The Great Southern Migration

It seems every self respecting Swede (or should that be sensible Swede) escapes the long winter for somewhere south as least once during the winter. How far south? Well that depends. Some go to Thailand, I hear that Thailand is full of Swedish people in February, Australia seems to be a good bet for many too, however the really sensible ones just go to New Zealand I hear… just saying. Many stay closer to home, heading for the southern shores of Europe where, although colder, the winter doesn’t really affect to the same to degree as up north and you are likely to see the sun for more than five minutes over a three month period.

Our first November in Sweden was reasonably grim and at the time we were facing up to 2 months over the coldest period (where temperatures of -20 degrees centigrade are not uncommon), with no running water or bathroom due to the ‘repairs’ in our apartment block. Well we escaped that depressing thought by moving, but in November we figured it would be a good time to escape anyway, bathroom aside, to somewhere were it wasn’t -20 degrees and somewhere we could expose our lily white skin to some sun for a few minutes everyday.

The options, at first, sounded grim, well to us anyway. Canary Islands, Mallorca, Rhodes, Corfu... etc. Theses names to us, simply conjured up the two words ‘charter tourism’ and were simply hot sunny destinations where plane loads of England’s and Germany’s finest are dumped into mega complexes for several weeks of binge eating chips and sauerkraut, and consuming large volumes of cheap lager while undertaking lobster tanning sessions simultaneously. Would we like it? Probably not, but I guess anything was worth a shot, the Swedish winter was getting to us... and it was only November!

Tickets were booked to the Spanish Island of Mallorca and the accommodation was left to Tina’s parents – Karin and Michael. That in itself was a good start. Yes they are German, yes they like to drink bear, and hang on a second I’ll just ask… yes, they like sauerkraut, however they have never been to Mallorca, or for that fact any other of the lobster tanning destinations in Southern Europe. Like us, it simply isn’t their thing. We knew we were unlikely to end up in an ‘all inclusive’ fattening up clinic.

A bit of research ensued. Mallorca was a great place for road cycling. In fact, many of the top European trade teams base themselves in Mallorca during February due to the great climate and nice riding. Things were looking up and as February closed in and the fickle Swedish winter was… fickle, we eagerly counted down the days to our departure.

 

From winter....

...to summer in 4.5 hours of flying.

 Arriving at Palma de Mallorca Airport was a bit of a surprise. Mallorca is not big, about 3’500 square kilometres, however the airport seemed bigger that all the airports in New Zealand put together. After landing, the plane taxied around a surprising number of gates for what seemed an eternity. Nearly every plane sitting on the tarmac was of the Berlin Air variety, the lobster complexion seeking British seemingly not have arrived this early in the year. However, I could nearly smell the sauerkraut being lifted out of the holds of the Berlin Air planes!

The luggage halls were immense, but surprisingly empty of luggage. Ana’s car seat and her backpack arrived. This was a good omen for my cycling plans as in Ana’s backpack was all my cycling gear and nothing else. The suitcase containing everything else was missing. I mentioned to Tina that we needn’t worry as at least we could 1. Put Ana in the rental car and drive to our accommodation as we had her seat, and 2. When I picked up my rental bike, I would be able to go cycling. Tina didn't seem to think this was too great news though and after questioning an official looking baggage man, our missing bag miraculously popped out onto the conveyer.

Picking up the rental car was another eye opener. The rental car car-park was massive and it was overflowing with cars. It began to dawn us after seeing the size of the airport and the number of rental cars, and as soon as we had arrived on the other side of the Island to Porto Pollenca – the huge number of holiday apartments, just how many people actually come to Mallorca… a lot. Fortunately for us, they don’t come in February. Our holiday apartment was surrounded by other holiday apartments except they were practically all empty, like a huge global financial crisis had swept over Europe and only we could afford to go on holiday. The large roads that swept around the back of the town were, empty. The larger resorts were closed, the beaches were lucky to be occupied by more than a handful of people and we felt a little like we had the whole of Mallorca, if not at least Porto Pollenca all to ourselves.

The bike was delivered that night and I wasted no time in putting it to use early the following morning. I was up at six and was disappointed to have to wait for the sun to rise at 7.30 am to wheel it out of the apartment and give it a thrashing. Well, thrashing is a little bit of an exaggeration; a cruise is probably more apt. The last 3-4 months had been very quiet on the bike for me. But that didn’t worry me, I just wanted to ride. And conditions were perfect. With blue sky up above, I forgot how blue the sky could be, very little wind and daily temperatures between 10 and 20 degrees, the winter of Sweden seemed a lot more that 24 hours behind us.

I headed straight for the hills, which started practically outside our apartment. In the other direction was the flat, but I have never been too interested in cycling on the flat. I rode out the Formentor, a narrow Peninsula that ended in a lighthouse, before turning around and riding back into time for breakfast. Not a big ride at 40 km, but 100 % climbing or descending through a stunning coastal landscape. With a smile on my face it was time to face the day.

 

My favourite ride out to Formentor

Of course, this wasn’t a cycling holiday, but we couldn’t come here without at least dabbling in it, and the ability to go out early on some of the most beautiful roads I have ever ridden on before breakfast was too good to miss. The rest of the day we spent walking along the coast, dipping our feet into the freezing Mediterranean and trying to soak up as much of the suns powerful rays as possible. Except for Ana that is, who only been two and not having seen the sun since September could obviously not remember what it was. She spent most of the holiday with her sun hat pulled down to her neck, complaining “Sonne, sonne (German Sun)” whenever the strange object happen to be shining directly on her. Her hat as a result, is now so stretched, it is bordering on being too big for me to wear!

Teaching Ana the delights of shorts!

