Guest Blog: Bike-packing Across Scandinavia at 64 (Days 35 and 36)

Day 35: Turku, Finland (34 miles, 751 total miles, 761 foot incline)

11 July 2024: Thursday 

Good news! My iPad software has been successfully updated! Things are going my way.

Race against the rain! 

On my last riding day, I am once again racing against the clock. Here in Salo, it is supposed to start raining around 8am or so. Where I am headed, the chances of rain are even better and only increase throughout the day. 

So, I set my alarm for 4:30am and hope to be out the door at 6am. The more miles I can cover before the rain starts, the drier and less miserable I will be. 

I booked a cabin room in the MS Bore, a passenger ship build in 1960, that remains intact. It was about half price of everything else down near the harbor, where I hope to catch the ferry Friday morning. 

I eased Heidi out of the room, down the dark hall, through the door to the stairwell, dropped my key in the black key box, and accompanied her down a flight of stairs and eventually out of the bottom floor bar and into the street. 

It was a pretty day, although slightly overcast. At 6:05 am, I started peddling west.

I love this time of the day, while most of the city was sleeping, I could enjoy the solitude of the streets. A woman rushed in her car past me and turned into the parking lot of the city mall, perhaps a few minutes late to work. A bakery or coffee shop or maintenance. 

Knowing I had good sized hills ahead and the threat of rain, I pushed hard. I always push hard, but today there was no let up. My heart rate raced and my lungs pumped at capacity. Even then, when I stopped for breathers, they were short. A minute or less. Even though I had three cups of Nescafé 3-1 in the room before leaving, each time I passed a convenience store, and I considered a dark roast elixir. But I knew that if I stopped for 10 minutes, that delay could result in 10 additional minutes of dreadful peddling in miserable conditions. 

So, I peddled on. Not really furiously, but intentional. Tiny stops, pressing hard when I wanted to stop. Pumping my legs more steadily at a more rapid pace. On big hills, I either made it to the top exhausted and pressed on, or I stopped midway up for 30 seconds and then peddled on. Sometimes I stopped a second time to repeat. Often at the top, instead of the usual rest, I peddled on.

After the first hour, I stopped straddling Heidi to check my distance. I had covered 13 miles. A fantastic pace for me. With 15 pounds on my back and 15 in the saddle bags, I had done well. But my energy was already diminishing. Like a wind up toy, my speed was gradually decreasing the longer I peddled. 

The sky was hinting at rain. So I peddled on. At times the wind was to my back. Today’s ride was not a leisure trip, laid out to enjoy lakes and landmarks, but a journey to cover 34 miles as quickly as my old legs could, to perform at a higher pace in order to avoid the miserable conditions of riding in the rain. 

A 9:05 am, just two hours into the journey, I had covered 24 miles, achieving 12 mph. To put this in perspective, Google Maps estimates time on a route at an average speed on a bicycle at 12 mph. So, Google calculates that the average person should be able to ride long distances, averaging 12 mph, regardless of terrain—gravel road, dirt path, blacktop, no matter. Regardless of incline. Karen does not differentiate between the hills of Tennessee and the flat desert of Arizona. Road and weather conditions are also ignored. Rain, hard headwinds, road construction, cities with stoplights. None of that matters to the GPS application. The average cyclist should be able to do 12 mph across the board. This information is probably calculated using hundreds of thousands of data points, cyclists who punch in their start and end points, and complete their journeys accordingly. 

But I have never achieved more than 10 mph on any trip, I don’t think. For every one of us old codgers who average 8 mph across long distances carrying 30 pounds of weight, there is a younger cyclist who averages 16 mph with no baggage. And I have met a few men my age who average 12 mph across long distances with baggage. 

That last ten miles was pretty flat. Traffic had picked up, and as I entered town there were more pedestrians, cyclists, and stoplights. But I pressed hard still. I caught most stoplights green. And when I did stop, I crossed as soon as the traffic permitted. 

Suddenly, I was downtown. Sprinkles began tapping my hands and spotting the blacktop, but it never worked up to a shower. I crossed Aura River on a wide pedestrian bridge and headed west along the shore, enjoying the last couple miles of the journey. Like the other Finnish cities, downtown along the river was beautiful. 

At 8:50 am, I had achieved my best travel time for any trip: 12 mph. Average for the global population of cyclists requiring Google Maps to plot a long distance course, but a superb velocity for me. 

To make matters better, when I pushed Heidi up the gang plank and into the lobby of the ship, the young receptionist told me that my room was ready. At 9am? No additional charge? 

I eased Heidi down to the lower deck and locked her up in a huge conference room used for storing bicycles and other items. 

Cabin 261 was tiny. Perhaps the tiniest yet, or at least in the running. I showered, put the sheet on the tiny bed and the duvet cover on the twin duvet. I wanted nothing more than to lay down and nap. But the chances of rain were only increasing. 

