Epilogue

There are lots of thoughts I had during my trip that never made it to the blog, and certain questions which seemed to be of particular interest to the people I met along the way. As a way of finishing my story, I’ve attempted to answer the questions which were posed most frequently and share a few miscellaneous thoughts. It’s also a chance for me to reflect on the journey as a whole, before laying it to rest and moving on to the next challenge.


Where did I go?

For those who weren’t as keen as my parents, following my progress every day in the big world atlas, I’ve drawn a little map of where I cycled, along with a few statistics thanks to the trusty cycle computer.


Total trip distance: 4,400km
Total time from Amsterdam to Stockholm: 78 days
Average speed: 400km/week
Number of rest days: 23
Average distance on riding days: 80km
Longest day cycling: 133km
Number of nights sleeping in my tent: 59
Maximum speed: 71km/hr
Total weight of bike and gear: 45kg
Average time taken to get ready in the morning: 1.5hrs!


Why was I travelling alone?

Sometimes it’s not until someone asks you to explain something that it begins to make sense. At my campsite one evening I met a Dutch fellow who was very interested in the details of my journey – what I was carrying and how I was travelling. He also wanted to know why I was on my own – whether it was because I couldn’t find any friends to join me, or whether I especially wanted to journey alone. I think it was probably a bit of both. For the first time in my life I felt like I was choosing to do something just for me instead of following someone else’s dream. In a moment of clarity I thought about what I’d really like to do, and just decided to do it. I’ve always felt too scared to do that before. I would have welcomed friends who wanted to join me, but I wasn’t particularly willing to compromise. After a pretty tough year I also felt like I needed some time alone to clear my head and prove something to myself. If I can spend three months cycling alone through Europe, then I feel that I can achieve anything I set my mind to. Without a doubt it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.


How did I cope with the languages?

Typical of English speakers, I had the arrogance to embark on this journey without knowing any Dutch, German, Danish, Swedish or Norwegian. However communication was remarkably straightforward given the high proficiency of English spoken in all the countries I visited. I often felt embarrassed by my lack of language skills, and missed out on the little daily interactions. On the whole people seemed happy to switch to English, but some of the best fun was had when they didn’t! A standard conversation would begin with me mumbling something incoherent in response to a question posed in a language I didn’t understand. As soon as I opened my mouth and it became apparent that I was a foreigner, I would be asked in perfect English, ‘So where are you from?’. It constantly surprised me how much of a novelty I was coming from Australia. The reaction was generally a mixture of disbelief and genuine fascination. Campground owners would ask me to sign their guest books, saying ‘Or-strrar-lya… we’ve never had anyone from Or-strrar-lya before’!

Do I like travelling alone?

People were always asking me this. It’s a mixed bag – sometimes I love it, sometimes I hate it. I love the freedom. I love being able to stop and take pictures whenever I want. I often feel more confident and self-assured when I’m on my own and making decisions for myself. I like the clarity that comes from spending so much time in your own head. I enjoy the peace that comes from appreciating nature without the need for conversation. It felt good learning about my needs and preferences, my physical and mental limits. And I really enjoy keeping my own pace without holding anyone else up. However I get bored with my own company and wish that I was better at being crazy and outrageous. I miss sharing meals with friends – the social aspect of eating. I hate the fact that I began to substitute food for companionship. I really miss the sense of human touch and sometimes all I wanted in the whole world was a good hug. I often wished I could share the chores of cooking, cleaning, shopping, navigating, setting up camp and servicing my bike. But most of all I think it’s fun to travel with friends because it adds some spice and variety – you do things that you wouldn’t normally do otherwise, or do them in a different way. Certainly there are more compromises, but there are also a lot more laughs. After hugs, that’s probably what I missed the most, sharing laughs with friends.

There are certain bonuses to travelling alone. My friend Ian describes it as the ‘solo biker’s advantage’, referring to the kindnesses from strangers which are the real joy and highlight of a trip. I had so many thoughtful campers offer me meals along the way, which was always hugely appreciated at the end of a long day in the saddle. These little connections are a really special part of the journey, but I found that the partings also got harder as time went by.

Any bike mechanicals?

My faithful friend, the jojomobile, was a star performer on this trip. In over 4000km of riding I had only a single puncture. As it happened, I’d already ridden 100km that day, it was 7 o’clock at night and I was stranded on a quiet gravel road in the middle of a Swedish forest. With no water and 10km to the nearest town I resigned myself to changing the tube while mozzies feasted on my flesh in the early dusk. A kind lady stopped to offer me a lift, but my stubborn streak surfaced at just that moment and I politely declined. I was soon yelling at the mozzies, but I eventually fixed it by myself. Such a small thing, and any real cyclist would laugh, but I felt like I’d passed an initiation rite. I was so proud! Other than that, I wore my rear tyre out and needed to replace it towards the end. Several nuts and bolts worked their way loose over time, but nothing which actually caused a problem. Maybe it was more good luck than good management, but I like to think it was a bit of both!


Which country did I like best?