The town of Pollenca

The next day followed a similar pattern. Early morning jaunt to Formentor followed by sightseeing in the local villages. Then the dodgy stomachs started for Tina and I. The dodgy stomachs soon developed into full blown fevers and took the wheels out from underneath us both for a few days. Day 3 saw me roll out of bed at 3 pm. Yes, 3 pm! We couldn’t believe it. Sick again. It was my third descent sickness this year. Cycling aside, we continued to explore the beautiful inland villages, seemingly reasonably untouched by the mass tourism of the summer coastal towns. We also happened to stumble upon, by complete chance, the first large race of the European professional cycling road racing calendar. There is a series of fours races in Mallorca that I discovered were being held while we were there. I wasn’t particularly interested in going to watch them, but as we practically drove past the start line one day, we parked the car and wondered over to have a look.

Potentially the worst named Professional Cycling Team ever.

The spectators consisted of the local ring-ins, which were seemingly all the school children from the surrounding area and the start area literally consisted of them running around the village centre screaming with excitement and asking for anyone which visually resembled a professional cyclist (ie. Anyone in lycra much to the amusement of several spectators) for their autograph. It was very low key, therefore I was somewhat surprised when the riders eventually started rolling in to sign in. Bradley Wiggins (2012 Tour de France winner) and Rui Costa (Current World Road Race Champion)  were just two big names in a star studded field. That’s one thing I really love about road cycling. It’s out there in the open. There is no need for any special facilities, your ride on existing roads. There is minimal security, I could have gone over and pushed Wiggins off his bike if I so wished. I was a little surprised at how low key the event was though as it was ranked a 1.1 on the International Scale (which in effect made it a key race on the world calendar). There wasn’t even enough room behind the start line to fit all the riders so several dozen started around the corner and tagged on as the bunch went by.

 

The local fans

The last professional cycling bunch I had seen was in 1998 during the Tour De France. At the time I was shocked by the look of the riders which included the infamous Lance as the ascended the Col’de’Galibier. They looked like they were on drugs. Well they were actually. The riders in Vuelta Mallorca didn’t look anything like that. They actually looked quite normal. Whether this was because it was February at the start of the season and not many people have heard or care about the Vuelta Mallorca, compared to midway through the Tour De France in the middle of one of the hardest Alpine stages, I don’t know. But I’d like to think things have been cleaned up substantially, it definitely looked promising.

For the rest of the holiday we concentrated on our own cycling efforts, which despite still suffering stomachs survived several beautiful rides into the surrounding hills. We also focussed on getting as much sun onto our white bodies as we could while reacquainting Ana with the joys of grass between her toes, sun and shorts.

Back in Sweden, we were surprised by the mild climate and sun… yes we seem to have bought some home with us. It was also no surprise to hear that Stockholm had a miserable 14 hours of sun for the entire January, a record not outdone for the past 30 years apparently. I can believe it, it was grim. Anyway, despite several descent snow falls in the last week, spring definitely seems to be here, the days are stretching out, buds are forming and bulbs rising from the ground, the temperatures are even in the positives. Could this be the shortest winter Sweden has ever seen? We will see.

As a side note, one day after our return from Mallorca, I hopped on a plane and flew an hour north of the Arctic Circle to the Norwegian town of Tromso. There was snow on the ground, but not much, I was told they usually have two metres during February which makes Stockholm seem rather tropical but also a reflection of the rather mild winter that seems to have hit continental Europe this year. I was hanging out to see the northern lights – which would have been a rather big bonus tagged onto a work trip, but alas it was cloudy. Next time maybe? At least the hotel there made me feel special (see photograph!).

Tromso... back to winter

The Smart Hotel in Tromso. Makes you feel good when you wake up in the morning...

We have moved... again.

Quite some time ago I heard of a transport company based in the United States that used the humble bicycle as their main form of transportation. This was no cycle courier company transporting piddley little packages around the CBD, but a full on house removal company. With beefy looking trailers and arguably the most sustainable house removal company of the planet (assuming you don’t count calories consumed by the ravenous rider and the energy used to make those calories) they carted (and probably still cart) large sofas, beds, you name it, to the new residence. I have no idea the area range that this form of moving company was able to reach, but it still gave me a pang of excitement reading about them and it got me thinking.

Clearly cycling to the other side of the world on a bicycle is impossible… well so I have been told, so it was out of the question to consider such a way to transport our stuff from New Zealand to Sweden. However, after our rather sedate but enjoyable Christmas break in Germany, we flew back to the gloom in Stockholm – still no bloody snow, and got set to move house intra-city. This move also coincided with a lack of a car and I am way too tight to consider paying someone else to do it for me. It was a five minute walk at a dawdle between old apartment and new house (yes a house!) and apart from beds we didn’t actually have a lot of furniture. We did have six bikes though, and most importantly a Chariot. For those that do not know what a Chariot is, it is in effect a bicycle trailer that can covert into a pram. We had purchased a double because… well, you know, we thought we might need it to move house one day!

 

Moving - Chariot Style

I didn’t want to destroy the chariot, it has suspension designed for a maximum load of approximately 40 kg so it was carefully packed and walked, sometimes cycled, to the new abode. We were also in no real rush. A couple of trips one night, a concerted effort the following morning, a couple more trips that evening and a few more to pick up the bits and pieces of the next few days, and we were done. We got a few strange looks on the way, but I actually quite enjoyed myself. Please ring me if you need to move house, and preferably live in Stockholm.

