On Facing Other People's Fears

There’s this thing about traveling as a solo female: It’s both exhilarating and exhausting.

I am currently traveling by bicycle through some of the most remote areas of the United States while scouting my Pony Express bikepacking route. The route is mostly on gravel roads and two track trail and poses its own unique set of challenges. Going days without seeing anybody else, and without resupply, means being comfortable, not only in your own skin, but in your ability to handle situations that may arise. You don’t have to know how to fix everything; but, you do have to know how to make due with what you have.

A week before starting this trek, my father overdosed and passed away from a potent cocktail of narcotics and alcohol. Some were prescription drugs and some were hard street drugs. It wasn’t a surprise as he had struggled for decades. I had tried to distance myself from him through the years, but that doesn’t mean that his death hasn’t affected me. After spending two years scouting and planning this ride, I hesitated to start. It’s easy to find excuses. It’s easy to step away from grand plans in a bid for the safe and secure.

Then I realized that this was exactly what I needed. A chance to be alone, just me and my bike. A chance to only worry about waking up in the mornings with a singular goal of pedaling my bike and making it to the campground at the end of the day. To spend time in my own head. To process.

Inevitably I have been asked about my safety by some of the people I come across. It is as if people are convinced that the world outside of their comfort zone is one of fear and terror. How do I handle the wild animals? How do I handle men? What will I do if I have a problem?

The truth is, I feel much safer alone out in the middle of nowhere than I do in the city. People have a tendency to project their own fears onto others. Many people would like to see you bend to their fears, as it helps them feel justified. Playing out doomsday scenarios in ones head is a natural tendency, but it doesn’t have to be the go-to mind set unless we want it to be.

The questions are usually the same. Where will you sleep? How will you eat? Where will you find water? How will you handle mechanicals? What if something goes wrong?

At first it was incredibly frustrating to have to answer the same questions over and over. It’s easy to assume that most people have spent time in the wilderness when it’s such an important part of your own life. The fact is, many people rarely ever leave the city, much less choose to vacation off the beaten path. There’s a reason resorts and luxury hotels are so popular.

I have taken measures to ensure my own safety. Modern advances in camping equipment make back country travel much more accessible to average people. I utilize GPS for navigation. I have backup navigation in case that device fails. I have a GPS tracker that allows my loved ones to follow me. If something happens, I can hit a button and know that professional search and rescue teams will be on their way in a matter of minutes. This is no different than what we each do in our daily lives at home.

After some time I came to realize that this journey that I’m on isn’t only for me. I have processed a lot of sorrow. I’ve run the gamut of emotions, going from extreme sadness to crying tears of freedom, sometimes within minutes of one another. Through that process, I have had an opportunity to see some amazing views and experience some incredible emotions. The unknown is not something to shy away from. The unknown is to be embraced and met head on. Sharing these experiences has given me another sense of purpose. To help others see the wonders that exist off of the beaten path brings me joy.

All along the trail I have experienced eye opening generosity.  Meals have been paid for by strangers. I’ve been offered cash by a mountain biker who wishes he could have done the same in his younger years. I’ve lost track of the number of people who have offered me rides and homes to stay in when the weather has turned bad. People have offered me food and water. I’ve even been given a free night in a cabin as the campground owner didn’t want to see me head out in approaching storms.

Anyone can find the seedy underbelly of society. That doesn't require much effort. It is how our brains are wired, after all. The real beauty is in finding the light and in understanding that it always has been, and always will be, there.