Great rides: Retiring, not stopping

Ambitions of adventure haunt us all at various stages of life. The expectation is that it’s the domain of young people. I never anticipated that this would be how I filled my retirement.

Growing up I was fascinated by maps – of South America, in particular. Christopher Columbus, Magellan: explorers who set out with only a compass and some food supplies, not knowing where and how far they were going. What would all those frayed Pacific edges of land look like?

In my teens I discovered accounts of mountaineering exploits in the Alps and the Himalayas, all by men. Could women do that too?

Later I encountered Dervla Murphy’s cycling adventure, Full Tilt: from Ireland to India with a Bicycle, and Josie Dew’s solo exploits in her first book, The Wind in my Wheels. And then Bettina Selby’s escapades from Karachi to Kathmandu, Riding the Mountains Down, solo and in her late 40s. Women could, can, do it.

Time to go

In my 60th year, the adventuring urge, which had been quietly dormant deep within for many years, finally became unignorable. All those years of conforming and responsibilities – school, university, marriage, raising a family – were behind me. I had the freedom, finance and fitness to acknowledge the adventure lust. But what to do? Where to go?

A slow, solo, self-propelled journey interested me. I wanted to discover what it was like to live as an itinerant traveller. What would happen within Mind, Body and Spirit when life was mobile and minimalist and unfamiliar?

In my 60th year, the adventuring urge, that had been quietly dormant deep within for many years, finally became unignorable

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I had quite a tussle with Mind. The negative committee residing in my head is good at quashing dreams and ambitions. It likes to sit firmly on any ideas that are non-conformist. It wanted me to knuckle down to middle-class retirement, without any of this adventure lark. This isn’t what 60-year-olds do.

Body was ready for an adventure. I had good base fitness from mountain walking, and had lately taken up trail running. I knew that, even in my seventh decade, if I looked after it, Body had the strength and stamina to do what I asked of it. Spirit was raring to go.

Breaking free

The universe aligned. I had my own property I could let out for extra income, I had a small pension, and together these would provide enough monthly income for budget self-propelled travel. I had good health and fitness, something that so many of my peers were losing, and I realised: if I don’t do it now, maybe I never will.

The bicycle won as my chosen mode of transport. I wouldn’t need to carry my gear on my back. I could take a few luxury items that I’d never dream of putting in a rucksack. I would still be outside, in the world, interacting with people and the environment, and I would be traveling slowly.

The universe began to provide meetings with women travellers who had undertaken long-distance journeys. Women who had experience and recommendations for equipment and destinations. Women who encouraged me, who knew their own negative committee, who knew that caged spirit and who understood the need to adventure.

Charlotte knew about Surly Long Haul Trucker touring bicycles. Robyn and her sister had cycled the Pacific West Coast route of the USA, and she had a complete set of maps that she could lend me. Shona and Rich, at Keep Pedaling in Manchester, shared their knowledge and experience of traveling by bicycle.

I booked a flight to Vancouver to pedal the Pacific West Coast of the USA, solo, riding my new Surly Disc Trucker touring bike, carrying camping gear. Excited Spirit was saying: “I think it’s about 2,000 miles.” Terrified Mind was thinking: “But nobody can possibly ride a bike that far!”

I set off with permission from Spirit and Body that if it was too difficult, or I didn’t like it, I could just come home again. At least I would have tried. I departed, with no fixed end date, no return travel booked, no pressure or expectation to go anywhere, other than to start.

The mindfulness of touring

Those days down the Pacific West Coast were dream like. Was this really happening to me? What was this feeling of lightness as the forward movement began? My body revelled in moving itself. The air on my face. The scents of pine trees, the sea shore and forest fires. My legs found their strength. My mind emptied, thoughts only of the road ahead.

I loved the practicalities. Hunting for healthy food in single-person-transportable amounts. The challenge of keeping my minimalist wardrobe respectably clean. On-the-road bike maintenance.

