Summer in Earth's Fridge

Reindeer seem to be unaware of the fantastic significance gifted to them by our childhood imaginations.  Supposedly they are gallant creatures with the strength of a horse in a dainty frame. Their unspoken wisdom leads us to believe they have voluntarily donned Santa’s yoke, in the spirit of Scandinavian Socialism and gift freely from themselves so that others may benefit.  These unquestioned assumptions are not inline with reality.  Up close a reindeer is extraordinarily goofy.  Often they will stand in the middle of the road staring into the middle distance with the intensity of a special education student in the period after lunch.  As you approach it is hard to ascertain the moment when they become aware of your presence.  It seems their decision making process is analogous to the charging a battery rather than flicking a switch.  When, their internal committee does get it's act together and decides that flight is the correct course they do not dart off into the bushes.  Rather, the head tills back, the chin leads and the body follows reluctantly.  But for the animals intellectual incapacity to register disgust, the whole acts only link to regality is the pretence of cucumber sandwich snobbery.

My decision to ride to the North Cape, Norway's northern most point was compelled largely by my desire to see the 'Midnight Sun'.  Since living in Sweden I have experienced the environmental oddities of oppressively dark winters and the fantasia induced by ever present daylight in summer.  The North promised to take this, as my musical friends are fond of saying, to 'the next level'.  I have not been disappointed.

The train journey from Örebro to Kiruna took around twenty hours and was the perfect lead in to an adventure. I often seek to employ a narrative structure when looking at events, however it is very peculiar when the events seem to, independent of me, imply a literary form.  I found myself in one such moment (and existentially out of it!) at the very commencement of the journey.  The overnight train was perhaps, I do not wish to exaggerate, 15 carriages long.  I read on the Swedish Rail website that customers with large luggage were to board at the end of the train.  As I had a large cardboard box filled with bike I was certainly in this position.  So which end of the train?  Three options presented themselves, wait at either of the two ends, or in the middle.  A classic gambling scenario.  Should you take the low risk position and make it a certainty that you will have to lug the box some distance or go double or nothing? ‘Put it all on Black!’  ‘Red 34.’ House wins.  ‘Shit.’ And it was as your humble narrator, sweating like a block of Coon it the sun, was pushing this large box down the entirety of the train that an introduction had been thrust upon him.

I arrived in Kiruna, around three o'clock the next day and was keen to put some kilometres on the board.  I assembled my bicycle at the station, bought some food and a map and started peddling.  It was on this first evening that the Midnight Sun would demonstrate it’s usefulness as a traveling companion.  At five o'clock the sun was still high in the sky.  As the town gave way to rolling hills, and the smooth road extended ahead a feeling began to take me.  A feeling so common to the road that it should be predictable, but so ephemeral that it escapes my recollection. Freedom. That night I rode until ten.  The campsite was quiet, I set up my tent and went for a swim.

The next morning started with full frontal male nudity. Why not?  As I packed a Northern Swede and his pooch (not a euphemism, he had a dog) said hello.  He disappeared around the other side of a shed and reappeared completely starkers and headed toward the lake.  What a way to start the day.  I joined him and then headed out.

The days cycling brought me nearer the Finnish border.  However the last hour was marred by pain in my left knee.  This was a concern as one lesson I have taken, failed, repeated, failed and finally, repeated and passed by the slimmest of margins, is not exacerbating an injury by pushing it.  I had no desire to stop my trip early, but I did not wish to add a left knee to the salad of my other overused joints.  I formulated a plan to cycle the next day, but warily.

 

I left Karesuando the next morning and crossed into Finland.  My knee was not better.  After altering many variables I found a manageable solution.  A cleat-less shoe on the left foot, and a lower seat.  This meant that I could ride, though my speed diminished.  I stopped at a Sámi (Scandanavian indigenous inhabitants) run coffee hut and imbibed myself in a course of self medication.  Coffee and Paracetamol.  After this the last twenty kilometres were a breeze.  When I arrived at Entontekiö I booked into a hotel and enforced a very reluctant rest day for the next day. 

I emerged from my hole ten IQ points down but still secure in the knowledge that I was smarter than Dr. Phil. (What Ph.D could he have produced that authorises him to cast such spurious moral assertions upon the lives of others? He strikes me as the type who was beaten as a child but now as an adult has repressed all of his latent aggression into a pop philosophy.  When this is followed the believers mind becomes a prison wherein they employ quiet logical torture as a response to uncontrollable animal instincts.  Thus, once you let Phil in, he can do to you what his daddy did to him.  What a prick.).

