The Spoked Traveller | ...connecting cyclists to local trails, food and adventures.
Trails and advice cycling around the world as solo female cyclist and adventurer
mountain bike, adventure travel, cycling travel, bike tours, outdoor, solo travel, female mountain biking, badass female cycling, female travellers, women travel, adventurous
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The Spoked Traveller

…connecting cyclists to local trails,

food and adventures.

It never occurred to me to leave my bike at home on my first overseas trip. Twenty years later, nothing has changed. Whether at home, or in a foreign country, riding makes me feel closer to people and places.

I created this site as a hub for all things cycling; it’s a celebration of bike culture. Where to travel next, how to travel, where to get advice, see some cool practical bike fashion, what to eat. I’ll share what I know; and I invite you to do the same.

Over the next few months keep checking in as I’ll be adding some new menu items.

See you on the trails. Melanie

So, I bought a road bike, which as a mountain biker, means a huge cultural, emotional and physical shift for me. To fully immerse myself in this change, I joined a bike group and last weekend I went on my first road bike trip: 75 kilometres from my apartment in downtown Toronto to the burbs of Oakville. Meeting at a coffee shop at 8:30am, I wasn't surprised by the other riders: all the men were wearing  team jerseys, talking about bike components and their pitiful sluggish shape, this being the first group ride of the summer.

So, my friends, recently I blogged about treating Toronto like a far-away place and explore what that means--treat it like a completely new place, which it really is for me. I lived here in 2000 as a student but I went back to London to hang out with a boyfriend almost every weekend. I never explored Toronto. Then, a really magical thing happened: I recently found a kindred spirit who also wants to re-discover her backyard, but her backyard is in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia.

When I'm away, I become someone else. Instinct and spontaneity return. Without the stress of work, without the familiarity locking me into habits and patterns, I listen to my gut, which means, I also take risks. I become more, well, more me! I eat at restaurants alone and I don't care if people stare-- they're staring more from the fact the blond hair and fair skin scream, 'I'm not a local!' Especially in Indonesia last year when I had locals take pictures of me.

Ok, on the first day of Christmas, Bjornar served to me: codfish called bacalao. On the second day of Christmas...you get the idea. Norwegians love fish, especially cod. In terms of countries that catch cod, Norway is in the same league as Portugal--and at one time before its cod collapse, Newfoundland. Since arriving in Norway, I have had it smoked, which is general the last stage of the game before the fish goes bad, then I've had it salted and then, I've had it soaked in lye. Yes, you read correctly.  Cod soaked in lye, which renders the fish into jelly, is served on Christmas Eve. Lutefisk. Some love it; others loath it. IMG_2978 I realize lutefisk sounds like something only a viking would eat during a long journey at sea when nothing else was available, and while this may be true, it's a Christmas tradition so Bjornar made it, or at least he bought it already prepared, and we ate it on Christmas Eve, when Norwegians typically celebrate Christmas and open gifts. It was bland. Other than the jelly-like texture, it was like tofu: useless unless it's got something added to it.