of things and men…but for the most part…they just want to talk with me.
Sometimes, China, I love you so much. NOT the ones in charge..but the wonderful strangers I meet along the way.