So, I tramped off in search of a coffee mug for my wife. My legs were sore, my back was sore, and blisters were beginning to form on my feet. 

About 20 minutes into the trip, a bare-chested drunken man in his 40s stumbled—quite literally—across my path. His shirt hung at his waist, still tucked into his pants. He swayed from one side of the sidewalk when I first saw him to the other side and was headed back when I passed. He said something in Finnish, but naturally I couldn’t make out what it was. 

Some 1.6 miles away northeast of the MS Bore, I found a tiny souvenir stall in Turku Market Hall, a divine red brick food mall constructed in 1896. While I was there, I treated myself to Bun Rieu, a Vietnamese soup with shrimp and chicken balls. 

So that I wouldn’t have to carry my supplies far, I decided on a Sale supermarket that was one block on the other side of the MS Bore. In other words, 1.7 miles away. But it was a pretty walk, most of it along the shore, where I could see all the moored sail boats, ships, riverside outdoor restaurants, pedestrians and cyclists. Naturally, there were plenty of electric scooterists as well, swooping in and around foot traffic. An old woman accompanying an older woman with a walker. Parents pushing their kids in strollers. Older couple holding hands. The squawks of seagulls overhead. A pair of bored shore patrol men sitting on a bench, keeping peace. 

Given my recent record-breaking pace, I decided to reward myself with an ice cream. I asked the young blond-haired woman who made my medium blizzard like concoction why the Finnish people were the happiest in the world.

She suddenly became shy. Was that a shade of red in her cheeks I noticed?

“I don’t agree with that… I have been to other places (countries) where people are more talkative, more friendly. I think they are happier,” she said. Then with some additional thought, she added, “But maybe it’s because of the Finnish attitude.” She went on to explain that no matter how bad things get, Finns know they can resolve it. 

So, I surmised, nothing is ever really that bad. 

She may be on to something. But keeping an optimistic attitude, no matter what problem arises, we can still smile because we know it is all relative. 

Internet gets shut off from non-payment, crap! But I’ll get it turned back on when I get my next pay check. Some jerk scraped my new car with his door at the supermarket, well, OK. It is not the end of the world. Failed Chemistry? Well I gotta work harder. 

We all know that the fear of some calamity is almost always worse than the calamity itself. 

Yes, attitude can overcome a lot of adversity. 

My legs were sore and my back was hurting, so I sat and ate the blizzard while watching a tiny orange ferry pick up pedestrians and cyclists on one side of the Aura and carry them to the other. The closes bridge was perhaps eight blocks away, so it made sense why this ferry functioned. I was not sure whether it was free or there was a modest fee. 

After purchasing a few items at Sale, I trudged back to the MS Bore, up the steel grate gang plank, and up one deck to the cafe. They had small pre-made pizzas to heat up so I would not have to leave the ship till morning. 

Down three decks, I entered the room, only slightly anxious until I found all of my belongings were in the exact state of disarray I had left them. I was grateful that I had made my bed before departing because I closed the curtain over the port hole and crashed.

The nap didn’t last longer than 30 minutes. 

I read Wool, the first of the Silo trilogy that became a TV series on Apple. Around 3pm, I went upstairs and ordered a small Feta Cheese personal pizza. It was exactly like it looked: Lack luster. I stomached a cup of stale coffee and a piece of Rocky Road, that was a thick chocolate bar with peanuts and marshmallows added before it cooled. It was not terribly good either. 

It felt so good to dissolve in my cabin into a bunk potato and read. At about 154 pages, I was nodding off. So I relented. 

It had been a good day, accomplishing all that I had set out to do when I awoke at 4:30 am, beat the rain, made 12 mph over 34 miles of hilly terrain, purchased the Finland cup that I feared I would forget, and lest we forget, I ate a crappy premade Feta Cheese personal pizza and drank an overcooked pot of coffee. 

MS Bore (Laivahostel) ($85/night, I think)

Linnankatu 72, Turku, 20100 Finland 

Day 36: Ferry to Stockholm (1 mile, 752 total miles)

12 July 2024: Friday

Finnish Line!

Mild anxiety woke me before my alarm went off. After three cups of instant coffee in the room, I packed up everything and headed to the restaurant which had just opened for breakfast. The coffee wasn’t much good, but I had a cup. The selection for breakfast wasn’t much good, but I had some ham, cheese, and a hard bun before cleaning my plate into the trash and storing my dirty dishes at the appropriate station. 

I gathered my bags, connected them to Heidi, and pushed her outdoors. The GPS took me .6 miles, but I couldn’t find the car entrance to Viking Lines ferries. I stopped and asked a group of young Africans from Nigeria. One tall young man of maybe 25 years of age offered to walk me 30 meters to a clearing in the parking lot where he could indicate the route to go. 

