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.