A Whole Lot of Forest and the Odd Swedish Supremecist - The Route VII (part 2)

DAY 3 – INTO THE BEYOND

Peering at the map over breakfast on our third morning, it was apparent that we were about to go more “off-map” then at any other point on our cross Europe trip to date. In the planned 150km of so for that day there was very little marked ahead of us apart from forests, the odd hamlet, contour lines and a long bloody way.

We plotted as direct a path as possible through the broad shade of green on the map. Jumping back on the saddle well stocked with smorgasbord, we left Askersund due East and were soon enveloped by the firs and pine. For the first hour or so, our route took us along good, straight roads through the trees. We made good time before stopping at a quirky ice cream parlour as our path crossed a more substantial road next to a logging factory.

As we re-embarked on our journey East the forest closed in and landscape became hillier, allowing some great tucked downhill descents through the trees, which made me feel like I was on some Austrian downhill ski run.

Coming to another crossroads we decided to take what looked like a short-cut, 20km or so along a dotted road rather than much longer up and across on the non-dotted road. It soon became apparent that the dots meant something.

The tarmac stopped, giving way to a surprisingly smooth dirt surface. This was another logging track and made for a fantastic ride through the thick forest. It was a great feeling to power through the green knowing that we were out on our own. In an hour or so through the trees we did not see anyone, let alone a dwelling and we were happily without phone signal (happy to long as my bike did not break again!).

Stopping off at a random point for a piss behind a tree, I stumbled across a giant ants’ nest. Made up of pine needles, half as big as a car and, when you looked close up, covered in hundreds of thousands of ants. It was an amazing sight! I did not even know things like this existed in these Northern climes.

We emerged unscathed and ate a packed lunch by a small lake next to, here’s a surprise, a forest. Despite making good progress, none of us were quite up for the romantic Swedish summer lake swim. While the rain was holding off, it was pretty cold and we had a long way to go.

Trees, trees, forest, forest, hamlet, forest, trees, hamlet, forest…. the odd deer… The rest of the day was a lot like that. Two things ran through my mind. First, especially considering that this is the populated part of Sweden (the top half of Sweden is one of the least populated parts of Europe), there really are bugger all people in a vast land. Second, Swedish people really like their space. Even when we passed a village, houses were spread thinly and there would rarely be any type of central square or focal point as is standard in Western Europe. Swedes must appreciate their own company!

In late afternoon we finally made it to a town – Flen - and, stopping for coffee and cake, tried to work out where to stay. Rather drained, this proved to be a disheartening experience. Local advice was scant and we found a blank from place after place we tried. Getting a bit desperate, we looked up campsites within a 20km radius and lucked upon a campsite that would take us.

As tiredness set in and the light faded, we took the most direct route on a dodgy narrow road frequented by large trucks. There were some uncomfortably close calls and we were relieved and knackered to roll into the campsite just after dark.

It was an idyllic place. Smart cabins and tents by a lake, surrounded by even more forest. A full moon and open deck on which to eat and drink good beer into the night. Perfect end to a tough, long day through the wilderness.

DAY 4 – IN SEARCH OF STOCKHOLM

We had made great progress, pedalling 460km in 3 days, but still had another 130km to churn with plenty of built in fatigue, plus the “joy” of finding our way into a big city.

Waking up in an serene bit of forest, Stockholm felt an age away. Once the legs had got going, the morning proved to be surprisingly blissful. More forests, lakes and generally nice landscape. The sun came out and it was even touching upon warm. We had come a long way since 9 degrees C and slanting rain in Gothenburg. We pushed on and ate up the kilometres.

By late lunch we reached the sizable town of Södertälje. It was the biggest town we had seen for nearly 3 days and it felt a bit weird having to look out for traffic (I nearly tumbled straight into a car). While Uwe and I were focused on filling our stomachs with numerous hot dogs, the extent of complaining from Dave indicated a real issue. He had been making noises about one of his legs for a bit, but now was bent over grabbing his ankle clearly in abject pain.

His Achilles had gone and 50km to go suddenly seemed a long way. Dave was umming and arrghhing about having to quit, taking the train and meeting us in Stockholm. For his leg he knew it would be the best thing, but to come so close and give up would have torn him. One thing I have learned about Dave in the past decade and through many an escapade, is that he is bloody minded and definitely not a quitter. He decided to push on. We strapped him up some more and pushed out of town on the final leg of our Swedish journey.

