Guest Blog: Bikepacking Across Scandinavia at 64 (Days 27 and 28)

Day 27: Bodo, Norway (Loding and back): 22 miles, 610 total miles)

3 July 2024: Wednesday

Happy Birthday, Cassie!

The road, sidewalk, and grass are all slick with rain when I open my blinds at 6 am. Although no rain has been forecast, it pisses down rain all morning. It is overcast and 52 degrees outside and is not due to rise to about 55 all day. 

Around 9 am a good shower begins, but a maintenance man pushes a lawnmower across the street as if he doesn’t notice. Later, he comes to our side of the road and cuts the lawn inside the compound ignoring the cold mist. 

Around 11 am, the rain stops. Nothing more is forecast for the rest of the day, so I push Heidi onto the sidewalk and depart. Almost immediately, I make a mistake and have to backtrack half a block and get on the cycling path heading east toward Loding. 

Vehicle traffic is busy on two-lane highway 80, as I find myself jockeying for a meter of space. Soon, however, I get back on the bike path and continue at a good pace. I am probably riding between 15 mph and 20 mph much of the way. 

But the traffic is loud, so I explore an alternate route along the shore of Skjerstad Fjord. I stop at a mud path and try another route. That doesn’t work either, so I got back to the bike path along 80. 

There is more evidence along the route that people have been cutting grass in the rain. An abandoned, industrial riding-mower sits on the side of the road ahead of road construction. I see a few personal bikes lying in the grass or weeds. I pass small pins of horses and cows. 

At one tiny cove, I stop to take photos of moored row boats resting on the tranquil water. Stopped at the center of the Loding bridge to take photos.

I am enjoying the day. The solitude. Embracing my introversion. 

My mom used to criticize my bashfulness. Growing up, we always used the term bashful. Never shy or timid. Bashful. 

“You’re just like your dad,” she would say. “You wouldn’t say, ‘Shit,’ if you had a mouthful.” My family was nothing, if not a compendium of colorful Jackson Country phraseology. 

First of all, I am not sure that is true. Given a mouthful of feces, I am quite sure that I would have spoken up, even as a teenager. 

Second of all, I learned to come out of my inherent protective shell of silence and interact effectively in social settings. 

When I was 17, I worked for a plumber in Cincinnati one summer. My boss would send me to a plumbing supply store to buy certain items for a job. I would arrive smiling and shy, friendly, attempting to please these older men. All of the men I met there standing in line or milling about or making the sales were older and more experienced. Some brash and overbearing, arrogant, eager to take advantage of, or brush aside, a young kid. Maybe it was nothing more than just looking down on me for my inexperience. Or maybe they would try to advance in line. Intentionally try to embarrass me, poke fun. Ignore my voice or opinion. I was constantly disrespected. 

One day, I decided I would assume a different persona. That of an older, less friendly, more defiant young man. I stopped smiling. I peered back at anyone who stared at me. It was a conscious self-defense mechanism. 

The response was astounding. Without exception, these older men immediately began lending me the respect a tougher individual deserved. In some peculiar way, I was a different person. It was a mask, of course, but we all wear them. This was the first conscious mask I ever donned. 

Throughout adulthood, I have donned others. Selling cars to doctors, lawyers, policemen, construction workers… Teaching adults English to Afghan refugees. Given academic presentations before 200 scholars and university students in Jordan. Teaching undergraduates at Indiana University. Speaking to classrooms of high school parents in Spanish in Costa Rica. Interviewing for jobs. And on and on. We all do it. 

Around 12:15 pm, exactly one hour after I had departed the apartment, I arrived at Løding. Even with all of stops and abandoned detours, I averaged 11 mph. 

A young bike-packing couple passed me heading toward Bodo. I stopped to get my bearings for a few minutes and to decide if I want to ride deeper into Loding or head back. Although no rain was forecast, the clouds were telling the Hoosier farmer in me, that rain was on its way. 

I headed back over the bridge and almost caught up with the young couple, but then it started to rain. I had to stop and cover my front bag and my phone bag and put my camera away. After a few minutes the rain came harder. I had forgotten my backpack, so I stopped and covered it.  

After 20 minutes, the showers tapered off to a constant drizzle. I stopped at a Kiwi supermarket just 4.5 miles away to buy a few supplies. The tradeoff was to carry the extra weight vs walking in the mist a mile or so when I got back to the apartment. I wanted nothing more than to get back to the apartment and stream something.

So, I bought a few items, stuffed them into my back, and headed west toward Bodo. I was making great time. My legs had incredible strength now that I had rested several days and since half of my weight was still at the apartment. I passed the couple in their 30s who I had met at Loding. Perhaps they had stopped and gotten out of the rain for a while. 

