Guest Blog: Bike-Packing Across Scandinavia at 64 (Days 31 and 32)

Day 31: Depart Stockholm on Viking Ferry to Helsinki (2 miles, 635 total miles)

7 July 2024: Sunday

In the middle of the night, a cramp gripped my left foot. I sat up and massaged it. The Charley Horse intensified and moved through the foot, like an alien invader struggling to escape the flesh. The spasm worked its way from the arch, across the instep, and onto the ball while mangling the bridge and spreading out into toes. The spasm was at once all over the foot, like a boa constrictor, squeezing relentlessly, before taking up residence in the bridge. I stood up and tried to stretch it, then to walk on it, then I sat on the bed and massaged it, bending it one way, and then another. All these techniques had worked in the past. But not this time.

White Sox baseball players in the 1880s named these intense muscle spasms after a grounds keeper’s horse named Charley. 

Boa Constrictor more aptly describes last night’s monster foot cramp. I have never had a single cramp to last more than 30 seconds, nor a series of cramps longer than a couple minutes. But this one lasted seven or eight minutes and did not relent; it just moved around, torturing me. Nothing I could do—massaging, stretching, walking—reduced its strength. I caught my reflection in the mirror, one of agony.

Even after laying back down, the foot felt stiff and inflexible. But I fell asleep easily. An hour or so later, a Boa wrapped itself around my right foot. But after massaging it, the spasm stopped, not lasting more than a minute.

I am thinking that a combination of not stretching before a bike ride or after a ride, nor during a 34-hour train trip, has contributed to this boa. I must do better at stretching. 

After checking out around noon and the staff storing my bike in their offices, I walked down to the supermarket inside the train station. I bought a few things and then stopped at some hamburger joint decorated with 1950s and 60s highway paraphernalia. The meal was really bad, or really blah. I walked back to the hotel and read. 

It was only a little after 1pm and the last arrival time at the ferry was 3pm. The ride was only 15 minutes according to Karen. I booked an apartment 15 miles west of Helsinki for tomorrow night. Already it was time to wash clothes again. Soon I got so sleepy because I still hadn’t caught up from the train trip.

Finally, I asked for my bike and about 1:45 pm, I headed through town on Heidi. The city was beautiful on this warm, lazy Sunday afternoon. The temperature had reached about 62 degrees by this time. The restaurants were full. Locals were strolling about. Tourists were taking photos. Cyclists were riding. Joggers were exercising. I saw one woman running while wearing a weight vest. She was probably training for a triathlon, marathon, Toyota-thon, or some other-athon. 

The fingers of Saltsjon Bay reach well into the city. I rode along one of those fingers, tracing it over a bridge, through a park, along a canal, down the middle of considerable construction, until I reached the Viking Line Ferry. 

Across the bay was an amusement park with four towering lift rides, three roller coasters, and other rides. 

I parked behind a group of Finnish motorcyclists. All were retirees or near. One looked like he was bringing his granddaughter. Most were smoking. 

Heidi and I were standing right along the Gabriella, our ship that will cover 270 miles over the next 16 hours. 

Over in the last line were a group of antique cars: Chryslers, Plymouths, an El Dorado, a Corvette, a Buick, and others. I went over and took several photos and sent them to my father and asked him if he could name the make and model. He told me that he probably could, and even could get close on the years, but he was busy right now, eating breakfast before going off to church. 

I am so blessed to still have my father in my life. 

The bicycles and motorcycles were nearly the last to board. There is only a certain place they let us park, toward the very front of the vessel. And they had to fill up the hold before we could enter because they loaded from the bow, in other words, we entered the front of the ship at Stockholm and were going to depart through the stern, or back. On my other two ferry rides on this Scandinavian adventure, we were always the first on and first off. 

My little cabin 6603 on the 6th level was perfect. No windows, because I was too tight to pay the additional costs. I was just going to read and sleep and shower, I figured. So why pay double? (I never checked the additional cost).

