Category: Denmark

Day 17: Hirtshals, Denmark (41 mi, 486 total miles)

23 June 2024: Sunday

I decided to leave early. There was not supposed to be any rain, but the sooner I got to the apartment, the sooner I could rest, cook myself some sausages, and wash my clothes. I handed in my key and mounted Heidi about 7:20 am. The first part of the riding was very pretty, meandering through the cobblestone streets of Aalborg. 

The GPS had outlined a small set of hills today for a total incline of 400 feet or so. I was heading down to coast, so apart from the gray clouds and 10 mph cross winds that sometimes whipped around to become headwinds, it was a good day. 

The bike paths were good. Unlike the previous Sunday when leaving Copenhagen, there were very few exercise enthusiasts out this morning. Few walkers or joggers or dog walkers. 

About 15 miles into my journey, I stopped at a Q8 gas station and poured myself a Starbucks on the Go dark roast. I ordered a chocolate croissant. The clerk corrected me, “Nougat Croissant.”

Behind the gas station, there was a closed restaurant with picnic tables. I delicately balanced my coffee, Nougat Croissant, and Heidi back to the tables and sat down. I took a full 15 minutes to drink the coffee and enjoy my Nougat Croissant. 

While I was resting, a single group of about a dozen cyclists breezed by going in an entirely different direction than I. 

Back on the road, I felt reenergized. Almost the entire day, I smelled hogs. They were carefully pinned off the road, but I could smell them. 

When I came to Hjorring, I ignored the GPS and kept riding straight, cutting maybe a mile off my journey. Outside the city, I turned north on highway 55. I was making good time. The sun came out. I always get more motivated with a bright sun.

Around 11:50 am or so, I reached the apartment, averaging just over 9 mph. When this trip is over, I will probably have averaged about 8 mph, the same as my first trip in Florida five years ago. The same as the next two trips in the US. I am no faster or in no better shape than I was when I was 60. Nor any slower or worse shape. I am slow and steady, which is fine by me.

I watched this UK helicopter rescue series. Two of the first six accidents were by people on bicycles. The first was an old man, like me. He fractured his skull, but eventually recovered. The second was a young man taking advantage of going down a hill at the quick speed of 30 mph when a car pulled out in front of him. He smashed the bike helmet and broke several bones. He was in bad shape. 

I have had my own share of motorbike and bike accidents. And I know that slow and careful, extreme caution is the most prudent way to ensure safety. 

In Iraq, we intentionally drove our SUVs at top speeds everywhere we went to avoid IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices). The quicker you were going, the more difficult it was for terrorists to detonate bombs accurately. 

But on the bike, slow and steady, cautious and meticulous, are the best attributes to embrace for safety. I will never beat anyone in a race under the age of 80, but by being careful, I can put myself in the best position to make it safely to my destination each day. 

Not more than 15 minutes after arriving, I became sorry I booked this apartment. First of all, no WIFI. No washing machine. No microwave. 

So I tried to check my available data on the phone, carefully translating the Danish on the LycaMobile menu and options list best I could. No credit left, it read. Yet my internet was working. At the checkout at the first supermarket, the cashier had never heard of LycaMobile. So, she called her boss. He came up and said they didn’t sell them. I should try the supermarket down the street. 

I walked to it, and the cashier told me I could buy a card, but he had not been trained on it, so he didn’t know how to check my balance or help me top up. I paid $14 for 100 GB, and tried to top up from the receipt it gave me. But it did not appear to work. I then tried to call the customer service number, but they were closed. I tried the website, but it was all in Danish, and the best I could tell, I still had no data, and the new code had already been used (yeah, probably by me). 

Back at the apartment, I washed my clothes by hand, cooked sausages, and tried to get a better perspective. Here I was in Denmark. I was safe. The bike was doing great. And I was eating sausages. Getting ready to rest another day before ferrying over to Norway. 

Focus on all I have, not on what I don’t have. 

I napped. Came down and made myself fruit salad and granola. Ate another sausage. Made a cup of coffee. And went back to the room.

I fell asleep around 9 pm. Late evening for me.

Lilholtsgade 25, Hirtshals, 9850, Denmark ($85/night)

Day 18: Hirtshals (3 miles, 489 total miles) Rest Day!

24 June 2024: Mon

Always happy. Maybe good life. Maybe good nature. Maybe good tourists to come. Always happy.

Hirtshals is a tiny port village of 5,500 people on the coast of Straight of Skagerrak. It is one of the most successful fishing ports in the country. The lighthouse near my apartment was built in 1860. The sleepy village seems to disproportionately thrive on a geriatric population. Most of the workforce and shoppers that I encountered were of retirement age. It must be hard for young people. 

I am really enjoying myself. I enjoy my own company. I have known myself almost my entire life.

Essentially, I have been traveling alone since I left Christian on Day One at Granna, Sweden. So, 17 days alone. I rather enjoy it, mixed with the stimuli of nature, roads and hills and paths, wildlife and livestock, hotels, supermarkets, gas stations, pricing calculations, planning, negotiations, streaming TV series, reading and writing, editing and transferring photos. All of it. A road trip by myself. 

Kartoffel salat is the local term that means potato salad, which is the same in German. In fact, English is a Germanic language, and Danish and Swedish are also Germanic languages, originating from the northern Germanic language family branch. So, the cognates, or similar words in both English and Danish, like salad and salat, or wash and vask, card and kort are plentiful. Knowing a little German can go a long way in reading road signs or navigating simple directions on a website. And then taking in to account context, you begin to understand a few things. Say, when you see a sign bilvask in front of an automatic car wash, you get the picture. Then you realize that bil means car. Or you see road signs like kommune after a city name again and again, you know they are not referring to a commune, so it is probably municipality. A realty sign in front of a house reads til salg (for sale) and sometimes you see solgt (sold). 

I am sure that if I were here for a couple months, and if I really applied myself, I could begin to speak some broken Danish. The problem is that everyone is educated in English. It is hard to find someone who doesn’t speak English. And when foreigners speak English better than I speak their language, I fall back into English. 

In any case, I have been eating a lot of kartoffel salat with the occasional broccoli salad, pasta salad, Caesar salad (nothing like the ones back home), and am well on my way to finishing off eight sausages in the past few days. 

Not that I really wanted to, but it was kinda under doctor’s orders. The last time my doctor read my cholesterol, she said it was sort of on the high side. I took pride in that because I had been struggling to get my cholesterol up, and now it was finally paying off. 

I mean, how often do you get words of praise by your doctor on such a great job of keeping your cholesterol up, only to go on a trip where sausages are at every gas station, and whenever I rent a room with a kitchen, the first thing I think of is a fried sausage because it is one of the few things I can cook. It is like the stars aligned. 

Yesterday at the supermarket, I bought four sausages and catsup and mustard (both really sweet) and a loaf of bread. I ate two for a late lunch, one for dinner, each time with some kartoffel salat on the side. 

And this morning, I had the luxury of making an egg and sausage sandwich for breakfast while I booked my ferry ticket to Larvik. Perhaps not surprisingly, when I tried to book it on the English site, it was the normal price, but if I booked on the Danish site, I got a 30% discount ($25). So, I very carefully managed a parallel booking on the English and Danish sites until it came time for the payment. Then I paid with Apple Pay. However, my receipt came in a long email attachment that was in Danish. This was not easy to translate. And there was no real ticket to it. No barcode, like I have seen for trains. There are only two ferries per day to Larvik. One at 12:35 pm and one at 10:35 pm. The trip is about 3.5 hours. 

The clothes I washed last night were not dry, so I laid them out on the garden chairs in the sun. I called LycaMobile again. They put me on hold for 10 minutes, and then disconnected me. I am pretty sure that was intentional because I could hear inside the switchboard room. I could hear another woman speaking with a customer. I then proceeded to call back five more times, but they did not answer.

On the AirBnB app, I found a nice apartment that hosted up to six people in Larvik for tomorrow for $65. When I went to book it, I noticed a $45 cleaning fee. So I wrote them and explained that I am 64 years old, riding a bike, am alone, I wash my own dishes, and will not leave much of a mess. Could they waive the cleaning fee? The owner wrote back and said that in order to provide the same experience to everyone, they paid a professional company to come in and clean. They couldn’t waive the fee.

About a block from the ferry station, I found another apartment for $95 and no fee. So I booked that one. 

So I rode Heidi down to the ferry check-in and showed a young man in a booth my digital receipt. I wanted to make sure I knew where to go and that my ticket would work. There are different ferry companies going to different cities in Norway. I think there is even one that goes to Iceland from here. 

“I want to make sure I am in the right place,” I told him. He read the receipt.

“Yes, you are in the right place. But the ticket is for tomorrow.”

I thanked him and then rode up to the only souvenir shop in town (according to Google maps) and bought Mirna a Denmark coffee mug. 

Then, I rode over to one of the two bike shops in town. 

The owner was on his mobile in a deep conversation in Danish. He did not sound happy. 

I pushed Heidi inside, and waved and smiled at him. He did not smile, nor did he wave back. 

About two minutes later, he got off the phone. I asked if he could look at my chain. There was nothing wrong that I could tell, but is it always good to check. 

“Not today, I can’t,” he said. He was kind of grumpy. Reminded me of the owner of the bike shop in Panama City Beach. 

