Överhörnäs – 2,757km completed
There was no way around the long empty stretch, or what seemed near certain rain for most of the day. But at least my riding plan, thanks to the shorter effort yesterday, gave me a straight shot to the town of Lycksele at a conservative distance of 190km for the day. Albeit, the profile rose gradually uphill for all of the first 150km – peaking at around 465m above sea level before descending for nearly all of the remaining 40km. Lycksele was a decent size town too with a range of shops and accommodation. The smart looking Hotel Lappland caught my eye, as it had done when I noted it down as an option on the cue cards. So that was my target.
The skies were clear as I rolled out from the hostel, scrunching up the gravel and splooshing through large puddles in the driveway. I do recall a shower though not long after getting started. After crossing the channel between two parts of a lake, a short ramp led past a stunning church with what looked to be a hexagonal or octagonal tower. I thought I snapped a photo, but there is no sign of it now. I definitely remember getting rained on at the top as I stopped to zip myself up again. From memory, it rained on and off most if not all of the way to my planned CoOp stop at 39km in Bjorna where the route swung right. I greeted a fellow rider who was eating outside as I parked up and headed in for my own raid on the supplies. The options were, it must be said, somewhat depleted. There was type of baguettes, of which I bought 2 – one for now and one for the road. And plenty of bananas, snacks, and drinks. It was basic, but enough. For the life of me now I can’t remember his name or nationality (Balkans I think, maybe Kasakhstan) – but we had a long, albeit somewhat broken chat about the day and the prospects. We swore a lot too – mostly at the weather, but also at the long resupply gap now. The chap had missed the message and was planning on Frederika. On double checking the news I passed on, he dashed inside to get more supplies, calling out a thank you over his shoulder before disappearing. We rolled off at roughly the same time, and I did see him up the road for quite some time – but eventually he outpaced me and was gone.
There was a little village ICA store 15km further along at Hemling which I pulled into briefly – just to get an extra drink and top off my water bottles. I also ate and replaced one of my bananas too and had another coffee. Ordinarily I would not have bothered so soon, but it seemed silly not too with the big gap ahead. Rejoining the main route back at the crossroads out of the village, the riding became very routine – the stretch to Bjorna and then on to here had taken the sting out of most of the elevation for the day. From here on, the countryside rolled gradually – long slow hauls up easy gradients, followed by long sweeping freewheels down similarly small gradients. Showers pelted down on me every half hour or so – followed by sunnier spells just long enough to get me dry, before the next downpour soaked me all over again. As grim as this sounds – it wasn’t really that bad. The scenery was as stunning as ever – and the rain, although ridiculously heavy at times, did at least pass over and allow for some drier riding in between. If you pick random locations on this stretch of Google StreetView you’d be forgiving for thinking it all looked the same. And in truth, as a result of that “sameness”, I don’t recall many specific details – but, accompanied by a banging sound track in my ears, it was anything but dull. The roads were quiet, the riding non taxing (aside from the rain), and the views ever changing. I can rarely remember more enjoyable ride in such damp weather.
I kept an eye out for any cafes or shops I’d missed – but none of the handful of buildings or small industrial units I passed seemed to offer anything. And, whilst there was nowhere for supplies, there was a roadside loo – something I had spotted and marked on my cue cards. A wooden cabin, with a long drop loo and even toilet paper. It’s the sort of place in many countries you’d have expected to find vandalised, but all was in perfect working order. There was even a covered picnic place in the woods a few metres from the car park too – but I was so wet by now, I didn’t bother trying to get dry yet again.
As expected, the fuel station on the run into Frederika was just automated pumps – no shop. A derelict looking building with a broken sign (Folkes Hus) beyond gave the impression of a run down town, which whilst probably false, set the tone for the rest of my visit. This in mind, I had zero expectations turning in to the town itself – doing so more in the hope of somewhere to shelter and eat my snacks in the dry rather than finding anything open. The shop was shut, as expected, but sat under the porch of a building opposite was the chap I’d met in Bjorna. We ended up having an amusing half hour, sheltering from the rain, and making jokes about the weather and the surroundings. “Lunch in a town that seemed to have died” was the strapline I put on the photos I shared – probably harsh, but it captured how things felt. The paint was peeling on the building whose shelter we used – one lamp flickering in a deserted loading dock out the back (it seemed to be, or have been, a café). One solitary soul wandered through the rain – across a small patch of green landscaping, with a quaint miniature bridge crossing nothing and going nowhere. The only other people we saw were a family touring in an EV who were completely failing to get the charger in the car park to work. I struggle to get those to work back home, where the instructions are in English, so I simply shrugged apologetically when they came across to ask if we knew anything about the machine. I saw later, on the ride chat group, that days previously someone had got lucky at somewhere called Jakt & Fiskecamp a few blocks from where we were. So maybe we just didn’t look around carefully enough – perhaps Frederika wasn’t the ghost town it appeared to us.
