Barken Lodge, Smedjebacken – 2,199km completed
The breakfast “kibble” tasted better than it looked, thankfully. Covered in yoghurt and some honey that I found whilst getting coffee from the self-serve station it had more flavour than the drab, grey-brown pellets suggested. I sat in a low chair at a small round table next to the balcony where my bike had spent the night. This far corner of the main reception also appeared to be where they stored the grand piano – although I presumed it was wheeled out for performances. Thinking back, I wasn’t sure any of the other places I’d stayed had any kind of large orchestral instruments, even the castle. So that was a first.
It had rained overnight – combined with the cool morning air, and lingering clouds, it prompted me to kit up in full gear before heading outside. The door was one way – at least until the morning staff arrived. Which meant triple checking everything before dropping my keys off and closing it behind me. The town of Falun was my first target for the day – about 70km distant, and large enough to have reasonable food & supply options. I was still kind of keeping an eye out of bike shops, although more and more half-heartedly. The road there was a sublime mix of long avenues between pine forest, and lakeside views or glimpses. In places it was hilly – nothing large, but taxing. Although I made straight for Falun, I can see a number of brief pauses on the way. If I zoom in on those now, amazingly, I can pretty remember each one of them from the pictures – either a stop to lose layers, or grab a snack, or take a leak, or all three of those in one case. At one of these stops, breathless at the top of an incline, I left a rather emotional voice message for Yoli. I won’t relay all of my rambling monologue, but the key part was this:
I’m sending you this so I remember it later. As I was climbing a horrible big hill I realised I’ve been looking at this all wrong. I shouldn’t be rushing to get to Gate 4. I should be taking as long as possible, and enjoying every moment as much as possible. Because I may never come back here and do any of this again.
Yeah – soppy, I know. I can hear from the voice clip the lump in my throat, and it’s there again as I transcribe that piece. By “as long as possible” I of course meant ideally within the ride cutoff. But over the past few days I’d been trying to get ahead of cutoff and regain time on the ferry and with punctures. Over the quiet, empty, opening kilometres of this day though the realisation came that all I would achieve by doing that was to shorten the adventure. And right now, even with the tougher riding, that was the last thing I wanted. I was here, halfway up Sweden, alone on my bike, and loving every minute of what I came here for. I wanted more of this, not less. It was a thought which would start to reshape the rest of my ride. It took me 4 hrs to get to Falun – which is pretty darned slow. Slower than my normal average. So I definitely took these thoughts to heart and altered my riding to focus on enjoyment over speed.
As the route closed in on Falun, I began passing towns names I already knew – Borlange was a name I recognised on a road sign, and Stora Tuna where I crossed under a busy highway was also familiar. All of these had just been names on a map until now. Through Torsang, the route swung left over a broad intersection of rivers between adjacent lakes. It was tempting to stop for a while in such a lovely spot, but I pushed on towards the larger city ahead. I don’t recall any rain along the way, in fact at one stop next to a bus shelter, I have a vivid recollection of blue skies. But clouds were drifting around still, and the roads were wet in places where storms had passed over. There were lovely cycle paths along this section too – making it all the more enjoyable to take an easy pace and savour riding through the damp smelling woodland. It wasn’t long before I was heading through the outskirts of Falun, scanning left and right for likely looking cafes or maybe a cycle shop. I was feeling for a sit down stop, so I skipped the couple of supermarkets I passed. I was already crossing a river into the city centre before I’d spotted anything which really appealed. The first place I pulled up at (an Italian restaurant) wasn’t serving yet – I guess I was too late for breakfast and too early for lunch. Riding on through a pedestrianised area I was almost heading out the other side of the centre when I spotted a corner café, with tables outside and clearly open. Toasted ciabatta, salad and chips was a bit more basic than I’d been aiming for – but it hit the spot. As did the juice and coffee – I have a vague recollection of getting a second cup of the latter. I was sat directly opposite a square with a large church uphill at the far side, and a busy street in between.