“OK, no problem… What about this bag?” I was looking at a pretty good sided front mount bag for the bike. That way, I could carry them with me, save money, and reduce waste. Until now, I have been using what I could of items and tossing the rest. I threw away half a bag of laundry pods early on. I toss half a container of grapes, half a carton of yogurt, half bottle of body wash. I hate the waste. My mom taught me that there were starving kids in India, and we should not waste any food. Having travelled to India as an adult, and witnessing hungry children, begging urchins at your feet and grabbing your clothes, supplicating for a morsel of bread or a few rupees, I know that hunger exists. 

Once when my son Trevor was an infant, my wife and I left a restaurant with him in Jaipur, India. Several children ages 6 to 10 wearing ragged clothing, tugged at our clothes, got on their knees, folded their hands, and made the universal signal for food: Joined fingers entering the mouth. They were genuinely hungry. I prayed in that instant that Trevor never experience hunger or destitution like that. 

We are so blessed in the US. Even some of the poorest have more opportunities and privileges than the destitute in India or Africa or even Latin America. 

So far on this trip, I have avoided purchasing cooking oil, ground coffee, granola, and many other items because I have no space to carry them. Weight is one consideration, but space is another. As a result, I eat unhealthy things and pay much more for them. A hamburger, fries, and soft drink can cost $30. The bag cost $40.

Grumpy showed me the bracket inside the bag that had to be mounted to the handlebars. It looked a little complicated.

“Can you help me put it on?” I asked.

“No, we are very busy,” Grumpy said. 

But I really wanted to carry another 4 or 5 pounds of junk with me, so I bought the bag, pushed Heidi outside, and spent the next 40 minutes removing my front reflector and my camera mount, installing the mount for the new front bag and the bag itself, and finally reinstalling my camera mount. I was quite proud of myself. I was looking around to see if anyone noticed what a talented guy I am. Unfortunately, I was on my own.

I had to stop at two supermarkets before I found decent sausages. At the first one, I slipped trying to mount my bike and fell and scratched my shin. I was embarrassed. And I bought some more kartoffel salat. You can never get too much, now can you?

At the apartment, I sat and rested for about 20 minutes. I studied a painting of the backs of six naked women, sitting on the edge of a pool. Each woman was decorated with distinct and colorful artwork: A cow, religious symbols, a prism breaking light into colors, and so on. Something seemed familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Finally, I figured it out. Each one represented a Pink Floyd album cover: Mother, Relics, The Dark Side of the Moon, Wish You Were Here, The Wall, and Animals. Feeling particularly clever, I sent the painting two sets of Messenger groups of family members to see how quickly they could figure it out. My daughter responded immediately, saying that she had a t-shirt with the Pink Floyd girls. My cousin, however, couldn’t figure it out, even after 15 minutes. Then, I realized that I had failed to send him the photo in the first place. When he got it, he said that he’d seen it before.

Hell, maybe I had seen it before and just forgot. Clever me!

At the apartment, I made sausages, turned over my drying laundry, ate, washed dishes, napped, brought in the now dried laundry, and streamed Naked and Afraid XL. 

I fell off to sleep about 9 pm. 

Day 15:  Hobro, Denmark (44 miles, 410 total miles, 1200 foot incline)

21 June 2024: Friday

Denmark is slightly less than twice the size of Massachusetts and has nearly 6 million people. The cost of living averages about 2.5% more than the US, but rent is 35% less. 

For me, traveling on a bike, Denmark is the most expensive country I have visited. The food and supplies sometimes cost me almost as much as the room. The accommodations, on the other hand, have been reasonable. I have yet to pay $100/night without tax. 

Today was a hard biking day. I left early (7:30 am) knowing that 41 miles and 1050 feet incline was going to be tough.

The sun was out, so I didn’t mind it. At Ofum, I stopped at OK Plus to get coffee. It was the first rest stop in many days. I bought a Danish Danish out of obligation to the happiness research project. It was flaky. Light. Fresh. And earned an 8.5. 

After I peddled on, I came across a swarm of maybe 300 crows, sitting, landing, taking off, and swirling around a patch of road, bike path, and field. Like a scene out of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds, I rode through them. They didn’t attack, but they lifted off maybe 25 feet ahead of me, swarmed overhead and on both sides, before settling back in their spots. 

Down a long gradual hill, I hit a road closed because of construction. It was fenced in with no viable way around. The gates were locked with chains and padlocks. On one side was a fenced power station and on the other a steep incline and fields. 

Only one other car arrived, and it turned around and backtracked. I had not seen any sign leading out to the closure, but I guess I had missed it; otherwise, there would have been many other cars. 

I too backtracked about a mile before peddling on an alternate, narrow, country road which added a total of three miles and a 150 foot incline. But it was sunny and there was no wind, so I just accepted it. 

There was absolutely no advantage to brooding or allowing my frustration to rise. I was dry. The day was beautiful. The rural panoramas stunning. 

Before long a semi passed me, seemingly fraught by the same annoying road closure. Several curves ahead, I saw the semi backing up. Then the driver parked in the middle of the road near a barn. He had just passed a “Y” in the road and was checking his GPS. I waved as I rode around him, parked, and checked my own GPS. I plowed along because it was closest to a main road, which hopefully would be faster.

The semi passed me again, having come to the same conclusion, no doubt.

The next set of hills leading to the city of Randers was taxing. There was absolutely no bike lane or shoulder, and traffic was pretty heavy, so it was like riding in many parts of the US. I don’t like those types of roads, but there haven’t been many in Denmark. I made it with lots of standing breaks, where I straddled Heidi while catching my breath.

Outside of town, I kept climbing. To be honest, 1,200 feet of inclines over 44 miles is very doable. I think I had several days of 1,500-foot inclines over 40 or 45 miles in Tennessee and Alabama a couple years ago while traveling from Indiana to Florida. So, I knew I could do it. But it was exhausting all the same.

Finally, I turned onto a road less travelled, and immediately felt better. Safer. A motorbike gang of maybe 35 or 40 riders passed me. Their vehicles were probably 50ccs. Many wore leather jackets boasting the name of their gang. One vehicle played loud music. They were in no way threatening. I use the term “gang” loosely. 

Finally, I reached Danhostel Hobro. I was not totally exhausted. In fact, with a couple of rest breaks, I could have ridden another 10 or 20 miles. But I am glad I didn’t have to go one mile further. In fact, 6 hours was too much of an investment in my day. I like to ride 3-4 hours. 

Elsa had left me the code to the front door. These Danhostels frequently do not have staff available after lunch. One way they keep the price down. I like it. In fact, this was the nicest of the three Danhostels that I had stayed in.

I parked Heidi in the room, showered, checked out the kitchen, and then put a large load of laundry into the washer. 

The Danhostels are safe, clean, relatively inexpensive, and host a shared kitchen, laundry sometimes, and lots of open lounges to work, read, or watch TV. They are quiet. This one even had a sophisticate coffee machine with free coffee, complementary fruit, and soft drinks and snacks that you purchase on the honor system and pay the following day. 

But they are always remote. At the last one, I had to walk 2.4 miles round trip to the supermarket. This one, I had to walk 1.4 miles round trip. If you drive a car, like most guests, then it is no problem. For me, I walk. I could, naturally, ride my bike to and from shopping areas. But once I park Heidi, I feel she is safe. I prefer to leave her and walk if possible.

By the time I returned from shopping with my bag full of groceries, my laundry was almost washed. I waited only about two minutes. I switched it into the dryer and went to the kitchen.

Inside the kitchen, I found two sink fulls of dishes. I immediately thought that this was not the proper etiquette. These hostels keep the price down by minimizing staff time on the premises. You even make your own bed with linen provided in a plastic bag when you arrive, and you remove the bedding and put it and the towel(s) linen basket when you depart. 

As I was heating up the fish in the microwave, a young Danish woman walked inside from the adjoining patio, where she had been using the phone apparently. 

“Sprechen sie deutsch?” She ask me. 

“No, English. I am American.”

“I will clean up in a little while if the dishes aren’t hindering you.” 

“It’s fine. I am just heating this up.” This was two pieces of precooked, breaded fish. 

She worked in safety for the rail system. She was here temporarily. Her home was 3 hours away. She was staying in a room adjacent from mine with an older woman, older man, and a dog. I assumed they were her parents, but I wasn’t sure. Would they be holidaying here with her? 

She ate outside on the picnic table. I sat inside and read. 

While I was eating my broccoli salad and fish, she came in with her bowl.

“Happy Mid-Summer,” I told her. Christian had told me it was the summer solstice holiday in Sweden, the longest day of the year, which is celebrated by all Nordic countries enthusiastically. It has its roots in pagan tradition, predating Christianity, not unlike Halloween and Christmas. Several gods, including the Persian god Mithra and Greek god Dionysus were born of virgins on December 25. (Dionysus, was also put on trial, killed, and resurrected.) The Christmas tree originated in Norse mythology. 

The Danish woman thanked me and wished me a Happy Mid-Summer. 

“Isn’t it today?” I asked.

“No,” she checked her phone. “It’s Sunday,” she confirmed. “Here we call it, Sankt Hans Aften.” 

 She told me that many families make a bonfire, build a witch, and burn her atop the bonfire. 

She busily washed all her (and her family’s) dishes, pots, and pans; dried everything; and put them all away. 