So we are now all settled into out new house. It is the fifth apartment/house we have lived in, in the past 12 months, and if we have to move again I think I will scream. Well we are nearly settled in. Our clothes lie in an enormous pile on the bedroom floor, our kitset Ikea chest of drawers still lying in a thousand (I kid you not) pieces beside them. Which brings me to another thing, Ikea Part II. Yes, we had to visit the mighty Ikea once more. The bike was considered but instead we hired the smallest car on the planet, much to the excitement of Ana who to our disappointment has developed an unhealthy obsession with cars, more than likely due to the fact that we no longer own one and she hardly ever gets to ride in one. For a paltry 235 SEK (about NZ$50) we drove our advertising covered little beast to the mighty Ikea and filled it to the brim with an assortment of everyday essentials.

 

Ana has unpacked

Post Ikea visits are always spent deciphering lengthy instructions, unwrapping tightly packed cardboard boxes and assembling a mass of screws and boards to construct purchases so that they hopefully resemble something that looks like what you actually viewed in the shop (as well as nursing a sore stomach from their very tasty but at times questionable food). It’s kind of like meccano for adults… but way more frustrating. Luckily Ana, currently the most practised of all of us at putting things together due to the recent acquisitions of duplo blocks and a wooden train set, was adept at helping.

Ikea Instructions - Get tools, unpack, phone a friend, phone Ikea, ask the audience, assemble, and what ever you do don't move it!

The screw goes here Pappa

So we are now settled. We have a small garden and a shed in which we can fit five bikes at a squeeze. Perfect for playing in the winter snow. Except there is no snow… well there wasn’t. Colleagues at work commented the other day that this is the worst winter they can remember. Not because it has been cold, it hasn’t. Temperatures have lay around 5 Celcius for an eternity; and with it, it has been grey, damp and miserable. But wait, it has finally snowed. Not a lot by Stockholm’s standards by any imagination… but enough to get all the kids out on their toboggans and desperate skiers out destroying their skis on the grit. Once more it is likely to stay and I am chomping at the bit for the -10 C bike ride to work on Monday morning! Welcome winter.

Snow - About bloody time!

Christmas Swedish Style

Last year we had a barbeque at our house with friends for Christmas. The kids played in a small pool and some of the bigger kids followed this up by a swim in the ocean. You could call it a typical Kiwi Christmas. This year we were looking forward to something very different. If you can believe what Tina says – ‘A Real Christmas’. Would we get a white Christmas? Our chances were definitely magnitudes of order higher compared to the last few years.

The lead up to Christmas started in earnest at the start of December. This also coincided with plummeting temperatures, very little light and the profusion of outdoor Christmas Markets popping up through out Stockholm.

We spent a day at the popular open air museum – Skansen, which is purported to have the most traditional and authentic Swedish Christmas market of the lot. It was a bitterly cold day, however this didn’t dampen our enthusiasm and we took in the stalls, ate and drank our weight in pepparkakar (gingerbread) and Glögg (mulled wine), danced to the nifty Christmassy music being played by the onsite live band, and saw fleeting glimpses of Jultomte, in effect Sweden’s Father Christmas, but in reality a short scruffy dwarf from Nordic mythology that bears only a vague resemblance to the Father Christmas I grew up with. He seems a lot more sensible when compared to Father Christmas, he knocks on the door and asks if there are any nice children instead of trying to squeeze his voluminous weight down a narrow chimney, and he isn’t that fat. He gets porridge for his efforts, which makes sense considered the plummeting temperatures, and he doesn’t hang out malls for the weeks and months leading up to Christmas waiting for thousands of scared children to sit on his lap and have their photo taken. By the looks of him, he is more likely to be hiding out in the forest eating magic mushrooms and drowning himself in glögg, which seems a much better way to spend his time.

 

Hot Chocolate at Skansen, or is that Glögg ?

Get your Julklappar (Christmas presents) here.

Dancing at Skansen

 One weekend we were invited to a traditional Christmas baking session at a friend’s house. Many a pepparkakor was made. In effect pepparkakor are very thin and crispy gingerbread, not to be confused with the thicker, softer German lebkuchen. The snow came too…finally. It was very dry snow though – the sort of thing skiers pine for and snow ball and snow men makers would rather avoid. However, it was cold and although it wasn’t exactly a big dump, it stayed and finally gave us an excuse to fit our ice-tyres to our bikes. An exciting week followed commuting to and from work on the icy surfaces and we were both pleasantly surprised at the gripping ability of the tyres studded surfaces. The cars on the streets also made a peculiar rumbling sound, they too having been fitted with the compulsory studded tyres in readiness for the perpetual winter. My rather miserable mood of the proceeding weeks – I admit I had been struggling with the lack of light a little, evapourated and my mind started planning for ice skating on the local lake which was rapidly freezing over, family snow ball fights, cross country skiing on our back door step and all sorts of new and different riding opportunities that the frozen conditions would open up. Winter… finally, bring it on.

 

Finally - some snow to clean up!

Studded tyres. The most exciting thing to happen in my cycling life for a few months.

 The traditional Christmas work-do was held in the city and consisted of a traditional Julbord (Christmas Table) that included reindeers heart among other strange meat cuts and medieval entertainment while a blizzard raged outside. Interestingly enough, Stockholmers had been advised to stay home that day due to anticipated delays and cancellations with the public transport system. Apparently despite the fact that the city often sits snow bound for months on end, and life goes on no matter what the weather may be doing, the first big storms of the winter always cause chaos. Then, it appears that the conditions are simply accepted and everything magically works again.

 

Fire breather at work Christmas do.

Julmust - a hideous fizzy Christmas drink. Together with a hot dog, the cheap and nasty Julbord of the takeaway lovers.

 Unfortunately the wintery weather only lasted a week. Annoyingly, the daily maximum negative temperatures turned positive again. Not by much, but enough to melt the remnants of the snow, defreeze the lakes and bring the gloom back. The daylight hours were actually more than I had expected – 9am to 3pm, but it was greyer and duller than I had imagined as the sun only just made it over the horizon and the rays didn’t really filter down through to the streets. When you could actually see the sun, there was no warming effect in its rays whatsoever, the sun obviously too far away to have much effect.