I shook his hand and peddled away. 

“Maybe I will see you on the ship,” he said, apparently a ferry worker.

Just ahead I encountered a woman in her early 30s and her 12 year old son. They were headed to the same ferry, so for the next block or so, they rode behind me hoping I had a clue where I was going.

Finally, the pathway led to a road that crossed a train track and into the vehicle entrance. 

After showing my ticket, I followed the mother and son to a small suspended steel roof where cyclists waited. This was the first one I had encountered on my four ferry rides. A really good idea to protect from the sun and rain. But today, it was dry. 

Several other cyclists arrived. One couple my age. A few young men. And several parents with their children. 

The Finnish boy from earlier was excited. He had never travelled on a ferry before, much less by bicycle. To expend his energy, his mother had him run a series of sprints across a distance of 15 feet and back. This reminded my of my grandson. So, I challenged the boy to a race. 

Naturally, I cheated and started early and cut the distance to the Finnish Line (pun intended), and the boy objected in Finnish. But I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t hardly catch my breath. The other cyclists were laughing as well. I raced him one more time, and he beat me. But I was still laughing. 

The mother told me they had stayed with family last night, but she and her son were from Helsinki. I told her I had come from Salo the afternoon before. She asked me where I spent the night. 

On the MS Bore, I told her. 

She said, “Yes, we saw that ship and he said, ‘I don’t ever want to stay there.’”

When asked why she thought Finnish people were the happiest in the world, she said, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because we keep to ourselves.” Finns don’t get too involved in each other’s lives and problems. “Then again, we have a lot of suicides.”

Indeed in the 1990s, Finland had one of the highest suicide rates in the world, about 30 deaths per 100,000 citizens. Today, as a result of a concerted effort, Finland has been able to cut that rate to 13 per 100,000 people. The highest alcohol dependency per capita is awarded to Russia with 16.29 % of men and 2.58% of women. Norway is 13th with 9.05% of men and 2.55% of women. UK comes in at 33rd with 6.42% of men and 1.52% of women, followed by Finland 34th (6.39% men and 1.17% women) and Sweden 35th (6.32% men and 2.27% women). The US is 46th at 5.48 % men and 1.92% women.

After boarding, I locked Heidi up and headed to the cabin, but they were blocked off, only opened after we set sail. So I went up stairs and secured a table by the window and left all my bags in a chair, where I could almost see them from the cashier.

I bought a croissant with sweet pistachio butter in the center, the color of, but a lighter texture than, peanut butter. It was divine. 

I went to the room, read, and then napped for 20 minute.

Around 11 am, I went up to an upper deck and ordered a cheeseburger and fries. I ate while I read, enjoying the beautiful weather and view of the Finnish Archipelago. 

Some Southeast Asians came and cleared three tables around me. A Buddhist monk with glasses about my age sat at one table by himself. He wore deep orange robe wrapped with a scarf of a slighter orange color. He was watching something on his iPad. Later an Asian woman brought his basket of food, kneeled down in front of him, and offered the basket over her bowed head to the monk.

When I got up to leave, I saw two more monks sitting at the other tables by themselves. One was wearing a robe and the other orange western clothes (wash day?).

I really enjoyed the 10-hour journey. I read much deeper in Wool, savoring each page. So infrequently do I feel I have the luxury to dedicate to reading.  

At the end of the trip, I went down to the vehicle deck and prepared Heidi. Christian had texted me. He was outside in the parking lot. 

Giu, a Brazilian cyclist in his 20s who lived in Finland struck up a conversation. He was loaded with saddle bags on the front forks, back forks, and throughout the frame. He easily had three times as much weight as me although he explained that he couldn’t carry a backpack. In fact, when I told him that I probably averaged 30 or 35 miles per day, he said he couldn’t do that much because of a bad knee.

Giu started a tiny NGO to prevent violence, had worked in Africa, but without a college degree, he didn’t qualify for funding. His Finnish was not good enough to study in Finland, so he was headed to the Netherlands where he would study Psychology in English. 

I was so happy to see Christian. It seemed like months since I had left him in Granna, Sweden although it was only a matter of a few weeks. We drove to the Comfort Hotel Express, where I had left Heidi’s bike bag. I went in and retrieved it from the luggage room exactly where I left it. Then we drove the 2.5 hours to Odeshog, stopping to eat a Max cheeseburger about halfway.

If you are ever in Sweden, you have to try one.

Arriving at Christian’s house around 11:30 pm, I was happy to see all three kids were awake. Perhaps they were waiting for me. I am not sure. 

But we played a game of Ludo. Esther won. It was approaching 1 am when I finally fell asleep. 

Viking Line Ferry 

Ensimmäinen Linja, 20100 Turku ($65 including a cabin)