I followed her example by washing my one dish, one fork, and one glass. Then I went to my room to charge all of my electronics: iPad, battery, camera, backup camera battery, and phone. I streamed something. Got a hankering for a Pepsi Max, walked down to the cafeteria and got one out of the display cooler, and went back to the room.

More and more on this trip, I am coming to accept the fact that I am winding down. Winding down my career, my family life, my life. 

I remember at my great grandparents house at the bottom of the hill, I would sometimes go in there for lunch or something. Ralph, a former husband of my aunt Ruby, used to sit at the kitchen window overlooking the barnyard after a meal. He lived in a tiny airstream trailer in the barnyard, and after a meal, he would smoke cigarettes and stare out the window and stare at the occasional mule, the barn, the harness shed, parked vehicles, passing cars, his trailer, or the cornfield beyond. I always wondered what he was thinking. But I never asked.

In fact, once I rode with Ralph all the way from Brownstown, Indiana to Atlanta, Georgia and back. But we never talked. I still remember my thoughts on the way there and back. I remember the 70s music that played on the AM radio. Looking Glass’s Brandy (you’re a fine girl) and Sugarloaf’s Green-Eyed Lady immediately come to mind.

After my great grandmother, Emma died, my grandparents bought the house, and from that point on, my grandfather would sit in that same kitchen table, chair facing the window, window cracked to ventilate the cigarette smoke, and Guy would stare out at the barnyard. What was he thinking? 

So, now it’s me. I am 64, have prostate cancer, have lived a full life, and I think more and more about winding down. I am coming to terms with the end. Whether it comes tomorrow, or in 30 years, it will be too soon. Don’t get me wrong! But also, I am letting the ambiance of the approaching end begin to permeate me even as my own existence is bleeding into it. Not death so much, as the end.

Not morbidly or sadly contemplating the end, just permitting barriers of resistance to the inevitable dissolve on their own. I am making peace with work colleagues, with nature, with what I have learned and failed to learn, what I have achieved and failed to achieve, my mistakes as a parent and grandparent and the few times I got it right. I am not being humble. I am making peace with it. The failures as a husband and the successes of a best friend. 

When Darren passed away suddenly two months ago, I felt immediate gratitude for the 61 years that I knew him. What a blessing! Had we been separated at the time of his birth, I would not be the person that I am. I would be less. I would have enjoyed life much, much less. And now I have his family to enjoy while I am still here.

I added to the agenda of this trip a grieving period for Darren. But that agenda item evolved on its own into this period of equilibrium of the universe. From the dust we come and to the dust we return. The universe produces us and absorbs us. 

I have no particular regrets. If Darren were here, I would hug him, tell him I love him, send him a text or photo or link to a silly video the grandkids and I made. That is what I did while he was alive. For as long as I can remember, at least, I hugged him, told him I love him, joked with him, sent him texts, photos, and videos. What a cool guy!

Danhostel Hobro ($86 incl tax)

Amerikavej 24, Hobro, 9500

Day 16: Aalborg, Denmark (35 miles, 445 total miles, 700 foot incline)

22 June 2024: Saturday

When I awoke, the parking lot was wet. Drizzle continued to saturate the landscape. It was in the low 50s. I knew it was going to rain all morning, so I was in no hurry to get outside. The rain was supposed to stop around 9 or 10 am, but the temperature was not supposed to get to 60 until around noon.

I settled in to work on my transferring my photos from the camera to my iPad (which automatically uploads to Photos). That clears up my Insta 360 memory so I can take more photos. The process usually takes me two hours for one day. 

I ate grapes and my pastries. Drank a lot of complementary coffee. I packed up everything and paid Elsa for my one Pepsi Max. The distance was not getting any shorter, so I peddled off into the chilly morning. 

Around 10:10 am, it was 54 degrees, and teenage boys were already playing a soccer match in the field across the street from the hostel. I rode on, but immediately came to a series of hills that seemed to haunt me the whole day. 

The gray clouds loomed overhead, blocking the sun and ensuring my trip would be cold. 

To make matters worse, the GPS flipped back from the route I had chosen to less direct route. Google Maps has been doing that recently. Unfortunately, for me, this meant an unnecessary jaunt (as my grandmother used to say) through a forest over wet, loose gravel. Loose gravel is my enemy. The Arizona accident was the result of loose gravel and sand, mixed with my impatience. After pushing up and down steep hill after hill on a motorcycle trail for about 90 minutes, I wanted to go faster, so I climbed on top of Lucy and coasted down a hill, only to have her slide out from under me, break a rib, bend Lucy’s tire, and scratch my brand new camera. I spent the next 2-3 hours pushing Lucy out of that horror anyway, so my impatience only bought me misery. 

So today, in this forest, I kept my speed to 10 mph or less. I suspect I was closer to 5 mph for the first 8 miles. It was a pretty forest, no doubt. But it was cold and gloomy and a mile of it would have been plenty.

At one point, I saw an old man and old woman, maybe a decade older than me, walking hand in hand along the forest. A couple of cyclists too. 

Once, I stopped to catch my breath and out of the dense woods appeared a cyclist: A man in his 50s. He was riding a mountain bike on a narrow cross path.

I greeted him. He returned my greetings. He kept looking at me, and I kept looking at him. It was one of those awkward, social instances, when one old cyclist meets an older cyclist at a crossroads in the woods. What does one say? Is there a script for this? So, I broke the silence. 

“I am just resting,” I told him to break the ice. That’s just the way I roll.

“Me too…” he said. “And I am waiting for my wife.”

“I’m Craig.”

“Ian,” he pronounced it like “Yen.”

A couple minutes later, Kirstin indeed appeared. The couple told me that the previous day they had been riding all around the area. Today, they were back at it. 

“Am I close to blacktop?” I asked. I was sick of the loose gravel and low speeds and requisite danger. 

Although his English was excellent, Ian didn’t understand the term “blacktop.” 

“Hard road. Good road…” I explained.

“Yes,” he said. I would reach one “eventually.”

Armed with that motivating slug of information, I bid a Happy Mid-Summer and they bid me a Happy Mid-Summer, and I peddled on. 

Soon, I came to a shelter with picnic tables by a lake. There were a couple dozen people or so, there, celebrating Mid-Summer, I suspect. It was a Saturday, after all. And there was a big black and white dog resting beside one table that was the size of an adult lion. 

After what seemed like a long, cold purgatory, I emerged onto a blacktop road. But not two miles further along, I was deposited onto another gravel road. I could either backtrack—which I hate—or I could plod on. I chose the plodding. Almost immediately, I regretted it because the two-tire gravel road morphed into a one-tire sand path, which turned into a slick, metal grate pathway. My tires kept sliding on it. That steel grid sheets led to a wooden bridge. Then I was back on the steel grates and eventually to the narrow sand. Even at that, I peddled along side cow pastures. 

In the distance, I saw one bird walking with an extremely long tail. Maybe 10 inches long. I think it was a Ring-necked Pheasant. But it had walked into a field by the time I reached it. 

I was tired and lacked energy, so I stopped at a gas station and ordered a spice sausage. I had seen them at gas stations, but never ordered one. A Danish woman ordered a normal sausage and one with bacon wrapped around it. 

“You’re getting the Danish experience,” said the young Danish man as he squirted mustard, catsup, and relish into a whole bun with a hole in the center (not cut) after which he slipped the sausage through the hole. I went outside and wiped the water off a bench and sat down. It was so delicious that I thought about going back and purchasing the last spicy one. 

I reached the Cabinn Hotel a little after 2 pm, making the trip of 35 miles in about four hours, and averaging about 8.5 mph given the road conditions. I couldn’t complain. 

This time, there was no wait, which I liked. Heidi and I went straight to the room. I showered and rented my AirBnb home near the Skagerrak Straight on the coast of Hirtshals for the next two nights. It was the cheapest option, $85/night. And I needed to rest, make sure I got the booking to the ferry right, and needed to get my head straight. I had not rested in 10 days, so this was a good time.

I went out shopping. Finally, I found my mustache scissors at Normal, a discount store that has reasonably-priced hair-care products, skin care items, make up, and many other such products. I went to the supermarket for a few items. At Aalborg Street Food court, I ordered pasta to take to the room. All of this was within one block of the Cabinn Hotel. This was my third one, and they are always centrally located, or at least close to commerce. 

To be quite honest, today was not much fun. I was drenched in sweat when I arrived. And all day, it had been threatening to rain, with the sun hiding behind dark gray clouds. Gloomy. Cold. It reminds me of Marvin Gray’s novel Dark Gray Demons. Gray wrote:

“When his own niece Trish goes missing, Gray returns to his home town and his dysfunctional family for the first time in years. The new  investigation leads him to child trafficking rings in the underworld of  San Antonio, Texas and forces Gray to confront his darkest demons.”

Cabinn Hotel ($59)

Fjordbade 20, Aalborg

Day 13: Horsens (21 miles, 339 total miles)

19 June 2024: Wednesday 

Facial recognition is a reality!

I just learned that about two weeks ago when I boarded a plane in Houston. They didn’t check my passport or my boarding ticket. They just did a facial recognition, and the system immediately welcomed me: Mr. Craig Davis. 

Technology is moving at a fast pace. And primarily for the better. AI will change the way we function in the future. The advances in the next five years will be inconceivable from 2024. I believe AI will provide a cure for cancer, and help with solutions from everything to learning and behavioral disorders to climate change. 

