The Road to Sibelius and Where Am I?

Yesterday I managed to make a 50-mile roundtrip ride to Ainola, the home of the great Finnish Composer, Jean Sibelius, into a 70 mile ride. The day was brilliantly sunny. I quickly found the bike paths out of town, then turned north toward Tuusala on a beautiful path along the Vantaajoki River. Within ten miles the suburbs were behind me and I was in and out of forests and fields. Lupines, columbines, yarrow and clover were in full blossom taking advantage of the 18 hours of sunshine. Although Finland is fairly flat, there are slight changes in elevation that one feels on a bike. The hills are not high enough to gain a perspective so my usual means of determining direction was not available. Also, the sun continued to be in strange places. I made a series of miscalculations in Tuusala, which added about 8 miles to my trip, but eventually I saw Lake Tuusala, and then a tiny sign for Ainola, the turn-off for the Sibelius house.

Located in a splendid grove of pines over looking a flowering garden of peonies and roses, the house is more or less a giant cottage. It is furnished as if the master himself still lived there. In the drawing room is a baby grand piano, which Sibelius seldom used to compose, preferring instead to write the music in his head before committing it to manuscript. But after 1929 and after composing 7 symphonies and numerous other pieces, Sibelius found he could not write anymore music. For the next 38 years his publishers waited desperately for the much anticipated 8th symphony.

It never came. I departed Ainola in high spirts, thinking I would return to Helsinki by mid-afternoon. I wasn't paying attention to the map, and thought I was heading in the right direction. But as I entered the suburbs nothing looked familiar. While consulting the map, a passerby offered to help. Where I am? I asked. He confirmed that I was heading in the exact wrong direction and pointed out that I needed to take the road to Malm. At the train station, just follow the path next to the tracks toward Helsinki, he told me. I quickly found the tracks, but once again veered off into unchartered forest. Again, I flagged a passerby, this time a tall blonde who could have easily passed for Ms World. Where am I? I asked. She was shocked that my destination was Helsinki. "You are going to Russia," she said. This was not good. I retraced my steps back to the Malm train station, and again flagged down a helpful Finnish passerby. Where I am? I asked yet again. I said I wanted to go to Helsinki and pointed in a direction. No, no, she said, and pointed in exactly the opposite direction. This was the point were I decided my once reliable sense of direction was hopelessly messed up. I followed her directions, checking the map at every junction. The print was so small I used a magnifying glass to read the street names. At last I crossed the Vantaajoki and connected with the familiar path. If you think Finland is cold, forget it. It was nearly 80 degrees F yesterday. I've worn my shorts everyday and a t/shirt. Also, please excuse weird or lack of punctuation as these keyboards are strange and the meter is always running.