“Too Dangerous to Stop” 🛑 Security ‘Encourage’ a Marathon Day | Bike Tour Libya

“Too Dangerous to Stop” 🛑 Security ‘Encourage’ a Marathon Day | Bike Tour Libya

morning. Just enjoying a little bit of quiet alone time before my security detail arrives. I think we’ve agreed to leave at 6:00 a.m. Um, I’m going to try and go 100 km. There’s no hotel, so I’m relying on them letting me pitch my tent or sleep in a mosque or whatever is available at the little village in about 100 km. Uh yeah, people here ask me if I know how many kilometers it is to Benghazi. This is a thing that Australians do as well. Do you know how many kilometers it is? They’re just checking. I’m equipped to do what I say I’m going to do. Helloal. Nice to eat. Chal, what is your go? I don’t know. I lost him already. Just like on the way into the city, the coastal road is being resurfaced and is very tough going right now. So, we’re having to swing quite a long way in land. Back on track, heading east again. That’s a bonus 5 km that I didn’t know I’d be doing on top of the century I was expecting. And I’ve lost the police escort probably by going the wrong way. Hope I’m not in trouble. Oh, I told you. Yeah, I just landed us both in trouble there cuz I lost them somehow. So, sorry. We both just got in trouble. Tal mostly got in trouble, but it was my fault. I’m having to fight to be allowed to cycle on this stretch now. They want me to get into the back of their pickup, but I am determined to cycle the full distance. I want to be the first woman to cycle across Libya, and I don’t want to do it patchy. Some British ginger beer in the end. Non-alcoholic you read. Heather Ali Ali Libya esa Libya esi Ali Karim Zidan Just got waved through that last checkpoint. What’s going on? Security have driven ahead for a second. I’m going to get in trouble for stopping for a photo. I want this barbed wire, too. But look. Wow. The road is more consistently sealed now at least. But this sort of hatched pattern makes it quite bumpy going, but still better than uh than the gravel back there. Camela, what are you eating? Is that tasty? Mia mia. That was a bizarre experience. The checkpoint guy on the road sort of ciphed me into what I suppose is the police station. It’s about a dozen guys standing in the entrance. Um I was taken through to the main office, sat down, given a bottle of water. A phone call was made. something about a daja which is bicycle and um I was sent on my way. They almost even forgot to take my passport. I was like almost out the gate. They were like, “Oh, can we just check your passport?” So, I guess some pre-authorization has been given uh to let the bike person through. Anyway, thank you to everybody involved behind the scenes doing stuff. I don’t even know about this. The women’s bit. No. At this point, a man came running after me because he was afraid I was a man heading towards the women’s section. Haven’t seen my escort since arriving in town. I’ve had something to eat. Hung out in the corner of the mosque for a bit. Still no sign. So maybe their job is just to get me to this town. Anyway, I’m just going to crack on now. Hopefully another 30ks. Uh it’s only a tiny village in 30k, so I don’t know where I’m sleeping. Maybe the mosque. Maybe I can find somebody’s nice garden on the camp. Had 10 kilometers on my own, but they’ve caught up with me. Or is it new guys or the same guys? I don’t know. It was a new security team and they bought me tea. What’s this? Uh, you read shy? No. No. I want you. Oh, ah. Shukran. Tea with almonds floating in it. It’s very sweet. Um, I think there’s a green tea with peanuts floating in it. Nice. It’s 4:00. I wanted to stop in this village, but they think it’s very dangerous. Nice looking mosque. Anyway, they want me to go 50 more kilometers on top of the 10und and something I’ve already done. But the road’s okay. The wind’s not too bad. It’s 400 p.m. We get there around sunset, I suppose. 20 bonus kilometers down. 30 bonus kilometers to go. 20 km to go. Just got the express lane through the last checkpoint thanks to my security. Finally, we’re approaching the town. This has been a monster day. Security is me somewhere. What’s going on? My gosh, this afternoon security guys are just amazing. Not only were they so patient with me, they didn’t force me to uh take a lift, but they fixed me up with this apartment. And there’s a restaurant next door and I can stay here two nights. Legends. Thanks, guys. It’s like a Well, it’s a roadside services. Um, shops and games restaurant. Look at this. I’m going to smash this. I can’t speak. I can’t even say that properly, but I must. And I want to thank Chris for buying me coffees on the buy me a coffee app legend. Thank you. Sorry, I can’t be more enthusiastic for my thank you. Right now, I am wiped. What a day. Thank you, Chris.