The threats are there, for certain. From biological weaponry to authoritarian abuse to cyber criminality. But I am optimistic that the benefits will outweigh the threats. 

The breakfast hour in Vejle must be 7:30 to 8:30 am. I have been awake for over four hours. But I hadn’t planned on leaving till about checkout time at 11am to ride my 19 miles. So, I went down to investigate the breakfast option. By far, this was the very worst $19 breakfast that I have ever suffered. Coffee was bad, scrambled eggs inedible, chicken meatballs (instead of bacon) were not worth the effort, fruit salad gobbled up by the time I got there. However, the tiny croissants, salami, and cheese were good. 

By 8:30 am, the crowd had left. I finished up loading some photos to the blog, read a little, and forced down the coffee. 

The temperature was only 56 degrees by 9 am, but I needed to get on the road. Although no rain was forecast, I didn’t trust the dark clouds hovering over town. Better to go upstairs, pack, and hit the road. 

Before I had gone a mile, I hit bridge construction, forbidding bikes to cross. I stopped a tall, young man, asking him how to get around it. I assumed that the bridge crossed water, and that bridges would be hard to find. But I was wrong. The bridge crossed a railroad track. The young man studied my GPS and then told me to go right and keep going and the GPS would reroute me. 

It did, but added a couple miles onto the trip. In addition, a few miles outside of town, I hit a pretty good sized hill, but peddled up it. I had plenty of energy. My legs felt strong. Then a few miles further, I found perhaps the most formidable hill I have found on this trip. It was definitely a pushing hill. Took me about 15 minutes to get to the top by both pushing and riding, reminiscent of hills in Alabama. On days there, I had ridden 45 miles, I seem to recall, and climb inclines of 1,500 feet. 

After landing back on highway 170, I cruised along. It looked like rain most of the way, but I ended up arriving at the Danhostel Horsens. This trip ended up being 1,100 feet incline over 21 miles. But the wind was to my back for much of the way, so I averaged 10.5 mph.

Yesterday, when I made the reservation at Danhostel, I followed my usual habit of asking if I could check in early. Typically, they either don’t respond or they give me permission. Within an hour, however, Tim responded saying that he could let me check in for $30 extra. I thanked him, but told him I couldn’t afford it. 

When I arrived at the hostel, Tim came immediately into the lobby. He is about 6’4” and close to 300 pounds. He was cordial enough, but pointed out that “Heidi cannot stay inside.”

“Where can I put it?”

“Outside,” he said.

“It is an expensive bike. I can’t just leave it outside. Will you be responsible for it?”

“No.” He was prepared for this. I suspect he has used the same tactic on other customers. “It cannot stay inside. If you want, I can cancel your booking and you can find another hotel.” 

Tim was not rude. Just all business. Business before hospitality. I would say that up till now, almost all of my hosts, with the exception of the room in Korsor, have been hospitality first. 

“You know a few nights ago, I stayed at the Danhostels in Ringsted, and they let me keep it inside.” I was beginning to regret booking here.

“Yeah,  but we all have independent—” he couldn’t find the English world.

“Management?”

“Yes, management.”

He walked me out to the bike shed, which only guests have access to. I decided it was better to lock Heidi here than to try to find another place, and possibly have the same problem there.

Tim was not by any means rude. He is just an alpha male administrator who insists on running a tight ship and sees little value in customer service. And I think he might be struggling financially. Or perhaps he is attempting to maximize profits at the expense of customer service. In the hospitality industry in the US, there are plenty of people who run tight vessels, taking advantage of customers in legitimate and legal ways. 

For example, I remember that man from the Florida Panhandle who refused to let me park the bike in his $50/night motel, allegedly because one previous customer had ridden his bike on the walls leaving tire marks on said walls. There are several Gujarati hotel managers who insist on a $15 or $20 fee for early check-in. Or the Gujarati man in Corydon who refused to let me take breakfast to the room. 

Naturally, they can make their policies as they see fit, but poor customer service produces animosity and likely will hamper their business growth, repeat customers, online reviews. Sure, in the short, a manager may be able to squeeze a few extra bucks out of a desperate customer who has ridden a bicycle for 6 hours in the 90 degree heat. Or maybe you save a few dollars on breakfast. But in the long run, poor customer service will always come back to haunt you. 

We walked back inside. He insisted that I get Heidi out of the lobby immediately, as if she might contaminate the air. Three more times he insisted that check-in time was 3pm, leaving the door open for the $30 early check in fee should I so choose. 

He also told me that the door was locked at 5 pm, and explained how to get in after that. He started telling me about all the guests who come in and leave the windows open and then go to a party until 3am— but he got a phone call and had to go into his office to talk. I guess he feared I might eavesdrop on his Danish conversation.  

While I was locking Heidi in the shed, he came out and said, “As I was saying… “ do not leave the windows open for air because we are at the edge of forest, and “the room will be filled with bugs if I come back at 3am” like his other guests. 

I thought about asking him if he would introduce me to these guests who checked in and then left only to return at 3 in the morning. I want to do some partying with them. 

As I was pulling out several dirty clothes to wash, I asked him if I could used the washer and dryer (like I had at the Danhostel in Ringsted) but he told me he didn’t have a guest laundry.

“One other thing. If you are going to book another room, I suggest you book it directly with the hotel.” I knew where he was coming from. “Booking.com or Hotel.com charge me anywhere from 15% to 90% to book a room… I would like to see the customer pay less… You could save that money by booking directly with the hotel.”

Usually, when I have tried to tack on an extra night in Sweden, Vietnam, US or anywhere, the hotel is always 10-20% more. 

Just for the fun of it, I checked on his website and the lowest priced room is $90.70 plus tax. I paid $79 plus tax. So 13% more.

That is why he is upset. Normally, he would get the entire $90, but after Booking.com takes their, say 10%, that leaves him with $71 as opposed to $91. 

I explained to him how hard it was to try to book in a hotel in a new city by checking all 20 hotels, but by Booking.com, I could get all the information in one place. But, I did see his point. Booking.com makes a profit off me and off him. As he suggested, find the hotel you want to stay at, and the price on Booking or one of its competitors, check the direct website of the hotel, and take the cheapest one. 

Anyway, as great an experience I had at the Danhostel before, this one was turning out to be less attractive. No early check in, can’t take the bike to the room, no laundry, and no breakfast (the ad explained only breakfast on weekends). 

Unable to check into the room, I walked a mile to the 365 Discount and bought a few items. Then back to McDonalds and ate lunch. By the time, I got back to the hostel, I had walked a little over two miles and blisters had started forming on the balls of my feet. 

I walked in at 2:07 pm, and Tim said, “Craig, I think your room is ready,” which was kind of him, considering his earlier position. 

I thanked him and went directly to room 9. My feet were ready. 

Tim is a good manager. He has a very clean place. It is, in fact, very nice here. Very comfortable. Toys for kids to play with. The guest kitchen is fully equipped. There are even leftovers of coffee, rice, cereal and many other things. Guests are free to use anything on the condition that they wash, dry, and put it back when they are done. 

I finally found another Danish Danish. I ate it in the room and ranked it a 8.5. 

Danhostel ($79/night)

Horsens FLINTEBAKKEN 150, Horsens

Day 14: Aarhus (27 mi, 366 total miles)

20 June 2024: Thursday 

Magical!

This trip is magical. 

When I was a young man, I had this fantasy about riding a horse cross country. I would ride a horse eastward from Moscow across the endless plains of Soviet Union for years. In no hurry, just stopping to meet people, learn the language, enjoy the culture, camping every night, taking whatever life threw at me. No timetable, no urgency, just an endless cross county experience. 

I had a fascination with the Soviet Union. A deep fear and hatred because of what I had been taught in school—this was evil, atheist communist government that abused its people and kept them in perpetual poverty, after all—while at the same time I had an affinity for, and curiosity of, the Russian people, culture, architecture, and language. 

But that was fantasy. 

When the Soviet army invaded Afghanistan, I just had to experience it. So, I made it happen, albeit on a shoestring. That was my introduction into Afghani, Pakistani, and Indian culture, which led me to return again and again. I couldn’t get enough. I wrote my dissertation about the fratricide and struggle for the Mughal throne in 17th century India. 

As I reached my late 50s, although I didn’t consciously realize it at the time, I began to envision a modified version of the cross-country trip on the back of a bicycle. In fact, I thought I had cleverly coined the term “bike-packing” until I found it was a real genre of travel. When I turned 60, I began trips of a few days to a month, peddling, observing culture, enduring the physical challenge, and enjoying the experience. Alone with my thoughts.

At work, I talk, talk, talk, all day long. I mentor and motivate staff, negotiate, coordinate activities, and come home exhausted. It is a very rewarding job, and I hope I can continue it for some time, but for an introvert, time away from constant interaction with people can be refreshing.

Here in Scandinavia, riding Heidi across the beautiful Nordic countries is magical. This is not the radically alien and exotic experience of Vietnam and Cambodia, but it is soul-refreshing, almost spiritual. The day-to-day logistical planning—route, elevations and incline, distance, accommodations, supply resources, weather, pricing, transportation options—can be complex. I suspect I invest 60-120 minutes a day into planning. Yesterday, I planned tomorrow’s trip, booked a hotel, checked accommodations for the following day, and then outlined the legs for the next two weeks. 

