The Expedition Team is quite content on the great big ship full of restaurants heading to the Äland Islands. The Team has to be dragged away from Jack's Karoke Bar where middle-aged men belt out Finnish folk songs. Give these guys a few drinks and they really loosen up. The Team debarks at Mariehamn, capital of Äland, a sort Grand Finwick among national entities. It issues its own postage stamps, has no army and contracts out complicated stuff to Finland. Although the expedition team enjoyed the boat ride, they are overcome with delight when they see the camping spot by the bay, the sun out, bikini-clad young women frolicking on a nearby beach. Mariehamn, itself, is a pleasant town of tree-lined residential streets and a small pedestrian mall with outdoor cafes. Business is thriving on this sunsplashed day. A scouting mission in the afternoon to the town of Gottby discovers a 30-foot high midsummersnight pole, gaily decorated with flowers and a crown of wooden ships circling near the top.
The next day the I set out on a mission to explore the islands, reluctantly leaving my little piece of paradise. The sun is out with a few clouds. I pass tidy little villages, farms and forest. But by mid-afternoon the wind begins to blow, clouds moved in. Heeding my lesson from last week, I quickly reach the ruins of a Russian fort, Bomarsund, where I pitch camp. While out looking for the bike ferry landing, the storm hits with full force. To make matters worse the bike ferry no longer operates on a regular basis. A phone number is scribbled on a post, suggesting that would-be riders call the "BÄT" ferry if you want it to come. I call. No answer. Heading up muddy, water-gullied roads I reach my camp and jump into the tent, where I remain for the rest of the evening except for an excursion to a nearby cafe for dinner. The wind howls all night.
In the morning, I wake to the wailing of a gang of ferocious seagulls, which are screaming at the tent and pecking at the rain fly. This was my cue to get up. With the bat taxi out of commission, I face the prospect of turning back to Mariehamn or continuing along the islands using the regular ferries until it found a way back to the mainland. I decide on principle that backtracking is a bad idea. I will go forward, not sure where I'll end up.
The next day the I set out on a mission to explore the islands, reluctantly leaving my little piece of paradise. The sun is out with a few clouds. I pass tidy little villages, farms and forest. But by mid-afternoon the wind begins to blow, clouds moved in. Heeding my lesson from last week, I quickly reach the ruins of a Russian fort, Bomarsund, where I pitch camp. While out looking for the bike ferry landing, the storm hits with full force. To make matters worse the bike ferry no longer operates on a regular basis. A phone number is scribbled on a post, suggesting that would-be riders call the "BÄT" ferry if you want it to come. I call. No answer. Heading up muddy, water-gullied roads I reach my camp and jump into the tent, where I remain for the rest of the evening except for an excursion to a nearby cafe for dinner. The wind howls all night.
In the morning, I wake to the wailing of a gang of ferocious seagulls, which are screaming at the tent and pecking at the rain fly. This was my cue to get up. With the bat taxi out of commission, I face the prospect of turning back to Mariehamn or continuing along the islands using the regular ferries until it found a way back to the mainland. I decide on principle that backtracking is a bad idea. I will go forward, not sure where I'll end up.
Under dark gray skies, I quickly pack and head toward Vardo, connecting to the next island via a barge. Next, I make it to Hummelvik, where I load onto another ferry that carries me another 75 miles to the island of Brändo, where I pedal 15 miles, and catch the Viggens to Osnäs. From here the islands are connected by bridges and barges to the mainland. I camp that night near Kustavi, having successfully visited more than a dozen of the lessen known Älands and mastering the Swedish ferry schedule. There is only one problem. I am 200 miles off course, having landed west of Turku, instead of east.
