Övertorneå- 3,382km completed
Unlike dinner the evening before, I wasn’t alone for breakfast. Another rider (#29 – whose name is sadly lost to me now) had beaten me downstairs and fired up the coffee machine, meaning there was a fresh brew waiting for me. We chatted at length whilst I raided the cereal supplies, glugged down the coffee, and polished off the pastries I’d bought the night before. I’d guess he was a few years older than me, but not by much – and also a fan of bright clothing, his lumi green shirt almost identical to mine apart from the brand. I learnt that he had been to the North Cape the year before, but as a solo ride – completing a series of annual tours to ride the entire coastline of Norway over (I think he said) 21 years. So I guess it was no surprise that he was still fit and riding strong by this stage of this event. Finishing my food somewhat before him, I cleared up, loaded my crocks into the dishwasher and wheeled out.
I could have just nipped back along the main street to rejoin the route but, as previously, despite being shorter and flatter it troubled me as not strictly following the rules. So I went to where I’d left the road yesterday and wound my way back around the town the long way. I hadn’t even reached the spot where the main street would have come out before I saw the first sign for Finland. And then leading onto the bridge beyond the town I was actually there – leaving Sweden, and entering the second to last country of the whole ride. It was a pretty big moment – stood there in the glorious morning sun realising both how far I had come and how (relatively) little there was left. It wasn’t a time for complacency though – there were still several days of potentially hard riding to reach the end.
I guess the Finnish roads felt a little more rural than Sweden – at least initially. The road signs and numbering were certainly different, and the tarmac perhaps not quite as new although still smooth for the most part. The riding was extremely undulating – basically either up or down, but each rise was lower than the past few days. Having reached the top of the Gulf of Bothnia, the route had veered away from North and now headed almost due East. Although the easier terrain was pleasant, I was heading directly into the morning sun which is never pleasant – always the worry that a fast moving car from behind may lose you in the “hole” of light they are driving into and not have enough time to take evasive manoeuvres. There was some traffic too, and a few passes that were closer than ideal, but nothing too major and progress was decently rapid. It was just over 100km to the city of Rovaniemi and I had no plans for much in the way of stops before there. I did take a couple of short breaks though: the first to eat the sandwich I’d bought for the road the night before; and the second at a small supermarket for an extra fill up on food and coffee. I’m pretty sure on at least one of the stops I saw Thomas again – I’d figured his pace was likely higher than mine, and sure enough after he’d passed me I didn’t see him on the road again. One other highlightof the morning was finally managing to grab a photo of some reindeer to send to Yoli when a pair paused right in front of me as they crossed the road.
Pretty much all of the remaining distance into the city was alongside the busy E75, but on a decent cycle path which swapped under the highway a couple of times along the way. It was fast and enjoyable riding and in no time at all, I was on a bridge crossing a section of river with the skyline of the Rovaniemi just ahead. Progress through the suburbs was a little slower – the paths being busier now with pedestrians and other cyclists in the late morning. A McDs a short distance away under an elevated section of the highway beside me had me tempted. But I had a vague recollection of a strange dream last night and some issue or my bike being stolen or something at a McDs. As much as I’d have loved a burger and fries I was not keen to test the accuracy of this premonition, so I rode past (an unusual feat of willpower I’m not sure I could summon again).
The city itself was lovely – at least the part of it I rode through. I was tempted to stop at one of the cafes in what seemed to be the central shopping street but the highlight of the day, Gate 4, was just 10km further on. I was pretty sure the Santa Village food options would be touristy and expensive, but stopping twice in quick succession even on a day of shorter riding didn’t feel a great idea. I remembered from the maps that Rovaniemi sat on the rightmost edge of a sprawling intersection of waterways. At the far end of town, the shopping street met up with the E75 again and just like that I was heading out of the city again. After a short section of parkland cycle trails I found myself on a long bridge crossing a large expanse of water. Somewhere up ahead, the big fella dressed in red and white was waiting to put the second to last stamp in my card.
One thing I was not expecting was that it was pretty much all uphill – OK, only to the tune of about 100m of elevation, but rising nevertheless. At the end of the bridge the path took a broad loop to get under and around a large highway intersection and then immediately pitched up into woodland above a small mall. The route was still following the busy main road, but set apart from it on a shady trail through the trees. It was all rather pleasant – at least compared to what I’d been expecting anyhow. It wasn’t long before I started to see the first of the Arctic Village signs – a few of them looking somewhat dilapidated it must be said, broken sections and fading colours. I guess nowhere had been hit harder by the long COVID crisis than purpose built tourist destinations served by long distance air travel. Rolling out onto the edge of the car parks surrounding the village was all rather predictable. I mean it was fabulous to have got here finally after so many days of riding across Sweden. And if I had been 5 years old, I’m sure all I would have seen was Santa’s real home. But as a near 60 year old, it was impossible to overlook the predictable, plastic, Disney-esque façade. This was, to all intense and purposes, an glorified oversized highway service station dressed up as a theme park. I put the cyncism to the back of my mind though and went off in search of what I needed: food; a stamp in my card; and some photos including one with Santa in it (for Yoli).