Asleep at 9pm, and awake at 4:20 am. I slept well, as usual. 

In the guest kitchen, I made a pot of coffee. Offered a cup to Danish man who came to wash bowls—he must have been up before me. 

Beginning at the edge of Horsens this morning, I encountered an incline. For the next two miles or so, I was riding gradually uphill. Then I turned west onto a narrow country road, which led to the most spectacular views of rolling wheat fields and old country architecture.

Suddenly, I came to a boom truck (large vehicle truck-loaded crane) blocking the road for small, rural bridge construction. That is where I met Soren. He told me I could carry my bike across the site. So I did. 

Then I peddled on over winding country roads, stopping often to catch my breath, pushing Heidi up a steep hill or two until I reached a small village, where I was forced off the main road and through town, where once again, I faced road construction. This time, I gingerly eased Heidi past a busy backhoe and over several steel road plates.

Once outside the village, I got back onto a busy road with no bike path. There are not many in the country, but I manage to find one. This was like driving along a highway in the US. In several places, however, the wind was to my back, and I made good time. I arrived at the hotel having averaged about 10 mph. That is good for me. 

Aarhus is a beautiful city!

The Aaarhus River runs through the down town, adorned with merchant shops, street-side, restaurants, and plenty of seagulls to peck away at leftovers neglected on diners’ places. I walked around the winding, cobble-stone streets and admired old churches and shops, laden with bargain bins and racks of clothing. Two young women gleefully pushed a Lidl ice cream cart, giving away chocolate or cherry ice cream bars. 

Not wanting to play to the well deserved stereotype of the arrogant American, I politely accepted a chocolate one and sat on a short brick wall in the shade to eat it. I, then, found Joey’s Burgers and ordered a burger with fries.

Nice day and the city is marvelous. 

Cabinn Aarhus Hotel ($85)

Kannikegade 14 8000 Aarhus Denmark

Day 11: Korsor, Denmark (31 miles, 315 total miles)

17 June 2024: Monday

Denmark and Sweden are like the US on its best behavior: Courteous drivers; polite cashiers and clerks; reserved, but patient customers and pedestrians; health conscious riding bicycles, walking, and exercising; thin and healthy; frugal use of natural resources; ardent recyclers; and so on.

My alarm woke me at 5 am. I was happy to get my day started. I am on vacation, after all. I plan to make the most of it. 

Down in the dining area, I drank four tiny cups of strong coffee from their machine, racking up a bill of 1 Euro each time. I took one back to the room and worked on transferring photos.

Although yesterday, the forecasts called for warm, sunny weather all day, today’s forecasts called for a 10% chance of rain at 9 am. All the more reason to leave later today. 

I went back to the dining area and ordered breakfast. Like all the other women who manage this place, these two were very, very friendly. When I went to pay, I told her to add the 5 cups of coffee I had earlier, but that I wouldn’t have anymore. She said, “I will not charge you for those because coffee is included in the breakfast and since you are not having any more… They are little cups too.”

Breakfast was excellent: Warm dark, whole wheat buns; two types of sliced meat; two types of cheese; grapes, cherry tomatoes, and sliced cucumbers. I had two small glasses of orange juice. I noticed rain clouds around 9:30.

Upstairs I packed everything into the saddle bags and ushered Heidi down the winding stairs. I turned in my dirty sheets and towel, and dropped of my key. I told the final lady that this was a really nice experience. It was!

Then I peddled out into the street, realized I was going the wrong way, and turned around. I made good time although the wind was mostly in my face and the hills were nearly constant. I found that my legs are just a little stronger than before. I didn’t tire quite as easily. I probably met 20 hills, and I made it up all of them except one in the town of Slagelse. I had to push that one.

During the last 45 minutes, it started to sprinkle and kept it up until I found house 12 in Korsor. I had covered 30 miles in exactly three hours (10 mph), which was darn good for me. And it was a fun day, except for the rain.

The caretaker couple was sitting in a shed in the backyard. The husband responded to my greeting, but only the wife came out. She spoke English, but he didn’t. They were likely migrants.

I parked Heidi in another shed and carried my bags up the very narrow stairs to the room. I was immediately disappointed. The kitchenette and bedroom were nice enough. But somehow, I had misread the description of the room. I had to share a bathroom.

One thing I don’t like about European accommodations are the showers. Typically in lower rent hotels, the shower is just a corner space in the bathroom with a tiny wraparound curtain on the remaining two sides. This means that water is leaking all over the bathroom and, in my case, the wet shower curtain clings to my body. There is no room to turn avoid a clingy shower curtain. When you are done, you are supposed to scrape the entire bathroom floor dry (or semi dry) with a squeegee. Not my idea of a luxurious bathing experience. 

But then again, I lived in El Salvador for my first year of marriage pouring hot water over myself from a bucket in an abandoned room in a mud hut on a dirt floor, and I lived off and on with my grandparents for years, where every bath was a sponge bath. 

After a shower, I walked down to the supermarket and bought some sausages for lunch and supper. I walked back and started cooking them when the Dutch cyclists came up the stairs. One was 67 years or older and the other was younger. They had just ridden 43 miles and were boarding the train tomorrow, like me. I helped them book their train tickets, so that is how I know their approximate ages. 

By the way, I think I was wrong about Scandinavians keeping the hot water at a lower temperature than we do in the US. I think I just didn’t understand how to operate the two knobs on the shower valve.  

I dozed off about 8pm, totally exhausted. I woke up after the sun went down, 11 pm or so, and the couple was still awake talking. I went back to sleep.

Korsor Room ($74/night)

12 Mathiesensvej, Korsør, Denmark, 4220

Day 12: Train to Vejle, Denmark (3 miles, 318)

18 June 2024: Tuesday

I remember Darren playing on the hill in the yard of my grandparents’ house. We played in the summer outside. You could barely get us inside to eat. I played with trucks in the dirt under the cedar tree. We would walk the hill, down the long lane, into the woods, down around the garbage pile near the pond, where my uncle would gig frogs. 

Darren was only one year older than our younger brother, while I was three years older. So naturally, they played together, and fought, the most. I was a bit of a loner in many ways (still am). I liked to stay around my grama, bake a pie crust cookie (but I never ate it all because it was too bland), pump water into the plastic gallon bucket and carry it in, or just ask her questions. I also liked to walk down the hill and cross the road to play with my cousin Bobby, when he was around. I liked playing with my other cousin, Kevin, too, when he was around. Both were three years older than me, and when we got together, they made fun of me and picked on me. Once grama scolded Kevin for the way they picked on me. I suspect I picked on my younger brothers the same way.

In fact, once when I was angry at the two little stinkers for something of mine they had taken or broken, she told me, “Count to ten before you do anything… That will calm you down.”

No, that never worked. 

In the house in front of the Bluebird tavern in Vallonia, Darren used crutches to take the weight off his hip due to lack of blood flow to the head of the femur from Perthes Disease. His leg was bound up in a leather brace to prevent him from using it. Once, when he didn’t come home right after me, I went back outside to retrace my steps and find him.

There he was in front of the little store on the ground, crying and swinging his crutch hysterically at two or three boys who had been picking on him. I was furious. I ran off the other boys and helped Darren to his feet. I felt so horrible that this was all happening to him. That he was suffering from the disease. That I didn’t protect him better. That kids were picking on him. I promised myself that I would always take care of him. But, of course, I couldn’t.

A couple months ago, at Darren’s memorial at the fire department in Vallonia, right next door to the Bluebird, I sat outside with my youngest brother on the steps of that very house. The house is gone, but the steps are still there. And the memories still haunt. Sometimes in my dreams.  

I looked over at the spot where Darren was sprawled in the dirt swinging his crutch. I thought about that little boy. In fact, any time I ever thought about Darren, it was with the tenderness of that moment. That of an older brother for a younger, more vulnerable sibling. The Vallonia steps also brought back other, more horrible memories of that house. It was not a very happy childhood. 

He and I shared that background. 

Although we had our moments. Particularly, going to grama’s house. Playing basketball in our back yard with a red, white, and blue ABA basketball. Mom once got us tickets once to the Harlem Globe Trotters game in Seymour. Another time to Championship Wrestling in Seymour, where we saw Bobby Heenan and Dick the Bruiser. 

I woke up at 4:10 am. I had slept well.

I wanted to get into the shared bathroom before anyone else got up. Unfortunately, the old man (a little older than me, but much fitter) has the same frequent urination problem that I do. He jiggled the handle just a couple minutes after I entered. So, I hurried and announced that the bathroom was free to share and started making coffee.  He came out in his black underwear with a smile and wished me a good morning. 

I tried to keep the noise down to a minimum while I drank coffee and ate a chocolate muffin, cinnamon roll, banana, and some strawberries. Good morning, yet sprinkled with the anxiety of being in urgent need of urination and the bathroom not available for sharing. 

Prostate cancer and frequent urination go hand in hand (wrong metaphor, I  know), so when the urge strikes, I don’t have a lot of physical resistance. 

The Dutch couple finally got up around 7 am and started moving around. I had washed all of my dishes and left them in the drainer. The wife not only washed her dishes (maybe his too), but dried them and put them back in the drawers. Over and above, in my opinion. 

