A Change Of Bed Partners and the Ho Down!

Kristiansand is another of the larger towns in Norway, with both an airport, and the international ferry depot. Its 'old port' area isn't big, but it's dense. Tightly packed into an area of half a Melbourne city block are many shops selling food and drink, a fish'o, a few store rooms that seem to be holding onto the past, and a busy river running up the side of it all.

It would be a very nice place to kick back and watch the traffic with a Sunday beer. There were lots of expensive motor boats and jet-skis cruising in and out of the small quay. There were families wanting ice-creams. There were lots of young rich kids wanting each other. There were tourists in their best clothes wanting souvenirs and a seafood lunch. And then there was us, in our dirty bike riding clothes and with our sexy bike rider tans.

After finding out yesterday that Nadia's ferry wouldn't be leaving until 4.30 in the arvo, we knew we had a bit of time this morning. It eventually got underway with Nadia and I riding to the ferry terminal to purchase her ticket to Hirtshals in Denmark, and then back to the camp ground, accompanied on both legs of the journey by a light drizzle of rain. Back at camp Jon had some pancakes on the go in the camp kitchen, and a load of washing happening next door in the laundry.
When breakfast was eaten, we packed camp and twiddled our thumbs for an hour before the 3 of us headed to the ferry. Nadia had to be onboard a good hour and a half before departure, so there was an essential stop for snacks on the way to the ferry.

And then with a brief farewell, she was gone. This made me sadder than I thought it would, even though I knew it was only going to be for a week or 2. We have been on the road for nearly 2 months now, sharing everything, and not only has that stopped instantly, but now I have also swapped bed partners - Nadia for Jon. Hmm.

I was also jealous for 2 reasons - that Nadia would in a few hours be in a new country, as Norway had taken a lot of the summer to travel through, and also that she would be travelling solo and having all sort of experiences that I would miss out on.
To mask my sorrow Jon and I headed back to the ice-cream bar we had found the day before and ordered ourselves 2 massive soft serves covered in that crispy chocolate stuff. These were eaten in the sunshine as the weather had been improving during the day, and would stay sunny until the sun went down.
We didn't have much of a plan now except to keep cruising along the coast, but after 15km that had already fallen by the wayside as we saw some signs pointing us to Hamre beach, up in the top end of the harbour. Upon arrival at the beach we discovered it was an official camp ground which was not good news as they cost a lot. Even though we had only done 22km for the day it was already getting well into the arvo, and neither of us could be stuffed continuing, so the search began to find the reception. This turned out to be a hard task so we parked our bikes at the restaurant within the park to ask the staff. As we were about to head inside an old fella came out a side door and started talking to us. He told us he was the owner of the restaurant (and I think of the whole park, but that was unclear). What was left to no doubt was the fact that he was an Olympic gold medalist and world champion in speed skating back in the 60's. We asked of what length and he looked dirty and replied 'all, of course'. In the 5 minutes we were talking to him he managed to tell us this story twice, which is fair enough, I'd probably do the same. After a bit of research on the web I found out his name is Arie Cornelis "Kees" Verkerk, who competed for Netherlands, winning 1 gold and 3 silver over 3 Olympic campaigns, and he was the overall world champion in 1966 and '67, AND took 12 seconds off the 10,000m world record. So bragging rights, yes, and good bloke it turned out also. At the end of the conversation he enquired of our plans for the night, and upon hearing we were thinking about staying the night he made us wait for a minute as he ducked back inside. He re-emerged with a camping ticket that all tents have to display, and said that he was very busy now, but we should go and put our tent up and relax and then later come to the restaurant and pay him only 100 kroner for the night.
This was a huge saving, and sounded very nice to us. So the tent was erected, and the showers were found, and then more joy as we discovered one of the showers actually gave out hot water without needing a token. This became my first hot shower for over 2 weeks, and it was good. After all this, and then having a lazy beer at camp the time had disappeared to now be 9.15. The restaurant was due to close at 10.00, so we jogged over to pay Kees and to see what was on the menu.
It was very busy with people paying their bills and heading off. It was 10 minutes before a manager told us that tonight they only had pizza or seafood buffet. The cheapest pizza was NOK$ 185 (AUD$ 36), or she said because there was only half an hour left we could have the buffet half price, at NOK$ 150. We only took a minute to do the maths, then raced to get a plate each and started loading up with prawns, mussels and these yabbie looking things and an awesome seafood soup and then at the other end of the serving area we found a platter of smoked salmon. Oh happy days, and after finding the closest table to the buffet we tucked in to our first course. We were angry at the prawns and yabbies as all the de-shelling was taking up precious time from our feasting. This led to second course consisting mainly of soup, smoked salmon and salad. After further refinement (soup was too hot to drink quickly), the 3rd course was smoked salmon. And being the cheeky buggers we are, with only a minute to go we caught the eye of a passing waitress and asked if she could bring out another platter of salmon. She did, and we would've eaten the whole thing ourselves except some greedy mongrel who had been sitting outside came in at just the right moment and took some for himself. At the end of the half hour we had consumed about 3kg of smoked salmon, 2 dozen prawns, a dozen yabbies, several litres of soup and a few lettuces worth of salad, each.
The entire time we were in the restaurant we only saw Kees twice, and both times we made eye contact with him and he showed no recognition of us at all. With this, we figured what he had actually meant earlier in the day was that he would let us camp for free if we came and spent money in the restaurant tonight. So with full bellies we happily wandered off into the dying light of the day, clean and content and ready for bed.

