Independence on the bike: what I found by choosing a life on the road

As an only child, I felt naturally independent. I spent a lot of time alone, and I loved it. But somewhere along the way, as for many of us, life became shaped by expectations: studies, career, stability. I built a life that looked independent from the outside, yet depended on income, routine, and things I had to maintain. It felt like freedom at first. Later, it started to feel like a trap.

A five-week trek in Nepal changed everything. Living out of a backpack, moving through the Himalayas, I realized how little I actually needed to survive and to feel joy. More importantly, somewhere between those Himalayan peaks, I remembered a forgotten dream: to explore this wild world.

Back home, I knew I had a choice: stay, or go. I chose to go. Over eight months, I sold my belongings, left my apartment and my job and, maybe the hardest part, I said goodbye to loved ones, not knowing for how long. But I was ready to step into the unknown. With every layer I shed, I felt lighter. Freer.

I spent the first six months almost completely alone, living out of a backpack with just a tent and hiking shoes, crossing the Pyrenees and Canary Islands. In that solitude, I learned that independence doesn't mean totally disconnecting from the world and that it was never my goal to turn my back on society. I realized that for me it was about finding a balance between these two worlds.

But surprisingly, and contrary to what many assume, being alone in remote nature felt safer. If anything, I felt safest there. The rare moments of discomfort I experienced as a woman on the road happened in crowded places: cities, busy roads, and even the occasional hostel.

That's where the bike came in. It gave me movement, freedom and connection. Cycling from Spain, through Europe, toward the Middle East, across 18 countries, I experienced a sense of freedom I had never felt before. Exploring the world with nothing but the strength of your legs. It felt like magic.

The road taught me what independence really means to me. Not comfort, but trust. Not ease, but resilience. I learned to live with little, to rely on the strength of my body and mind, and to face both solitude and loneliness.

With that, I also discovered a broader sense of independence, the privilege, as a European, to move freely in a world where many can't, held back by passports, currencies, or cultural boundaries. It is a kind of freedom that is easy to take for granted.

After six months cycling through Muslim countries, from Turkey through Jordan, Saudi Arabia, and Oman, I can say that I felt deeply protected as a woman. Maybe at times, even overprotected, which sometimes felt overwhelming. Nevertheless, in terms of safety, I felt safest there while being openly introduced to a different way of living, one rooted in taking care of one another, living collectively, and placing religion at the center of daily life.

I'll explore this topic more deeply in another article: What I learned cycling as a woman through cultures different from my own.

This life isn't easy. But then again, what is life? Nevertheless, it asked me to give up comfort, certainty, and stability, while being far away from loved ones. But it gave something back that felt real, intense and intimate.

Maybe my choice was radical. I wouldn't tell everyone to drop everything and leave. Independence doesn't have one shape, it's personal, often found in smaller, quieter changes. It's not about the outcome, but the pursuit. Questioning our lives. Daring to change. Letting go of what we know. Asking ourselves: is this still the life I want? Or am I just moving through it on autopilot? Freedom begins there.