I passed a man in his 40s, who was carrying considerable weight in his bike packs. I was beaming with a sense of pride. Today, I was the leader of the pack. I was the one passing. Within a short distance, none of them were even in sight. 

Then, as I reached my section of town, a red headed woman in her 20s passed me as considerable speed. I was taken down a couple notches. 

To make matters worse, within a block of the apartment, I saw a Kiwi supermarket. I didn’t have to buy the food 4.5 miles away and carry it all this distance. In fact, as soon as I saw it, I remembered seeing it as I headed out two hours earlier.

But I was happy to get to the apartment. After completing a ride, it was a pleasant and comforting feeling to arrive at an apartment already set up and stocked with a few groceries and my possessions was nice. I wouldn’t have to leave again. I didn’t need to ask for an early check-in time. Leave immediately for the supermarket. Or start searching for tomorrow’s accommodations. 

The first thing I did was remove my drenched clothes and toss them into the washing machine and started it. 

After I showered, I methodically smelled all of my clean clothes. About half of them still carried some degree of stench. I tossed the stinky ones into the washer for tomorrow’s final wash. I sat down and ate a bowl of granola with a sliced banana and peach yogurt while I streamed a TV program.

I started thinking that I really liked this new riding formula. I should do more of it. In the future, I could ride 40 or 50 miles, rent an apartment for three days to use as a base, ride out in different directions to explore and back every day. In fact, I could easily cover 25 miles per day in 2 or 3 hours. 

I did this once in Vietnam in the Mekong Delta, but that was it. 

About 9 pm, I dozed off. My alarm was set for 12:05 am to get a midnight ride in.

Midnight Ride above the Arctic Circle! 

Bodo Norway (3 miles, 613 total miles)

4 July 2024: Thursday

The Midnight Ride has been the highlight of my trip!

When I stepped on that train in Oslo, the farthest north I had ever travelled had been Oslo at latitude of 59.9 degrees north. By comparison, Minneapolis sits at 44.9 degrees, Chicago 41.8, and Indianapolis 39.7. 

Before Oslo, the farthest north was my recent visit to Stockholm 59.3 degrees. Many years ago, my wife and I visited Toronto, Canada (43.6 degrees north) and around the areas of Bangor, Maine (44.8 degrees).

Bodo is a port city with a population of 55,000. In 2024, the European Union designated Bodo as the European Capital of Culture of the year. The first time for a city above the Arctic Circle. 

The quaint little city rests just off the Norwegian Sea at a latitude of 67.2 degrees north, some 55 miles above the Arctic Circle. Bodo is completely north of Iceland; north of both Juno amd Fairbanks, Alaska; well north of St Petersburg, Russia; farther north than the vast majority of Siberia, and north of capital of Greenland, Nuuk. 

But Norway is blessed with a warmer climate than Alaska, Greenland, and Siberia thanks to the Gulf Stream waters that flow into the Norwegian Sea.

Even before my alarm went off at 12:05 am, I was awake. I dressed, ensured I had my key to get back in, and peddled out into the 52 degree air of the Midnight Sun. 

Since watching Al Pachino’s Insomnia, I have been fascinated with the Midnight Sun, the phenomenon by which the earth’s tilt in orbit toward the sun creates a twilight appearance during the darkest hours of summer night. 

The downside is that the Northern Lights are not visible, but given my abhorrence of the cold, I doubt I will ever witness those. 

As soon as I stepped into the cool air, I was awake. In fact, the overcast sky and 52-degree temperature is almost identical to the conditions I rode in yesterday, save the hour of rain and mist. Under the Midnight Sun, I am dry.

As I leave my temporary residential neighborhood, two taxis pass me going different directions. Several teens stand around two cars—one with its hood open—at a coin-operated, self carwash. A third car revs its engine as it leaves the pack. 

I turn west under the bridge and peddle toward town, the opposite direction of yesterday’s trip to Loding. Although the wind is only 2 degrees, the breeze I cause while riding chills my fingers, my face, and even my chest. I chose not to wear my coat because it is still drying. I washed it when I got back from the ride for the first time on the trip. It stank of a month’s sum of dried perspiration. 

Quickly, I reached downtown near the train station I arrived at on Tuesday. A few tourists exit a hotel, clearly sharing my general idea. At the port, there are already several cars awaiting the ferry. A man opens his car door to let his dog out for a walk. 

The mild sensation of euphoria has spread as a consequence of the adrenaline. The natural high lifts me as I watch a small ship purr across the tiny harbor. I close my eyes and smell the sea, odor of salt water, fish, and seaweed. 

As I ride through town, a surprising number of cars and pedestrians are moving about. Some just returning from the bars, which are still open, of course. But many are tourists, walking mostly in pairs, two young women, young couples. A small woman in her 40s tilts her head back and presses her lips forward playfully, as if awaiting a kiss from her much taller partner. He does not oblige. 

