Swedish "Summer" Cycle Breakdown: The Route VII (part 1)

When sketching out the first plans for the wider pan-Europe cycle trip a few years ago, the core leg across Sweden did not raise many flags to me. A quick hop from one coast to the other between the county’s main two cities. No doubt there would be plenty of forest, but not much to impede us on a straight forward journey from Gothenburg to Stockholm. Clearly I had not looked at the map closely enough…

Having cycled all the way from the middle of France to Gothenburg, this was the natural next leg. As usual before booking flights, I whacked the cities into Google to check out a rough route and… got a shock. Sweden was a wee bit bigger than I had given it credit for. Our rough route was approximately 600 km and we had only 4 days to do it. That’s 150 kms a day or, to put it another way, like doing the Ride London Surrey four days in a row with saddle bags. At least there weren’t any mountains in the way, right? Right, but instead seemingly non-stop hills. We had to climb the equivalent of Mont Blanc in altitude on route.

As we shoved our bikes into their boxes and caught the plane from London one thing was for sure, it would be an adventure and a tough one at that.

DAY 1 - THAT FREEZING, BREAKING FEELING

First issue. One light between us. We arrived a Gothenburg airport late at night, put our bikes together and wheeled out the airport in the direction of our digs for the night. Two things happened quickly. The road ramped steeply down-hill and the street lights ran out. Hurtling down hill at 40 kmph in pitch black with nothing to follow except Uwe’s wee red back light was a good adrenaline rush to start the trip!

A few drinks, amateur map planning and a bit of sleep later, we woke up to Swedish summer. Early August and a balmy temp of 9 degrees C, augmented by cold, slanting rain. What better way to start a day?

It was miserable and, to be honest, I was in no way equipped for this type of weather. What made it worse was a forecast of more of the same all day and we had a minimum 150km to do before dark. Looking for a glimmer of positivity, our road was well paved and relatively traffic free, but even this seemed to turn into a negative as our trip was regularly interrupted by large lorries taking advantage to power narrowly past us, knocking us sideways and more often than not splashing us with dirty road water.

If this sounds like a bit of a shit experience, I can confirm it was. A couple of hours in, with not even a view thanks to the non-stop trees, we finally got to a semblance of a town, Borås. I saw a bike shop, wheeled off the road and shouted to the others to shop. I was soaked through, shivering, without feeling in my sodden feet and needed something to improve the situation. Ten minutes and an extortionate amount of Kroner later – Sweden is many things, but one of them is not cheap - I at least had some thermal shoe covers.

With things looking a tiny bit up, we passed through the town centre and out the other side, hoping to find a more pleasant route forward. Clunk. Clank. CRUNCH... My pedal stopped turning with an ugly sound of meshing metal. “Guys, I think we have a small issue. My bike is fucked!”

Fortunately we had a real cyclist on hand, Uwe,  to identify the problem and provide a solution. Unfortunately the problem was that my entire rear derailleur had bent in on itself and there was nothing Uwe could do to right it. “Fixed wheel?”, he suggested with a smirk. There was no bloody way I was going to cycle the next 540km in one gear! We huddled in the freezing rain in our Lycra and worked out what the heck to do.

Solution one. Hip flask. For the first time in my life, I genuinely appreciated the warming “fire ya’ belly” effect of Whisky. Solution two, find a bike shop. On this point we were very lucky. My bike self-imploding was seriously shit, but it could have happened anywhere on route which, that first day, only passed through one proper town. The one we were in. It could therefore have been a hell of a lot worse (i.e. lose a day and trip over worse).

The nice bike shop I had bought my feet warmers in came to our rescue. Despite a rather confused phone call, they managed to find us in their van with the help of some directions from nice passer's by and got right down to trying to remedy the bike. Try is though the operative word, as the guy shook his head and explained this was not good. He did not have the part, but it was possible they could fix it back at the shop. Waving goodbye to my buddies with directions where to meet at the McDonalds by the highway, I crammed into the van with my bike and headed to the shop.

Life was looking up, at least for me. The bike shop was warm and dry.  The mechanics had a fitting rear derailleur and associated bits. I even had a nasty chuckle, realising that the repair guy had accidentally sent Dave and Uwe in the wrong direction and they would right now be doing pointless circles in the rain.

The awesome bike shop guys dropped me off at the McDonalds and rode away. After taking a bit of stick and being told in no uncertain manner to “buy a fucking new bike” (fair enough, it had now broken down 2 years in a row), we had to weigh our options. It was mid-afternoon with 100km between us an Jönköping. With no meaningful town in between to shorten our day, we said what the hell and decided to go for it.