I streamed something, but got very sleepy again. I knew I should eat something and I needed drinkable water, so I walked up to the 7th, 8th, and 9th decks to look around. The place was loud with kids running in all directions, each with a cellphone in their hands. They were loud and excited, cutting in front of people, laughing and shouting. Just being kids.

When I walked to the starboard side to get the view, the electric doors slid open automatically. A boy of about 9 years old ran inside. At first, I thought that he had inadvertently been left behind by his buddies or his parents. Figured, I was doing my good deed of the day just by stepping outside and allowing him to enter.

Immediately, I saw his father, who turned around and realized his son had run off. He turned to the teen daughter and asked her in Swedish where the her brother went. 

I explained that he had run just inside. The father tasked the girl with running after him, but she couldn’t get the electric doors to open. I couldn’t see how to operate it either. Then I saw the button, pushed it, and the doors opened. 

Off starboard rested a beautiful, verdant island. We were working our way through the archipelago. The father came up to me. He was thin, about 40 years old or so. He had a friendly demeanor about him. 

“Have you taken this ferry before?” he asked.

“No,” I told him.

“I trained there.” He pointed to an abandoned military base. It looked more like modern buildings and older, sturdy apartments. 

“I love watching this every time I take the trip.”

“Nice,” I said.

“I lived there for a year… They closed it about ten years ago,” he said.

“Wow,” I said, keeping up my side of the conversation. 

Then he pointed to the straight of water behind us. 

“When Sweden fought the war with Russia, Sweden put ships all across there to prevent Russia from crossing. That’s why they built this base.”

“Nice,” I said again. He was getting the very best of my conversational skills at 5:30pm as my energy was depleting. Like a battery-operated flashlight, dimly casting the last of its light on a bright day.

The former Swedish soldier left without a word to go find his kids who hadn’t returned. 

I bought a salad and a bottle of water at a coffee shop and went back to the room. I read, ate, and by about 6:10 pm, I fell asleep in the top bunk, too tired to shower.

Viking Line Ferry to Helsinki ($220 for cabin and 16-hour ferry ride)

Stadsgården Tegelvikshamn, 11630 Stockholm

Day 32: Espoo, Finland (16 miles, 651 total miles)

8 July 2024: Monday

Twice in the middle of the night, I woke up and could hear the stampede of little feet racing down the hall. I could feel the gentle rocking of the ship, but the kids didn’t seem to mind. I wish I could have brought all of my grandkids on this ferry trip. They would have loved it.

And as I near the end of my trip, I miss the kids and grandkids more than ever. I am enjoying this adventure, new experiences every day, but I will be happy to return home, return to the family, raising the kids with all of the headaches and blessings that go along with it. Back to work. Likely my last full year abroad. I am winding down. But doing so on top of my game. I am mentoring and coaching and team building better than I have throughout my entire career. I love my job, love my life, love my family, friends, and colleagues (well, most of them). Love where I am at this stage in my life. 

After the attacks in Iraq, I returned to work on a civil society project, first as a Human Rights and Anti-Corruption advisor, then later as DCOP (deputy director). It was at a time that counter-insurgents had stepped up their attacks on just about everyone, but Al-Qaeda loved to attack American and allied-vehicles with IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devises). We rode in armored vehicles that would largely protect us from small arms fire and indirect damage caused by an IED. But nothing protected you from a car bomb: A vehicle laden with 1000 pounds of explosives and steel designed to rip through an armored vehicle like shredding rice paper. The terrorists had gotten really good at timing the detonations as target vehicles passed. I had read about the driver of a dump truck loaded with explosives being handcuffed to the steering wheel so that he couldn’t change his mind while another terrorist followed behind at a safe distance in a second vehicle with his finger on a Nokia cell phone linked to the explosive device on the truck. The truck pulled up beside a convoy and detonated. The driver was blown outside of the front windshield and landed on the hood still handcuffed to the steering wheel. The closest convoy vehicle was ripped to shreds. Another strategy was for car bombs to ram into the side of a vehicle. But we were most vulnerable pulling into a checkpoint, waiting to enter the Green Zone. The car in front or behind us could merely detonate. We waited in a state of heightened anxiety and dread for ten to 15 minutes at times while the American soldiers cleared us. So many Iraqi and American service members had lost their lives to car bombs while checking vehicles at the gates to the Green Zone, that a new policy was in place for Americans to check our credentials (a pass stuck in the front window) with binoculars from a safe distance behind blast walls. 