I was still very aware of my knee. And was not sure what to make of it, was it my body alerting me to damage?  Was it simply a little niggle that would shift?  Was I attaching too much meaning to it?  I decided to employ the same tactic as used at the train station.  Have a gamble.  I decided to just go for it, for an hour.  This seemed to work, and whilst noticeable throughout the trip it never again became prohibitive.  I love it when the 'toughen up princess' works. Though who doesn't like being a princess!

My new found strength once again gave me the initiative, and the benefits were compounding. After some time a hitch hiker jokingly stuck out his thumb.  I pulled over only to discover that he had recently finished a bike trip.  A very enthusiastic 'Canadian', (I am always aware that Americans like to call themselves Canadian when they are traveling) he told me tales of his journey and gave me a few hints of what was ahead. 

An unwanted guest cut our conversation short.  Mosquitoes.  Northern Scandinavia is often labeled the land of a thousand lakes.  This could well be true.  I do not recall an instance in this trip were water was not nearby.  However, given the prevalence of that life sustaining substance and the in-prevalence of temperatures that any self respecting life would want (sorry Sámi's) the month of July presents a rare opportunity and is the summer of '69'  for our parasitic buddies.  And, in addition to sticking it in each other they are more than willing to replace there fluids with yours.

Soon I would turn off the major route, whilst a detour of about one hundred kilometres experience has begun to teach me that bike touring is far more enjoyable without traffic.  This last thirty kilometre stretch before the turn off I was accompanied by a German bike tourer who had ridden from Hamburg.  Our chat moved organically and did not stray too far from Channel Seven.  Rolling through topics including bike touring, jobs and the weather it then ended as smoothly, but as instantaneously as it had begun. Never stopping we shook hands and exchanged names.  I turned right, up a hill that would lead me to a bridge across a large river.  The scenery changed and the next phase begun.

Middle Game

There is something in the feeling of movement that I find irresistible.  I am not sure if it is the sensation itself, or a reaction to the concept of distance accumulated, or an excitement about what is to come, or a reluctance to change the status quo. Regardless when I am riding I often need a very good reason to stop.  Karolina can vouch for this as she has often been dragged an extra twenty kilometres looking for that 'perfect' campsite, when prior options were 'perfect'.  The hunt, as it were, was an excuse not to stop moving.  I count as good reasons to stop; excessive hunger, being absolutely knackered, stopping for water, injury and impending darkness.  Given these preconditions let us take this experiment to a world were it never becomes dark.

The excitement I now felt being on this 'less traveled' path, combined with the fresh legs from a days rest and the mild delirium that accompanies long periods of exercise compounded my feelings of reluctance towards stopping.  So I kept riding.  Ducking in and out of forested areas, popping up on top of marshy plains, rolling across bridges that connected the edges of churning rivers. At the same time an unending afternoon sun gently warmed the road and my feelings towards it.

An option for dinner sprang up unexpectedly.  There would be no other options on this stretch of road so I decided to take it.  My thinking was to have dinner and then keep riding.  I spoke to the proprietor, and simply told that I was hungry.  He asked me whether I wanted dinner, I replied in the affirmative.  As he disappeared into the back room I had a look at my odometer, I had ridden 170km.  The clunking of pans suggested that my host did not intend to bring me a menu, just food.  As I sat the idea of riding 200km became less appealing.  Any dreams of that milestone completely evaporated when my dinner arrived.

Full, and self indulgent I booked a cabin.  This little wood box that looked across a river was idyllic in all but one respect.  Mosquitos!  I tried to sleep, but was ever aware of their presence.  If I wasn't being stung, I was provided with an external Tinnitusian ambience, and when this subsided all that lingered was paranoia and anxiety.  I was at war people, and it was time to define the terms of combat.  I set up my tent, inside the cabin.  Having established myself in the fortress I proceeded to annihilated any who decided to join me. Shutting my eyes, surrounded by the fruits of this Finnish My Lai I slept in the fashion of the hunter. 

The sun, having gripped the horizon overnight begun it's vertical lift for the day.  I followed it's lead, my goal being the coast at Lakselv.  Around three, little pockets of rain started to develop.  At four, the sky had dropped so thick and low that the sun's influence was reduced to a background of grey.  The geography changed, and the road cut between cliffs and next to deep lakes.  Fork lightning in the distance was an appropriate preview for what was to come.

I arrived at the coast, in a heavy rain.  Whilst I intended for this to be my destination, a pizza shop filled with people seemed an appropriate place to settle for an hour to dry off, warm up and wait out the rain.