I liked the variety most of all. In many respects Norway was a real highlight. Certainly in terms of landscape it was by far the most spectacular, however I don’t think I would’ve appreciated this so much if I hadn’t begun my trip in flat agricultural land. Norway was also a blessing in disguise for me personally, as I met a lot of other cyclists and had a much more social time during those four weeks. I spent more time in Sweden than anywhere else and thoroughly enjoyed visiting friends and getting a bit more of a Swedish experience. The festival at Dala Floda was also a fabulous way to break up the trip. Denmark was memorable for its pleasant cycling and indulging in a real feast of music at the Skagen festival. The camping was better in Holland than anywhere else, and I loved the open friendliness of the people and warm smiles. Germany is probably the place I’d most like to go back to, having seen only a small part of the North-West coast. I have to admit I wasn’t particularly looking forward to riding through Germany during the world cup frenzy. But I found the German people to be really lovely – exceptionally kind and helpful, and thoroughly generous and welcoming. The food was great and overall it was a very pleasant surprise (apologies to any Germans for ever thinking otherwise!).


Did I achieve what I set out to do?

I think the answer would have to be a resounding ‘yes’. I travelled through five different countries with dramatically different landscapes, cultures and language. I met some lovely people and consolidated old friendships. I relaxed into the routine and became more comfortable with foreign language speakers, more at ease with making small decisions, and less concerned about someone stealing my bike. I’ve also made some headway with accepting the past and making peace with myself. As for becoming a better person, that was always going to be a tough ask for a three month holiday! But I can’t deny that I’m a better cyclist, and I finished with a wicked cycling tan. I’ve had many challenges along the way and I’ve pulled through despite the difficulties. I feel a huge sense of achievement for having lived a dream. I feel that my habit has tended to be to give up on things too easily, but this trip has brought out the stubbornness in me. If you really want something then you’ll find a way to make it work.

Would I do it again?

Definitely! It’s amazing how quickly you forget all the tears and frustrations, and start reminiscing about the joys of being close to nature and living simply. Next time I’ll choose somewhere different and have different personal goals. I’ll limit the trip to two months, and probably try and talk a friend in to coming with me. Cycle touring is such an amazing way to travel – a perfect blend of covering enough distance to really see a lot of places, but also having the time to take in the small wonders. Although it became tiring towards the end, I liked the way that living took up all my energy. Despite the long days I never felt bored or unsure of how to fill my time. My life revolved around the simple needs of finding food and somewhere to pitch my tent, caring for my body, my bike and the few possessions I carried with me. The pleasures were simple yet satisfying. It's such a refreshing change of pace from our typically busy Western lives. So get out there and enjoy it!

Rainy Road to Stockholm

After several days of indecision I finally settled on a plan. It began with an overnight train to Trondheim, and finished with me riding triumphantly into Stockholm approximately two weeks later. Although I would have liked to see more of Norway’s stunning coastline, its fragmented nature means many tunnels and ferries to negotiate, and hence more careful route planning. All of this felt a bit complicated and daunting, so I opted for simplicity, and what I hoped was an easier route.

Before darkness fell I was treated to the breathtaking beauty of the Bergen-Oslo train, which is considered one of the most spectacular train journeys in the world. Trapped behind glass, I felt somewhat envious of my Californian friends who were now riding this popular route through the mountains. While I missed the fresh air and leisurely pace, I still enjoyed views of deep gorges and towering waterfalls, tundra-like wilderness of the high alpine plateaus, and most impressively, the Hardangerjokulen glacier. However I remain unenlightened about the countryside north of Oslo, as I was lucky enough to drift off to sleep as we sped on through the night. Awakening as the train slowly approached Trondheim, I had finally reached the most northerly point of my journey. At a latitude of 64 degrees North, the Arctic Circle was not that far away, and it seemed an incredible distance from where I started in Amsterdam.

Many people told me how beautiful Trondheim is, but at 7 o’clock on a Saturday morning this lively university town was deathly quiet. So quiet in fact, that I changed into my riding gear in the middle of a city park without anyone noticing. I rode out of the city in the crisp morning air, slowly making my way up into the hills which form the spine of Norway. I only spoke to two Norwegians about my intended route to Stockholm. The first, a very warm and bubbly woman looked vaguely disappointed and said, ‘Oh, I think that would be rather boring, actually’. The second, a rather handsome chap I met on the train was also quick to respond ‘Ah, I did the same trip many years ago – it’s a nice ride!’ So it just goes to show that any advice should be taken with a healthy dose of skepticism and a large grain of salt! For the most part I gave up asking people about the road ahead, and adopted a more fatalistic approach – what will be, will be.


My last days in Norway were a mix of agricultural land with lots of sheep and dairy cows, red cottages with turf-covered roofs and lakes renowned for their abundant fish, set amongst pine-clad hills. Finally I passed into alpine country, barren and windswept, with scrubby vegetation and hollows supporting small forests of stunted trees. Mere hours before crossing the Swedish border, I startled a family of reindeer. They quickly scattered amongst the trees and I only caught a glimpse of the adults with their great antlers. Instead of dashing for cover, the little one ran ahead of me, bouncing his little white tail. I couldn’t help but laugh at its ungainly gait – it seemed to be all legs as it clip-clopped up the road. Finally it had the sense to run and hide in the woods, at once escaping my watchful gaze. I was overjoyed at this brief encounter and it made up for what was otherwise a cold, wet and miserable day.