At 8:15 am, the couple bid me farewell and went to the train station, where they will board the train for Nybord, which crosses the Great Belt Strait, some 11 miles. There is a bridge, but cyclists are forbidden. Their tickets were for 9:34 am. 

I had to do the same, but I went ahead and purchased a ticket to Vejle, which is 66 miles west across the island of Fyn and then northwest. In order to keep my trip to about 9 or 10 days in Denmark and allow a week or so in both Norway and Finland, I have to use trains in each country. I hoped to get my train leg out of the way, so I tacked on a few extra miles on this trip. After that, I hope to make the 175 mile journey to Hirtshals in five days.

I started getting myself organized after the Dutch couple left. I carried my bags down to the tool shed and retrieved Heidi, attached the seat bag and headed for the train station, 2.1 miles away. My ticket was for 10:34 am, so I could really enjoy the morning.

The station was on the outskirts of Korsor. I passed two McDonalds and several other spots where I could have scored some coffee, but the train station should sell something, right? Plus, my anxiety drives me to get to the platform plenty early and just wait.

So, once I got there, it was clear that there were no attendants and no hot beverages for sale. Not even a vending machine. Where are their capitalist impulses?

Well over an hour early, I could have ridden back to an earlier shop for coffee, but the anxiety would not permit it. Instead, I took the elevator down to Platform 3.

The Dutch couple was there along with two other Dutch couples. They explained that they didn’t know each other, but had just met. One couple,, who were probably in their 70s, were riding electric bikes. 

Their 9:34 came about 9:40 or so. And they disappeared into the belly of the beast. I sat down on a bench, quite satisfied that I had time to wait. It was about 60 degrees, but the breeze chilled my bare legs and even my arms, which were covered, so I dug out my thin sweat pants and hoodie. I began reading a Danish detective novel (what better way to learn a nation’s culture!)

When the train came, Heidi and I boarded. The female conductor who was in her 40s joined me on Car 72. The first 12 feet or so was filled with luggage, two bikes, and a rather large woman who had set down side seats and was taking up valuable bicycle space. The conductor asked her to move to a permanent seat like everyone else. She did, but didn’t like it very much.

The conductor helped me attached Heidi by way of a seatbelt. Then she explained to me that although I had a bike and a seat reservation (total $7), I needed to buy a seat ticket (with was about $40). I did so by the app online with her help, paid for it in her presence, was awarded a QR code, which she promptly scanned. 

The rest of the trip was uneventful. Heidi and I disembarked at Vejle and rode about half a mile to the Cabinn Hotel. I told Eva that I had stayed in Cabinn Apartment (part of the chain) in Copenhagen, but she seemed unimpressed. Go figure.

Eva was very friendly, and like the young lady in Copenhagen, she told me that my room wasn’t ready. She gave me the code for the door to the luggage storage room down a flight of stairs, naturally, and I took Heidi down and locked her up. 

Don’t misunderstand. I lock Heidi up for her own protection. Not for any unresolved, childhood misogynists reasons. There are plenty of those; I just process those in very different ways.

After about half hour in the lobby unwinding after that arduous 3-mile bike ride, I walked the streets of Vejle, pronounced something like “Vayla” or “Voyla.” It is a splendid European city with paved stone streets, old churches, outdoor dining, and shops plying their wares on the streets. 

I landed at Kokken’s Polsevogn (sausage car), a highly acclaimed sausage wagon on the Vejle River, and bought a sausage with a normal size bun. At a stand up table (Europeans really like to eat standing up); I added hot mustard, catsup, and relish; opened the fresh, hot bun with my fingers; and ate this delightful lunch. When I had finished, I realized that at 2 pm, it was time for supper. So I bought another. They hit the spot. 

After a stop at 365 Discount, I walked back along the river to the hotel. Eva now had a room, so I got in about 30 minutes early and didn’t have to pay the 100 DDK (or $15) for an early check in. 

For some unknown reason, I couldn’t stay awake much past 6 pm. 

Vejle Cabinn ($65/night)

Dæmningen 6, Vejle, 7100 Denmark

Day 9: Copenhagen, Denmark (31 miles, 244 total miles)

15 June 2024: Saturday 

Being dry at the end of the day is a blessing!

When Hitler’s army invaded Denmark in 1940, the Danes negotiated a settlement without violence. The Danish government continued to govern the country while meeting German quotas for raw materials and food. The country did not require the nation’s Jews to wear yellow stars or register property and valuables. As relations deteriorated in 1943, Germany announced plans to round up all Jews, Danish citizens successfully hid and then smuggled 90 percent of all Jews across the Straight of Oresund to Sweden. 

The Danish people are supposed to be the second happiest on earth, right after Finland, according to the 2024 Happiness Index. The score is based on individuals’ self-assessments along with expert analysis of six key factors:  income (GDP per capita), healthy life expectancy, social support, freedom to make life choices, generosity, and freedom from corruption. 

I started reading The Almost Nearly Perfect People by Michael Booth, a Brit who is married to a Danish woman and lived many years in Denmark. Booth challenges that narrative. He claims a high percentage of Danish are on anti-depressants, taxes are high, and people are always stressed. Finland has one of the highest rates of alcoholism in the world. But he loves the Nordic people (Danish, Icelandic, Norwegian, Swedish, and Finnish). 

I have a theory. The Danish are the happiest people because they have perfected the pastry. To test that hypothesis, I will go on a quest for the next six or seven days to find the best Danish Danish in the world. 

I am setting some parameters for a pastry to qualify as a Danish. We can’t just toss any ole pastry into the Danish basket, now, can we? So, it has to be multilayered, sweet, and have some sort of jelly, pudding, or fruit in the center. 

As a professional Danish connoisseur, I will rank it on:

• Light and fluffiness
• Sweetness
• Overall taste

At the end of the trip, before crossing into Norway, I will select the best Danish Danish and determine if this is truly the single most important factor determining Danish happiness. And, if my hypothesis is correct, I will write to the authors of the World Happiness Report and insist they add Danish pastries as the seventh analytical factor. 

Denmark is also the second safest country on earth, right after Iceland (Visionofhumanity.org). 

I started my day at 4am because the rain is supposed to begin around 11 am. Once more, I am rushing to beat the rain. 

My first Danish Danish was purchased at Lidl in Helsingor and walked away with a score of 7. Lidl is a chain reminiscent of Aldi’s, where you buy food still packed in boxes. 

At 6:30 am, I left my room and dropped off my key at the desk. It was in the high 50s as I peddled through a maze of blacktop bike paths behind several communities of Helsingor. 

On this early Saturday morning, not many people were out and about, except a few dog owners walking their pets.

After about 15 minutes, I landed on the coastal highway and began pedaling southward toward Copenhagen. 

The road was relatively flat with the occasional hill. The wind was formidable at times. I genuinely enjoyed the seaside villages, thatched roof cottages, small town sleepiness, and the lack of traffic. 

After a distance, I came upon a long stretch of relatively desolate highway right on the Oresund (Sound in Danish) Straight. With open fields of sawgrass and no trees for breakers, the wind picked up. I didn’t mind because I have grown accustomed to it. At times, I faced a cross wind, which wasn’t as bad, but the headwinds are always a physical challenge. 

At the next village, I noticed a few men walking in bathrobes to the straight.  

When I reached the village of Verbaek, I bought a coffee and a cinnamon roll from a window at a restaurant. Apart from the window sales, the restaurant was closed. I asked if I could sit in their outdoor patio, and the young woman said, “Yes.” But it was locked. So I pushed Heidi down to a bench overlooking the straight while carefully balancing my coffee and pastry. 

I noticed two docks alive with nude swimmers. A few young people in their 30s and one teen boy, but mostly gray haired nudists were plunging into the cold water at the end of the dock, swimming a bit, then climbing back out, drying themselves off, and wrapping themselves in their bath robes again. A few of the women had on bikini bottoms, and the young boy and a couple men had on trunks, but the rest of the plungers were bare.

It was 59 degrees.

At one point, I rode over a bridge with water lilies on both sides. I was immediately struck with memories of a Claude Monet exhibit I once saw in Paris. The water lilies were extraordinary. I am very cultured, I admit. But a friend from Alaska named Carl, encouraged me to visit the exhibit with him, and I was inspired. From one angle, the floating flowers emitted a certain impression and from a different angle, quite another.

From the start of my trip, I was joined on the road by an inordinate number of cyclists, mostly exercise enthusiasts donned in cycling outfits and riding expensive bikes in the beginning. But as we approached Copenhagen, more and more plainly dressed commuters on black, fixed-gear bikes joined us. 

In Denmark, 6 out of every 10 people over the age of six years old has a bike. In Copenhagen 80% own a bike. Some 16 of all trips in the country are conducted on bikes. An estimated 40,000 cyclists cross the Dronning Louises Bo Bridge in Copenhagen alone. Nearly half of all cycling trips (40%) are for work or education, 33% are leisure trips, and 25% are to run errands.

In the past 10 years, Copenhagen invested over $200 million in cycling infrastructure. And in January 2022, the Ministry of Transportation launched an initiative to invest $458 million in new cycling infrastructure. 

For most of the highway from Helsingor to Copenhagen, I enjoyed a six-foot-wide blacktop bike path on my side of the road, and travelers going north enjoyed one on their side. In addition, my GPS took me through several miles of blacktopped bike paths through woods.

