Åsäng – 2,592km completed
I don’t recall whether the plan for the next few days came to me during breakfast, maybe as a result of the eye wateringly strong coffee (I’d seriously over caffeinated the pot) or if I’d been studying the cue cards over multiple noodle pots the night before. Either way, a clear and simple solution appeared from what had previously looked a tricky balance of accommodation vs distance vs resupply points. The cue cards for the next 3 days were spattered with splodges of brown “sparse” markers. In fact today wasn’t too bad, but if I wasn’t careful I could end up in a mess tomorrow. It wasn’t helped by the knowledge that the shop in Frederika was closed at present – so whatever I did, that stretch would be over 140km without shops. The day after, being a Sunday, was also problematic with the few cafes likely to be closed too. It was only when the idea of lowering my target for today that an obvious answer emerged. Stopping early, in a small town called Överhörnäs, provided me with a hostel to stay at and a nearby shop on the way. That gave me an initial 35km tomorrow to a shop for food and supplies for the empty 140km stretch. After that was a decent size town with shops and hotel options for the night. OK, 165km today and 190km tomorrow was a bit low on overall distance but it solved the logistics and timing for the next two days and beyond. Plan sorted, I booked the hostel, finished the food I’d bought for breakfast and headed to the outdoor shower to freshen up.
I was sad to leave the tranquillity of the horse farm – even with fewer kilometres to cover, the riding ahead did not look easy. A factor in choosing the current B&B was that it sat just before a long climb. Of course the penalty for avoiding that yesterday was that it would be the first challenge of today. As expected, I pushed up the few meters of steep gravel back to the road. The surface was compacted and firm after the heavy rain, but I still didn’t fancy tweaking a cold muscle just before the slog to come – which started immediately after turning right out of the drive, and left back onto the route. The opening section was ugly – over 11% in places. It soon smoothed out though. I was feeling way too relaxed for heroics, so I dropped into my easiest gears and span up comfortably. One of the nice things about long, slow climbs is the chance to take in what’s around you,. In this case, that was deep, lush woodlands either side of the road, still dripping from the storm, the sweet smell of damp leaves and forest funghi wafting across in the misty morning air. I was enjoying the riding so much I barely noticed the 8km it took to crest the 235m ridge, or the fact that it was beginning to rain again. Over the top, as the shower became a full on torrent I did notice it, although already kitted in all my wet weather gear there wasn’t much to be done about it apart from push on through.
Dropping down to sea level again, the route briefly joined up with the E4 again in Alandsbro – a sprawling service area alongside the highway offering up another ICA super for a refuelling stop. It was an utterly unremarkable stop – just another shop for baguettes, iced coffee etc, but events unfolded which caused it to become indeliby imprinted in my mind. As I was preparing to leave, I saw a message on the ride chat group that a rider ahead had lost their plastic bag of ID documents and credit cards, and (initially) had named Alandsbro as a possible point they had lost it. I immediately responded that I was there and could check at the service stations if they wanted. After several attempts to speak with each other on a very bad connection, it became clear the actual shop mentioned was quite a distance ahead. I said I’d pull in and check when I got there – although I suspected other riders would go past there before me. As I hung up though, a worrying thought crossed my mind. Whilst slogging up the long hill I’d spotted what looked like a bag of sweets and supplies squashed by a tyre in the road. It looked so mashed up it didn’t occur to me to stop and check whether there was anything more useful inside. It was a long way to go back and check though, and the description of the bag didn’t seem to match the description either.
In my mind, Sundsvall was where we left the coast yesterday and headed inland. It didn’t occur to me that much of the water I rode along during the morning was still the Gulf of Bothna. Even the massive suspension bridge carrying the E4 across part of the archipelago didn’t spark this thought in mind – I just stopped to snap a photo because it looked impressive. Had I thought about it some more, another clue that we were following the coastline was that the riding was unusually flat compared to what came before (and after). It did still roll up and down around coves, but not on the scale of the deep valleys we had been crossing. For a while after photographing the bridge, it occurred to me that since I was also heading north, I’d probably end up crossing the same waterways at some stage. That point ended up quite a bit further ahead. I was beginning to think about proper food, and seeing a handful of signs which looked promising – although I wasn’t sure Rum & Kok (Rum and Cake?) was a good plan. Another sign had me wondering whether it was a motor museum, a grill, or some themed combination of both. In the end, a simple option presented itself – a café in view of the bridge I’d been expecting.
Yoli laughed at my food choice – cheese and salami pie – honestly, it doesn’t sound appetising but the way the lady at the counter described it made it way more appealing, which indeed it was. I could probably have done with some extra chips in addition to the salad, but I made up for that by going back inside to order cake and an extra coffee for second course. It was definitely an unusual place – apparently run by an Asian family (maybe Korean or Vietnamese) but with a mostly western menu. The outdoor layout was unusual too – there were some tables directly outside, but up a short ramp of driveway was a covered outdoor balcony separated from the main building. This seemed a better bet to me, with rain clouds still rolling across the sky. Several groups and families sat nearby, enjoying their coffees and lunches but for once none spoke to me or asked where I was riding. So I sat quietly enjoying the view and the food.