There were many cold, wet days to follow and I soon became thoroughly sodden and simultaneously damp in spirits. Everything started to smell, my sleeping bag was rapidly going mouldy, and I packed my tent up in the rain for days on end. After a particularly gruelling day in the woods, I was pleasantly surprised to find a lovely lakeside campsite. In the late afternoon light the lake looked like velvet, with the early Autumn colours reflecting beautifully in its waters. I was looking forward to a hot shower with relish, so you can imagine the disappointment when I put my one and only coin in the slot and nothing happened. My reaction was complete hysteria, and I bawled my eyes out for several long minutes. It’s amazing how much little things can upset you when you’re tired, cold, and hungry. My saviours that evening were a friendly German family who shared a huge tub of delicious fresh blueberries with me. Their young son must be one of the most affectionate children I’ve ever met. As way of introduction he gave me a big hug and walked his fluffy wolf all over me. At maybe six years old I was impressed that this warmth and affection had not yet been stamped out of him, and only wish that I could be so kind and loving toward complete strangers.

I finally emerged from the woods and their seemingly endless monotony, to arrive the following evening in Mora, on the shores of Lake Siljan. This small town plays host to Sweden’s largest and most beloved national sporting event – the Vasaloppet - a 90km cross-country ski race which attracts more than 40,000 participants each year. Not far from here there is an amazing concert venue called Dalhalla. An abandoned limestone quarry that’s been converted into a stage, it forms a wonderful ‘natural’ amphitheatre, with a jewel-like turquoise lake at its centre. On a magically clear evening I watched a performance of Verdi’s Aida beneath the stars. The acoustics are unbelievable and the costumes and choreography were beautiful to watch. Unfortunately I’d had a really long day on the bike and kept falling asleep during the final act.

The last two weeks of riding were really tough. It rained every single day between Trondheim and Stockholm and I struggled to maintain enthusiasm. My moods oscillated between utter frustration and despair, and an immense sense of excitement about approaching the end of my journey. All I could think about was reaching Stockholm and putting my bike aside for a while. But with only one day to go, I became hugely nostalgic and wanted to savour every last moment. I even went for an early morning ride so I could linger over breakfast in the grounds of a beautiful castle. Suddenly I realised I was going to miss this way of life. The daily rhythms of life on the road had become so familiar over the past two and a half months. What would I do with myself now? And more importantly, how often do you get to eat breakfast in the shadow of a 16th century castle?

After 11 weeks of riding and 4400km under my belt I rode into Stockholm with a big grin on my face. Once the initial euphoria wore off I realised that finishing something so hard and mentally tiring is another challenge in itself. And now, more than two weeks later I'm still trying to deal with the anti-climax. I’ve had a wonderful time staying with friends in Stockholm, Amsterdam and London, enjoying dinner parties, movies, orienteering, kayaking and long walks. Not only that, but equally enjoying all those ‘normal’ day-to-day activities such as shopping, cleaning, cooking and laundry. But I must admit to feeling a little lost, and surprisingly exhausted. I need another purpose, a new goal. I’m not sure yet what it’ll be, but my journey over the past three months has given me the confidence to embark upon the next adventure, knowing that I can achieve whatever I set my heart upon.

Bike Norway

A surprise awaited me at the Norwegian border. Seven young German cyclists had stopped there for lunch - the first other young people I'd seen travelling by bike. With school behind them and a year of community service ahead, they were enjoying a two week ride from Goteborg to Oslo, before returning to their hometown of Kiel. Having kindly invited me to join them for a little way, we ended up riding all the way to Oslo together. What an amazing bunch of people! I was mightily impressed by their gutsiness - especially the two girls who had never been cycle touring before. I was also rather embarassed that I couldn't keep up with the cracking pace they set. Riding in a bunch is a very different experience. It felt awesome when we were all cruising along together - a sleek line of eight cyclists moving like a well-oiled machine. But I found it extremely hard trying to keep up with someone else's pace, and was continually dropping off the back on the uphills. We rode a hilly 95km that day at over 21km/hr - my hardest day yet!

After saying our goodbyes I set out to explore Oslo by foot. The city is a lot more multicultural than I was expecting, and apparently has the highest cost of living of any city in the world. I don't know how the welfare system works, but there seem to be a lot of people falling through the cracks. Beggars and real down-and-out types mingle with the wealthy tourist hordes, and a beer and pizza will set you back about $50. Three rest days certainly put a big hole in my budget.

Accommodation was scarce when I arrived. After several hours fruitlessly riding all over the city only to find hostels either fully booked or closed down, I eventually took a cabin on the MS Innvik - a ship moored in Oslo harbour. From the deck I ate my breakfast while watching workmen building a beautiful new opera house on a nearby peninsular. I spent a lovely day wandering the hills above the city with a friendly Canadian girl, and had a beautiful picnic dinner on the grassy walls of an old fortress while listening to live music down by the quay.

I was a big fan of Thor Heyerdahl as a kid, and the popular account of his journey across the pacific 'The Kon-Tiki Expedition' was the first adventure book I ever read. It left a lasting impression and I'm particularly grateful to Dad for introducing me to his story, inspiring me to have adventures of my own. For those who haven't heard of him, Heyerdahl was a famous Norwegian scientist, adventurer and environmentalist. There is a museum dedicated to his voyages and studies of pacific archaeology and cultural history, with both the Kon-Tiki raft and reed boat Ra II on display. The latter he sailed across the Atlantic in an epic trip of 57 days, demonstrating that Old World sailors could have influenced the pre-Colombian civilisations of Central America.