The one positive part of the near perpetual darkness – there is a positive in everything, was that Christmas lights could actually be seen. In New Zealand, people can decorate their houses to kingdom come with all sorts of gaudy light shows, but unless you are a night owl, they are kind of lost to the world and in reality just a waste of electricity. But not in Sweden. They added light to the long nights, and in some cases the streets. I would have expected the street lights to be powerful illuminating flood lights in a country with such a long winter. But no, they are reasonably pathetic, which is surprising. But the array of Christmas lights on display definitely help to mark the boundary between road and house in more than one part of my daily commute. Office windows (ours included) and apartment windows nearly all had the ubiquitous pyramid of fake candles lit by the marvel of electricity. Many colourful paper lamps were also on display and the colours and lights definitely helped to brighten the spirits in the darkness of the long nights. Even though I’m from the Southern Hemisphere and am used to long hot days, barbeques and beach life around Christmas time, the cold and dark and pretty illuminations just kind of felt right. But still, the short gey days were killing me.

 

Some people take their Christmas lights way too seriously.

We were both looking forward to the break over Christmas in Germany. Although not exactly renowned for their hot Christmases, we were mainly looking forward to some daylight, and of course staying at the fine Hotel Bayer. We also booked a week in Mallorca in February, a place I thought I would never go, but with the approaching bathroom and pipework replacement in our apartment complex set for the start of the January, we were looking at two months of no running water or sewage and no bathroom in the midst of the darkness with temperatures that are set to dip down to minus twenty. We were dreading it and a week escape in the middle of it to get some vitamin D from the elusive sun was too tempting.

Then we had a stroke of good luck. Friends of ours were leaving. Not that that was good luck, the opposite in fact as it takes a while to make friends in a new city, the last thing you want is for them to leave. However, considering the housing situation in Stockholm, someone leaving also opens up opportunities and the natural question soon followed “Can we have your landlords number?” A house with a small garden with a 1^st hand lease just down the road (ie. Not renting off someone who rents off someone else for a maximum of 12 months), available just when we were to be without water and a bathroom for two months. It sounded too good to be true. It wasn’t, we move in at the start of January. A nice Christmas gift for us just days before we jetted off to Germany for Christmas.

With Ana’s imminent second birthday, the flight to Germany and back was to be the last time she was to sit on our laps for its duration. Tina and I counted up the number of planes she had been on to date. Fourteen including the one we were on. Not bad for a less than a two year old. I’m not too sure if I am proud or horrified at that statistic. Ana was now old enough to know she was off to see Grandparents. And boy was she excited. She sprinted around the airports at Stockholm and Frankfurt in such a state of excitement she didn’t have time to look where she was going, the wave of bag towing fellow passengers simply parting in two so as not to inhibit her progress, while Tina and I sprinted to keep up with her.

Germany was grey but the sun felt warm and refreshing, temperatures were unseasonably into double figures, and it didn’t get dark until 5. Following German tradition we opened presents in the evening of the 24^th and snacked on Christmas bakery lubricated with wine well into the night.

Well, we failed miserably in the white Christmas department, maybe next year. More importantly, we are hoping for the winter to begin in earnest on our return to Sweden and hope the greyness becomes more of a white paradise.

Merry Christmas to all, wherever in the world you happen to be.

Cyclo-what?

I’ve been around on the bike, trying my hand at road racing, track racing, touring, mountainbiking, orienteering, endurance/brevet riding and numerous other semi-disciplines constructed around the two wheel and pedal design. I’ve owned a number of bikes throughout my time too. Some would consider the quantity ridiculously large (I can still remember them all), whereas other keen cyclists would probably consider it a modest sum considering the number of kilometres I’ve put them all through. When it comes to cycling I’m always looking for new challenges and doing things a bit different to what I am used to – albeit based on the same principal of pumping pedals. I guess in this way, I can still use the strength and ability built up over several decades and apply it to a sub set of cycling that at times can seem like a completely different sport. Ie. I don’t have to start at the bottom, which can be rather nice when time is limited. However the big advantage is that I still get the thrill out of doing what I like doing the best – simply riding a bike.

The latest incarnation of my varied cycling career (I guess I can call it a career, I have made a small sum of money out of it – just don’t ask about the expenses!) is cyclocross. Cyclo-what? As an avid cycle fan for many years I have always heard of cyclocross – ‘an exotic sport undertaken by Belgian racing cyclists in winter’.  Cyclocross involves hurling bikes not too different from road bikes around muddy circuits including over wooden barriers, through sand traps and up and down impossibly steep slippery slopes while drunk fans line the course hurling abuse and making noise at the slinky lycra clad riders. It was of course invented before mountain biking, suspension, indoor trainers and other much more practical means to 1. Stay fit in winter, and 2. Get a two wheeled machine around a bumpy off-road course. Mountain biking should theoretically have been the death of cyclocross, however no one told the Belgians and in recent years cyclocross is at a somewhat of a resurgence around the world.

Roll back a few years to February 2011. My home town Chirstchurch is devastated by a series of large earthquakes. The roads are literally littered with pot holes and cracks, and our office is relocated from the city to the airport. With a 25 km commute on pretty average roads and winter around the corner, I looked at my options for a commuting steed. The road bike would be destroyed, the mountain-bike too sluggish, the single speed too damned slow and the touring bike still in bits and needing a major overhaul apart from the fact it’s a reasonably slow and sluggish beast too. Think… cyclocross. Light and fast, with the added benefit of being able to put up with a lot more abuse than the road bike. Combine this with the news that cyclocross racing was coming to town in the form of the Southern Cross Cyclocross Series; it was a no brainer really. A few weeks after deliberating on which make/model, a box arrived at the front door and minutes later the new addition to the Mulliner/Bayer bike collection was ready for a thrashing.