I made really good time to the capital. Gradually, there were more and more commuters. Leisure cyclists avoided the city, I suspect. 

Downtown, I passed an encampment of protesters, aimed at stopping capitalist wars. 

Then, I got a flat tire. I sat on the blacktop in some square somewhere pumping my back tire for about 20 minutes until it was relatively firm, but no sooner had I stood up, than it was flat again. I pushed Heidi two blocks to Vester Bike Shop. One advantage of so many bikes in the city was that there are countless bike shops to attend to them. 

Joe, the owner, is Afghan. At the age of three, his parents fled the Soviet invasion to India. He has owned this shop for 30 years, and although he is only 47 years old, he told me, he started fixing bikes at 17. 

I told him I would go get a cup of coffee while he repaired the tire. 

“If you just want coffee,” he said, “I have coffee.”

He brewed me a cup of latte with a pod. As I drank it, another American man came in to look around. He was at least my age, and probably a little older.

“Where are you from?” I asked him.

“California, mostly,” he said. “Also from Maine… and Florida… I got my bachelor’s and master’s from Florida State.”

I told him I was from Panama City Beach.

“I used to have a girlfriend from Panama City Beach,” he said. Then after a pause, he said, “That was a long, long time ago.”

I didn’t really want to talk, but I could tell that he was looking for someone to talk to. Extroverts need the conversation as much as we introverts need the silence.

“I am here for a conference. I came in a day early… I found out that flying on Thursday was much cheaper than on Friday. The savings was more than the cost of the hotel room.”

I asked him what his degrees were in. 

“The master’s thesis was in something that is very relevant today,” he told me. Artificial Intelligence. He wrote it in the 60s, he said, but it is “very relevant today,” he re-emphasized.

“Why don’t you put a puncture-free tire on,” Joe asked me. I was grateful for the distraction. “This one will keep getting flats.”

I am going to upper Norway and Finland, out in the barren reindeer country, where villages are few and far between. I don’t want any more flats. So I told him to go ahead and replace both of them.

When I turned around, the other American was gone. 

Puncture resistant bike tires have a thick tread of 7 mm (1/4 inch). 

Once he had lowered Heidi to the ground with brand new sneakers, he said, “Look at this.” He took a push pin and stuck it into the tread of a tire, flipped the tire inside out and rubbed his finger across the inside. “You can’t feel it.”

I nodded.

“You would have to be really unlucky,” he said, “to get a flat tire with these.”

I rode through a network of gravel paths lined with tall grass on both sides, navigating dozens and dozens of dog walkers, joggers, and bikers for about 15 minutes. 

My room at Cabinn Apartments wasn’t ready. It was only about 11:10 am when I reached the hotel. 

“You can take your luggage to the luggage room if you want,” the young lady told me. So, I took a card and pushed Heidi through a door, down some metal stairs, and locked her inside a storage room. 

I went back to the desk and ordered a $4.50 cup of coffee and sat down in the lounge area to drink it. The rain was hitting the windows and the parking lot was already soaked. Had I left the motel only a half an hour later, I would have hit rain. For once, I got it right.

The mall a block away was a buzz of activity. Many men and women or over 6’2”. Same in Sweden, but here even more so. 

The average height of women in the US is 5’4”. In Denmark, they are almost 5’7”. Research suggests that 80% of height is based on genetics and about 20% on nutrition and health care. In particular, when children get adequate levels of protein, such as milk, in their diet, they exhibit greater growth outcomes (Jagranjosh.com).

I sat at the only available table, suited for five people, and ate a $20 bowl of pasta (including $4 for a Pepsi Max). When I was almost done, group of three older adults and two youth came in and took the only available table, which was for two. I switched with them: My good deed of the day.

All in all a pretty good day. 

Cabinn Apartments ($89/night)

Arne Jacobsens Alle 4, Copenhagen, 2300 Denmark

Day 10: Ringsted, Denmark (40 miles, 284 total miles)

16 June 2024: Sunday

I was awake at 3:45 am. I couldn’t go back to sleep because I was thinking about Palestinians. About the family that my family and I stayed with in Bethlehem many years ago. 

The father was a professor. I studied with his son at IU, who also went on to become a professor of Arabic literature in Michigan. I was at the Bloomington Hospital with the son when he and his wife delivered their first baby. 

I met the father the first time when I traveled to Jordan to give a presentation at Yarmouk University in Irbid. I took a couple of additional days to visit Bethlehem. I had arrived early and the mother picked olives off of her trees and served them for breakfast along with cheese, bread, and Arab coffee. 

The father invited me to return with my family. And a few months later while studying Arabic at the University of Jordan in Amman, my wife, our three youngest children, and I crossed over to Bethlehem. The family welcomed us into their home, hosted us for several days, and served us snacks, coffee, and a few meals. 

On our last night at their home, the father asked me why Americans blindly supported Israel at the expense of the Palestinians. 

I had been expecting this. I explained that Americans are not terribly knowledgeable about Middle Eastern affairs or history. They know only what they are told in church: The Jews are the chosen people. So God is on their side. And what they fleetingly observe on the news that Arabs surround Israel on all sides and Hezbollah and Hamas and Al-Qaeda want to eliminate them. And what they see in movies: Europe tried to exterminate them, but they were spared (by God or luck or fate) although they suffered a terrible loss. 

“Those are Europeans who did this to the Jews, so why don’t the Europeans find a place for them. Why did they have to come here to our land?”

He was not wrong, of course. But he asked me why Americans always sided with Israelis, not my opinion.

To complicate the matter, most Americans cannot distinguish between an Arab and an Arab terrorist. 

I won’t use this space to critique the war in Gaza. But I will remind readers that America’s values are intrinsically linked to a formula that innocent, unarmed civilians should never be harmed or killed. Not even for revenge. And American weapons and support should never sponsor a violation of that formula. Much like Lady Justice who stands blindfolded with scale in her right hand and a sword in her left, we must analyze the world according to our formulas. 

When innocent Israeli civilians are harmed or killed or raped, we stand up for them. Period. When innocent Palestinian civilians are harmed or killed or displaced, we stand up for them. Period.

What a beautiful day! 

I checked out of the hotel at 8:05 am and rode west. It was 59 degrees already. Before long, I came upon a blacktop bike path in endless fields of tall grass. For 20 minutes or so, I rode along competing with workout cyclists, dog walkers, walkers, and joggers. 

Then I came to a circuit of blacktop roads that led through parks and a series of tiny lakes. I stopped to take off my jacket for the first time since Day One. It was 60 degrees and only about 9 am, but I was drenched in sweat. Hundreds of sea gulls, ducks, swans, cranes, and other waterfowl screeched for attention on a tiny island in the middle of the lake. A half a dozen landed or took off at any given moment. Ducks swam near the bank. A local jogger stopped to ask me where I was from and to admire my bike. I think he was most impressed that an old codger like me would be biking across his country. 

“It’s warm here” he said. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“Except for the noise,” he said, alluding to the incessant screeching of the birds.

“I don’t mind that. I like that,” I said.

There is something about the Scandinavians. They are sensitive to noise. A half dozen times since I arrived, Swedes and Danes have complained about the noise of children playing or birds screeching. For me, I love the sound of children playing. It is a universal sound of innocence and happiness. 

I remember in Kabul the last time, my room was next to a school, and I could hear children playing at recess during the daytime. I loved it. 

Back on Heidi, we continued on. I saw a family of swans swimming in one of the tiny lakes. Not sure, but I am thinking this may have been Swan Lake. 

On other occasions, I rode through throngs of ducks resting on the bank on both sides of the bike path. Two male ducks didn’t like the fact that I was invading their space and made movements to attack me, or at least give me a piece of their mind. 

I continued along Koge Bay just south of Copenhagen until I found a Q8 gas station and convenience store. I locked Heidi to a park bench in the back grass beside a car wash. Inside, I bought a chocolate croissant and delicious Starbucks dark roast.  I admit, I have become a bit of a coffee snob in my old age. I used to be able to drink anything and become satisfied, but those days are gone. I pine for good cup of coffee, just like at home I have a favorite bowl, spoon, and fork. 

At Koge, I reached Highway 150 and turned west for the last 16 miles. I was making good time. The bike path was still very good and the gusts pushed against me and I rode some tiny hills and I had to stop several times to catch my breath, but I still made good time. 

At one stop, a husband and wife in their 70s passed me riding their three-wheeled bike. It took me three or four minutes to catch them. I had to get a photo of this contraption. When I got close, their tiny dog dangling in a bag on the back began barking at me. The old woman reached back to calm the beast so that he would not jump out, I suspect. And I passed them.

Due to some road construction at Ringsted, I had to take a bike path detour, which led me through woods and the back areas of town. I reached the Danhostel at about 12:35 pm. I had achieved about 9 mph overall. Not bad. 

I had tried in vain to get an answer from the office on Saturday as to whether I had the entire four-person room to myself, but like many other establishments, they hadn’t bothered to answer. 

Now, however, as I straddled my bike, trying to determine which wing of the horseshoe shaped hostel housed the reception, I saw a lady in a black t-shirt throw a bag of trash into a dumpster. I waved, and she waived back.

She was very friendly, and gave me my key. 

“What should I do with my bike?” I asked her.

“Why don’t you take it to your room?” she responded.