After a puncture, one final swathe of forest and a misdirectional detour up and down a valley, we eventually reached the outskirts of Stockholm. I had been to the city twice before, but always in the centre. Cycling into a large city often gives you a very different aspect to other tourists and that was definitely the case here. First came ugly motorways and shopping centres, flanked by pretty good bike paths which ran up and down between each road crossing (I could hear Dave’s wincing on every mini uphill).

Then came suburbs of mass functional, but uninspirational blocks of flats. We had barely seen a non-ethnic Swede in the past 4 days, but these neighbourhoods seemed predominantly populated by people of Middle-Eastern or North African descent. We managed to get lost again and found our way through a large park frequented by families and groups eating out with impromptu BBQs.

With the help of some locals, we managed to find our way up and over a large bridge into the centre of the city and before we knew it the surprisingly ugly and uninspiring outskirts were replaced by the truly spectacular centre of Stockholm.

Uwe and I had wide smiles on our faces (I think Dave had a grimace) as we made our way through the streets and across the bridges into Gamla Stan, the small dense island which is the heart of the old city. Back onto the mainland, a sweep to the right between grand buildings and the water, before a final right turn, across a bridge and a bumpy run down to our final destination, a sailing ship hostel moored on Djurgarden.

High fives all round. We had completed the longest cycle of my life, 600 km in four days through rain, cold, forest and breakdown. Deck chairs and beer awaited in the sunshine on the top deck.

BETA SONS OF ODIN

After a long unwind and a hot shower, we had just enough energy for a night out. A fun time bar hopping around the city was ended with a distinctly odd and slightly concerning meeting.

Walking back to our hostel at around 2 am, we came across a group of guys in biker jackets seemingly standing guard by a bridge. A closer look showed a bunch of slightly geeky pale guys, with a leader making comments to ladies as they past. One of the girls had a go at them in response and my mildly pissed self wanted to find out what was going on.

I caught up with the girl who explained that they were little fascist idiots. They were “Sons of Odin”, a group of white supremacists who were infamous for making disproven claims about rapes by immigrants. What to do? I went over to have a chat.

Up close, they appeared much less threatening then from a distance. Players of War Hammer rather than actual war, with a definite nerdy demeanour. I asked what they were up to, trying to hide my disdain. What proceeded was a strange chat with their “leader” (none of the others seemed able or allowed to speak), who explained they were protecting true Swedish women from dangerous immigrants and Muslims. I asked if they had actually saved anyone. The response was a mumble. Another group of ladies walked past and swore at the odd group. I suggested that local ladies didn’t seem to want their protection. The response was more of a grumble, but they were sure they were doing important work...

As we walked off, my first thought was here was a bunch of beta males who reacted to a lack of success with the ladies with a blame game on “others”. Oh no, it wasn't their fault that these beautiful ladies walking past wouldn’t look twice a them, it must be the foreigners. It was sad and depressing. Not what I expected to find in Stockholm, but losers are everywhere I suppose.

A FINAL ADVENTURE, A CASUALTY AND HOME

Waking up surprisingly un-hungover we had most of the day to explore the stunning city. Usually this would involve a long ramble around the city, but Dave’s leg was bad, so I had the bright idea of taking a canoe instead. This idea lead to a wholly unnecessary mini adventure.

We ended up renting a couple of kayaks from a super fit looking Swede, asking where best to head. He recommended just going round the island we were on - "a nice and easy paddle". He had clearly overestimated us. After an initial gentle paddle down a canal like channel, we soon found ourselves out in open water. First there was chop, then after the next turn we discovered a headwind and plenty of boats to boot. The situation deteriorated until we found ourselves in the ridiculous situation of frantically crossing a major waterway and then back paddling in a panic to avoid being run over by a ferry.

We eventually made it back after a full 10km circuit and, needless to say, were knackered. Worst, Dave’s leg was now completely spent (who would of thought that kayaking actually required leg work!). As Uwe bid us farewell for another year, legging it to a German bound plane, all that was left was the joy of pushing Dave around the amazing Vasa Museet in a wheelchair.

Then home. Another year, another journey, but this one longer and harder than before (some 600 km!). Next year Spain, provided Dave’s heal heals…

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…

In the Shadow of Mount Etna - Sicily (Part 5)

We had kept the best until last, or at least that is what we thought based on the guide books and notoriety. We headed to the famed Taormina, home of stunning sites, views and celebrities.

Much of the route from Palermo was impressive motorway - I have never seen so many tunnels and bridges - forcing a course through the mountainous north coast of Sicily. While cutting the journey time for several hours and clearly sucking up a lot of subsidised funds from the mainland (these roads must have cost hundreds of millions), they did unfortunately hide much of the view.