Eventually, after a lot of circling around, I found everything I was looking for. It took a few visits to shops, and the Santa Post Office before I finally found where the NC4K stamp was. The card itself being stamped by one of Santa’s Elves – a girl at the front desk of the building marked “Santa’s Office”. By that time, a photo next to one of the many plastic Santas was all I could spare time for since food was still eluding me. You wouldn’t think sunburn and heat would be factors now I’d officially entered the Arctic Circle, but the sky was clear blue and it was swelteringly hot. I quickly gave up on the idea of a traditional buffet – which looked busy, and too warm. Instead, a small Asian place in a two storey block of shops hit the spot. I must say, sitting inside an air conditioned restaurant eating chicken noodles with a starter of spring rolls was not exactly the arctic picture I’d imagined. But damn it was tasty food.
Whilst I was eating, I checked the videos from the owner of the glamping site again to see how everything worked, and also picked a shop en-route to grab supplies. There was only about 50km of riding left for the day, and the shop sat just before half way, at a split in the road. Rolling back out of the faux village I passed a burger restaurant – the other food option I’d considered, but no one I spoke to seemed sure if it was open. It was, but I didn’t regret my choice. I had seen one fellow rider in the village, and a couple of other bikes with numbers on, but I was alone heading back to the highway. And here, my good fortune ran out for the day. The cycle path ended, and I was left slogging along a main road busy with fast cars and trucks. Honestly, this one stretch was the worst piece of main road for traffic and close passes of the whole experience. For the remainder of the riding that day, it dulled my jubilance somewhat at getting the Gate 4 stamp and being here, so far north. There was the narrowest of strips right of the white line, which I did my best to hide in. But even then, a couple of trucks came so close I could swear I could make out a strip down their sides where I’d wiped them clean. The worst part was the anticipation. From behind you could hear them way before they passed – buy didn’t know whether they’d be one of the fifty percent or so who would give you space. From the front was almost worse. You saw them thundering towards you, knowing that either cars stacked behind them would try and pass them on your side of the road, or cars from behind you would try and squeeze through rather than wait until the convoy passed. I was so glad when the junction and the shop arrived. Hopes that my fork would be the minor road beyond here were dashed by the sign – the E75 (locally A4) was marked left on the sign – where I would be heading. I put it out of mind and rolled across to the little shop, propped my bike up, and went in to hide from it for a bit.
Shops here all seemed to involve the letter “K”. The stop before Rovaniemi was a K-Market, and this was a K-Kauppa. It felt a bit like all those American radio stations, which always seemed to be K-Something. Small as this one was, it had what I needed. A pasta dish to heat up tonight, plenty of bananas, and the usual pastries, cereal-yoghurts, juice and coffee for tomorrow. I could have just shopped and left – but alongside the checkout was a little café, with steaming pots of filter coffee and a glass display and shelves loaded with cakes. With no hurry now my lodgings were so close, and no desire to get back to the main road quicker than I had to, I visited the friendly lady behind the counter. I’ve heard it said Finnish people don’t do small talk, and I guess I sensed some truth in this, but we still had a short but pleasant exchange as I paid for a pastry and a coffee. She had seen many other riders of course, although myself and the handful not far behind would be the last from this event – at least for this year. We wouldn’t be the last cyclists through of course – there were plenty of those around on their own tours. Whilst there, I spoke to a young couple who were readying to leave on their heavily loaded flat bar rigs. I also spoke at length to a local guy on an unloaded road bike, out for his afternoon ride. He agreed on the state of the traffic, commenting that it would lessen at some point north, but without being specific on how far that was. I forget the rest of the details – but we certainly discussed NC4K, and the North Cape in general. Once they’d all gone, I went for a second cup and another cake. I’ve always loved unpretentious, every day little spots over the major tourist ones. And this little unassuming café, with its welcoming owner was much more my sort of place than the contrived “Santa land” behind. It wasn’t just somewhere to shelter whilst I hoped the traffic died down – it was a place where I actually relaxed, and just breathed in the local hospitality for a few minutes.