Naturally, I always feel best when Heidi sleeps in my room with me. But getting her up the narrow, winding stair case was not simple. At last, I got her up to the second floor and into Room 12. 

It was Father’s Day, and my loved ones back in the US and Honduras and El Salvador began wishing me a Happy Father’s Day!

Before departing that morning, I decided to save some space in my pack, so I ditched the thick plastic bag for laundry detergent pods and put them in my shaving kit. I lauded myself for the great use of space. However, at the hostel when I started brushing my teeth, I realized that one of the pods had burst and leaked onto my tooth brush. Yuck! 

After a shower, I walked about five blocks to an Outlet Mall. At The Burger, I got a Burger Challenge—a double cheeseburger and fries—and a Coke Zero for the low, low prices of $30. What a bargain! Restaurants like to slather the burgers with lots of catsup and mayonnaise, which is always messy. But it was delicious. After 40 miles of peddling and carrying Heidi up the stairs and walking half a mile, I had a Father’s Day spot that needed hitting. And that meal hit the spot. 

I walked a couple more blocks to a supermarket, bought a few supplies, and walked back to the hostel. I gathered all of my dirty clothes and took them to the kitchen and put them in the washing machine. Over the next three hours, I came back and forth to check the progress, and eventually to toss them into the dryer. 

By 7pm, I couldn’t hold my eyes open. It had been a really good day.

Day 7: Helsingborg, Sweden (0 miles, 203 total miles)

13 June 2024: Thursday

Sweden is about the size of California with one quarter of the population. So, very, very sparsely populated. 

In my first year of college at IU, my political science professor always lauded the policies and practicalities of social democracies of Europe: Sweden, Denmark, Norway, and Finland. Sure, he argued, taxes are high, but then you don’t have to pay for health care, university education, and many other things. 

Sweden’s taxes have reduced over the past several years. The average income tax today is 33 percent for individuals. Earners below a certain threshold pay no taxes, and earners above a certain threshold pay an additional 20 percent state tax. Capital gains is only 30 percent. For profit on property, you pay 22 percent. There is no inheritance tax. Corporate tax is 20 percent. 

The cost of living in Sweden is lower than the UK, France, Germany, Denmark, and many other countries. Consumer prices are 13% lower than the US.

Christian insists that the investments in free university education pay for themselves in many way. A better trained workforce in increased productivity, entrepreneurship, and technological breakthroughs. 

In the US, the average tax rate of just under 15% plus a state tax of, say Indiana, of 3%. Plus over 9 % for FICA and Medicare. Then an average of 8.5 % for health insurance and an additional 5 % out of pocket costs. Already, you are at 45.5 %. Add in college and vocational technical education for ourselves or our children. 

Suffice it to say, our health care system in the US is broken. No senior citizens should lose their home to pay for health care after working and saving all of their lives. 

I know there is a better way.

This morning, I slept in till 5:15 am. It felt great. 

Down at the lobby, there is a nice lounge. With coffee. Yesterday, I got a cup of coffee to warm up and later when I returned from my meal, two young girls in their 20s were playing chess there. Really cool. 

This morning, I walked down the stairs and poured myself a cup of coffee. Before tasting it, I met Helen. Scared her really. 

“Oh, that is old,” the 52-year old Swedish cook told me. “Come with me.”

I followed her to the dining area. She was busy making coffee and laying out the breakfast spread. Breakfast is not until 6:30 am.

“Here give me that.” She took my old cup of coffee, poured fresh coffee in a new cup, and handed it to me. 

“It is strong.”

“I like it strong,” I told her.

When I got back to my table in the lounge and started typing, I realized I didn’t like it that strong. 

She stopped and said, “I forgot to ask you, ‘How did you sleep?’”

“I slept very well.” And I had.

Another sip, and I realized I needed more water. So I went back to the dining area and added water.

“The first cup of coffee is always strong,” she said.

I went back into the dining area and ask if I could take a selfie with her.

“Yes,” she said, sitting down a tray, “but I am not adorable.”

“You’re adorable,” I reassured her and snapped the shot.

After breakfast, I turned in my clothes to be washed. Big mistake. The bill came back at $100. Some 30% more than the hotel room. 

I checked out the system for loading a bike on the ferry. I just take it with all the cars and motorcycles. Then, I roamed around downtown. Saw the beautiful city hall with its clocktower, walked the terrace stairs, and took photos of St. Mary’s church dating back to the 1300s. I bought some much needed sunglasses. Treated myself to a free danish and Dixie cup of coffee. And ate a Bastard Burger. 

At room, I streamed The Boys and napped. I went back out in the afternoon and bought a sausage and sauerkraut sandwich, which was the best thing I have eaten here along with the kids’ meatballs and pies. 

I tried to read two Danish novels, but neither of them could keep my interest. I dozed off at 8:45 pm. 

It was a good day. 

Day 8: Helsingor, Denmark (7 miles, 210 total miles)

14 June 2024: Friday

When I was about five or six, we lived on W. Bridge Street in Brownstown, Indiana. I had started nursery school or kindergarten, I think. I remember Mom playing games with me, baking me brownies. I felt very happy. 

One day, I was sitting in the living room, and my brother Darren was walking with a drum stick (to a toy drum). He must have been two or three years old, and as kids tend to do at that age, he stuck the drum stick in his mouth. The door to the basement was open, and he tripped going down the stairs.

I remember the chaos that ensued. Dad carried Darren up the stairs. The stick was lodged in the back of his throat. When Dad pulled it out, blood gushed. Darren was crying, mom was panicking, I was frightened. My parents packed Darren and our infant brother in the car, rushed me to the Lutheran minister’s house next door, and drove off to the emergency room. That was the first time that I had any clue that I was color blind. The minister’s daughter told me that I had two different color socks on. 

I was worried about Darren, but he was OK. He came home that night. That is my first memory of Darren. I don’t remember much else, except the minister was blind or eventually went blind. On that or another occasion, I remember he was wearing sun glasses. I asked Mom why he wore sun glasses if he was blind. She explained that he wanted to cover his eyes so that others couldn’t see that they had gone white. 

In February, I walked past that house while visiting my aunt. I wanted to go knock on the door and ask to see the interior. See if it could stimulate any other memories. 

At 4:30 am this morning, I woke up. I heated some water in the room and made instant coffee, added milk, and Splenda. 

I have a bit of a relaxed day planned. Pay my $100 laundry bill, check out around 10am, ride down to the ferry (they leave every 20 minutes and take 20 minutes to cross), pay, get on, ride over to the Danish side, get a SIM card—if necessary—ride to the room. Check in. Maybe ride around a little. Try to find a good book. Enjoy my day. 

Doors open outwards in Sweden. Originally, there were double doors, much like storm doors in the US, designed to serve as a weather buffer. Over the years, contractors apparently eliminated the interior door (that opens inward) to save homeowners money, leaving only the outer door. Even in hotels, you will find the doors open outward. 

The Swedes are very energy conscious. They typically heat the hot water only to the temperature required for bathing. Actually, if the hot water is the right temperature, you need not use any cold water mix when showering. Hot water pipes are often run in the bathroom floors to heat the floor. No additional cost. Stores have huge revolving doors to conserve energy. More and more hotels have motion detectors for lights. The first hotel I was in had a timer for the coffee maker outlet. Maximum 30 minutes. There are many electric cars, windmills, and solar power systems (both private and industrial). 

Before I left, Helen came from across the lobby to hug me and say, Good-bye. During breakfast, I heard her enthusiastically speaking with other guests. She just loves life. And loves her job. Go girl!

I mounted Heidi about 9 am. I couldn’t wait any longer. We rode a few blocks to the port, where I met Lina, a young woman who sat in a small booth collecting for cars and one bicycle access to the ferry. My ticket cost 79 Kronor ($7.50). She told me to go to line 2, which was empty. After a fifteen-minute wait at the front of the line, a second young woman flagged me to proceed to the ferry, I rode forward into the belly of the ferry, but some haughty electric scooter rider passed me. 

I parked once again at the front—beside scooter boy—and laid Heidi down. There was no place to lean her, nor lock her. I walked up into the passenger lounge, then onto the deck, where I looked out at the Straight of Oredund. I took a photo for a family of four. Then went back down to the lobby and bought a coffee and a cookie. Seemed like no sooner had we started, than they announced our pending arrival.  

Scooter boy and I were the first ones off, but very quickly cars and semis passed us. 

Once out of the port and into the streets of Helsingor, I soon realized that my Swedish SIM card didn’t work. So, for an hour, I dashed around from a Shell station to a Coop 365 Discount store (much like Dollar General) to a second Coop 365 that I couldn’t find to finally a gas station near the hotel for the next hour. The young man and young woman helped me purchase a Danish SIM card and charge it to give me 60 gig. Should be enough for a week. I hope to cross over into Norway next weekend. 

The Hotel Sleep2Night is a motel. Perhaps the first I have seen in Scandinavia. Both the manager Jacob and the owner greeted me. They joked around. They were amused with my bike riding at my age. Jacob held my bike up the entire time that I checked in.

On the issue of being the second happiest people on earth and the Finns being the first, Jacob said that both countries consume the most coffee on the planet. So maybe that had something to do with it. He told me that the Finnish do the Tango, as a result of an exodus of people from South America moving there many years ago. He encouraged me to find a night club while there and dance the Tango with them.