For a week I followed the coast south of Oslo. Norwegians flock to this area during the summer months, being the warmest, sunniest part of the country. Tiny seaside villages overflow with tourists, markets and lively harbourside scenes. The rugged rocky coastlines reminded me a little of Tasmania, with the water probably being a similar temperature.

After weeks travelling alone with hardly another cyclist in sight, my time in Norway suddenly became very social. For a country which is so mountainous and has thousands of un-bike-friendly tunnels, there are a surprising number of cycle tourers. Ferries are a natural meeting point, and I kept bumping into the same people which was fun. For almost a week I travelled with an American couple, Bill and Aimee, who were great buddies to hang out with. Extremely warm and welcoming, we shared some good laughs. Our first day together was a marathon 133km - my longest day in the saddle ever! Several Dutch families shared meals with me, including a lovely couple, Jann and Trudy. It turns out we had shadowed each other all the way from Amsterdam. At 59 and 56 respectively, I was truly inspired by their energy and lust for life, and their willingness to be flexible and spontaneous. One of the things I've really missed about travelling alone is sharing meals with other people, so it was nice to eat sociably for a change.


The coast was very beautiful, but I decided it was time to see a little bit of the interior, so I headed into the mountains for a few days. The road wound its way over 1000m passes which are home to winter ski resorts. Alpine plateaus and craggy peaks dominate the landscape, with flowering heather and placid lakes completing the picture. Light rain lent an atmostpheric beauty to the mist-clad hills, and at times it was so cold I was half-expecting it to start snowing. The final 800m descent followed a spectacular road built for the hydro-electric scheme, culminating with 27 hairpin bends and a 1.1km long tunnel. I emerged from the tunnel to the warm, moist air of the valley below and magnificent views of the Lysefjord.

My campsite at the head of the fjord must be one of the most picturesque locations imaginable. The lush green valley ends abruptly with the clear blue waters of the fjord, which is wedged between sheer cliffs soaring 1000m into the sky. While eating my dinner I watched awestruck as half a dozen basejumpers leapt off the massive walls of Kjerag Mountain. The next day I got a lift back up the mountain with a busload of basejumpers and hiked to the launching point above the fjord. This time my close proximity meant that I could hear the roar as they gained velocity during freefall, and clearly see their shutes open as they skillfully controlled their landing on the one small grassy piece of land at the bottom of the fjord. Peering over the edge was slightly intoxicating, and for the first time in my life I was actually tempted by the thrill of it. 12-15 seconds of pure adrenalin! What an extraordinary location. A ferry trip through the fjord later that afternoon spotting seals and golden eagles completed a fabulous day.

Norway reminds me a little of Nepal, or how I imagine Nepal would be with wealth, development, and a lot fewer people. A land of many mountains, lush valleys, towering waterfalls and tiny cottages perched improbably on the steep mountainsides. Except that nowhere here is really inaccessible. The road infrastructure is absolutely mind-boggling. I've seen more incredible bridges in the last three weeks than I have in the rest of my life put together. And if it's too difficult to build a road on the side of a mountain, then there's undoubtedly a tunnel right through it. No expenses spared.

With more ferries, bridges and mountains I made my way up the west coast to Bergen, and arrived feeling pretty tired. My luck held for a good two months, but I'm now suffering from a head cold and feeling a bit miserable. The hostel where I'm staying sleeps over 60 people in one massive room, with triple decker bunks and mattresses all over the floor. It's absolute chaos, with only 2 showers and 3 toilets, one of which is currently blocked. It feels like I'm living in a refugee camp. The only redeeming features are that it's very cheap - a real rarity in Norway - and they serve free waffles on Monday and Thursday nights!

Apart from spreading my germs around in dormitories, movie theatres and internet cafes, I have no idea yet where I'll be for the next few weeks. Norway is a beautiful country and I feel like I could stay here exploring for much longer. But I'm also starting to feel a bit weary and looking forward to doing something other than cycling. I've ridden 3400km and my legs feel really strong. I'm much fitter than when I started, but there's a cumulative effect that is slowly catching up with me, and I seem to need more rest days than I did to begin with. Hopefully I'll come up with a plan tomorrow!

Bravefest at Dala Floda

I left Mariestad in a state of complete disarray and disorganisation. Sometimes I wonder how I ever manage to get anything done with all my dithering and fussing about. Gunilla very kindly offered me a lift to Karlskoga, about 100km to the north, as I'd decided that riding to Dala Floda in three days was a near impossible feat. Commonsense eventually prevailed over my purist's ideal of riding the whole way, and I gratefully accepted. In hindsight I probably could have made it, but a little headstart gave me a lot more peace of mind - thanks Gunilla!

The festival venue is a family farm near the small village of Dala Floda. It's a beautiful, peaceful property beside the gently flowing waters of the Vasterdalalven, and the perfect place for hosting such an event. Instead of festival tents there are huge farm buildings that have been converted into a pub, stage, dancefloor, dining area and kitchen, complete with an industrial-size wood fired oven. I was the very first guest to arrive, and with nothing better to do I helped with last minute prepartions - clearing the yard and cleaning the pub. As the place started to come alive with people, a buzz of excitement started trickling through my veins.