The next day we declared a day of rest. Jon wanted to go back into town to have his bike looked at and I wanted to catch up on the email and get the blog a bit more up to date. And that was the whole day done pretty much. Found out Nadia was good and enjoying Denmark. Found out Freemantle had only scored 1 goal 7 on the weekend, so everything thing at home was normal.
We were keen for another buffet that night but were disappointed to find only pizza on offer, so we cooked ourselves up a meal and worked on the bikes for a while - cleaning, oiling the chain, tightening the brakes, and all under the first clear night sky we had seen for some time. It was now I noticed how much daylight we had lost in the last half a month, with sunset going from 12 past 11, to now becoming dark at about half past 10. In another month or so we might need our head torches for cooking.

After a morning swim at Hamre our ride continued inland, following a wide river through farming areas. We stopped to pick wild raspberries and onions along the way and to return the friendly wave we received from 2 young, bikini clad ladies riding their horses through the river. We came to Birkeland just as the hunger was setting in, so lunch and another swim brought us into the early afternoon, with the clouds starting to roll across from the south west, not looking too ominous at this stage.

The ride on this morning was what I picture as classic bike touring. The weather was great, the flowers were blooming, the fruit was ripe, we had gentle rolling hills, we were following a nice, wide, slow moving river, the locals were out and enjoying the day, and we were in no rush, stopping where we cared to stop, swimming if we got too hot. Classic.

From Birkeland our path took us back to the coast along a quiet back road. The noise of the surrounding nature was at one stage interrupted by a loud ping coming from under me. This noise, after a few minutes of head scratching and searching, turned out to be a rear spoke giving up the fight, and interestingly enough, my second spoke to blow, so who knows when the first one went. Anyway, wasn't anything that could be done now without unloading everything, so it was decided to push on and take it all apart when camp was reached.
This part of the coast is very popular for campers, with a campground owning nearly every beach along the way, so it was once again with the help of another friendly local that we avoided the official campground and found our way to a 'private' beach with no other campers.
I have found the friendliness and helpfulness of the people we have met along the way to be very good, most people trying hard to help us out in a language that isn't their own. And of course we wouldn't have had the opportunity to speak to hardly any of these people if we were not on bicycles.
At the beach we took a while to choose what we thought was a very nice spot for the tent, on the flattest patch of grass we could find. When the tent was done it was time to take the bike apart and see what we could do for my poor back wheel. Unfortunately both the broken spokes were on the same side as the rear cogs, meaning that I would have to take the cogs off to get the new spokes in. This problem wasn't supposed to be an issue; we had half the tools, we had the now how, but we were lacking the achievement.

Jon had the tool required to loosen the bolt to get the cogs off, and I was happy to sacrifice a sock in the attempt to hold the cogs still while Jon tried with all his might to loosen the bolt holding it all together, but to no success. So we decided to leave it until tomorrow morning, and if we weren't able to get it then, it was a trip to the nearest bike shop for me. This whole time the clouds had been getting thicker, but still not giving much indication of what was to follow.
It came around to 9ish that night and we started catching morsels of music coming in on the breeze. I headed to the beach and could more clearly hear what sounded like a band practicing in a distant house. Listening for a minute more and I was able to name the song I was hearing and it was, scarily enough, Achy Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Cyrus, the god father of the mullet.

