The Crescendo Sophia Hill Climb

I first came to Europe when I was 18, and came to race bikes. It was where cycling was born and where it involved into the spectacle (albeit confusing one) that it is today. It’s where the best cyclists rode their bikes and where you came if you wanted to be the best.

21 years later, and I have still never raced a bicycle outside New Zealand. Why? Well that’s another story, but today I finally broke the spell and broke on to the international scene. Not quite in the big way I had imagined as a young man trying to make his way in the world, but I was definitely noticed.

A good friend of ours – Karin, who had recently moved back to Sweden from New Zealand, suggested I might want to come along to one of the local road racing clubs hill climb events after work. As I am still family-less and Karin is the only person I know in a radius stretching many thousands of kilometres, I accepted. I didn't have a bike, well I did - Karin’s 15+ year shopping bike complete with basket, malfunctioning gears, dodgy brakes and delaminated tyres, but I thought a bit of spectating with beer in hand on a hot summers evening sounded like a pretty good idea.

Karin met me at work and I followed her on her slick racing machine through a labyrinth of cycle paths and back roads to the meeting point outside the Babajan bar in the heart of Södermalm, the large Island in the heart of Stockholm. We were the first to arrive and before I knew it Karin was entering me on the start sheet. What? I was dressed in my work clothes, had a bike that was… well, I won’t call it a heap of junk as I’ll have to give it back, but I didn’t even know if I could pedal it up the so called hill climb let along try and race on it! But it was done, and the friendly organiser, salivating at the idea of making a complete fool of this foreigner was loving every moment of it. He even went home to fetch me a helmet.

Other cyclists started to trickle in. They were of the sleek looking whippet variety with shaved legs, head to toe matching lyrca sporting sponsors colours and riding ridiculously expensive bikes. I was feeling more of a fool by the minute. So we snuck off for a quick (quick probably the wrong word to use) reccie of the course. The racing was to be had in heats of four. The riders were neutralised until a sharp left hander and risk of oncoming traffic had been accessed before been let loose on another tight right hander and gradually climbed up an increasingly steep gradient (to a maximum incline of 15%) on a narrow winding road to the summit of a small hill, atop which stood the Sophia Church. The first two riders advanced to the next round, the losers to a repacharge called “lucky losers” in which you had one more chance to advance or it was beer o’clock for you.

The whippers ready for action. My bike is on its stand in the gutter to  left of the centre of the picture.

The course

Beer o’clock sounded good as we milled around waiting for the heats to start and for me to be put out of my misery. Karin was off in the first heat and as she and her fellow competitors took off into the pain zone, I pulled my trusty steed over to the start line behind bikes sporting Sram Red and Shimano Dura-Ace components. If you don’t know what that means, its like travelling first class on a bicycle. Me, in my work clothes on a 15 year old shopping bike, was in the luggage hold.

Me on the start line (3rd from left in red top). Note everyone jealously eyeing up my bike. (Photo: Andreas Nyström), 

My only chance (the only real hope was a huge oil slick around the corner) was a quick start. Despite the first 100 or so metres been neutralised, when we were sent off, I managed to sneak past everyone at a furious pace (yes we were still neutralised) and hold the lead for about 2 seconds (this was also the flat bit) before I was swamped and left behind (yes, the race was still neutralised). By the time I actually got to the climb, the other three were gone, and I enjoyed the support of a small crowd as I snaked my way up the climb before crawling over the line and letting out a heavy wheeze of effort. Of course, as a ‘lucky’ loser I got to do it all over again… lucky me. I’d take you through that race step by step too, but it went very similar to the first one, except I didn't manage to take the lead for 2 seconds in the flat neutralised section.

Karin in action. (Photo: Andreas Nyström), 

While the fit whippets on the sleek bikes battled it out in quarter finals, semi finals and of course the finals, Karin and I watched from the outside seating, wrapped in the provided rugs trying to keep warm in the Swedish summer’s night. It wasn't how I imagined my first international race would pan out, dead last by a very large margin, however I never imagined that such a poor showing would be so much fun as well.

Relaxing with beer in hand on a balmy Swedish summer's evening. Note the blanket (provided by the  bar)

Same job, different country, and a bad omen from the rules of Swedish rounding

It’s kind of bizarre working for the same company in a completely different country. It’s all very familiar, yet it’s very different in many ways. The same (or similar) policies and procedures exist, yet they are enforced to varying levels and degrees. Some things that had me banging my head against a brick wall in New Zealand are either done so differently, more efficiently, or make more sense the way they occur in Sweden, they have me sighing with relief. The reverse is also true though, although this seems less common, or perhaps that’s my rose tinted (new job) spectacles which haven’t had a chance to wear off yet! For obvious reasons I won’t name specifics, or even the company I work for – I don’t want to get fired! Let us call them “U*S” so they remain anonymous. I would of course like to point out that “U*S” are an incredible company to work for!