I enjoyed some surprising success in the Southern Cross Cyclocross series in 2011, took myself to the Nationals in Queenstown and despite snapping my chain in the ‘hot lap’ and crashing heavily mid way through the race, picked up sixth spot overall. OK, cyclocross is hardly huge in New Zealand, but I was still stoked to pick up a top ten at the national champs. The following year, I helped organise the Southern Cross Cyclocross Series and my form abandoned me somewhat… or maybe everyone else got faster? But I still loved it. What could you not love about pushing your body to the limit for 45-60 minutes across a lumpy field on a bike with no suspension, in the cold, quite often in the wet – if your lucky in the snow, crashing a lot (I have crashed in nearly every single cyclocross race I have participated in), and half destroying your bike in every race you do? I can’t think of any things I don’t like about it.

So, I was excited to ride cyclocross in Sweden where the scene is a lot more established and the course / competitors completely unknown to me. The first step was to purchase a new stead. My former one had been sold off in New Zealand. I took delivery of a sleek looking Boardman after a few weeks of landing. It has definitely been my bike of choice in Stockholm so far. I took the jump to disc brakes (only legally allowed since last year) but interestingly note that most people still run the old style cantilevers… the difference in weight no doubt the decisive factor.

Karin soon steered me in the right direction and I started attending the regular Sunday jaunts with the local club, keeping on eye on their Facebook page for upcoming events. They seemed to meet up training practically every night! The Sunday races were held on an old golf course at the southern edge of Stockholm and provided good blow outs when I could make it over the summer. It felt odd racing cyclocross in summer, however as the days started to cool, the Stockholm Series began. We were lucky in that close to where we lived were a lot of large open areas and large forests that were riddled with trails. So I had begun training quite regularly in the local forest and back rounds in the mornings before work and had ‘discovered’ some sweet cyclocross riding there too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0eELJrLefes&feature=youtu.be (Racing in Stockholm Cyclocross Cup)

I was starting to get plans in my head for the pointy end of the season – November. The season has to be early in Sweden as there is just too much snow and not enough light in the middle of winter. A national series culminated in two races in mid November in Stockholm and I wanted to give them a good nudge, with maybe a trip to one of the closer races a little earlier. Training started off well. Turning up to the Sunday club events and basking in the hot sun while whizzing around the various course on offer worked my motivation a treat. I enjoyed myself immensely; however it felt odd in the middle of summer. Therefore I was looking forward to some real cyclocross conditions – cold and wet.

 

Barriers are part of the deal in cyclocross

The courses on offer as part of the Stockholm Series were fun and with 30-40 riders at each event, it was great to be part of the scene. My form was struggling a bit, but I managed to squeeze into the top ten at the two races I made it to. I just couldn’t seem to get my body to push itself as I know it can. I knew I was capable of it and knew if I trained well, the form would come. Then came September and my biking trip to Bergen. That would really force the cobwebs away and after I recovered from that the form would surely come then? The trip went well, and although I was reasonably shattered at the end, I knew two weeks later after I recovered I should start to fire. Well, that was the theory anyway. About a week after I returned, the sickness came. To call it a sickness is a bit extreme, it was a light cold. But combined with plummeting temperatures and wet stuff falling from the sky I took it pretty sensibly so I didn’t get really sick.

 

Slow shutter speeds can make anything look fast!

At any given time there were two out of three of us sick at home. The slight cold would get better and then worse and then better and then worse. But we just couldn’t get rid of it! By this time, the only exercise I was doing was the easy ride to work and back. One month later, then we all got quite sick. That was this week. The final weekend of the national series in Stockholm is on this weekend. Needless to say my great plans came to nothing.

But that’s any sport I guess. Managing your health is part of it and it just didn’t work out for me this time. I went and watched the Men’s Elite race this afternoon. The conditions were perfect. An evening of rain followed by a cold dry day. Karin and I did a hot lap (more like a cold lap) of the circuit which weaved its way around one of Stockholm’s parks and couldn’t believe how slippery it was. The circuit was fun though with lots of short sharp punches and tight off-camber corners. The local band stand and its embankments had been used to good effect and a bridge that spectators could wander under had also been constructed. Of course this was nothing compared to Belgium, but to me, it seemed crowded with spectators. I’m not particularly fond of watching cycle races; I’d rather be doing them but I enjoyed watching the field slog around for a good hour. Being a spectator and hour seemed a very long time. No wonder it hurts!

 

Elite Field take the course in Stockholm

The winner was a long way ahead and rode the text book race. I’m under absolutely no impression I would have been competitive, maybe mid-field if I was on form, but I would love to give it a nudge next year. Watch this space. And if you are a cyclist and haven’t given cyclocross a go, do it. It is serious fun!

Six months and counting

Six months ago we landed in Sweden at the start of summer. The nights were cool but short; however the days were long and warm. Within in a few weeks even the cool nights disappeared and we were lucky enough to experience a long warm and dry summer. ‘One of the best in living memory’ apparently, however in my experience people’s memories are very short when it comes to weather so it’s hard to quantify statements like that.

At first I struggling to sleep at night as it never truly got dark and the curtains in our temporary accommodation were wafer thin. However, six months later a lot has changed as can be expected. We are now in the depths of autumn. It’s a beautiful season in Stockholm with its plentiful parks and reserves. Despite the shortening colder days, I am also enjoying it because I’m not really used to autumn as it’s usually short and not as dramatic in New Zealand, and kind of non-existent the further north up the country you go.