1 AM

The new coastal scenery, the new sky and a newly found energy delivered by a kebab pizza (cold lettuce and tomato thrown on at the end, excellent!) fed my tendency toward continued movement. The afternoon became evening and the evening became 'northern' night and I continued to ride.  Around midnight I stopped on the edge of a sea cliff, had a bowl of rice and a bowl of coffee.  I had ridden 199km, and decided to camp at the next opportunity. High up on a plain between two cliffs, a thin waterfall, more a creek that stumbled off the edge of a cliff rejoined next to my tent and was welcomed by the ocean in front of us.

Tunnels and the North Cape

The air feels thinner in an instant. Cold, but not the 'it's getting cold' type.  Cold that reminds you of somewhere else.  Each time I felt it on this trip I always had the sensation that I was woken up. Or more, that prior to it I was dreaming. This air hits you often well before you see the tunnel.  And then, as the tunnel approaches this importance of the moment, or more specifically getting through the moment only deepens.

Perhaps this is all because I am a little afraid of tunnels.  I am not sure.  I always anticipated them because these sensations were so intense.  The longest tunnel of the trip was seven kilometres long and descended 200 meters below Earth’s surface.

For me, there are three elements to riding in a tunnel that create the sense of foreboding.  Firstly, there is the darkness.  Secondly, sound behaves peculiarly.  Cars coming from behind you approach first from in front.  As the sound echoes down the tube, continually redoubling and redoubling upon itself the noise swells all around you rather than building from a direction.  Large fans pump air through the length of the tunnel mean that silence never occurs. Lastly, there is the ever present repetition of stimuli.  Save for the occasional car, fan or sign, the tunnel is a Groundhog moment. This lack of distinction had my internal monologue continually repeating the phrase, 'just keep pushing'.

The light at the end of the tunnel is a cliché punished by anyone with even the loosest grip on abstract thought, so I shan't overplay it.  Though, noticing that first sheen of almost indiscernible natural lights and seeing it build, then having auditory space slowly return to have it completed by an exit into sun and humid, heavy air is exhilarating.

I half expected the nice smooth, flattish, roads to continue all the way to the North Cape.  However, Given that I knew the viewing position was 300m above sea level, well, I should have known better.  By the time I approached the first climb I had ridden for around five hours and was a little hungry.  This was the hottest day on the trip, a fact that I did not truly comprehend until arriving at the end of the day with leprosy look-alike shoulders.  The journey to the North Cape was 30 kilometres each way. And with two 300 metre climbs there and one on the way back.  When I arrived at the North Cape, it was pretty, but I was stuffed.  The entrance fee of fifty dollars seemed a little steep to use a car park and see a tourist cinema (though I may have paid it to get a Coke!) so I decided to head back.  As I started the ride home it was fairly obvious that I had, to quote Mr. Ross Hopkins, 'zonked'.  This was made worse as I had no immediate snacks on hand. The next two hours of hill climbing in the sun was a challenge and I played many mental games to come through it.  One was overestimating how much there was to go, 'Okay, one hill down only seven sections to go' or the somewhat less creative, but momentarily effective mantra 'leg over leg over leg over leg over.....'.

I arrived in at Honningsvag at around 9pm and had ridden 500km in three days.  I was quite tired.  After buying ingredients for a potato and leek soup, making it and eating in the company of a Swiss Gentleman, Martin, I retreated to my room and slept.

The Hurtigruten and Beyond

The islands that dot the Northern Norwegian coastline cut a very striking figure.  Violently thrust out of the ocean their facades have the linear fractures of stress induced by the expansion of freezing water that has penetrated them. In the past the physical difficulty of accessing these islands was a near impossibility, further enhanced by the presence of Artic Winter for the majority of the year.  Still people lived here.  Their connection to anything foreign came via the postal ship route, the Hurtigruten.  Now in a more connected world the importance of this route has lessened but it has become a sought after cruise.  I boarded the Lofoten, to indulge a small section of the Hurtigruten route from Honninsvag to Tromsø after a days rest.  In oaky opulence, I sat, considered, wrote and played SimCity.

 

Disembarking at midnight from Tromsø I was to begin the final leg of my ride and be indulged by the highlight of the trip.  My destination for the nights riding was a ferry port at Brensholmen, sixty kilometers from Tromsø.  The change in scenery was severe.  Mountains covered in summer snow, fast flowing rivers, and ocean.  This pattern of climbing to a pass, and dropping to the ocean was consistent for the next three days and seemed to increase in intensity each day.