Bed-time map gazing to imagine the scenery and settlements I would encounter tomorrow. Wonderful camaraderie with fellow cyclists met along the way, at campsites and around campfires.

Some days were hard. Rest days soothed my fatigued Body and Mind. Tourist days revealed new environments, local history and wildlife. People-watching in parks or cafés anchored my sense of belonging in the world.

Washington State forests, Oregon shorelines, Giant Redwoods, dry Californian scrubland, Pacific Coast beaches, West Coast sunsets, the Golden Gate Bridge, Big Sur cliffs and bridges, a roadside shootout crime scene, Malibu surfers, San Diego.

Focused on each day, the journey became the ultimate, living-in-the-moment meditation. With surprise, I realised that Mind was content. The negative committee was silent.

Expanding horizons

Many of the cyclists I met were doing really long-distance tours. Alaska to Ushuaia, Vancouver to Mexico City. Maybe I could do that, and see those fjords in Patagonia that I had dreamed over in the atlas? I had no reason to stop. My journey could continue.

The universe began to provide meetings with women travellers who had undertaken long-distance journeys

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But Mexico terrified me. A different language, a different currency, tales of robberies and worse. I read and re-read blogs about crossing the border, made myself a step-by-step task plan, and rode to the border.

The biggest obstacle was actually getting my bicycle and panniers through the revolving metal security gate for pedestrians. I still can’t remember how I did that!

I took a bus from Tijuana, speaking little Spanish, to meet two men whom I had never met before, a cycle tourist from Switzerland and a Warmshowers host, in the dark, at Ensenada bus station. And this seemed normal!

I rode with four other cyclists through Mexico, down the Baja Peninsula to La Paz. Here we were going different ways, and I decided to return to the UK to visit my unexpectedly ailing father. But I had discovered a new level of adventure travel, outside of English-speaking countries, that I could handle. And I had pedalled 3,075 miles in 111 days. Maybe South America was possible?

Back, but not back-pedalling

Back in the UK, thoughts of the next cycle trip bubbled away. There was not a moment that I considered returning to my bricks-and-mortar home. I became an itinerant cycling traveller, and haven’t been back to live in my flat since I left in July 2018.

In 2019, I spent four months cycling 1,698 miles from the south to the north coast of Spain via a circuitous route to practice my Spanish. In November 2019, I flew to Cartagena, Colombia, to live the dream of riding through South America to Ushuaia.

But by March 2020, after a mere 1,286 miles, Colombia had taken its toll. It had sucked me up and spat me out, exhausted and overwhelmed by heat, dirt roads and big mountains.

By chance, I flew back to the UK in March 2020 and arrived a week before the first Covid lockdown began. From August to October in 2020, I pedalled 1,981 miles from the Shetland Islands to Lizard Point, route planning with the guidance of British Cycle Quest points.

From November 2020 to January 2022, my adventure took a different route: a journey with my elderly parents – my father to the end of his life, and my mother through her grief and confusion to a dementia diagnosis.

Six months later I was ready for more adventures. From April to July in 2023, I crossed Europe from the Black Sea to the Atlantic Ocean, 2,920 miles, on EuroVelo 6. And, at last, in November 2023, I flew to Santiago de Chile to ride south for four months.

Living the dream

I don’t have an answer to the question about why I enjoy this itinerant life. I am very lucky to have sufficient monthly income to be able to live frugally without regular work, and I am blessed to have a supportive and encouraging network of family and friends.

I do know that the negative committee that lived in my head, that was critical and judgmental, that could easily reduce me to tears, that would sometimes paralyse me on the sofa, and occasionally make me wonder if life was worth living, that negative committee was all too scared to get on that plane to Vancouver with me, and has not caught up with me since.

I am not suggesting everyone leaves their home long term but I want everyone to know that an adventure is always possible. Voice your dreams, say them out loud, give them substance. You are not too old. You are stronger and more capable than you think. The world is a good place.

In March 2024, I pedalled 2,102 miles along that ragged Patagonian coastline and into Ushuaia to fulfil that childhood dream.