So, seen as how it is the six month anniversary of us arriving, I thought it timely for some more random insights and impressions listed under things I like and things I dislike.

Must be autumn

Things I like:

Houses are built for the conditions.

You always know what to wear in winter in New Zealand in the morning. Recoiled under your duvet in the early hours of the morning, your hands grabbing at the duvets edge willing it closer to your body, you generally know how cold it is outside by how cold your nose is. Maybe if you are lucky enough to have sufficient heating going it is probably a few degrees warmer inside than out, but if you can see your breath and can dress yourselves in five seconds flat it’s probably going to pretty cold outside. However in Sweden (and probably most of the rest of the developed world for that matter) it’s impossible to know. Because in Sweden they have this amazing technology with things like double / triple (yes triple) glazing, insulation and central heating. I know, these terms are practically vacant from the kiwi builder’s vocabulary. When autumn first arrived in Stockholm, I kept trying to leave our apartment in shorts and a t-shirt. Now I know better. I now know that it WILL be bloody cold outside despite how little I can wear inside, so I dress accordingly.

Amazing parental benefits and a system that really supports working parents

480 days of paid parental leave (at 80% of your salary) to be shared between mum and dad. And that’s for each child.

Great place to bring up children.

Stockholm is awash with open green spaces (which are slowly turning to mud), children’s play grounds around every corner and loads of indoor children’s activities including cafes were there are more toys than coffee and more playing areas than table space.

This is a cafe in central Stockholm

Green parks and forests are everywhere in Stockholm - at least until autumn when they are brown and winter when they are white!

The green space gets browner by the day. Ana doing her afternoon gymnastics.

Great cycling facilities and lots of people using bicycles as local transport

You can cycle virtually anywhere without even touching a road.

Car drivers are in general, patient and considerate

Not that you have to ride on the road if you don’t want to (see above), but when you do – and you are allowed, drivers conveniently pull off the road, put their hazard lights on and cheer as you ride past (well it feels like it after commuting in Christchurch).

Great public transport

Stockholm is well served by Tunnelbana (underground/metro), buses and trains.

Close to other places that are not Australia

No offense to the hot dust bowl of a neighbour of course.

Five things I dislike

Housing situation in Stockholm is diabolical

The housing situation in Stockholm is to put it simply… pathetic. I have written about it before but the more I am here the more I understand it. I understand and agree with the reasons behind limiting private investment and preventing the massive landlord / renter market that exists in a lot of the world, but unfortunately it simply isn’t working in Stockholm. The waiting lists for a first hand rental (the only type of rental that legal entitles you not to move every 12 months) is approximately 15 years. Therefore you with stuck with purchasing, or renting off other renters (2^nd hand rental) for a maximum of 12 months at a time… ugh.

Reserved and guarded Swedes.

I wouldn’t call the Swedish emotionless, but if they have emotions they don’t show them in public. To be honest it sometimes borders on rudeness. I know it’s not, but it’s hard not to be offended when I see my neighbour quicken his pace to get inside and lock his door, or purposely pretend not to see me so he doesn’t have to actually say hello (god forbid). It’s also acceptable to not even acknowledge people you are dealing with (that’s a bit harsh but a general observation of many customers in the supermarket at the checkout who say nothing throughout the entire transaction making sure that eyes are kept low to avoid any unnecessary facial communication). Even smartly dressed beggars on trains simply passively walk down the isle of a carriage and place a series of neat pieces of paper on vacant seats that outline reasons why you should part with your money for their cause. The note, is usually accompanied by a picture of their (or someone else) child. They wait patiently at the end of the carriage for 30 seconds and then quietly walk back through collecting up their cards and any small change that has been left. To be honest I'd rather see someone making a scene... but that's not the done thing here.

No decent hills to cycle up and down

I love the rolling countryside for cycling, but what I would give for a descent long hill to slog up!

Eternal sickness

OK, so that’s not true either. But for the last 3 weekends, at least 2 (usually all three of us at once) have been sick. It is of course Autumn, we have moved to the other side of the world and our daughter is attending the bacteria breeding ground otherwise known as kindergarten, so it’s no real surprise.

Overall (7-4 = +3)

Yes, a +3 for our first 6 months seems to sum it up nicely, even if it is the most meaningless static ever concocted. It has taken us some time to find our feet (as expected) and we have settled into a daily / weekly routine of sorts. Tina recently started a post-doc at Stockholm University so we are getting into the rhythm of both working while running affairs and the family at home. I have cut back work to 80% and enjoying two afternoons a week with Ana. Autumn hit us with some pretty cold temperatures. We know a lot worse will come, but we had a two week stint of temperatures that would equate to the coldest weather we would expect in Christchurch over the course of the entire winter. It was only the start of autumn, so we were a little scared; it even forced me to go shopping for some warmer clothes! The central heating system in our apartment was barely working, the radiators emitting just the slightest bit of warmth throughout this time. The temperature in our apartment however also did nothing…. it stayed a constant 18ish degrees centigrade for the entirety so we won’t freeze to death while we are inside at least. Aside the cold it has been grey, damp and dreary and the days are shortening - which is the worst. Everyone told us November would be the worst month, until the snows start to come. Bring it on is all I can say!

An afternoon out in the city. We have adapted and take a thermos with coffee / chocolate with us on family outings.

On the road to Bergen

When Tina announced she and Ana were going to visit friends in Germany at the end of September, my initial thoughts were to take the opportunity and head off on a bike trip. But where to go? I looked north initially. I would love to ride up to the Arctic Circle and beyond. However, the 9 day limit combined with shortening cooler days saw me set a more realistic target of Bergen on the West Coast of Norway.