The most important thing I had to learn on my first day of work was fika. It was mentioned nearly immediately upon my arrival and at least a dozen times during the morning leading up to it, always with a growing sense excitement. Of course I had heard of fika before coming to Sweden. It is hard not too when you mention you are moving there. It had even been mentioned during my interview at least a couple of times. And finally there I was, ready to enjoy my first fika. So what is fika? Fika is a social institution in Sweden and it simply means to have a break, more often than not a coffee break. Most companies in Sweden gather at least once a day to stop work and take fika together. Of course, many, as it was emphasised to me later in the day have at least two fika a day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. But I’m not too sure the shareholders at “U*S” would approve of such idleness – too much time to plot the company takeover. So much had been said of fika I didn't really know what to expect. It was however quite a simple affair, coffee and biscuits at three o’clock. A small turn out on day one.  A mere five souls met for approximately fifteen minutes, chatted jollily before returning to work. And there it was my very first fika.  Not quite the rowdy affair I had expected, but a welcome break none-the-less and a chance to put some more names to faces and vica-verca. I missed fika today (day 2) despite been reminded several times, as I was at the tax office – but that’s a whole other story.

Anyway, so apart from fika I have been working very hard. I learnt how to undertake four very important things in two days.

1. I’ve figured out how to work my phone, send a text message and even make a call! Everything is in Swedish, it is harder than it sounds!

2. I have learnt how to adjust the height of my desk. Now that sounds a little pathetic, and maybe others in more advanced countries than I have ever lived before will laugh at my excitement, but you can control the height of the desks in the office with the touch of a button. So when you are sick of working really hard sitting on your behind, you can raise the desk to standing height and work even harder standing up. And then when your legs get too tired standing up, you press the down button and return to where you started. And you can do this every five minutes if you like until you get bored of the new toy by lunchtime and then forget it about for the rest of your employment. Just a word of warning though, make sure the cables to your computer are not tangled around various office detritus when undertaking this manoeuvre and also that your desk is not jammed so hard against the wall it attempts to take the paint off as it moves… just saying. Well, I thought that was pretty cool and proudly made by IKEA too.

A desk designed for 10 ft Scandinavians.

3. I have learnt to make the coffee. Now this is a very important part of Swedish culture. Unfortunately I managed to flood the kitchen on my first attempt. From now on, coffee making will be included in inductions for all new staff at the Stockholm office. Well, maybe just for stupid people who lived on streets called Pratt before they came to Sweden. “That has never happened before”. I think I’ll steer clear of the coffee machine for a bit. I would imagine I would have been very unpopular if I had disturbed fika with my flood. Luckily there was plenty of time to clean up the mess and hide the evidence before three o’clock rolled on by.

4. Actually there is no number four, well at least I can’t remember what it was. But if I learnt two things on Monday, and only one on Tuesday, I’m halving the amount of things I learn daily, which does not bode well for tomorrow, where I will only be learning half a thing (which is nothing if you apply the rules of Swedish rounding – which has never been more relevant to the situation).

Day 1. First Impressions

I truly believe in first impressions. They set the background, the tone, and whats more they last in ones memory.

Neither of us have really had time to think much past actually getting to Stockholm. Many people have told us Stockholm is a beautiful city and Sweden is a lovely country, however I don’t know much about either. So my knowledge is somewhat stereotypically limited to the following; Aba, tall blonde people, long days in the summer, long dark cold nights in the winter, and it is bloody expensive. The next few days, weeks, years may change that, but only time will tell.

Descending into Stockholm this morning, the plane banked steeply over the city. Below, the historic streets of Gamla Stan lay nestled enclosed on their little island, the rest of the city clung to the banks of the various inlets. It looked… well, like I had been told… beautiful. Further afield the island studded Stockholm Archipelago lay, it’s thousands of islands just dying to be explored and by the looks of it – conquered! OK, so perhaps the Vikings had long since sorted out the conquering bit.

The passenger next to me was a keen mountain-biker and runner and although he had left Stockholm for a small town far away from the city life 5 years ago, he was enthusiastic about it as a big city in the mind of someone who likes the outdoors… which was encouraging to say the least. The last thing either Tina or I wanted was a ‘big city’ with limited access to an outdoor living.

Stockholm Arlanda Airport was quiet, clean, and efficient and appeared reasonably under utilised giving it a quiet, spacious feel, as was the train into the city. I transferred to the T-line of the tunnelbana (a great word seemingly a mix of English and German, a pattern that seems evident in a lot of Swedish – if only I could speak German!), and before too long I found myself arising from the depths of Stockholm to a beautiful clear day (temperature a pleasant 20^o) in the suburb of Risne, a far cry from the damp cloudy and chilly days of Southern Germany the last week and a half.

I had booked an apartment over the internet in New Zealand months ago and was pleased to easily find it in amongst a series of widely spaced four story flats interspersed with large tracts of grass, trees and children’s playgrounds. Mike – the apartment owner, an amiable bloke, met me and showed me around. I think it will serve our purpose well for the next month while we search for something more permanent. A walk around the area later in the afternoon confirmed the amount of open space, and the amazingly quiet neighbourhood. I think Ana is going to love running around here and making things a bit noisier.

In need of food I went off to the supermarket. I was slightly shocked by the cost – 321 SEK (approximately NZ$60) for not a lot.