I sort of remember it beginning to rain as I sat there also – partly because I can picture people dashing for cover and pulling out umbrellas. I also have a vague memory of wanting more shelter than the canopy and moving inside – climbing through a large, low open patio window beside me with all my stuff rather than walking around to the door.
It turned out the café and square were the last flat part of the current valley. The road immediately rose uphill and past the church as it headed out of town. Part way up, I crossed another highway and out onto a short flatter section – opposite was a fair indication of being in hillier country: a massive 90m ski jump set into the far hillside. As I stopped to photograph it, the name of the county (Dalarna) came into mind. Incorrectly, as it turned out, I thought it may have been the site of a winter Olympics – but checking now, the most likely looking event I might have seen it on would have been the World Cup in 1993. Either way it was an unexpected and stunning view that my photos don’t capture properly in any way. Across the far side of the broad plaza the path jinked left and then right onto a narrow wooded lane, rising the remaining 100m of vertical. This was not the end of the climbing though – more of an entrée really. Ahead lay a near continuous stretch of rolling hills and valleys. Don’t get me wrong, they were lovely, and the views from each crest were amazing. But with only the power of my legs, it was daunting to see fold after fold of wooded slopes that I would have to get up and over. And at times, they just seemed to go on forever. Was the rest of Sweden going to be like this? I know, I’d asked that before – these rollers were bigger though. At least each did come with a subsequent downhill to regain some breath. The town of Svadso lay at the foot of one of these, where I headed for fresh supplies. My cue card once again had the word “Sparse” on it – indicating these may be the last shops for 85km. The ICA supermarket I’d noted on the card came into view at the far side of a small retail area, on a patch of ground to the left and slightly above the main road. I did not waste the opportunity and turned in to fuel up. I stood outside in the still sunny afternoon stuffing both my face and my pockets with sandwiches, snacks, vitamin juice, and of course iced coffee.
I don’t remember for sure if it was here or earlier, but I saw a message from Viktor exclaiming that I was making rapid progress and he wasn’t able to catch me. As I’ve mentioned in the past – I rarely if ever check the ride tracker during an event, and I also didn’t think my speed was that high, especially given my earlier refocus on enjoying a slower pace. But I was tending to ride fairly long days, and unusually for me, had been making fewer and shorter stops. Plus although tired, my legs were still climbing reasonably well. So I guess all of these combined to make for decent if not rapid progress. Something I recall less well, but I think I also did at this stop was decide on Bollnas as my destination for the day, booking myself into the lakeside Scandic hotel (it is possible I’ve misremembered this part and made that booking the night before). Either way, at this point I was barely half way into the day with a challenging looking 90km of riding left – so once the supplies were sorted I got back on the road.
Once again, I had managed to stop at the very bottom of a climb – this time a proper 250m slog of vertical. I remember seeing whirling wind turbines too, and thought I had shared a photo of one – but I must have messed up because only after a search did I find it buried away on my phone rather than online. Following this was a long and delightful fast flowing descent from the ridge to where the route split – about 25km after the stop at Svadso, at a place marked as Svartnas Bruk on the map. It’s a significant point in my memory of the day because the riding totally changed. A handful of kilometres further along, the tar ended and a long stretch of forest gravel roads began. These were indescribably lovely – but far from easy, and not just because of the rolling countryside. The note accompanying my Insta photo sums it up really:
Forest gravel after rain. Lovely but slippier than a Swedish meatball
I have been questioned a few times on my rather unusual simile (I only know it’s a simile because my son is studying GCSE English at present). But I stand by it – to me, covered in sauce, they are pretty slippy. In a good way.