The next four days were a whirlwind of fun and frivolity. I did workshops in Capoeira - a Brazilian form of martial arts, juggling, pair acrobatics and kayaking. Most of these were conducted in Swedish, so I spent a lot of time not really knowing what was going on! Pair acrobatics (also known as adagio) is a circus skill involving balance and trust between two people while moving between various postures. My partner, Lotta, and I were a bit hopeless to begin with. We struggled to do the easy balances, and watched enviously while others seemed to perform the manouvres with ease. With perseverence we finally succeeded in standing on each others shoulders, and the thrill of accomplishing this together was something really special.

It's the kind of festival where almost everyone has a connection with at least one of the organisers, so it's still very small and friendly. We ate lovely home-cooked meals every day, made with organic vegetables grown on the farm, and the most fabulous freshly baked bread. Lunchtime and evening performances showcased the skills of so many talented people - musicians, jugglers, clowns and acobats - and parties continued all through the night. Even in central Sweden it never gets truly dark at this time of year, so I wandered back to my tent at 1am with the colours of sunset still streaking the sky. All in all, it's a pretty cool place.

The festival motto was 'No-one remembers a coward' and it lived up to it's claim by challenging me in many ways. I was particularly looking forward to doing some paddling over the weekend and after realising that the beginners class was much too basic I thought I'd join the freestyle workshop for a bit more fun. The hole where everyone was playing looked pretty big and scary, and the rapids continued for quite a long way downstream. I didn't have the confidence to know that I'd definitely be able to roll, so I sat in the eddy going slowly round in circles as my fear and frustration mounted. I was so disappointed in myself, and finished the day feeling really depressed.


The next day my kiwi friend Clare suggested we go paddling together and I knew that I needed to give it another go. We ran the same rapids at Fanforsen and this time it was fantastic! Clare has a huge amount of energy and enthusiasm, and she gave me the encouragement I'd been lacking the day before. I comfortably paddled the harder upper section, then rolled all the way down the rocky lower section, hammering myself quite a bit. I was so proud not to pull my deck though, as I was determined to stay in my boat. By the time we got to the easy rapids at the bottom my heart was racing and I felt quite breathless. Battleworn and weary, I felt on top of the world! And to finish off a great day, I was able to watch the pros perform inspiring kayak acrobatics in the Master of Water competition.

And then it was all over. As the festival-goers made their way home on Sunday, I suddenly had no idea what to do with myself. I'd ridden 2000km and reached the halfway point of my journey, but in many ways it felt like I'd already acheived what I set out to do. I had no immediate goals and not even a vague route plan. My body felt sore and tired, but more debilitating was the complete lack of enthusiasm I felt about continuing my trip. More than anything, I just felt lonely. I rode 10km south of Dala Floda at an excrutiatingly slow pace, then gave up and made camp in a bog on the side of the road. No doubt things would seem better in the morning.

Midsummer!

Summer in Scandinavia is all about long days soaking up the sun and drinking lots of beer. Not so different from Australia really, except for the notable absence of cricket. However my arrival in Denmark was met with disappointingly cold, wet and windy weather. I’m not very self-disciplined when it comes to battling the elements, so at the first signs of adversity I succumbed to my body’s yearning for a little laziness instead. Consequently I had a lot of rest days spent eating, reading, eating, sleeping and eating, with not much riding in between.

On Midsummer’s Eve I found myself huddled up in a down jacket over yet another pasta dinner feeling mildly ridiculous. It was hardly the warm summer evening I’d imagined. In an effort not to look so conspicuous I donned some more summery clothing and shivered my way down to the lakeside where an enormous bonfire had been prepared. Midsummer’s eve in Denmark is celebrated with a ritual burning of witches in preparation for a good harvest. While not thoroughly at ease with the witch-burning aspect of the tradition, it certainly seemed like a good way to warm up on a cold night! The poor old witch didn’t stand a chance, and as the flames finally engulfed her fireworks flamed and fizzed from her broomstick. I was expecting drinking, dancing and much revelry, but the mostly older crowd at the campground were a fairly subdued lot. After a rendition of the traditional song, everyone just stood around chatting, and I soon felt pretty silly standing there by myself, so I retreated to the comfort of my tent.

As the weather gradually improved, my health slowly deteriorated. After only three weeks on the road my body seemed to be failing me. Extremely saddlesore, and with a recurrence of lower back pain that rendered me barely able to walk, I had serious doubts about whether I’d be able to continue much further. I had my first fall off the bike too. A silly accident on a gravel road that left me with a spectacular bruise, but resulted in more loss of pride than loss of skin. I felt a deep tiredness within that lingered despite all my rest days. My mood hit a real low, and each passing kilometre felt like a real struggle.

Then I awoke one morning to a brilliant blue summer’s day, warm and sunny, without a breath of wind. Suddenly my legs were flying and I’d found my smile again. I hadn’t realised how dependent my moods had become on the weather. Not surprising, I guess, after living almost entirely outdoors for several weeks. A beautiful day was a huge boost to my morale, and ever since I’ve continued to be graced with perfect weather.