2AM on a pass.

But this night I would ride into clouds, becoming saturated by fine mists only to come down the other side into sunlight.  The road sometime hugged the coast taking me through little villages.  The number of people up was astonishing.  Some were having coffee on the porch, others continuing a DIY project in the back yard.  In a conversation with Karolina she suggested that they were making the most of the daylight.  I agreed, but believed that this explanation indicated an effect rather than a cause.  Whilst only bathed in constant light for two weeks I begun to notice that sleep took the form of something you do when tired, rather than something you do at night.  It was in essence a refuelling exercise, and when you were fuelled and consequently woke up it was light, so you got on with it.  Whilst the memory of a circadian rhythm was not too distant for e I imagine that these people for whom darkness was last seen months ago had little connection to time, unless their job or television schedule required it from them.

I set up camp at the Brensholmen had a bowl of rice, set my alarm to wake me in four hours time (8 o'clock) and switched off.

That morning the sky was cloud.  This much was clear from my down cocoon. The forty minute sea journey to Botnhamn allowed me to suck down a few coffees returning my expression to focused madman, away from the morning panda post compression session.

The two days to Narvik were cold and wet. I am not prone to the negativity that many people encounter when outdoor pursuits encounter a change in the weather.  However the euphoric peaks, and transcendental moments of freedom are often replaced with a slow, patient grind.  For instance the long stretches of downhill that are usually  the reward for an uphill slog become the coldest times, the spectacular views often are the most exposed and windy and when I did find myself awed by a moment, stopping to take full advantage of it became something that 'should' be done, rather than something desirable in and of itself. That said, many of the little breaks, hot drinks, quick feeds and earnest conversations I had in this section were incredibly satisfying.

Destinations

Bike touring appeals to me because meaning and purpose is taken care of in the action of riding.  Very simply in answering the question, 'what should I be doing?' the answer is an unequivocal 'head that way'.  This leaves a space for the mind to consider what is happening, without the need of an object.  Combine this with the continual movement and the consequent refresh and update of stimulus and I feel that I become more aware of the slow and subtle changes in things rather than the things changing.  It is nice to have a remainder of this subtle shift in perspective.

Narvik, was an ultimate destination I suppose. At least the place where I would push my last pedal in the North before hoping on the train for another days journey South.  Appropriately, given the discussion of conclusions and destinations, my pre booked hotel room took me straight back to the Seventies.  I could not help but remind myself of the rooms similarities to the decor utilised in the penultimate scene of Stanley Kubriks, ‘2001. A Space Odyssey '.  And in the spirit of that scene I felt an odd sense of disconnect from the main narrative.  'five minutes ago I was covered in rain and sweat, I was outside, eating handfuls of dry muesli.  And now, I am watching 'The Dog Whisperer', in bed, with a large pizza.'.

Now, as the train speeds Southward I can see that the sun is just starting to dip behind the forested horizon. A dusk is starting to seep into the train, and with it a welcome weariness is taking me.  This small adventure, has been a success.  A bit of exercise, beautiful scenery, open space for consideration, new stimulus and an encounter with the realities of the ‘Midnight Sun’.  Tonight when I approach my pillow some natural darkness will be with me.  For the first time in a couple of weeks when I lie down not only will I rest my tiredness.  Tonight, the night will bring sleep.  Good Night!

View North Cape Bike Trip in a larger map

Summer in Earth's Fridge

Hi All,

The blog for my bike trip to the North Cape was compiled whilst I was on the road.  Consequently it is in PDF form.  You can download it from Google Docs, just follow the link.

https://docs.google.com/leaf?id=0B1teAYfkpWjBMTM5OTUwODgtNGZhYi00MWM1LWI5OTItZDZhZWRjYjdiYTMz&hl=en_US

If anyone is having trouble just send me an email and I can send you a copy directly.

Love Christopher

A very Hopkins Holiday

 The smell of cooked spices, burning plastic and sewage mixed with one another at times and at others stamped their individuality onto the moment.  The air raced passed my head and bending forward I tried to listen to what the young Laosian driver of the motorbike was saying.  I had landed at the airport not an hour before, possessing someone else's passport I did not know where my own was, and the deathly river of black, Laos's bloodstained road's whiped passed.  I was back in Asia and it felt magnificent.