Our South African security advisor told me about a new conically-shaped charge that was planted on or near the ground, designed by terrorists to shoot up into the underside of an armored vehicle. He told me that one had recently killed a driver and ripped the leg off of a passenger. This was my greatest fear: Suffering life-altering injury—loss of a leg, both legs, testicles—and surviving. 

I have to be honest. I was risking my life every time I travelled, which was a few times per week, to the airport, to the Green Zone and back for meetings, or wherever, but I was not willing to give my life for this cause. I believed in it. I was committed to the cause. Some of my colleagues did not survive Iraq. But I was not willing to die here. I was not willing to lose a limb or suffer a serious injury. I MUST return to my family in one piece. Non-negotiable.

The odds were high too. One day, there were 21 car bombs detonated in Baghdad. Two of them right outside our compound. A staff member brought in a piece of hot steel blown into the compound. It was still hot when he handed it to me.

So each time we left the compound, and I hopped in the armored vehicle, I was rolling the dice. Would it be today? Much against my will, my very fertile mind envisioned all of the ways that the terrorists could kill or maim me. I grabbed the plastic handhold above the door and squeezed, unconsciously breathing with a constricted chest, a python of anxiety wrapping my entire pulmonary system. For the entire 20 minute ride through the city to the Green Zone, I brace myself for the attack. Once inside, I would relax. Attend the meeting. Then again wind myself up, again squeeze the handhold, and again allow that python of anxiety to constrict my chest. 

On the Gabriella, in my cabin, I woke up at 4:30am. I could have slept more, but figured I would mosey up to the coffee shop and splurge for a good cup of coffee. The coffee shop was closed though. The blackboard sitting on the floor outside had two separate sets of open hours: One for Helsinki and one for Stockholm. I couldn’t figure out why, but knew I was hours away from getting a coffee shop coffee, so I went back to the room, ever so glad that I had the electric kettle.

When I fired up my iPad, I noticed a time discrepancy between my iPad and my iPhone. My phone was ahead by one hour. So, Finland is an hour ahead.  I transferred yesterday’s photos to the iPad. The internet had stopped working sometime well into the night. 

After three cups of instant coffee in the cabin, it was approaching 7am. I headed up to the coffee shop in hopes that they were open early. Sure enough, a man was purchasing a cup of coffee and a pastry. I bought a cup of coffee for $3.50 and a refill for $1.50. 

I sat down by the window alternately watching the open waters of the Baltic Sea, sipping my average coffee, and typing on my iPad.

It’s taken me many years to recover from that Iraq experience. From the subsequent Pakistan experience. From the Yemen experience and the Somali experience. Took me years to find the elusive ray of happiness from among the incessant storms of despair and anguish. I am so grateful to be alive and healthy. Despite the cancer, I am healthy enough to peddle a bicycle across Scandinavia and experience Nordic nature and culture. I am genuinely enjoying this seven-week adventure, enjoying my solitude, once in a life experience. What better way to spend my kids’ meager inheritance. 

My wife reminds me that I should take the same advice that I gave my grandmother: “Spend your savings on yourself… You have earned it… You don’t have to leave your kids anything…”

So, while I fight the guilt of spending our savings on trips like this, I reconcile it with my wife’s advice. 

Back at the room, I forwent the shower experience yet again, knowing full well that I reeked. I dried the kettle, stored my items into my three packs, and a little before 9am, I carried everything down to the vehicle platform. 

This overnight cruise had been a wonderful experience. Although I slept through most of it.

I peddled off the ferry with the Gulf of Finland on my right and into the streets of Helsinki, Finland.

Wow! 

Soon, I became lost in the maze of streets, bike paths, summer construction road blocks leading through 18th and 19th century imperial architecture, Nordic minimalist buildings, street cars, electric buses, and all types of pedestrians shuffling about on this Monday morning. 