More than once I regretted not having the extra tread of the Terreno tyres that I’d ditched in Denmark. I also worried about how tough the Gravel Kings would be too. But, with care, they coped admirably on both grip and durability. I was super cautious on the many descents though – although a part of that was to preserve my rig from the battering the rough surface was dishing out. But I also didn’t want to risk hitting the deck due to a sketchy patch through some fast corner. My speed and progress dropped a fair bit, and I remember keeping a close eye on the distance remaining. But the day wasn’t getting away from me even with the slower terrain. An early evening arrival still looked on the cards. I was curious how high we were going and remember checking the GPS often for my altitude. Across the higher ground above 400m (close to the top) there was a short section of delightful tar. It wasn’t totally obvious why this was present – there was no obvious more major road. But it was along an exposed ridge, with drops on both sides, so maybe it was for safety or to create a longer lasting road surface that could withstand the weather better. It was very welcome though, both to ease the strain on the body, and also allow me to look around more and enjoy the expansive views either side. Overall, the gravel section was way longer than I expected – close on 40km. And despite the added physical challenge and concentration needed, I was sad when it ended. I did say in a voice note to Yoli that I was glad I had not booked further ahead than Bollnas – especially with the headwind.
The final 30km was mostly downhill, with an occasional punchy incline as the road twisted around valleys down to the town ahead. The highest of these pitched to 10%, so although it was largely easy riding it wasn’t all without effort. I do remember looking at one ugly uphill to my left and being very relieved when the road stayed right and downwards. Finally, town streets appeared and the route turned left, across railway tracks and then turned to continue alongside the railway, before ducking under elevated road sections and into the pedestrianised area of the main town. I paused briefly and contemplated the McDs just before heading into town – but the hotel was close by. I didn’t want to have to come back after checking in, but I reckoned the hotel would have a restaurant of some kind and this was a worst case fallback if not. The town centre streets were largely empty and closed – there was a pizza place open though, if needed. Reaching the hotel involved crossing out of the pedestrian precinct onto parkland cycle paths along the lake. Winding the last few metres past garden sculptures it became clear that Google Maps was taking me to the back of the hotel though. To the left was a broken up path under repair which I bumped myself and the bike along, past the barriers and work huts and into the sweeping front driveway of the hotel beyond. Somewhat tentatively I wheeled into the entrance – but crossed the foyer with more confidence when I saw it was open plan with some form of composite flooring that I was in no danger of damaging. Propping the bike against a round pillar, I wandered over to reception where a friendly chap checked me in. He initially offered me the luggage room for the bike and then, with no prompting from me, said it was no issue if I wanted to take it to the room. I guessed from this I was not the first rider through. He also explained that the restaurant buffet was still serving, and their breakfast was renowned as one of the best across the group. I signed up immediately for both!
Ordinarily, neither Yoli or I are big fans of a buffet meal. But on a long self-supported bike ride, they are almost the perfect combination: visit as many times as you like; choose whatever odd assortment you fancy; and get it all done and eaten with zero delay or fuss. In my case, some form of roast pork and tons of potatoes and broccoli was the main focus of my hunger, although I seem to recall maybe a token salad and definitely some form of chocolatey desert. I was so full I could barely move when I left. Definitely no shortage of calories today – even with the extra strenuous hills and gravel. I can see from my chat log with Yoli that some of the time spent eating and later in the room was planning ahead – an increasingly important task as supply and sleep options became more and more spread out:
I need to map ahead a bit or Sunday night could be a fuck up. I can just ride to my cards up to then but I’ll end the day nowhere. It gets tricky from here. I can maybe sneak few extra km to get ahead- I see an Airbnb on track tomorrow. Will msg again when I’ve figured this xx
The “figuring” part ended up with me booking that AirBnB I had spotted – around 200km distant. It was a solid 25km beyond the more obvious choice of the large coastal city of Sundsvall and seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. So I would need to either eat or get supplies on the way. Or more likely both, since there would be nowhere for breakfast for some distance the morning after. That thought was a little troubling. The micro backpack had been superb so far, and barely noticeable stashed in my back pocket. But I really wasn’t sure how comfortable it was going to be across 20km of lumpy terrain. But it was what I had brought for exactly this scenario – accommodation options far distant from food – so I’d have to make it work. That was all a problem for tomorrow though. One last observation I made before sleep overcame me – the Garmin distance reading. It may seem just a random number, but it was very significant to me. I’d gone beyond my distance from TCR No.5 – this was now the longest ride I’d ever done.
Total for the day: 191km – Total so far: 2,390km