Hub Velo Adventures: Pippa Langan
This candid story from Hub Velo member, Pippa Langan, offers invaluable lessons that she learned whilst circumnavigating Sri Lanka for nine days, which she hopes can spark conversation about safety for female cyclists who are contemplating long distance rides in new countries.
Multi-day endurance rides demand huge physical sacrifices for cyclists of all abilities. Whilst the challenge of reaching the finishing line is something we can train rigorously for, how can we prepare for the unknown? From different climates, cultures and obstacles (and animals) on foreign roads, to overcoming language barriers and unforgivable behaviour that is sadly often exclusively aimed at women.
Guidance: This story contains some sensitive information and sexual content
Never assume elephants roam alone! learn a little about animals, and how to deal with them whilst riding.
Until Sri Lanka, I’d never cycled around elephants before. Day 2, about 300m after entering Yala National Park in south-eastern Sri Lanka, I was faced with the rear end of a huge bull elephant slowly ambling along the road.
I’d overheard advice to a motorcyclist: “If you see an elephant on the road, wait for a vehicle and ride past with them.''
By the time I’d remembered this advice, I was already whizzing past the elephant, no car, bus or tuk tuk in sight. I stopped 100 metres or so past him, turned to look and took a photo (not very sensible in hindsight).
I laughed out loud - incredulous that my fellow road user was an elephant, miles away from the Essex tractors, or London uber drivers. I felt slightly vulnerable, but also, not in imminent danger - the elephant completely ignored me. I wanted to stay and watch him for a while, but it was a long day, and I needed to press on.
15-20 minutes later, I encountered another elephant. This time a car passed at high speed between myself and the elephant (I had crossed to the other side of the road to allow a wide berth), scaring us both, and caused the elephant to quickly retreat into the vegetation by the side of the road.
A few hours later, early evening, I was around 200km into my 240km planned ride. I was over the hardest part of the day and it was all downhill, or flat, to Arugam Bay where I planned to stop for the night. The light was fading into a beautiful pink sky. Peacocks and monkeys aplenty, I enter my third national park of the day, and of course, cue more elephants.
This time, I scared the elephant. On a flat, fast bit of road, I see an elephant off the road on my right. I was battling the light. I didn’t really want to be out after dark, so I kept peddling (what I understood to be a safe distance) away from the elephant, but I hadn’t seen the second one on my left!
A motorbike had stopped in the middle of the road a few hundred metres in front of me. The couple on the motorbike were motioning to me, but I wasn’t really paying attention to them. My focus was on this elephant, admiring / ensuring it wasn’t interested in me. By the time I realised they were alerting me to a second elephant, I had spotted said elephant, and they had spotted me. The elephant was not happy. They charged in my direction, trumpeting their trunk. It was over before it had started, I was already well past it, I caught up with the motorbike who was waiting to make sure I passed safely
I was quite shocked, upset at scaring the elephant, feeling foolish that I hadn’t seen them, relieved to see the exit to the national park just in front of me.
Seek locals advice. don’t rely on google maps or Strava.
Due to Covid looming over us before flying, I did very little planning. I was superstitious the more I planned, the less likely I would be able to go.
As my idea was circumnavigation, outlining Sri Lanka didn’t seem like it was going to involve much route planning. But, dutiful daughter that I am, I had agreed to meet my family half way, definitely en route according to my mother.
A substantial deviation later, I find myself in the middle of the country, needing to plan a route back to the coast. In Polonnaruwa, trying to get to Trincomalee. If you look at google maps, there is what looks like a road that goes through Somawathiya National Park. So on Strava route builder, I drew it. 40km into my shortest day (on a planned 130km ride) I hit a dirt road, and by dirt I mean massive holes and deep puddles spanning the entire ‘track’.
Then a 4x4, coming from the direction I wanted to go, pulled up to tell me I couldn’t go on: “It’s too dangerous. Elephants!” I tried it out, lasting only 5 minutes before I turned around. It was a bad road surface, too remote, and felt too risky.
Just as I get back to the paved road, low and behold, another large, grey, four-legged friend appeared. I was glad I didn’t try and push though. I flagged down a small white Tata open-backed truck, and a very kind person gave me a lift, almost back to where I started.
I then started again, on the paved surface. I did encounter more jungle, but this was only 7km (rather than the 50km it would have been) and I was assured no elephants were hanging out there.
Men can be shit. How do I, as a female, feel and stay safe on the roads? A lesson I really want to learn.
A few fleeting experiences can have a big impact. Men on motorbikes were pests. On Day 2, a man followed me for a few kilometres - continually overtaking, then falling behind, to then overtake again. After this happened a few times, he pulled into the road side, and masturbated before wiping himself down to start trailing me again.
Another had written their number on a bit of paper, pulled up beside me trying to get me to take it. When I refused, he stopped, waited, then picked back up as I cycled past. This happened twice more. I stopped, frustrated and annoyed, but figured it better to wait it out. Eventually he moved on.
There was another guy when I was 30 minutes from the end. Tired, emotional, looking forward to getting off my bike, he followed me almost the whole way home through Colombo, stopping only when I yelled and waved at my mum, 500m from home.
The worst experience was day five, a deserted back road on the route to Point Pedro. Focused on the road in front, headphones in, I didn’t hear him coming until it was too late. Grabbing my chest from behind only took a few seconds, but I crumbled. Braking hard, I got off my bike. This man, another motorcyclist, lingered to laugh at me before scooting away.
People (women, men, children of all ages) are awesome!
I remember standing alone on that road after being groped, not really knowing what I wanted to do. Semi-wanting to leap in pursuit, but just standing, hyperventilating, biting my hand to try and stop the tears. Then a truck rolls slowly by, stopped and then reversed back to where I was standing. There were two men in the front.