The next day I strike out due north for Tampere. I figure this segment will take two days. If the weather is bad I will backtrack to Turku and take a train to Tampere. But the weather is good in the morning. I dry off everything, so my load weight is down to normal. Plus, I feel very strong. The area I am now in is not in Lonely Planet. I don't know what it's called, but the first part of the trip I stop and have coffee and great donuts. I christen this area "Donut Land." North of Donut Land, I make good time through a relatively flat region with large farms and fewer stands of forests. There is little traffic. A fox jumps out on the road ahead of me, then peers from some brushes. He thinks I can't see him. The farther north I pedal, the more expansive are the forests, the smaller the farms. By about 4 pm I have reached Lake Pyhäjarvi. I pass on the first campground, noting that my map shows another one north of Sakya, another 15 miles to the north. Since I am feeling so robust I decide to put a few more miles on to lessen tomorrow's ride. But when I got to Sakya, there is no campground. Now I am worried. The instances of disappearing campgrounds are alarming. I ride to Eura at the northernmost section of lake, then back down the other side to another listed camp. It, too, is shuttered. By now it is very late, like around 9 pm, I have cycled more than 83 miles with a full load, a record for me. I have one alternative left. I turn onto a dirt road and enter the forest, then find a rough track and drag the bike and wagon over a hill. In Finland, it is legal to camp on private property providing you leave no trace and are a reasonable distance away from a dwelling. No one lives anywhere near where I sequester myself. I find myself in the middle of giant huckleberry field. But as I harvest the succulent fruit, I notice a curious buzzing. Mosquitoes, millions of them are swarming. They dive into my eyes. They shuttle up my nose. They fly into my mouth. I scramble to get the tent up, but in my haste derail the zipper to the mosquito net, creating an opening for the bastards to get in. It is a half an hour before I manage to kill all the bugs inside the tent. This is not the best situation. I am caked in sweat and dead mosquitos. My clothes stink. To make matters more interesting, the woods are filled with curious sounds, like the shrieking of either an owl or a some prehistoric bird. In the early morning, the rain starts. I will have to pack a wet tent and try to convince my body that it can cycle another 75 miles to Tampere, where I promise myself I will check into a hotel.
The next day I strike out due north for Tampere. I figure this segment will take two days. If the weather is bad I will backtrack to Turku and take a train to Tampere. But the weather is good in the morning. I dry off everything, so my load weight is down to normal. Plus, I feel very strong. The area I am now in is not in Lonely Planet. I don't know what it's called, but the first part of the trip I stop and have coffee and great donuts. I christen this area "Donut Land." North of Donut Land, I make good time through a relatively flat region with large farms and fewer stands of forests. There is little traffic. A fox jumps out on the road ahead of me, then peers from some brushes. He thinks I can't see him. The farther north I pedal, the more expansive are the forests, the smaller the farms. By about 4 pm I have reached Lake Pyhäjarvi. I pass on the first campground, noting that my map shows another one north of Sakya, another 15 miles to the north. Since I am feeling so robust I decide to put a few more miles on to lessen tomorrow's ride. But when I got to Sakya, there is no campground. Now I am worried. The instances of disappearing campgrounds are alarming. I ride to Eura at the northernmost section of lake, then back down the other side to another listed camp. It, too, is shuttered. By now it is very late, like around 9 pm, I have cycled more than 83 miles with a full load, a record for me. I have one alternative left. I turn onto a dirt road and enter the forest, then find a rough track and drag the bike and wagon over a hill. In Finland, it is legal to camp on private property providing you leave no trace and are a reasonable distance away from a dwelling. No one lives anywhere near where I sequester myself. I find myself in the middle of giant huckleberry field. But as I harvest the succulent fruit, I notice a curious buzzing. Mosquitoes, millions of them are swarming. They dive into my eyes. They shuttle up my nose. They fly into my mouth. I scramble to get the tent up, but in my haste derail the zipper to the mosquito net, creating an opening for the bastards to get in. It is a half an hour before I manage to kill all the bugs inside the tent. This is not the best situation. I am caked in sweat and dead mosquitos. My clothes stink. To make matters more interesting, the woods are filled with curious sounds, like the shrieking of either an owl or a some prehistoric bird. In the early morning, the rain starts. I will have to pack a wet tent and try to convince my body that it can cycle another 75 miles to Tampere, where I promise myself I will check into a hotel.
2 comments:
Bob,
Wish I was there. Even with all the rain. Looks like you aren't the only cycle turist in Finland. Have a good time!
Hi Bob-- We just discovered your expedition accounts. Great exploring you are doing-reminds us of our past biking,with all the unexpected excitement that is the rule rather than the exception. Safe journey to you, and we look forward to first-hand accounts in the Fall
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