Its always nice to start a piece of writing with a bit of Drama, but drama is as far away from day to day life here as anywhere else I have experienced on the planet.  The whole passport dillema was sorted in a sort of sleepy Sunday manner interspersed with laughter.  As we set off the second morning after we arrived we did it with passports in hand, bikes delivered and along roads with drivers and motorbikes considerate of others and thier own safty.  Perfect place for a bike tour.


This fact was no coincidence.  The Hopkins' (Ross and Christine) had noted this before and this is their third bicycle trip to the area.  It was at their strong suggestion that Graham (Ross' father) and I came along.  Tallin is here due to a biological imperative, being the small child of the Hopkins' his days are consumed rolling, in the chariot behind his father.

The road so far has rolled through villages seeming never to straighten. One uphill section becomes a downhill section before  I had time to analyse my surrounds.  Perhaps its the massive change in weather from the low negatives of Sweden to the absorbent atmosphere of the jungle but my mind has gone passive.  And the blob is happy.

We have had two sleeps on the road so far and each has provided an interesting experience.  The first night was at a little truck stop outside of Phon Hong.  Christine asked me early in the piece whether or not I thought it might be a brothel.  Having no idea what a brothel was I asked her to clarrify her statement.  Then she entranced me with a story of hers and Ross' from a previous trip to Thailand where they had in fact stayed in a house of midnight pleasures.  After discovering a horizontal mirror next to my bed I begun to wonder.  Such daydreams where confirmed shortly thereafter when Christine saw a pert little Loasian girl emerge from a room slapping her behind for the pleasure of a towel clad middle age man woozy from a combination of sun, booze and store bought sexual dynamism.

The second night was more confusing.  The Hopkins' have taught English in a town called Vang Vien on a few occasions.  Each time it has become more touristy, with the guests choice of activity a drug fueled float down a river lined with bars and clubs.  Previously this activity has been contained to the towns center and had not disturbed the tranquility of the organic mulberry farm at which they had stayed.  A bit like a poorly placed benign lump, annoying but manageable.  On this arrival however we observed that the town had crept its way up the river, the lump had grown, and the thump of bass towers in the clubs filled the afternoon air, it had become malignant.

I have not been able to get my head around this.  Having enjoyed intercontinental shenanigans in the past I see the fun in loud music, sun, new friends and beer.  Having lived in the country for a lot of my adult life I would hate for that activity to encroach on my patch of paradise. Seeing the need for development, especially in poorer countries I can understand its value.  Basically, I cant achieve clarity.  Any help from readers will be greatly appreciated!

I am hungry now.  After two meals at the farm, (fantastic, fresh and light combination of vegetables, spices and rice) whatever I shove down my thoat now will have to be brilliant to compare.

Well...

Chris one day before Tallin

I have seen it as Chris' job to update the blog once we got back (At the end of June!!!) But since he refused to do so. It is I, Karolina who will give you the shortest of short update.

Karro on Ferry to Stockholm

So, as everybody already know, we have arrived at our destination!!!! Wow, it does not seem like such a big thing anymore since it was so long ago and it was always one day at a time... The last two days, the days in Sweden, were big and long, but rewarding. We arrived at 10 in the morning in Stockholm and tried to navigate our way out of the city, a task that took a lot of time and effort. We rode, got lost and eat our first Swedish kebab! Since it took so long to get on the right path, we had to ride for as long as possible once we found our way. We set up camp at midnight, riding though by the light of the summer sun, it was wonderful. Set our alarm for 4.30 and rode and rode and rode until we, after a long day, met my lovely sister, mum, Tobias, Edvin and saw Idun for the first time (she looked like a little man)! The last bit was nice and relaxing, surrealistic and so nice.

We have now been back for a long time and sitting in a warm house, with a snowstorm outside, Istanbul feel so far away.
We had a wonderful time on our trip and we are so excited to do so again.
Highlights of the trip were:
Istanbul and Turkey at large, such hospitable people and nice tea!
The first day in Bulgaria, (DOWNHILL)
our first 100km day
Our first climb (up Transylvania)

Hungarian baths/hotsprings!
SLOVAKIA, beautiful (Chris really enjoyed the  mountains)
Vilnius, wonderful place with lots of culture and a relaxed atmosphere.
The open rodes of Latvia
The last days in Estonia, riding next to the ocean and in a national park AND on a bike path all the way into Tallinn!!!!
Arriving in Sweden, mostly Pershyttan.

Thanks for all the help and support! And thanks to our wonderful friends, the Hopkins' who got us on to this amazing way of traveling!