We made up for this somewhat by stopping off at the beautiful little city of Cefalù. Situated in a sheltered bay beneath towering hills, it is a place of beautiful old buildings and steep streets dropping down to a harbour of aquamarine.

The cathedral is another Norman beauty and all the better for still having much of the original interior intact. We had an amazing lunch in the square beneath it, devouring pizza in the sunshine.

TAORMINA

To cut a long story short, this was my biggest (and perhaps only) disappointment in Sicily. It is not that I did not like it, I did, but it fell short of the high expectations set by its renown and, indeed, other sites and cities we had seen in Sicily.

Taormina’s setting is undeniably impressive. Set high up on ragged hill, jutting out into the sea, with the mighty Mount Etna for a backdrop. Its streets are attractive and its ancient theatre is large and well preserved, framing the mighty volcano perfectly (the classic photo of the island). It was great to scramble up the dodgy paths to the peaks above the city, enter the small shrines and look down upon the brilliant combination of nature and nurture that the city entails.

The place though lacks charm. It is as if the sheer level of tourism, both of the jet-set and tour bus variety in equal measures, has sucked the life out of the place. Very little is real or local. I am glad I have seen it, but can take or leave it in future.

In three days we did find one clear exception that I can't fail to mention. On a twisting backstreet down from the main thoroughfare is the best granita I have ever tasted.

In case you do not know, granite is a Sicilian speciality of ice and flavour, usually lemon, but in this granite specialist café every flavour you can imagine. It is refreshing, sets your taste buds buzzing and is a perfect antidote to a long day walking in the sun. Another produce of Sicily’s complicated past, supposedly emanating from the Arabs who once ruled the island.

MOUNT ETNA

Etna was most certainly not a disappointment. It is just ginormous and, silly as it may sound, so perfectly volcano shaped. It dominates the East of the island, simultaneously drawing you in and threatening.

We took a day to drive up its slopes, leaving behind vineyards and forests, to the treeline and beyond. There we found old volcanic craters to explore. With wind buffeting us and the kids half laughing, half grimacing, we ventured into one of them, rubbing our hands in the dark black volcanic dust at its base. I have never been anywhere that so resembled the moon.

Etna is still decidedly active. Small eruptions are frequent, larger ones blow every few years and then, infrequently, it really goes, wreaking havoc in its wake. The lower craters we explored dated from violent eruptions in 2002-3, which knocked out much of the ski-station area.

To my middle child’s particular dismay, high winds had stopped the cable car. Not wanting to give up, we managed to get a ticket for the off-road upwards adventure and were soon sat on a many wheeled monster of a vehicle powering up the volcano on twisting dust tracks. It took quite a lot of strength to hold the kids to our laps and stop them smashing into the windows.

We were soon at the snowline, but, as the weather closed and the truck steamed up, we could see less and less. Every so often we would get a glimpse of a dead drop through the swirling clouds, before the truck powered around another corner, jerking back and forth. Onwards and upwards.

By the time we arrived at the intermediate base (2500 m), we were in a snow cloud with even higher winds. Instead of the usual walk around, we were ushered into the shelter with some urgency (and I dare say a little panic) by the mountain guides, being pushed sideways by the swirling, buffeting winds. The conditions had turned heavily against us and, after having to wait for some time in the shelter pouring over tacky gifts, we were relieved to squeeze past a tour group and get back on a truck heading down the volcano and out of the turbulence.

It was a bit of an adrenaline rush, adding some fizz to the end of our vacation. We decompressed on a relaxed drive back to Taormina, clockwise around the verdant lower slopes of Etna.

CATANIA AND HOME

On our final day, we had just enough time to stop off in Sicily's second largest city, Catania, before flying home. It is living proof of the power of Etna, lying in its shade with scars of its fury. In 1669 much of the city was destroyed by horrifically violent eruptions. Volcanic dust and flame covered the city and a river of lava smashed right through it.

Much of the centre was rebuild with ambition, using distinctive black and white stones and in the baroque style. We parked up in the centre and enjoyed a walk around the grand squares, around its smelly fish market and through its backstreets to its towering thirteenth century castle, Castello Ursino. While the castle was interesting in and out, it was outshone by rock at its base. Here were the remains of the lave flow form  1669, still winding their way around this massive building.

A final word for the people of Sicily. They were warm, welcoming and friendly throughout. None more so than a father and daughter we met at the last in their small café off Catania’s central square. For our final minutes, they chatted, played with our kids and served us some great food.

UNTIL NEXT TIME...

In short conclusion, we found Sicily remarkable. It combines stunning nature, history, architecture, people, food and culture. I could not recommend it more highly.  In fact it is one of my favourite places on earth. No exaggeration.