Adventure Amie - lover of Kombucha

In late 2018 we met Amie Begg at the Lenny Boy taproom through mutual friends. We instantly fell in love with her enthusiasm for life, travel, and new experiences. Come to learn Amie has a great appreciation and love for our kombucha - thus we decided a great fit to support her on any of her upcoming adventures. Amie recently completed a bike route of 250 miles along the base of Mt. Everest..!

In the blog post below - Amie details her amazing journey as the first woman to solo this route. 

The Thought
Cycling alone is hard. Cycling in the cold is hard. Cycling at altitude is hard. All three together test the limits of your body and mind. This trifecta dances the line of adventure and obliteration. To endure these conditions takes relentless mental discipline, physical stamina and knowing when to push yourself…and when to let go.
 
I’m not an avid cyclist. it’s always been a part of my life, but not the main attraction of hobbies. I’m not exactly sure where the idea to ride my bike on a road over 16,000 feet high formed. All I know is, I’ve always wanted to see Everest but hiking or mountaineering never appealed to me. I stumbled across this bike route, called the Friendship Highway, or the road to Everest. The more I read, the more I knew this would be my next adventure.
 
The Prep
I believe there are 3 type of travelers, those that travel on the beaten path, those off the beaten path, and then people like me, that say, “There’s a path?” I love traveling, and when I do it’s to get away from western amenities and learn about other cultures, other lifestyles, hoping to understand or simply to appreciate their way of life. Visiting Everest in the Summer was logical, but Summer months catered to tourists and I wanted Everest all to myself. I eventually learned that Everest’s views are best during the Winter months. Who doesn’t like clear blue skies when they’re riding alone for miles and miles…in subzero temperatures? Thankfully, I wasn’t in this completely alone.
 
I reached out to several travel agencies and quickly learned that no one had ever attempted this ride during winter months due to such harsh conditions. I also learned, as a solo female, I was attempting to do something no other female had ever done alone. Needless to say, most potential travel agencies were skeptical, but I was determined. I finally found a one, Tibet Vista, willing to help make the arrangements. Bottom line, it was either using a travel agency or sneak into a region of the world I’ve never visited, let alone at a time when U.S.-China tensions were high. Tibet Vista helped make this trip a reality. Wary of my potential, they still planned my trip thoroughly.
 
On top of the planning, achieving this feat takes considerable physical preparation, but I’ve come to realize there’s little we can do to mentally prepare for the unknown that lays ahead. I had four months to train and be in optimal condition before my trip, so I began riding my bike everywhere. Unfortunately, North Carolina, my home state, lacks the mountainous roads I needed. I found suitable training grounds in West Virginia, which is colder than North Carolina, a factor that helped prepare me for the temperatures I’d face. The thing is, I was in graduate school, working full-time, and preparing for a national skydiving competition. I had very little time to train, but I made do with what I had and made my bike my primary source of transportation. Whenever I could ride, I did.
 
The Cold
Everest was cold. I’d arrived at Rongbuk Monastery with a bus tour that would descent the next day.  Just a few short miles of Base Camp, I immediately felt the chill of minus 16 degrees Fahrenheit. It was like jumping into an ice bath. The chill shocked my body. I was used to frigid temperatures growing up in New England, but this was cold unlike anything I had ever felt. The only warmth we had were electric heating blankets. Wool wraps made from yak hair helped trap our body heat. It was barely enough. Even the monks who call Rongbuk their home abandon it during winter months because it’s unbearable. It hadn’t been more than a few hours since I got off the bus at Rongbuk and already I was doubting my ability, my courage to keep going. I hadn’t even started.
 
I intermittently slept throughout the night, often waking to others sucking on their oxygen containers, gasping for breath. The morning slowly crept up on us, the darkness of the sky with stars still gleaming disorienting our minds as our clocks displayed 7:30am. The group was heading out at 8. As they shuffled around, packing belongings, I headed to the bus carrying my bitter cold bike off and into the now empty room.
 
Twelve exited the bus the night prior as I stood hugging and watching eleven get back on. Trepidation filled me as wishes of luck were given. I stood in the Dusk of the morning watching my safety and comfort slowly pull away and descent down the road. I stood in the bitter cold 16,500 feet up, all alone. A few tears trickled down my face as my grandiose idea just became reality.
 