Pershyttan

                                                                         Over & Out

One Million Stomps

Assuming that we have spun our pedals once a second and that on average we rode six hours a day, six days a week then, (not including our week in Budapest)each of our legs has made the journey up and down roughly a million times on our trip to Tallin, Estonia. And this point marks the end of our Eastern European adventure. From here we still have two days riding in Sweden and the necessary ferry trip across the Baltic to arrive there but as for Eastern Europe we can now say that it is behind us.

Since the last entry our journey has progressed in two stages. In the first we left Vilnius full of energy and embraced the riding in the spirit of the rest of the trip, a rhythmic pattern of wake, ride, eat, sleep with temporary goals but a firm grounding in the moment. However in the second stage of the leg the overwhelming sense of final destination took hold and our riding assumed a new and different character which I will address later.

The ride out of Vilnius was far more pleasant than our attempted exit from Warsaw. Within minutes of starting our guide was a bike path rolling its way through the city and rescuing us from the streets. That said the streets in Vilnius were not nearly as aggressive as others we had encountered so the path was akin to being saved from a room full of Labrador puppies. As the day progressed the buildings dribbled out of existence and we were surrounded once again by the calming green of pine forest. The only slight hitch in the days riding was a massive screw which decided to seduce my back tyre only to leave it useless and depressed.

As we grew tired at the end of the day we set our mind to finding a camp spot. A week in the city was just enough to rekindle our romance with the great outdoors. Within minutes of pulling off the road it became clear that the evolutionary significance of the meat machine in our skulls was no longer relevant in this new environment. Here the uber predator was the mosquito. MOSQUITOS on a scale I have never seen. In short, on more than one occasion I had to swat a mozzy from of my eyeball. But the tent become a sanctuary for us after a small lapse in the application of Buddhist Principles.

 

The second night was special. After riding all day through forests and small towns our maps indicated that a large town would soon be upon us. However given its predicted size we were surprised as the forrest just seemed to continue. After more meandering we saw some indication of some civilisation as a massive tin pipe was a constant feature down the side of the road but still no town. Puzzled we continued to ride through the forest until out of nowhere lines of government housing blocks as far as we could see stretched out before us. Like a frozen monument to a 1960's Soviet concept of the future this town felt like the embodiment of a burnt out, failed rocker. Later the lady who operated the B&B where we stayed enthralled us with stories of this town which was the home to Europe's largest nuclear power plant. She spoke of a city filled with extraordinary intellects and dreamers which was now slowly dying as the plant was decommissioned. Ironically the result of someone else's dreams for the future, a Nuclear Free Europe.

 

The end of the first leg was marked with an unexpected day off just as we crossed into Latvia. Having ridden a long way we were most dismayed to find that the town we had selected to stay in did not have any accommodation. Given our experience of camping two nights previously we were a little apprehensive about setting up the tent again. Despite this we found a campsite and set up. Calling the number of the lands owner a lady with limited grasp of English answered the phone. It was clear that not much was going to be communicated. Still we set up thinking that if somebody really wanted our money they would go out of their way to get it. Imagine our surprise then when Karolina's phone rang and at the other end a man with flawless English, calling from England told us of his very reasonably priced guest house. Cut to twenty four hours later. Your humble narrators after being spaed, saunaed and fed decide to sit down in front of the huge telly in a beautifully retrofitted centuries old farm house. Its hard sometimes. Really hard.

 

The second leg of this stage took us from Latvia into Estonia and finally to the town Tallinn. Many little things happened in this leg, seeing the coast for the first time since Bulgaria, lovely meals, beautiful National Parks but it was our mindset that proved to be the most dominating factor. With the end in sight stopping of an evening became more difficult. Rather than being a welcome break from peddling all day it became a chunk of time between rides. The second we saw the bed we both wanted to be waking up so that we could start riding again.  We were still enjoying ourselves and where we were but now there has been a distinct feeling of 'this is where we are going' and that where we are heading is our final destination. Still, riding into Tallin was an amazing feeling. Knowing that this place had been at the top of our map since Turkey two months ago and now here we are and (save for a couple of train rides) it is our legs that have brought us here was special.

So at the next post we will be completely finished our trip. It is hard to imagine not having to wake up and ride. But this is a problem in imagination only as tomorrow when we ride off the ferry in Stockholm after spending a night at sea we will attempt our biggest day yet. Our thinking being the more we can knock off the 200km to home in the first day the sooner we can have a lovely picnic with our Swedish family the day after. I want 170 kms but this might be a little eager. Yet now having wiggled our collective bottoms a million times doing it another 60,000 times does not seem like that much any more!