Day 150. 158km (89502kms 8yrs)

A quiet coffee on the balcony in the cool of predawn, before the 06:00am start agreed with security. Supervision / surveillance of me had been extra intense in Sirte, so I was glad of a bit of outdoor solitude.

I was greeted in the foyer and given directions in Arabic which I nodded along to, l was headed east; there couldn’t be many options. Having passed the Gadaffi memorial area I was now allowed to film again, while I recorded a selfie bit the security car dropped back.

When cyclist Talal caught up with me his first question was “where’s your security?” A local cyclist Talal would accompany me until the checkpoint at Sirte’s eastern limit. Just as on the way into town, the road along the sea is unsurfaced so we reverted to the ‘Coastal Road’ which bypasses Sirte 5kms to the south. Great; 5 extra kilometres I didn’t plan on. Little did I know that would be the least of my kilometre worries!

Security finally found us on this road and were very annoyed; principally with Talal since I am the guest – even though it was entirely my fault. Not much further on at the checkpoint Talal turned back. The road here is undergoing widening and resurfacing making the going very slow and uncomfortable. Security – already frustrated with me – strongly urged me to accept a lift. I declined assuring them this was nothing I hadn’t managed before, but I didn’t know how long they would permit me to continue at this slow pace.

Pausing at a mosque beside a convenience store we made friends. Ali had been taking his job incredibly seriously since Sirte; then and now he followed me into the shop. To anyone at home worried for my safety I could not be safer right now!

At last the road returned from unsealed to a cracked a bitumen. Lots of heavy vehicles have ruined the the road’s surface, but the narrow shoulder – where I was – remained in pretty good nick.

Arriving in Wadi Hawarah traffic cops siphoned me off to the police station on the northern side of the road and I didn’t see Ali again. Beige uniforms so military I suppose, I passed a dozen men gathered at the door through to an office where I was seated, and given a bottle of water. A phone call was made by a man behind the desk in which I recognised the word ‘daraja’ – bicycle, and I was let go. Only on the way out did someone call after me to belatedly take a photo of my passport and visa. Somebody somewhere behind the scenes had cleared the way for me.

With no obvious restaurant I grabbed some snacks from a convenience store, and was brought yet more as I ate my lunch outside. Afterwards, seeking to cool off a bit in the mosque, a man came running after me thinking I was man entering the women’s area.

I considered waiting longer for the cooler hours to go my final planned 34kms but it was ‘only’ low 30Cs so I pressed on, eager to complete the day’s ride. For 10 blissful kilometres I wondered where my security team were, I even began to ponder if I might camp somewhere on this gorgeous stretch of coastline. These hopes were of course dashed when a new and superbly friendly security pair arrived. I met them properly when I paused at a mosque and they bought me tea from a young vendor with a table in the shade. It was shotglass-sized, very sweet, with almonds floating in it.

15 or so kilometres on I arrived in the little village where I hoped to be allowed to camp at the mosque, however this was firmly but politely discouraged, security detail miming the throat-slitting gesture. Their solution was to continue 50kms to Ben Jawad. I was already over 100kms for the day and really didn’t fancy it, but wasn’t in any place to bargain. Of course they offered me a lift in their pickup and made no fuss when I declined. It was about 4pm. I could make it by sunset if the road quality was ok.

So we plodded on together on a mercifully decent road, with a cross wind that was just a little behind me helping things along. Counting down the kilometres again, it was more mentally tough than physically demanding. In Ben Jawad I was led to a large empty apartment beside a restaurant in a sort of highway rest area. I could spend two nights here. I absolutely hoovered up my fried chicken, rice, and chips, before collapsing exhausted onto the floor level Arabic couch in my apartment.

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