I eased through Senate Square, an enormous plaza at the foot of the steps to the Helsinki Cathedral (under construction, naturally), bordered by the long Government Palace, University  of Helsinki main building, and Sederholm House. 

At least a half a dozen times, I backtracked, circled around to find myself where I had started ten or 15 minutes earlier. I didn’t mind because it was early and I only had about 16 miles to cover. And my only time constraint was Aseem, the landlord for tonight’s apartment, had commitments from 11:30 am to 2 pm. If I didn’t get the key before 11:30 am, I would be stuck outside with my bike. I needed to wash clothes again—needing as much time as possible to dry—so I needed to arrive at his apartment in time. 

Through all of my meandering over the next two hours, I did not see a single convenience store to purchase a SIM card, which I needed to contact Aseem. Even if I arrived at the apartment building on time, I had no way of informing him I had arrived. I needed the SIM card. 

So, around 11:00 am, I found a gas station, and bought a SIM card, Karelian pastry, and cup of dark roast, and sat outside at a picnic table to swap cards and activate the new plan. 

The Karelian pastry, or pirog, is a traditional Finnish pie made with a rye crust and boiled rice and corn filling. At first bite, I spit it out. I tossed the pirog and what was left of the stale coffee into the rubbish bin.

I found several messages from Aseem. He was eager to give me the key. He told me to wait there, and he would deliver the key to me on his way to his commitment. 

Who does that? While most AirBnB hosts are courteous and responsive, none in any country had ever gone out of their way to serve me like this. 

While I waited, I saw a classic vehicle, like those from the ferry. I spoke to the Finnish owners, who said they too had been on that ferry coming home from two events 400 miles of Stockholm that boasted 1000s of old cars. 

It was close to 11:30 when Aseem arrived in a bit of a rush.

“Do you have a piece of paper?” he asked.

No, I thought. I misplaced all of my three-ring binders, folders, notepads, pens, mechanical pencils, ink erasers, white out, engineering compass, and abacus. The last place I remember storing it was in my right sock. Hope it didn’t fall out.

Aseem went on to explain in detail which door I would enter for the elevator and which door I would use to store my bike. 

“Lock it up,” he said. Then he was gone.

After twisting and turning for the next 45 minutes, I came to a carpet washing station in an apartment complex. Eight or ten tenants stood outside at large basins scrubbing their throw rugs and Oriental carpets to hang on rows and rows of carpet drying racks. 

I quickly changed from my sweaty riding outfit into a pair of shorts that had only been worn once since the last wash. I walked about 1.5 miles round trip to the supermarket, bought some rotisserie chicken and potato salad and other supplies and came back.

Just a few blocks later, I came to Building 5, where I followed instructions to store Heidi and enter the apartment. 

First things first, I washed a load of clothes. I checked the WiFi, but found no instructions. I texted Aseem.

He explained the WiFi was broken, but he would deliver a temporary router as soon as he finished his assignment, but would be no sooner than 4 pm. 

I told him no problem, but was even happier that he delivered me the key. I couldn’t imagine sitting outside till 4 pm waiting to enter the apartment. 

I ate. The food was hopelessly bland. The potatoes were diced into BB-sized cubes that eluded chewing, resembling potato paste. 

I washed all my dishes and set them in the strainer in the cabinet over the sink. (Pretty cool contraption.)

About 5 pm, the clothes finished their last cycle (2 hr 58 minute wash for sports clothing), and I strung them out across the bathroom. The largest items I hung on the heated towel rack (another cool contraption.)

At 6:15 pm, Aseem texted to say he had just finished. I was so happy that he brought me the key to the gas station at 11:30 am. He showed up at the apartment around 7pm, and we spoke about world politics, India—his native country, his memory of September 11 as a high school student, and a number of other topics. He is a mature, well-read, self-effacing Finn, with one toe in South Asia and a finger on the pulse of globalization. 

Finally, around 10pm, I fell asleep. I have a big day ahead. 

Kaivomestarinkatu 5 B 20, Espoo, Uusimaa 02770, Finland ($74/night)