I calculated that it would still be approximately 1300 km, and via a mix of dirt roads and mountain passes in potentially cold and wet conditions, it was unlikely to be a walk in the park. This suited me fine, as I needed a bit of a blow out before the winter set in, but neither did I want to stretch myself too thin. I did, after all, want to actually make it!

The weeks leading up to take off date saw temperatures plummet to negatives at night and single digit maximums (we are talking Celsius here) during the day with a bitter wind chill factor. It was a bit of a shock after a stunning summer to be honest and had us both a bit concerned about just how cold and long winter was going to be… it was only the very start of autumn! Anyway, there wasn’t much ado but to get on with it and ride the bike really.

Riding out of Stockholm I simply followed the Sverigeleden –Sweden’s National Bicycle Route. It weaved its way throughout the northern suburbs and despite not having much of map to guide me, it was well sign posted so I had no problem following its intricacies… which were many. It was two hours of solid riding before it actually directed me onto a road. It was a small country lane and with the main motorway not too far away, the road weaved its way through small villages and farms on virtually traffic free roads. It wasn’t too long before the bitingly cold rain arrived. It felt and looked like it was going to snow, but it was just the normal wet stuff that came. Sheltering behind a barn, I donned the water proofs, warm gloves and booties and continued on my way north for the rest of the afternoon. It was cold, but I stayed relatively dry in all the kit, some of which was added to the collection of gear at the very last minute on Tina’s insistence… of which now I was glad of. Most of it was never removed, even when it wasn't raining, in the next 9 days of riding (apart from getting into my sleeping bag at night).

The Sverigeleden, which I followed across Sweden

My packing had been a little haphazard and involved a sting of five minute periods over the previous week. I guess I have done enough of these trips to know what I need, and I wanted to go lightweight and fast. But the cold weather had seen me rethink a bit at the last minute. A reasonably large tent, warm sleeping bag and a lot more warm riding clothes had ballooned the selected small panniers a little. But if the weather stayed as cold as it was (it did), I would be wearing most of the gear most of the time anyway (I did), so I didn’t actually need any storage room for it. In the end it was a compromise between comfort and lightness (isn’t it always?) and I ended up with a load somewhere between a fully loaded touring rig and a light weight Brevet rider.

That evening I made camp in a small patch of forest to the west of Uppsala, with approximately 100 km on the clock. It had been a late start and it was dark by 7 so I was simply pleased to be on my way with a few kilometres down. I realised that I hadn’t actually pitched the tent I had with me for a couple of years, and it took me a bit longer than I would have liked in the rain. However, I got there eventually and snuggled up into my warm sleeping bag, relished the simplicity of it all and enjoyed listening to the rains pitter-patter on the tent fly as I dozed off for a good nights sleep.

The next two days saw the cold wet conditions continue and I followed the Sverigeleden to Mora, all the time sticking to small country roads (often with a dirt or gravel surface). The riding was pleasant (when it was dry) and I wove my way through farm lands, woodlands, small rural settlements and collections of summer houses. It was nice… but nothing to get too excited about. I managed just under 200 km a day and when I arrived in Mora I was a little bored with it all to be honest… as well as being a bit tired having put 500 km on the clock in two and half days. I was bored with the riding, the long lonely days (and nights), the cold miserable weather and despite my good progress, the realisation that I potentially didn’t have enough time to get to Bergen to get my flight on time. I checked into a room at Mora, relished in a hot shower, had a good feed and decided to sleep on it.

Autumn colours and cold looking lakes were a theme throughout the Swedish leg

The next morning, my motivation was low. I wasn’t too sure whether I could make it to Bergen to get my flight on time, and even if I could, I wasn’t too sure if I could be-bothered. I’ve been in this space many times before so I did what I did before. Simply pack up, head on my way and see what happens. I removed the pressure from myself of actually making it and decided it was easy enough to turn around and head home if I had to, I at least had time for that. But as so often happens, I hit the road, and despite the freezing morning, I actually quite enjoyed it. Gone were the farms, the summer houses and the villages. It was pure forest… for as far as the eye could see. This was the far west as far as Sweden was concerned and by the late afternoon I had pedalled my way into Norway with a smile on my face. Sorry, Sweden, but you just didn’t excite my riding passion on this trip.

No problems with mosquitos in October - an advantage of travelling late in the season

Sunning myself in a rare moment in Sweden

The road changed almost immediately. The slow rolling hills turned into steeper longer passes and as the road headed up I was surprised to see men in camouflage shouldering guns everywhere. It wasn’t the army, but hunters. They were everywhere. Four-wheel drives were parked sporadically along the side of the road and as the sun got low I spotted men, motionless at the side of openings in the forest waiting for something to walk by. I got a little nervous when it came to finding a place to pitch the tent, until I eventually found a small river in which I couldn’t see the tell tale sign of a parked car by.

The next day looked like it would be a bit of navigational fun and games. I didn’t have very detailed maps (in an effort to go lightweight and if truth be known also due to lack of planning) and I’m too old-school for fancy electronic navigational aids, but the map that I had only showed motorways and lakes… two things not exactly synomonous with pleasant cycling.

I headed towards the centre of Hamar… just south of Lillehammer in which the Winter Olympics were hosted in 1994 – no wonder it was cold! At the tourist information I asked for my best options to beat the motorways and lakes and in no time at all, the friendly staff had photocopied me a cycle map (which they had for sale), poured me a refreshingly hot coffee, and had gone to the café next door and bought me a large biscuit to go with it. Now that’s what I call service. And the afternoon was ever the more pleasant for the encounter as I weaved my way around the cyclist’s impediments on a network of cycle trails and small roads.