In Denmark I mostly followed the national cycle route that traverses the length of the Jutland peninsula, through gently rolling hills in the centre of the country. It took me along some wonderful trails that I wouldn’t have dared to follow otherwise, for fear of getting lost. My mountain bike finally came into its own on the rougher forest tracks as I wound my way along paths that reminded me of the little green road to fairyland. I also took a detour to Himmelbjerget, whimsically named ‘sky mountain’, which at 147m is one of the highest hills in Denmark. It’s now a major tourist attraction and the hotel, restaurant, kiosks and carpark at the top thoroughly destroyed the ambience, so I had my little picnic lunch at a beautiful lookout 200m back down the road, where not a single person could be seen.

It’s wonderful when travel brings you to the right place at exactly the right moment in time. I arrived in Skagen, at the very northern tip of Denmark, in time for their annual folk music festival. What luck! The small town was absolutely buzzing with people, and music from every café and street corner. I spent three days enjoying a complete change of pace and soaking up the fabulous music and atmosphere. Like any festival, it brought a full range of experiences, from women sunbaking in bras and undies on the school playground–cum–festival campground, to wandering the streets at midnight eating icecream and listening to bad covers of pub classics. Dancing to lively cajun tunes and discovering brilliant new artists from all around the world, to soppy singalongs with plenty of audience participation. A couple making love in the adjacent toilet cubicle at one of the concerts and a crazy pair of old ladies in the most outrageous matching costumes, at one point replete with a life-size dressed up doll. From singing sausage cooking men, to ageing Irish living legends. It was a real blast!

At the very final concert I met a lovely fellow from the south of Denmark who became my chaperone for the evening, explaining bits and pieces of Danish culture, sharing laughs, and generously buying me drinks. Having taken a while to get into the swing of festival fun, it seemed a shame to leave so soon. But I was promised a place to stay and free breakfasts if I should happen to be back in Denmark in August for the Tonder festival, which is the largest folk music festival in Europe. It’s almost too good an offer to refuse, but who knows where I will be by then…

A beautiful ferry trip of three and a half hours took me from Frederikshavn in northern Denmark to Göteborg in southern Sweden. The sparkling sea highlighted a beautiful archipelago of small islands on the western Swedish coast, dotted with lighthouses and tiny cottages. Me and the jojjomobile were relegated to the lowest deck with all the trucks and caravans, so we emerged from a heavy cloud of fumes on to a confusing maze of roads. Göteborg is Sweden’s second largest city and probably a fun place to explore, but it felt overwhelming at the time, so I was keen to get back into the countryside.

As I continue my northward journey, the land is gradually becoming hillier and more wild, with woods starting to dominate the landscape instead of farmland. There are an amazing number of churches, always very beautifully maintained, and dating as far back as the 11th centuary. The whitewashed walls and clean architectural lines are very aesthetically pleasing, especially against a deep blue sky. Many flowers are blooming at this time of year, including my new favourite, the railwayman’s rose - so named because it flourishes along the railway tracks. Wild strawberries also grow prolifically by the roadsides, and are very sweet and delicious. A great treat after several hours on the bike.

Many people, both at home and during my travels, have commented on how brave they think I am. It’s a nice compliment, but I don’t really feel brave. A woman travelling alone like this is quite unusual though, and I’m yet to meet any other solo female cyclists. In four weeks of travelling I’ve not had a single unpleasant encounter or ever felt unsafe. Maybe that’s partly just good luck. But I also think it stems partly from choosing to expect the best of people rather than the worst. So often we worry about the potential dangers, that we forget how many pleasant surprises there can be, and how multi-dimensional people are. I met a Norwegian man at Skagen festival and one of the first things I learnt about him was that he works on an oil rig. In my mind I immediately jumped to the conclusion that this person was more interested in money than ethics. But as we chatted I discovered that his professional pursuits extend from software development to travelling the country giving educational seminars and even piano tuning in his spare time. Suddenly this man had become a person with wide and varied interests, and I realised that the box I’d put him in when we first met didn’t fit at all. It was a good reminder to try and be open-minded and non-judgemental, allowing yourself to see the beauty in other people.

After one month on the road I arrived at the home of family friends, Per and Gunilla and have spent three and a half days enjoying their generous hospitality and beautiful home cooked meals. It’s been wonderful to see some familiar faces and revisit fond memories of my childhood stay twelve years ago. Last night we went to an opera in the courtyard of a perfect fairytale castle. It told the story of a search for true love, and was almost Shakespearean in its woven plot of passion, deceipt and mixed identities, with a generous serve of humour thrown in. The performance was all in Swedish, but the music and theatre was so engaging that it didn’t matter. As we left the castle grounds a full moon had just risen over the lake, casting a brilliant slash of deep orange across the dark waters. It was a gorgeous setting to see my very first live opera, and a really special evening. It ended with a midnight feast of bread, cheese and red wine, with the three of us chatting until the wee hours of the morning.


I’ve been made so welcome here in Mariestad that I’m not sure how I’ll find the motivation to leave tomorrow morning. My plan is to continue further north into the hillier, central region of Sweden before heading west to Norway, with the immediate goal being a small festival next weekend at Dala Floda. It’s the perfect combination of circus and kayaking, and has been described as being ‘for all those who have a burning desire to live life to the full’. I’ve been really looking forward to it but somehow managed to misinterpret the dates, so I’ve got one less day than I expected. Hopefully three days of hard riding will get me there just in time!

German Generosity

After a somewhat inauspicious beginning, I was overwhelmed by kindness and generosity during my week in Germany. I met some lovely people along the way and managed to relax a little more, I think.

