One the Road to Turku

This message may be a bit odd as I'm trying to decipher the posting instructions in Swedish. After three eventful days on the road I am within 25 miles of Turku, the ancient capital of Finland. The great weather experienced in Helsinki has turned into what the weather report calls unsettled conditions. This means thunder, lightning, hail the size of ice cubes.
Through my Balkan and Israeli folkdance connections, I got in touch with the local Helsinki folk club. Through the club and a lovely night of dancing in a Helsinki park and later meeting for coffee in a bayside cafe, I met the teacher, Wim, who, when told of my route, explained: "You can visit me. I live on a farm on Bike Route 1."

So early the next morning I pack up and pedal out of Helsinki, cross the last causeway and roll into the forests and fields. It is overcast, but no rain, and by noon I have already covered more than half the distance. I stop for lunch on a wooden causeway, constructed for bikes and pedestrians, where I eat over the water; fir, elm and oak trees, lush by the riverside. The only sound that of birds chirping and the distant plunk of a fisherman's line. I feel as if I have arrived in Rivendell itself.

Near Inkoo I lose the road and am forced to make several weary backtracks over tough dirt roads through deep forests and signs warning of ferocious dogs. At last, I find Wim's house, the one with the wooden shoes danging from the fence (He's from Holland you know," one of my new found Helsinki friends told me). Wim is a man who does everything. He farms. He repairs old wooden boats. He drives a horse and buggy for tourists at a nearby town. There is not enough room at his house so I am handed off to the lord of the manor, the owners of the farm, called Marieberg. Viveca and Hans are both doctors and live about 1 km down the road in a 100-year-old farmhouse. I stay in the spacious upstairs usually the haunt of a half dozen children and grandchildren, but empty tonight.

The next morning after a late breakfast I say good-bye and head to Ekenas, only 25 miles away. Here, I camp among the hoards, next to a tentful of teenage Finnish girls who have a boombox and are not shy about using it. In the afternoon while dining at an outdoor restaurant in town, I and all the other patrons are bombed by hail the size of ice cubes. The diluge lasts for 30 minutes. When I return to camp, I find that my tent is partially collapsed. Everything is soaked.

I am up early the next morning, make coffee, pack and am on the road by 7:45 a.m. I wind my way through more forests and farms. The farmhouses are either painted dark red with white trim or yellow gradually. Cresting one forested ridge, I encountered a strange beaver-like animal, mottled brown with gray fur. It scuttles into the woods before I get a good look. After lunch the storms hit. Lightning flashes and thunder crackles. I am on a hill, exposed. Then come the torrent. The rain shoots down so hard it blinds me. I can't keep my eyes open. I desperately look for a shelter, as such a condition on a road with a tiny shoulder is unsafe. Finally, I find an abandoned fruit stand and wait an hour for the worst of the downpour to stop. I intended to stop at a campground about five miles up the road, along one of the many fjords that cut across southern Finland. But when I arrive at the spot, there is no campground. I continue on, again in a downpour, everything soaked. I am desperate to protect my map because if I lose that to pulp I will never find my way. One of my notebooks, the one with valuable Helsinki notes, has turned to mush. It is 25 miles to the next down over a series of hills on a busy highway. I press on. After nearly 9 hours of cycling I finally reach a hotel, which seems much better than a campground. I now have a chance to dry out and get a good night's sleep.

This morning I am refreshed, repacked and reasonably re-reorganized, though the weather still looks marginal. I plan to make my triumphant ride in Turku by mid-afternoon.