THINGS CAN ONLY GET BETTER

From that nadir, things did look up... slowly. First up, a few hours of workmanlike churning in line through driving rain. Km by km, with head down. Little, but trees and cold for comfort. The bike was though working and, eventually, the rain abated

We were finally making good progress, but it was touch and go whether we would make it to Jönköping before night fall. We took out the map and got a bit adventurous. The main road was due to take a wide loop, so we decided to turn off and try one of the smaller, dotted roads. We soon found ourselves deep in a forest. Tarmac turned to gravel, at which point Uwe’s road bike was just waiting to puncture. It always does…

We pushed on as the path narrowed, before turning into nothing more than a churned track through the trees. A rarely used logging lane. Inevitably, Uwe got his puncture and was not impressed. I was quite chipper, this being just about the only conditions where my old hybrid bike can hold its own. We had come a few km’s down the track, but given the ever deteriorating conditions, the collective was tempted to turn back. On a tight call, we decided against it and bumped on through the dense trees. Thankfully, the path turned back to gravel and a bit further on we had connected back on to something that resembled a road. 

I can’t pretend the journey thus far had been a pleasure. It had been a miserable trudge, but it all became worth it for the final hour’s cycle of the day. We climbed up and into more sparsely forested hills. A perfect smooth road lit, unbelievably by sunshine. The sky had opened up a bit and the light was a warm orange as the sun arched to the horizon. We didn’t meet a single car, truck or bike. Riding in parallel, the only thing that interrupted our serene path was the odd incline and dozens of deer.

All day we had waited for a sign of wildlife and now, in the last rays of the day, one deer after another caught sight or sound of us and galloped off. Often away or parallel to our path, but on more than one occasion straight across it. The crowning glory was a large stag leaping across the road in front of us as the sun set.

Then up another hill and we could see Lake Våttern and Jönköping nestled at its southern point.The lights were already on in the city as we raced to our destination for the night. By the time we arrived it was 10pm and dark. Knackered, we went in to the first place we saw and begged for a room. Thirty minutes later we were on the top floor of the highest building in the city, kicking back in a sauna with beer in hand. The only thing better than the redemptive powers of the heat after 160 km on a wet saddle was the view. The sauna had a glass wall, which overlooked the moonlit giant lake at the centre of Sweden. Rarely has one of my days ended in such better condition to how it started…

DAY 2 – (HALF) VÄTTERNRUNDAN

The largest mass participation cycle race in the world is called “Vätternrundan” or in English “Around Vattern”. A self-explanatory title for a race which seeks to go around Lake Vättern in a day. That is some 300km and every June the best part of 30,000 people attempt that or one of the smaller distances. Thankfully, our aim for the day was one such smaller distance. We wanted to conquer half of it, pedalling circa 150km along its western shore from the lake’s toe to its tip.

Given the long distance, we aimed to head off early. That did not happen. Aches from the day before slowed us up and I don’t think any of us were exactly rearing to go as the bums went back on the seats. Plus, the rain was back, though only a drizzle.

Our morning ride was one of those cycles which just does not seem to get going. Repeatedly getting lost (the Vätternrundan path was illusive, appearing and disappearing at will) and slowed down by small town roads. The magnificent lake barely showed itself, our path mainly the other side of a rise from the water and in very nothing countryside.

With so much time lost we decided to power it along the main road. We were in for another sharp does of Swedish summer. As if Thor had snapped his fingers, blue sky turned into a raging hail-storm.

At first a few pellets, shattering and skidding across the tarmac, then a torrent of grape sized ice balls. Interest and surprise soon turned to pain and noise. As you can imagine, Lycra does not provide much padding against rocks of ice falling from the sky. It felt like having hundreds of paintball pellets serially fired into your back. Add the deafening noise of the barrage on our helmets, the white out of the landscape and thin bike tyres sliding on the ice and it was quite a sensory experience.

We scrambled for shelter (which gave me the chance to shoot this little CRAZY video) and rode the storm out chuckling. Swedish "summer" indeed... I mean, look at the size of these ice balls!

UP AND FINALLY INTO THE LAKE

In another snap of the fingers the ice storm stopped.  We got back on our bikes and rode off pretty gingerly, crushing thousands of melting ice balls as we went and just trying not to fall over.

We powered on and lunched at the beautiful marina at Hjo. Thawing out in the renewed sunshine, lake before us and beer(s) in hand, it is not surprising that we stayed far too long.

Pushed for time as ever, we set off mid-afternoon and enjoyed a relatively uneventful, pretty ride north. While the lake had its dramatic moments, the countryside was largely gentle. Up and down rolling hills, switching between fields and forest and passing the odd smart little settlement.

As we approached the northern tip of Lake Vättern the shoreline became more interesting, breaking up into loops and bays. We grabbed a weak Swedish beer on a bench, staring out at a massive fortress across the water, before pushing on and reaching Askersund just before night fall.

It has been another long day and what we did not need was a struggle to find somewhere to kip. Struggle we though did, cycling aimlessly around the little town until we eventually managed to beg our way into the last rooms at a slightly off Best Western on the edge of town. More trucker stop than idyllic Scandinavian stay.

As ever, it did though have a sauna and, after a long searing stay, Uwe and I sneaked out the fire exit in our boxers and plunged into the chilly waters of the lake in the darkness. A re-vitalising, if slightly painful, experience. 

Some more beers and a bit of map planning later, we had collapsed. Just 300km and half of Lake Vättern behind us, over 300km and a whole load of forest ahead. Stockholm seemed along way off and more adventures awaited…