With great relief, the next stretch started out on cycle path again – which ate up a couple of kilometres of the remaining thirty. It was a pattern which repeated at a couple of small areas beyond – wherever there was a small village, or cluster of houses or other buildings, a path had been built. I took advantage of every one of these to escape the traffic. My timing on leaving Gate 4 had possibly been poor – as the afternoon drifted into evening the traffic did quieten down, and by the time I crested the small rise up to the brown sign for Laenlampi Ranch, the road really wasn’t that busy. The nightmare traffic was past, fading into memory as just another challenge that had to be overcome on the way here. I swung around in a layby (having missed the turn), doubled back and enjoyed the crunch of gravel under my wheels as I turned up the short gravel drive.
It was exactly as shown in the video by the owner: left and across a lawn; past the tap where we could get spring water; and then down through the woods to the tents and the little hut with the kitchen and the shower/sauna. It’s hard to describe what an absolute picture of paradise this was, tucked away just off the busy road. In some order which I forget now, I unloaded the bike, put my supplies in the fridge in the hut, and set my sleeping gear aside to take up to the tent. But before heading up there the fire had to be lit – the only source of hot water for showering. Ducking inside the dimly lit sauna room, I was faced with a problem – there were plenty of large logs, but no fire lighters or kindling which I could see. Luckily, having spent many years lighting braais and camp fires back home in South Africa this did not phase me. I grabbed a bowl and went back outside. Around the hut were thousands of pine cones – ideal for the task. I loaded up a decent heapful, went back inside, and with a single match they roared into life. After a couple of visits for stoking and refuelling the large logs caught and the water in the boiler above the stove began to warm up. The most important task done, I revisited my tent to unpack and put gear on charge. This really was proper glamping. A large tent, with a space heater on low, a huge comfy bed with fur rugs, power for chargers, and strings of fairy lights to add a final touch of magic. This was my kind of touristy – and I knew Yoli would hate me for enjoying it solo.
Back in the hut, there was no microwave – just a small single gas burner. So I improvised. In fact, I reckon my “stir fried” pasta tasted better for it. I grabbed some of the now warm water for washing everything up at the outside sink area, like we’d been requested to do. And then headed in to take my shower. The owner had described this as a “proper Finnish shower experience” – and it truly was. A very large bucket of cold water stood inside, with two smaller bowls. The idea was you mixed the cold water with the now boiling water from the stove to get a nice temperature, and doused yourself. There were natural washing products provided too – which I guess was essential to ensure we didn’t chuck normal, chemically loaded, shower gels into their nearby lake. Not that I had any soaps of my own anyway though. So I used these, and between douses and soaping repeats had one of the best showers of the whole trip – stood there in a little wooden hut in the forest, using buckets, next to a fire I had lit myself. What a day. It could hardly get better, until it did.
“Mr Rob Walker” I heard from outside – in a strangely familiar voice.
Quite by chance, presumably lured by the same pictures I had seen, Christopher and Benjamin had booked into the same place.
“I’ve already got the fire lit for you” I replied, after we’d exchanged hugs, greetings, and stories from the road.
It turned out they’d been stalking my dot during the day, but it wasn’t quite updating accurately or often enough to figure out my plans. At the point they’d come down the path and spotted my bike they were still showing me back at the shop and figured, having not seen me there, I must have pulled over somewhere to sleep. A few minutes later the owner came down to greet us in person. She’d been out a 1st wedding anniversary party all day with her family, and had come back to get ready for a horse riding group she was leading later in the evening. In between checking we had all we needed, and refilling the shower water bucket, she wished us all well and hoped we enjoyed our Finnish shower sauna experience, explaining that was what they’d grown up with so it was a proper slice of local life. The guys and I chatted for a while after she’d left, but not long enough sadly – as great as it was to see each other again, each of us also still had to sort our various needs for the next day. For them, it was the shower. And for me, with the time moving on and wanting an early start, it was sleep. I apologised at needing to bail early, but said I was sure to see them on the road tomorrow when they caught me up again. Being much faster riders, they were planning to leave an hour so later than me. At some point during the day, I’d dissected the remaining route into what might be manageable legs. Friends Nico and Chris back home had joked that with 600km to go, I could do it in one stretch. I hadn’t quite gone that mad – mostly because I didn’t need too. I’d opted for lodging in the ski resort of Saariselka, 200km away. The terrain was rolling rather than properly hilly, and the forecast was for wind from behind, but I still wanted an early start to get the distance done.
My last act of the evening was to take a photo of the sun still up, at 10pm. It was dipping down but, as promised by our location, it never truly got dark. The couple of times I woke in the night, I was bathed in an orange glow from the tent material. It was fully light outside the whole night.
