I wanted to cycle alone

But didn’t expect it to hit this hard...

Every cell in my body was begging me to quit. Alone on a muddy road in the mountains of Northern Thailand, I was pushing my overloaded bike uphill. And all I could think was: what the hell have I gotten myself into?

Ever since the start of our trip, I’d been wondering what it would be like to cycle on my own. A solo ride has its own rhythm, its own pace — and I wanted to feel that. The full weight of it — physically, emotionally, all of it.

But I hadn’t expected that moment to come so quickly. Traveling with Bernardo feels so easy and comfortable, I didn’t see myself taking a different direction anytime soon.

Until life decided for us.

After weeks of nerve pain in his hands, Bernardo had them checked at a hospital. The diagnosis: neuropathy in both hands. No more cycling for now. A real blow for him — and, in a strange way, an opening for me.

It felt odd, honestly, to just set off without him. But something in me knew: this was the moment to check in with myself.

For under ten euros I took a night train from Bangkok to Chiang Mai. You do sleep upright, squeezed between three teenagers playing a shooting game, but hey, we’ll let that slide. From Chiang Mai, a local bus brought me to Chom Thong where the route set off — bike strapped to the roof, let’s go.

The Tiger Head Mountain Loop had caught my attention. This route takes you through the land of the Karen people — an Indigenous community in Northern Thailand’s mountains, known for their warm welcome.

The original route was designed by Pele and Bec, but because of the rainy season, Bec’s partner Sam Rice created a modified version — better suited to the conditions. Thanks Sam!

I wanted to be prepared for everything, so I packed my whole life: camping gear, thick sleeping bag, laptop….every bag filled to the brim. Terrible idea.

The first few kilometers — still at the foot of the mountains — led me past some beautiful rice paddies. Now and then, a pointed straw hat would pop up — someone working quietly among the young sprouts. But soon the fairytale landscape turned into brutally steep roads, impossible to cycle with an overloaded bike. I had no choice but to push my bike uphill. And so went the entire morning: push, push, push…

It was only the first morning and my body was already begging me to quit. And to make things worse, I was on my period. Yes, gentlemen, an uncomfortable truth, or maybe it sounds like a lame excuse, but this really messes us up sometimes. Give it a week and I probably could have climbed those hills with one hand tied behind my back.

Just as I wondered what the hell I’d gotten myself into, a car stopped. A young woman stepped out and asked: “You come with me?”

Her name was New, belonging to the Karen community. She gave me a lift to the nearest village — her home. As soon as we arrived, she offered me lunch and a place to sleep: “Homestay, we have!” She warned me that the next village was close and easy to get to, but after that: “very hard”.

However, it was only 11 a.m. My rational side figured I could keep going, but my body had nothing left. I’m indecisive on a normal day, but with hormones in charge, my indecisiveness was squared.

New didn’t know what to do with me either. She casually dropped the word ‘homestay’ again, hoping I’d bite. And I did.

Over dinner, New told me about her village and everything she does to bring the community together. She organises cooking afternoons, sewing workshops — even camping trips. The homestay grew from that. It’s not only something travellers enjoy, but also something the community needs. Farming alone doesn’t provide enough, so any extra income, even just enough to pay for school, makes a real difference.

Her words reassured me I was making the right call.

The next day, I had to face reality — and New hadn’t been exaggerating. I spent the entire day dragging my bike up the mountain. The rain had turned the dirt roads into slippery clay tracks, and where it was dry, loose gravel made it almost impossible to get grip.

This experience made me realise how nice it is to share this kind of intensity — to complain, laugh, or turn frustration into something light-hearted. I felt a bit lonely at the time, not knowing that later that evening, an eight-year-old girl would quietly ask me: “Do you want me to sleep with you?”

But before evening settled in, once again the kindness of the Karen people showed itself:

Just when I needed it most — sitting by the roadside, my arms still tingling from the effort — a car pulled over and took me to the next village. That saved me another three kilometers of climbing.

Shortly after, evening fell and I arrived in a small town. I asked if I could pitch my tent there. The head of the village walked up to me and said:

“The Karen tribe always welcomes their brothers from other tribes.”

And then, once again, the kindness came flooding in…

A young woman offered me her home. She lit a fire, made up a bed and pointed me to the bathroom so I could shower while she cooked.

After I’d showered, more people came to sit around the fire in the hut I would be sleeping in. We passed the phone around, chatting through Google Translate, laughing at the awkward translations.

Among them was an older woman who quietly took charge. While calmly peeling an apple, she handed out tasks to her fellow villagers. Soon, extra blankets arrived, a flashlight, a juice box, a bottle of water... and meanwhile, she kept handing me apple slices in between.

Then, just before the night ended, the eight-year-old girl broke my heart with those eight simple words: “Do you want me to sleep with you?” — like she just knew I was feeling a little lonely.

The next morning, I said goodbye and set off to finish the loop — the final stretch, mostly downhill, through the beautiful, lush landscape of Chiang Mai.

Along the way, I wiped away a few tears. These past few days had hit me deep, but above all, I was overwhelmed by the incredible warmth and kindness of the Karen community.

There’s a beautiful short film about this route by Pele and Bec, the route’s creators. The film isn’t just about the challenges of the ride, but about the people who live along it—the Karen community. Just like in my own experience, they’re the ones who turned a tough ride into something unforgettable. Whether or not you plan to ride the route, I highly recommend giving the film a watch.

A huge thanks to everyone I met along the way, to Pele and Bec for creating something so special and to Sam Rice for adapting the route so I could still experience it, even with the tough conditions.

And of course, a huge thanks to you, dear reader. Thank you for coming along.

I hope you felt a bit of the magic too :)

Jule Noah