The World Cup has brought a huge revival in German patriotism, afer experiencing a major slump in national pride in the wake of two world wars. There are flags flying everywhere - on cars, shops and homes. The Dutch showed a bit more creativity in their support of the national football team, with the colour of orange used in window displays, clothing and street decorations. In Germany it is just flags, but they fly with obvious pride. I have to admit I haven't watched any games, nor have I witnessed any hooliganism. People keep telling me excitedly that Australia won their first match though, so perhaps that makes up for my complete lack of enthusiasm in regards to soccer!

A typical German campground seems to consist of a barren, windswept piece of coast dominated by multitudes of campervans. Not the most inspiring accommodation for a lone cyclist, but the friendly campground owners have more than compensated for the bland surrounds. After a long first day on the road I arrived in Fedderwardersiel feeling tired, hungry and a little confused. But after setting up camp I was promptly invited to join Daniella and her family for German Bradwurst and copious amounts of sangria, vodka, and an almond-flavoured Yugoslavian spirit, none of which could be refused! Meanwhile the kids chased each other around the garden with water pistols. They'd been eating and drinking all afternoon and it soon became my duty to polish off all the leftover food - a task to which I applied myself heartily. Last year they only had six warm summer days when they could laze outside in the evening like this, so they enjoy it while they can. I felt very welcomed and included with these lovely people and we had a warm and happy evening.

For a land which is so densely populated, I've been surprised at the number of beautiful quiet roads which are perfect for cycling. It was on one of these small country lanes that I met Dieter, another lone cycle tourer, and we rode together towards Bremer-haven. At 72 years of age compared with my 27, he left me for dead with his tour over the previous week, having ridden 770km compared with my 530km. We got on like a house on fire, and after our ferry trip across the Weser River he took me out for a nice lunch. I almost cried as his bike disappeared into the crowd of people and he headed home to Bavaria. For a brief moment I'd found a wonderful travelling companion and friend, and I felt all the more alone again when he had gone.

The ferry ride was an adventure in itself. We were met at the dockside by Mark, who must be the most cheerful and enthusiastic guy out there. He was very keen to help in any way he could, and even paid our ferry fares. On parting he graciously kissed my hand and wished me well on my journey - what a sweetie!

Cycle touring is a great excuse to eat lots of fine food. My appetite has tripled over the past fortnight and I quickly gave up being stingy in favour of savouring as many culinary delights as possible. I LOVE German bakeries! Beautiful breads and cakes are found in abundance, and amazing gourmet cheeses are incredibly cheap. There are wonderful weekly markets in most towns with fresh local produce, and I've been gorging myself on strawberries and cherries which are in season at the moment. If I weren't doing so much riding my waistline would be rapidly expanding.

While enjoying a picnic lunch on a park bench in Husum I reflected on how easily one can become invisible to the general populace. I must have looked a bit frightful in my grotty cycling clothes and a string of recently washed underwear drying on the back of my bike. There I was with my swiss army knife making cheese and tomato sandwiches and perhaps detracting from the loveliness of the bustling market square scene. And it seemed that suddenly I ceased to exist. Slightly intimidating German matrons walked past with an air of disdain and declined to even make eye contact. It was both an uncomfortable and a curiously liberating experience. It made me wonder how it must feel to be homeless and deal constantly with people choosing to ignore your existance, either out of disapproval or fear of the personal repercussions of acknowledging your situation. The exception that day was a friendly fellow who had also done a lot of cycle touring and came over to say hello. He spoke no English, and me no German, but we had a very animated conversation about our travels and exchanged a great deal including a mutual respect, even without any common language.

Travelling through the inland regions I was excited to find some small rolling hills and leafy forests of elm and oak. It made a nice change from what has predominately been farming country so far. The woods here are certainly tamer than the Australian bush, but wilder than anything I saw in Holland. Seeing my first squirrel was also a bit of a highlight, but despite plenty of road signs I'm yet to see any deer. With so much low-lying land there have been lots of amazing water birds though, especially the beautiful big cranes.

The juxtaposition of land and water in northern Europe has inspired some amazing engineering. It seems that every bridge has been designed to open by some means to allow the passage of watercraft, whether it be on man-made canals or major rivers. I spent a number of hours riding along an enormous canal which connects the North Sea with the Baltic, and witnessed an endless stream of huge cargo ships plying their trade between the seas. Consequently the railway bridges were elevated to a height of 36m and make an impressive span across the water.

I have a newfound respect for German efficiency, culminating with the 12 second shower. My final night in Germany was spent at a very basic and slightly run-down establishment. I had gotten used to the disappointing shower experience of coin operated machines and timers, but having water sprayed at high pressure for no more than 12 seconds was the epitome of discomfort. In all seriousness though, my brief time in Europe has driven home how lazy we are in Australia with our attempts at energy and water conservation. There seems to be a much greater appreciation of these issues here, and more sense of personal responsibility.

Yesterday I literally blew into Denmark with a fearsome tailwind. It made a great change to be cruising along at 30km/hr, almost twice my normal average speed. Already I feel more at home here, partly because there is much less of a language barrier. I am thrilled to finally reach Scandinavia! Ever since my visit as a 15 year old I've wanted to come back, so it feels like a dream come true. From the window of this internet cafe I have just seen a horse-drawn cart loaded with recently graduated students dressed in white caps and singing songs. They seem to be enjoying themselves, even though it is a bit of a wet miserable day. Hopefully the weather will improve in time for the midsummer celebrations, only a few days away...