I peddle further, following the same route through the commercial center that I did two days ago, recognizing the contrast to the bustling streets late Tuesday afternoon. As an introvert, I prefer the tranquility of downtown Bodo. Time seems to slow for me. I can enjoy. Breathe in the experience. Let the Arctic Circle ambiance permeate my being. 

For a short period of time, the Midnight Sun, Heidi, the cool air, smell of the Norwegian Sea, closed shops, and I are one. I cross over to marina and peddle gently along the wharf soaking in the uniqueness of the sailboats proudly resting on the surface of the glimmering water. 

I pass a single cyclist, stopped, reading his phone. I greet a tourist couple wrapped in coats going in the opposite direction on foot. I curve around and follow a dock out into the bay until it reaches a small skerry protruding from the tranquil bay. I park Heidi and walk around. I take a few photos. Then I climb on her and ride back toward the city.

I stop about halfway to examine these large stones mounted on the sea wall every 50 feet or so. Some artisan has drilled a series of holes large enough to insert my fist through them from two different directions. Through the makeshift stone spyglass, I can see a patch of water on the other side.

At the end of the wharf, I greet a tourist couple ambling toward the sea. I curve around and head back north toward town but on a different street. I pass an open bar as a man sits outside looking at his phone. Further along, I pass a policeman sitting in his van checking his phone. I turn east and climb a healthy hill and come to rest at the top to catch my breath and study the Bodo Cathedral. A statue of a saint stands open armed in his niche just below the roof. 

A few blocks ahead I find two boys in their early teens parking their rented scooters. I have picked up the route I took on the first day. The rest of the trip back to the apartment is peaceful. Flat. Enjoyable.

Back in the room, I park Heidi, change my clothes, and send a few photos to loved ones. I wish my cousin, Happy Birthday!

At first, I think I may not be able to go back to sleep, but the adrenaline crash helps me sink into a deep sleep. 

What a ride!

Day 28: (18 miles, 631 total miles)

4 July 2024: Bodo, Norway

It is Kevin’s Birthday!

My second ride of the day, north along Norwegian Sea, was breathtaking. 

Throughout the city many parents were riding this cycling path with their young children leading on their own bikes. The healthy outdoor activity for parents and kids paves the way for adult legs and lungs that can climb hills with little effort and pass old American men struggling to keep up in years to come.  

After pushing Heidi up an extremely steep hill just outside of Bodo, the powerful Norwegian Sea came into view. From the top of the hill there was a park with hiking trails, picnic tables, a playground, and fields along the sea. As I peddled down into the park to get a better vantage point, a tall mother arrived from one hiking trail with two young children in tow. It was 58 degrees and all were dressed warmly, but the sun was out promising an increase in temperature. Mom sat down at a giant chessboard with knee high pieces while the kids explored the board. Over to the north, two kids in their 20s were tossing a frisbee. While the young man went to collect it from high weeds, the young woman began filming the coastline. 

As I ride down the hill hugging the coast, dozens of cars pass me going both directions every minute. The bluest water the planet has to offer casts a surrealistic visual between the bright sky, over skerries, and between mountainous rocks and vestiges of human habitat. A curved line of identical red boathouses serve as a convex bastion against the wharf, protecting boats moored in a network of docks against the Norse sea god, Njord. Dozens of matching two-story white homes form a semicircle of the shore to complete a circle of safety for the tiny Arctic seashore community.

Every few minutes, I must stop, but this time not to rest; rather, I want to photograph the beauty. Lock away a memory to share with others. 

The bike trail ends in a rocky path right along the shore. Adults are walking their dogs. A greeting earns me a stern look from a single man in his 50s.

Highway 834 leads me off the coast, past villages, through farmland, fields and fields of white plastic covered round bales of hay, horses in fields of tall weeds eating their fill, a tractor cutting hay, and miles and miles of lush rock formations and cliffs on the east. 

On the way back, I video chat with my cousin for his birthday. I show him the Norwegian Sea and its surroundings. I call my wife and share the vistas with her. I want to show Cassie, as a belated birthday gift, but she is still sleeping. 

Back at the apartment, I wash all remaining dirty clothes and hang them on the rack to dry. My gloves reek, so I wash them by hand. I set my alarm for an hour earlier. I need to get started about 5 am, and check out at 10:30 am. While the ride to the train station is only 15 minutes, I want to arrive plenty early for my 12:27 pm departure. 

At some point, I need to break Heidi down and fit her into the bike bag, but I decide to wait till Oslo, and do it on the platform. I have about six hours to kill there. And I need her operational tomorrow for the mile ride to the station.