Daily vlogger and blogger, popularly known as ‘Hels on Wheels’ across social media platforms, is a full-time Global Hobo cyclist who travels the world on her cycle and shares her experience through photos and youtube vlogs.
‘Hels on Wheels‘ shares her cycling journey to unknown small towns along with the number of kilometres she cycled through her everyday vlogs.
While sharing her experience to Jebel Shams, Oman, The Hobo Cyclist wrote:-
Of course, I should’ve realised this little shelter would be in use by morning; men in dishdashas convened, and rugs were hung for sale. I was a subject of interest, but I was in the way.
After researching the route, I’d planned to hitchhike up the road to Jebel Shams. But in a fit of madness this morning, I changed my mind and decided to ride. Sure, Komoot showed *some* steep sections, but overall the gradient was reasonable. What I didn’t understand at the time was that I hadn’t allowed for averaging.
I found a small shop to buy the extra supplies needed for camping at the top and set about the climb. The first challenge was a 3km stretch rising 400m. At times the gradient tipped 15%. I began to walk and push. Halfway by distance and altitude, the road turned to dirt. I was heartbroken and understood the last 8kms to be dirt, much of which was reasonably flat.
I found myself pushing Gibbo up a sandy stone road averaging 10%, but as the road dipped, the climbs were far steeper. I was stopping to catch my breath every few hundred metres now, and my ETA was creeping closer and closer to sunset. (To think I thought I’d be going for a hike around the canyon this afternoon!) Whenever cars passed me breathlessly beside the bike, I turned away so as not to start a conversation.
Nevertheless, some cars, including the police, stopped to ask if I needed help. I was suffering, but I knew I could do it. Slowly.
To my delight, the dirt road returned to bitumen in the middle of nowhere for the final 5 km! As expected, the road levelled out somewhat, so I arrived at the first lookout rather than next to the bike. I heard my name called out. Ahmed had given me a lift down from Jebel Aktar a few days back, guiding some Aussie tourists on their way home from watching the Socceroos in Qatar.
Heading over to the sunset view, I was looking for a camp, but the rocks on this mountain were very sharp. Turning around, I saw a line of 4x4s with rooftop tents lined up against the rim. The canyon walls burned red in the last of the light as I made my way to the edge.
Arriving as the last colour faded to grey, a nice English couple, sympathetic at having passed me pushing, made a coffee and gave me a seat out of the wind.
As the wind picked up further, I excused myself to sit inside my tent, pitched by the cliff-side, held only by a pannier in each corner.
The wind soon died, though, the temperature dropped, and I climbed into both sleeping bags for the first time this year in all my clothes. Granted, I’m at 2000m, but it was only a few weeks back, in Oman, that I’d been sleeping undressed on top of the bedding, tent open, trying to catch any breeze.