With the threat of heavier rain, and only 90km remaining my intention was to ride direct to the hostel, without more stops aside from the last shop for supplies. Which is, pretty much, how the afternoon panned out. Once across what was in fact two bridge spans, the route turned left to head up the river valley away. For the opening part, the riding remained easy too. At a point a little beyond the bridges, the main road rose up and out of the valley, but the route ducked right staying alongside the river for a welcome flatter section of another 25km or so. Finally, a right turn in the town of Undom appeared – again, somewhere which would be utterly unmemorable except for being the other half of the “lost ID” discussion from earlier. The small shop exactly matched the picture the poor chap who’d lost his stuff had supplied, but the lone member of staff inside had nothing more to offer me than the last 3 or 4 riders who’d also stopped in to check. By now, I think at least the bag and his ID had been found, but the credit cards were gone. His description of the shop having “nothing useful inside” was pretty accurate though – a not completely chilled bottle of coke was all I managed to leave with. It was a worrying thought that maybe these small country stores regularly ran out of supplies – but I decided this one was probably just a poor example, and hoped the ones ahead would be better stocked.
Leaving the river at Undom was the point the route also had to climb out of this valley, much like the main road had earlier. The riding was mostly uphill for the next 20 km or more, rising up around 375m to get across to the next valley. Once again though, this effort came with a subsequent bonus. The remaining nearly 40km were almost completely downhill. Sadly, they were not rain free. Less than 5km from the shop I was aiming for, the heavens opened in spectacular fashion, delivering a torrential downpour which got me properly wet – at least my outer layers anyway. About 12km short of my destination, in the last drops of the rain, I turned off route for a hundred metres, up the muddy drive to the shop, and trudged soggily inside. It was more like a series of rooms of a house which had been connected together into a village store. But meandering through them, I found what I needed. Although had I checked the calorie count on the microwave pasta dish, I’d have bought two instead of one. The rest was all there though, including the now obligatory iced coffee and doughnuts.
Aside from the gravel drive to the house itself, it was pretty downhill tar from the shop to the hostel. Google Maps directed me left at the crossroads and right into the property itself, but I was glad of the owners instructions from there. Knowing to ignore the first cluster of buildings I continued down to two white houses beyond, one of them being the hostel building where my room was. There was a small covered seating area – which, with a little moving around of the chairs, gave me a spot completely under the roof to park the bike in the dry. Most of the chairs were already covered in drying sports gear, so I doubted anyone was going to be sitting outside anyway. A thought which was further confirmed by the storm which fully broke just as I got inside and started removing my shoes and wet gear. The hallway was also filled with sports shoes, but I managed to find an empty spot to add mine. Room #1 was just right off the hall, with the key in the door as promised – and also as described, a chest of drawers along the corridor had my pack of sheets and towel (the small extra fee was more than worthwhile for these). I want to say the room itself was typical for a hostel – but I can’t really make that statement. Firstly, the previous (and only) other time I’ve stayed in a hostel was years ago in Llanberis, for a hiking trip up Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon). And secondly, as decent as that hostel was, today’s was next level. A decent sized, well-furnished room: neat bunk bed with plenty of space; wardrobe; sink; and everything freshly painted and immaculately clean. The shower room and kitchen were much the same – if not more so. Yoli had laughed at the idea of me in a hostel, but this was nicer than some B&Bs I’ve stayed in. The dining area off the kitchen was filled with a crowd of young guys and girls (late teens I guessed). They were very friendly and helpful and, having seriously over catered, they offered me some of their food (in perfect English). Again, had I checked my own meal calories better I would have accepted. Instead I asked about their trip (summer ski camp training, which seemed to involve a lot of fell running), and they asked about mine. Once again, they seemed to know about the ride – presumably others had also found this little gem of a place. I wasn’t at all offended by their surprise that someone as “old” as me could be taking part – at something like a 45 year age difference, I probably seemed ancient. It was a description my knees would definitely have agreed with.
Only back in my room did I notice that I’d inadvertently bought a low calorie meal. I could have gone out and got some of the student’s pasta, but opted for the nearer option of eating one of the doughnuts, a banana, and a muesli bar. The shop in Bjorna tomorrow was close enough to make up the shortfall. The storm raged on outside, lashing down ridiculous amounts of rain before a brief pause that allowed me time to dash to the main house and pay the bill, allowing me an early start tomorrow without the stress of figuring out how to use the details on the back of the room door to pay electronically. The chap at reception told me they had a crazy 30mm of rain in the last hour. And more was forecast for tomorrow. Not exactly the news I wanted with such long and barren stretches ahead. Once again, the combination of fatigue and the perfectly still, peaceful surroundings meant that these thoughts did not trouble me long – heavy sleep washed over me quickly.
Rained 30mm/hr – that should keep the grass green!
Not often somwhere is wetter than here in the UK!