Hamar Tourist Information. Couldn't give you advice on the tourist sites but they are a welcoming lot

That night after I had climbed over my first real pass of the trip I camped next to a lake on a disused railway line. Well at least I assumed the overgrown weeds were indicative of its disused state, and later on a passerby informed me that I was unlikely to have any overweight trains rumbling past me during the night.

Cold camping next to a dis-used railway line

It was a cold start to the following morning. I dusted the ice off the tent as best I could and was straight into a freezing descent which took me into the small town of Bagn. I only stopped to get water before climbing steeply out of the valley (and the clouds) to a lovely dirt road that coasted through a stunted and autumn yellowed pine forest. Down below and in the distance sat glimmering lakes and summer houses. The low sun and chill in the air was an ever present reminder that summer was long over.

The constant low sun meant for long shadows throughout the day

Down on the other side, I again descended into the clouds and into the dew infested Eikvidvegen River Valley. I sought out a warm bakery in Gol to unthaw. I had actually passed through here in my first few weeks living in Sweden on my first work trip to Norway. It had been late at night, but as the days were long it had still been reasonably light and I had thought at the time it would be a beautiful place to tour. The travelling was definitely living up to those expectations, and I was well into the swing of things now, my dour mood in Sweden a thing of the past.

Mountains... this must be Norway

After Gol I headed due west again and picked up a very lumpy forestry road on the south side of the valley in order to avoid the busy flat road on the north side. It was far but the line of lease resistance, however the riding was pleasant and peaceful. Until the hills started getting reasonably steep! And then the road turned into a track, then a footpath! It was slow going on the cyclocross (which wasn’t geared for off road riding with panniers) and I was reduced to the odd push, but it spat me out at the right place – Geilo, in time for a pizza at the ubiquitous Peppes Pizza.

After I finished it was five o’clock and dusk. I headed west with haste in search of somewhere to pitch the tent. However despite the beautiful forest and lakes surrounding the road, the whole area was overrun with holiday homes of some sort. I ended riding until it was practically dark and hastily pitched my tent in a car park at the start of the famed Rallarvegen – a popular cycle route I was planning on riding as soon as awoke in the morning. I had made good time across Norway. The kilometres were down a little from the long days in Sweden due to Norway’s lumpy nature but the 150-170 km a day had put me in good stead. That and the realisation that somehow I had forgotten I was flying home on Monday, not Sunday as I had originally thought, meant I had an extra day up my sleeve. It was a nice feeling going to sleep with the knowledge that I now had time up my sleeve. And with probably the most scenic part of the journey to come the following day, the timing was impeccable.

The Rallarvegen (The Navvy Road) was built between 1902 to 1904 for construction access to build the Bergensbanen railway connecting Oslo and Bergen. It is now a popular bicycle route and when the snow melts every July, up to 20,000 cyclists ride the 80 km Rallarvegen (which is closed to cars). The route, which is totally above the tree line offers spectacular views to the surrounding alpine landscape. I couldn’t wait to ride it. Therefore my only complaint would have to be that it was too damn short!

I knew I had time, so I tried to take it slow. There was no sign of the 20,000 cyclists… it was October, they had been and gone. The road weaved itself across the valley floor, the alpine vegetation was a deep yellow, the sky a light blue and the cyclist (me) was happy. The trail passed through the small town of Finse… a strange Alpine outpost where the railway stopped. It seemed its sole purpose was a very large bicycle renting outfit for 2 months of the year. From there on, it was just the odd historic working mans hut, railway outpost, miles of avalanche protection for the railway line, my squiggly road, and me. I stopped at the highest point of the trip (1343 m) and left before I froze to the spot. I tried to take it slow, honestly I did, but the riding was spectacular and it was colder when I stopped. So I plodded on.

Stunning riding and scenery on the Rallavegen

Eventually the trail branched. There was an option to plummet down the road to the fjord at Flam, or an option to up head up to the railway station at Myrdal. Either way was a dead end for a cyclist. From Flam, you went by either boat or a 20 km road tunnel, from Myrdal a short rail tunnel took you through to the valley on the other side of the mountain. I chose the train. I waited out the biting wind for four hours for the five minute journey, and 30 minutes later I had pitched the tent on a lake shore.

The descent to Flam

Final camp of the trip

The next day the clouds had descended and rain was on its way again. I spent the morning descending and arrived in the town of Voss and was checked into the local hostel by 10 am just before the rain arrived. I had just had five days of spectacular weather when it had mattered most, so I relished a lazy day eating and reading in Voss before the final push to Bergen.

The final push was a bit longer than expected due to a road closure and long detour. But despite the rain, I loved riding in the fjords. The rain meant that waterfalls thundered everywhere and as the lumpy road weaved its way around the coast line I enjoyed the final burst into the city I last rode into in 1995… where did all that time go? Despite taking a few days to get into the rhythm of things, it had been a great trip from the heart of the Baltic to the North Sea. The landscapes had been very varied, from the rolling countryside of Sweden, the mountainous heart of Norway and ending in the steep fjords of the coast. Each part of the trip had had its challenges, some more enjoyable than others, but looking back in reflection, they had all combined to make it an enjoyable and challenging trip. With winter fast approaching, I feel it will put me in a good mind set for the dark cold months ahead.

By the time I reached the city limits it was dark. I had a day to spare before my flight so sought out a roof over my head to explore the city from. When Analisa and I had ridden into Bergen all those years ago, we had stayed at a weird sort of campground. I distinctly remember pitching the tent on the top of the roof of a group of cabins. I followed the first signpost I saw to a campground that would be handy to the airport for my flight in a few days time. The signs directed me down a side street and I arrived at a sort of ‘weird campground’. In my tired, soaked state I looked past the entrance and could not believe what I saw. It was the same place I had stayed 18 years earlier. And no, I did not pitch my tent on top of one of the cabins, I rented one of the cabins instead!