Food eaten, jokes told, swearing done, it was time to roll out again. Unlike my temporary companion, I didn’t bother lubing my chain – I figured I’d let the afternoon do its worst, and relube later, hopefully in the of a hotel garage.
Beyond Frederika, the road was a mess – long stretches of dirt and gravel where repairs were taking place. It wasn’t dusty, due to the rain, but it was dirty and slippery – the parts which were uphill were lumpy and slow. The parts which were downhill were worse – rattling, sketchy descents that were too sketchy to take at speed. This was another of those parts with long, commanding views – where you could see the outline of what you needed to get across. And after Frederika, it was a short but steep ridge, across a long valley, and then a large haul up to the high point for the day. All of these being telescoped in advance, which made them seem more daunting from a distance than they ended up being. I stopped a few times to refuel from my remaining store of snacks. My water was beginning to run a bit low, but my food reserves were holding up well.
The top of the hill came at a right turn in the route. Although there was nearly 40km to go, the riding was essentially done at this point, although not the weather. The first 9km across the top of the higher ground was in thick, misty, clouds, pelted by large, stinging drops of rain. I think it was here that I was struck by a realization. For the whole day, and some of the previous day, I had watched as heavy clouds bringing a new front of showers slowly got nearer, broke over the top of me, and then rolled on. From a distance, you could see that each was in fact a narrow ribbon of rain that would pass. But once it engulfed you, all around was just a uniform, dim, grey blanket of rain. Once you were in the middle of the shower, you lost sight of how small or big it was – you had no clue of whether it would pass in a minute, or five, or twenty, or an hour. You could not see the end of the storm from inside it – all you could do was just keep riding on in the knowledge that somewhere, up ahead, there was a clear blue patch that you’d eventually reach. It was a huge boost to flagging spirits to realise that the damp greyness all around would pass if you just kept pedalling along. I believe more than anything, that thought kept me going through the soaking conditions.
Somewhere a little before I ran down into Lycksele itself, I saw a sign saying “Lappland”. It was a complete surprise – it never occurred to me that northern Sweden was also in Lappland. I know it was literally the name of the hotel I was heading to – but I’d assumed there was some poetic license there due to our proximity to that part of the north. But no, I was now actually in Lappland. Which was a hell of a mental lift to end the day – along with blue, sunny skies which finally seemed set for the evening. Rolling into the town, I pulled over at the first ICA store I saw to refill my dwindling range of supplies, and get some food for later and tomorrow. I’d be unable to get definite confirmation of what the hotel could provide, so I was taking no chances. It had been a hard day of riding, and I needed the calories. As I pulled up, there was my temporary riding companion for the day – just leaving. We’d shadowed each other all day, but our brief words as we parted here would be the last time we’d meet up. He was off to find a camp site he said.
Reaching the lake shore, I was immediately distracted by the pleasing sight of my hotel – which appeared quite grand across the water. Spending too much time looking at it, I missed the turn onto the cycle path bridge, and had to bump across a grass verge and loop back through an underpass to avoid the busier road bridge.
The Hotel Lappland, whilst lovely was in fact, a little too smart for me. The only bike parking they had was outside the front of the hotel, covered (just about) but exposed to the car park. Despite the receptionists assurances that her bike was always safe there, I still locked mine and unloaded everything of use or value. I was more than a little nervous – but too tired to argue or try and sneak the bike into the room (which was 4 floors up anyway). The restaurant did accommodate me immediately with a pasta dish though and the promise of a packed breakfast, so really it was pretty much ideal – even if I wasn’t quite the ideal looking or smelling guest. A lot of smartly dressed international tourists came and went. Although none visibilty turned their noses up my soggy, dishevelled, appearance, they gave it away in smaller signs – the wide berth as they passed, waiting for the next lift rather than endure the smell of being in mine. A benefit of my clothes being so wet was it made any debate over doing laundry moot. It had to dry anyway, so I may as well wash it in the first place.
Tomorrow was Sunday – and it was over 70km to the first shop that looked likely to be open. So the extra supplies I’d bought on the way into town and didn’t now need this evening would not go to waste. I also didn’t take any risks on finding a hotel tomorrow either and got something booked. At 225km, across challenging looking terrain, and with more rain and strong headwinds forecast, it looked like it was going to be a tough day. So I set the alarm early and didn’t mess around before climbing in to the wonderfully plush bed to get some proper sleep. Sometime early tomorrow would also be the first time I’d pass 3,000km on a ride.