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…
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