321 SEK worth of grub

Making a coffee back at the apartment I found my first mistake. I had purchased a litre of fil (sour milk). Not bad tasting but I didn’t dare put it in the coffee. I had also purchased some inlagd sill (pickled herring). A whole rack of jars had stood out at me and I couldn’t resist giving them a go as many people had told me about how unappetising they were. To be honest, I quite liked them, although I’m not too sure how acceptable it would be to eat them for lunch in the office! I’m also unsure where these particular herring were caught but I have heard that Sweden has a special dispensation from the European Union to catch and eat fish from the heavily contaminated Baltic Sea, such is the country’s appetite for pickled herring and alike. Probably best not to eat them on a daily basis then.

As I write this, it is 9 o’clock in the evening and the light is beginning to fade outside. It rises at 4.10 am tomorrow morning, so I had better get some sleep before it wakes me up!

Moving to Sweden

The opportunity to come to Sweden first presented itself in February of this year. Tina and I thought about it for 5 minutes before deciding that for ourselves and our daughter Ana, the opportunity was too good to let pass us by. It may work out, it may not, but we knew that if we didn’t give it a go, we would regret not making the plunge.

Since then, the last 3 months has been a bit of blur as the realities of moving a family to the other side of the planet set in. Where do we start? Well, as soon as we knew we were going (or were very likely too); the furniture and a huge assortment of bits and pieces stared going up on Trademe (New Zealand’s version of EBay / Blocket for those non Kiwis amongst you). As we slowly went through the garage, the spare rooms, the lost cupboards and stacks of boxes we barely remembered existed, saleable items were listed, junk was thrown. It was handy being next door to the red zone (http://cera.govt.nz/land-information/red-zone), as we liberally borrowed red and yellow rubbish and recycling bins, putting out double and sometimes triple our allowed weekly quota in an effort to get rid of a mass of unwanted ‘stuff’. In a way it was some small recompense for being adjacent the red zone and putting up with the array of issues that came with it over the last two years since the earth shook and turned our lives sideways. Into the recycling went my undergraduate university notes (1994-1996). These notes have been transported from Christchurch to Tauranga to Christchurch, to Dunedin, finally back to Christchurch as well as multiple different addresses within Christchurch itself. Why? I guess one day I thought they would be useful. They were not! Once I was able to get started throwing away my hoards of next to useless stuff, it felt very liberating. In fact, we both actually kind of enjoyed it, unburdening our lives of things that were not really all that important, and at times, utterly useless.

Between Tina, Ana and I (I mention Ana purely to make the following a little less embarrassing), of our 12 bicycles (that’s really not too many!), we sold three, I gave one away, we put four in storage, and four more are on a ship on there way to us in Sweden. Once everything had been sold, given away, thrown or packed, our sole life possessions fit into the following:

·         In transit via boat on the way to Sweden (11 boxes totalling 2 m³). This includes the 4 bikes and bike trailer.

·         In storage in Christchurch (16 boxes totalling approximately 3 m³). I wouldn’t be surprised if this includes approximately 1 m³ of my photos and slides.

·         On the plane with us we took pretty much the maximum available allowance. This included 1 large suitcase, 1 large backpack, 2 small backpacks, 1 duffle bag, 2 laptop bags, 1 stroller and 1 child’s car seat. We were slightly over the allowed weight limits (approximately 70 kg all up), but having a small child seems to work wonders. A big thumbs up to Singapore Airlines for not caring.

We also have our house in Christchurch of course, which we tried to sell. We even had a buyer, but were stymied by the insurance company at the last minute. Their cash offer for our earthquake broken house acceptable by us (even though it was far less that the total cost of the damage), but their terms and conditions that went with receiving the cash offer, completely unacceptable. For that, AA Insurance gets a big thumb’s down and we look forward to them coughing up even more money when it comes to actually rebuilding our house. Anyway, we won’t go there (too much). We are lucky in that we have the house rented out long term to people we know.

If it was just the packing and sorting the house out, that would have been easy. However, on top of these onerous tasks, Tina had the herculean mission of finishing her PhD. We were both very pleased (not too sure who was the most relieved) when this was submitted 2 weeks prior to departure. And of course there was work (that annoying chore that always gets in the way and takes up way too much time), trying to fit in some riding, an extended Easter holiday to Wanaka and Dunedin to say goodbye to friends, and the hoards of paper work to sort out which seems to become more and more cumbersome with the ageing process!

However, of course, it all got done. On the 5^th of May we checked in at Christchurch International Airport, and as the plane gained altitude over the Southern Alps, we looked at each other with relief and amazement. There wasn’t a single thing to do, and the last three months of preparation was over.

In this blog I hope to share some insights into our new life in Sweden. There is no theme (apart from the Swedish one) and it may (or may not) end up being dominated by cycling adventures. I really don’t know? I simply want to get back into writing and starting a new life somewhere definitely gives us all a chance to clear the slate blank(ish), and to refocus on the things that we have left by the way side for a few years or wish to start anew. My aim is not to have a huge audience reading this, but simply to write.

The team all checked in and ready to go - Christchurch Airport

Ana scoping her Mt. Cook ascent
route - Christchurch Airport