I have no Sinhalese, they had no English. I stopped crying, tried to breathe more normally, and mimed an explanation. Thinking it fruitless, feeling awkward and embarrassed, I get back on my bike and start riding. They slowly escorted me for the next 10km. When the road splits, I am heading east to get to the coast again. They are going the other way. Waving my thanks, I don’t know if they, or I, knew what that meant at the time. Upon reflection, it meant everything.
I think back to all the other people, the kindness and generosity they showed me, all the interactions, and the small conversations I had when people said “what are you doing?”, “why?”, the shouts from kids of “your country, your country!”, to the clapping and cheering as I started the 2km ascent of the very steep 18 bends road (18 hairpin bends up to Kandy).
Some refused to take payment for sweet bread, or a bottle of water, insisting I was a guest of Sri Lanka. I loved seeing the hundreds of cyclists, some fully kitted-out riders like the Kandy Cycle Club - full lycra, with sandals on single speeds - most others on the glorious, steel framed Sri Lankan classics, all waving and saying good morning. It was amazing. People are incredible.
Whilst all this is true, a few bad experiences can sour the joy. There was too much goodness to be eclipsed by the aforementioned individual men. Whilst I may seriously be re-thinking my round the world ride, it's more a reconsideration of the how, where, and what that will change. Definitely not the if but when!
I want to talk to other female cyclists to learn how they manage. If I really want to cycle around the world, how can I do it safely?
Focus on the food
This was a different multi-day ride to those I have previously done where food has been such an important part. Which seems strange looking back, as the food in Sri Lanka was some of the best I have ever eaten. However, I didn’t eat enough on this trip.
I will always remember the carts at the side of the road, which served the freshest mangoes; the bakery tuks, playing a high, tinny version of fur elise, offered rolled vegetable rotis and seeni sambol buns; roadside rest stops selling delicious rice and curry; tiny shops with an unbelievable selection of chocolate cookies; the end of day kotu, egg pastries, and pol sambol. Sri Lanka even had the worst ‘Greek’ salad I’ve ever tasted in my life. But really all of this paled in comparison to the pound cake (mostly just butter). It powered me through this entire adventure.
Hydration is key
Where better to be, when conscious of hydration, than Sri Lanka, home of the king coconut, an elixir of health. It has naturally occurring electrolytes and has been used in Ayurvedic medicine for thousands of years. Once drunk, a scoop is cut from the side of the husk, then the coconut is cut in half, revealing slimy but delicious flesh. Some days, depending on route choice, I would stop for 2 coconuts. Average cost 70-100 rupees.
You will always get help with a puncture.
I put my bike through a lot on this trip. But 7km of off-roading on a jungle track, in the pouring rain, due to a bad route choice took its toll.
Stopping at a roadside store, taking shelter, I assessed the situation. My rear wheel was a little soft. So I undo my bag and flip my bike. I felt like all those puncture repairs whilst working on Saturdays in Hub Velo led up to this moment. Only to be let down (quite literally the remaining air rushed out) by a crappy, lightweight pump I had packed. Luckily, the store owner and family, who had all come out to have a look, conferred, then one young man jumped on a scooter and zoomed away. They zoomed back to pick me up, and off we went to a mate’s house, with an ace pump and real sticky Sri Lankan glue. 20 minutes later, after a lot of thank you’s, an offering of soggy pound cake in gratitude, I was on the road again. The family’s two young boys, on one very rusty bike, had fun trying to race me whilst I made my way. It didn’t last long. I was off.
The second puncture was very unlucky. 37km from the end of the whole ride, on a crappy surface on a beautiful coastal road from Negombo to Colombo, my back tire went completely flat.
A man in a van stopped, going the wrong way, but flagged down a van going the right way, who stopped to assist. The driver was so nice and super helpful, he insisted on lifting my bike into the back of his refrigerated van, propping it up with boxes of iced fish. We drove off, 3 minutes down the road to a hole-in-the-wall tire shop. Without even taking my wheel off, 100 rupees (36p) later - fixed.
Through all the struggle, remember the motivation.
Why do something like this? What is the intended outcome? The stress and worry of testing positive for Covid (pretty much a given for travel at the time), deconstructing and packing my bike, lugging it to the airport, checking in the bike box (39.3kg!), the inevitable family logistics chat - when and where you need to be and at what time - this all sounds fun, right?
When I got to riding, the slight feeling of panic. After a particularly heavy rainfall, listening to make sure my chain wasn’t displaced and rubbing (this happened, I was safely saved by a kind car garage, a vat of oil and a paint brush to reapply). The glorious yet relentless sun on my face, sweat dripping into my eyes, skin pricking with sunburn from the day before, and the friction burn after a very ill advised mid cycle dip.
There were a lot of painful parts, my wrists/palms at the end of each 240km day, and my right foot always seemed to go slightly numb. I won’t talk about the saddle pain (but it didn’t seem to get better. And seriously that friction burn was no laughing matter).
Jokes aside, the joy makes all that fade (mostly) into insignificance. That feeling of freedom. Of travelling miles and miles under my own steam, of being able to just pack up and go, every day. Of being outside for 12 hours a day, or more!
Seeing new places, people, villages, towns, cities, mountains and beaches, all at my own pace. Fast when I feel I can be - literally like I’m soaring, and laughing, heart full to bursting. Slow when I’m feeling slow, and soaking it all in. All of it, every single second is magic. It built an experience I never want to forget.
Feel inspired? Check out Pippa’s ride around Sri Lanka on Strava
If you have been affected by some of the information in this story, or experienced something similar, please reach out to Pippa, or contact our welfare officer, Sarah, at welfareofficers@hub-velocc.co.uk