The cold was something I’d have to live with for four days more days and 250 miles. I didn’t realize until my first night, that no place was heated in rural Tibet. Each night temperatures dropped in the negatives, and each day I was lucky if they broke to single digits.  One village I stopped at overnight, I met an old lady and the only English word she spoke was, “cold.” My body was fighting day in and day out. There was no reprieve. The mental strain, not only of the ride each day, but never being able to escape the cold was getting the best of me.
 
The Ride
The ride was long and arduous. Challenges came around every corner compounded by the uncertainty of what lay ahead and constant numbing of extremities from the harsh temps. There’s one day, my second day on my bike, that truly characterizes the ride. It was 10:30am by the time I got rolling. Waiting until a warmer -5 degrees, I left the guesthouse behind, and started my climb. I climbed, and climbed, and climbed some more. I went through my first pass of the day with a road winding back and forth, ascending up a mountain range putting one pedal in front of the other. The road varied from slightly steep, to steep, to very steep. There were no plateaus. Just up. For seven hours. I zigged and I zagged across the road as I went up, giving my legs a break at every zag. I had no clue when it would end, or if I would have enough energy to keep going.
 
This was the longest climb of my life. After four hours of ascent, I came across Tsing, my support guide, sitting on the roadside with another man eating and drinking warm coffee. He offered spicy noodles, but I opted for energy bars. The coffee warmed my insides. I wanted to stay warm and keep my energy level high, so I left Tsing and his friend, continuing on my way. I stopped briefly at every switchback to take in the scenery, smiling each time and thoroughly enjoying the clear sunny day. The higher I got, the more amazing views became. I felt great, enjoying the never-ending climb. My body felt warm. Everything was perfect.
 
I finally reached the top, a plateau of gusty wind chilling my body’s core, stinging the tiny parts of skin exposed on my face. Knowing I had just accomplished a feat I never fathomed doing made it all okay. I took photos and enjoyed my accomplishment, briefly as I still had several miles ahead. I had ridden uphill for seven hours in freezing cold temperatures. I giggled as I sped down the other side of the mountain riding side by side with a motorcycle. 15 minutes to get back down. It was all worth it.
 
The Feeling
My last day began with me getting a late start due to unforeseen sickness. A little morning delay resulting in an afternoon of pondering pride versus perseverance. Dusk was slowly turning into dark, with dark came the cold. I kept vacillating between wanting to pedal hard to get warm and conserving the last of my energy. My support car now trailing behind me illuminating the road with its headlights. I had to stop. I pulled over. Just for a moment. I ate some GU®, and drank some water.
 
I’ve often heard the saying, it’s 80 percent mental and 20 percent physical, but there comes a point in one’s journey when this saying loses meaning. In that moment, there is no longer a physical component, and 100 percent of your performance relies on your mental strength. To waver is not an option. To quit is not an option. To finish is the only way. I put my head down and kept it there. I pedaled. I felt the road’s every groove reverberate, from the tires to my spokes to the rims through my pedals, reaching my feet, my spine, my hands and my mind. I took it foot by foot, eyes locked on the road.
 
I had one more big hill, about 2 miles up, the other side was Shigaste, my finishing point. I thought my day of climbing felt long. This was the longest 2 miles I have ever felt in my life. I kept pressing my shifter, hoping there was one more I forgot about. I pushed each pedal with intentional effort, not wanting to look up to see how much farther I had. I relied on feeling. When I felt I could add a gear I did, when I felt I couldn’t I didn’t. I focused on 10 feet ahead of me. I locked my eyes into the road, focused on the road condition 10 feet ahead. That was all. I pedaled. Finally, my shifting increased, more and more. I sped up, pedaling became easier as the cold air blew past my face. I was finally descending. I looked up. Off in the distance I could see city lights illuminating the sky. Shigaste. Final stretch. I cycled into town and followed the jeep to the hotel. I pulled in. My legs were Jello as I stumbled off my bike. I did it. I did what no other has done. I pushed through riding 74 miles that last day, capping off my journey of 250 miles along the base of Mt. Everest.
 
Until Next Adventure!!
 
Amie Begg

Follow her on Instagram @AdventureAmie

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