Across the Netherlands

Leaving the warmth and comfort of Mike & Carolyn's lovely apartment was really hard and I procrastinated endlessly. Eventually managing to tear myself away, I was driven in large part by a desire not to appear foolish by chickening out at the last minute! But as soon as I was on the road I felt great.

Heading north from Amsterdam I quickly left the city behind and found myself riding along the top of grassy dykes, built to keep the sea at bay. First impressions of rural Holland are of a very domesticated landscape. It is perfectly flat of course, with the only slopes I've encountered thus far being slight rises up and over the numerous dykes. The land has been highly engineered and heavily farmed, until it seems there are no wild places left. But it has a lovely charm and is pretty in a placid, peaceful kind of way.

The camping so far has been exceptional. My first night was spent on a small dairyfarm near the coast. It was a friendly place and the familiar dairy smell, although a little overwhelming, reminded me of home. I've since stayed at a couple of 'nature camping' places, which are probably as close to a national park as you get in the Netherlands. More like an urban park, I was woken one morning by a fellow mowing the lawns, however they are green and peaceful. The highlight accommodation has been a beautiful mini-campground in north Friesland where I felt as though I'd been invited into someone's home. The manicured garden held only a handful of tentsites and the love and attention that had gone into creating the space was truly delightful. I relaxed that evening in a tastefully decorated lounge area, complete with gorgeous lamps and nice wooden furniture. There was even a cup of dice with scoring sheets for yahtzee if you felt so inclined. And all this for only €7 per night!

My chosen route took me from North Holland to Friesland via an amazing 30km dyke. Completed in 1932, it effectively turned what was once the Zuiderzee (a large shallow inlet of the North Sea) into an enormous freshwater lake. It is an engineering masterpiece, just wide enough for a freeway and bikepath and controlled at each end by huge pumps and sluice gates. The long exposed ride left me feeling hot and weary, but I was thankful to escape the infamous headwinds which would make the crossing a real epic.

Some days are better than others, and heading towards Groningen I experienced one of the latter. Having left my sense of direction behind, I kept riding round in circles getting more and more frustrated until I threw my bike down and burst into tears. Navigation requires constant attention in a region that is so densely populated, as there are roads going almost everywhere. I frequently stood bewildered at intersections when the village I was heading towards was signposted in both directions. The bike paths often follow the base of a dyke, and with a virtual wall on one side it can be difficult to get a sense of the lie of the land. Having said that, the network of long-distance cycle routes is absolutely incredible, and they tend to be extremely well signposted. Sometimes I chose to follow a marked trail just to give my head a break, but it makes me feel like I'm being channelled along a well-worn path, so I generally prefer to mix it up a bit and take roads and routes as I fancy.

Feeling sunburnt, tired and lonely I continued on my way, hoping only for a better day tomorrow. Until suddenly it seemed all my dreams had come at once when I stumbled upon Kanocentrum, a mini-camping place with kayak hire. Later that evening I went for a long paddle, exploring one of the major canals in Groningen province. It was a gorgeous golden afternoon and a perfect way to unwind as I observed the daily routines of life on the river. I just love being on the water! The kayak I'd hired was a bit of an old tub, but I enjoyed every moment and went to bed feeling happy and relaxed.

For some reason I naively thought that summer in Europe would be more like winter in Australia.. where did I get that idea from?? The days have been really long and HOT and although it's wonderful having so much daylight, I'm finding the long hours in full sun to be quite exhausting. The Dutch are revelling in it though, and people are wandering around in bikinis all over the place. On bikes, boats, even in balloons, they are enjoying the summer sunshine. I must admit I've been very lucky so far to have such beautiful weather.

My biggest challenge at the moment is coping with the sense of aloneness. The logistics of finding places to stay, buying groceries and asking for directions have all been easier than I expected, but the feeling of being an outsider in a foreign place has been a constant shadow. My Dutch is limited exclusively to roadside vocabulary, and the words for speedhump, electric-fence and cattlegrid are rather infrequent in casual conversation! So my communication beyond the very basic level is completely dependent on the expertise and willingness of other English speakers. I am grateful that both qualities are in common supply and the people have been friendly and helpful. But the nature of my journey means that encounters are necessarily brief, and we show only a passing interest in each other. Perhaps that sounds harsh, but travel is literally a means of passing through a place, so deep and meaningful encounters are a rare blessing I think. Or maybe I just haven't worked out the knack of it yet.

One of the nicest little connections I made was with the man selling fruit and vegies at a market stall in Harlingen. He was a smiley chap, and after making my purchase he placed a beautiful ripe apricot in my hand. It felt like such a special gift that I almost fell in love right then are there!


Yesterday, after almost 400km of riding through the Netherlands I crossed the border into Germany. It was a bit of an anticlimax really. There wasn't even a 'Welcome to Deutschland' sign, let alone anyone to stamp my passport! So far I've been greeted with busier roads and bigger, more hassly towns. I guess there are just a lot more people. Tonight I am camped at an incredibly ugly marina complex outside Leer, and it's just started to rain. So it's not the most favourable of first impressions, but hopefully we can improve upon that.