As we had already had dinner, we figured we could go exploring and see where the music was coming from. After grabbing our head torches we made our way around the rocky foreshore until we could see the home of the noise - it was coming from the campground that we had luckily avoided when we found our beach. It turned out that the campground had a large restaurant, cafe and function area where tonight was party night. We still didn't realise the entire awfulness of the evening's entertainment until we got all the way to the party - it was a Country Music Karaoke Night, Norway style. Now we understood why it had sounded so awful from afar, the sounds weren't being warped in the wind, they were warped right from the start.
After scrambling across the rocks for 10 minutes to get there we decided to hang about for a while, so Jon shouted a round and we found a spot against the fence where we could see all the action. Some songs I knew, some I didn't, some songs were sung in Norwegian but mostly in was American country and western puke. There was only 1 or 2 of the brave souls up the front who stumbled through the verses, while the majority knew all the words perfectly. They were all certainly putting their whole heart into the choruses.

By the look of determination one the face of one girl I guessed she needed operative assistance. It took us a few songs to finish our drinks, and then we stayed for a few songs more. It was about to become a classic night when Jon was asked to dance by some old sack of leather, but he turned her down, mostly out of embarrassment with his lack of dancing skills.

In another minute or 2 Jon had plucked up the courage to go and hit the floor, but then he saw that 'his lady' had already recovered from his rejection, and moved on to another fella. This killed the mood, so it was time to head home.
We arrived back at camp around 11.00 and the music kept pumping well beyond midnight. I would have been pretty pissed off if I had paid massive amounts to stay there and then had to put up with that all night.
The campsites that we have seen all across Norway, and all across Europe I have been told, are primarily set up for motor homes, with some parks also having small sections of permanent vans. These motor homes come from all over Europe every summer, as its so easy to drive through Europe with all the open borders. Of all the motor homers we have seen so far, most have come from Germany. The motor home is so dominant that along the way we have even come across camp grounds that don't allow tents.

In the Scandinavian countries that isn't too much of an issue for us, as free camping is allowed whenever you are not within 150 meters of a house. Once we cross to Denmark and Germany, 'wild' camping will be 'illegal' and we will 'technically' have to stay in official camp grounds.

A bit before midnight I was standing on the empty beach and brushing my teeth to the strains of yet another awful country song, as the rain started to gently fall...

Denmark - Nadia's Solo Journey

Kristiansand (Norway) to Oslo (Norway), via Denmark

After six days of riding with 2 boys up and down large, steep hills I thought it was time for a break (and I'm pretty sure they did too.) We were finally in Kristiansand after a gruelling week of riding from Stavanger, during which I continually found myself enjoying the scenery alone, not only on the uphill sections where I was outdone by the boys' extra strength and determination, but also on the downhill sections where their fearlessness of speed took them in front of me to a point where they were often out of sight.

It was a Wednesday afternoon when I sailed from Kristiansand (Norway) to Hirtshals (Denmark). I was welcomed by a grey sky and intermittent rainfall as I cycled off the boat. With no passport control or customs desk I was soon pulling into a campground, seemingly along with the rest of the ferry passengers. I felt a strange feeling of loneliness that first night, but as I rode away the next morning I felt relaxed and excited to be riding at my own pace, in a new country, towards Teresa's home in Copenhagen, a Danish friend I met at university who I have not seen since we completed study in 2006.

The countryside was flat and the wind was kind so I managed to average 22 km/h during the morning. I travelled from Hirtshals to the east and met the coast by Frederikshavn, where I prepared my salad sandwiches in a nice little park. I resisted the ice-cream stand and started to head south along the number 5 national cycle route. I passed many paddocks of wheat crops with big barns in the corners. There were also many wind turbines, which isn't so encouraging when riding a bicycle. As the wind was coming from the east, though, it was not so much of a hindrance, at least not in the beginning.

I passed the towns of Uggerby, Bindsley, Mosbjerg, Fredrikshavn, Saeby and Asaa before reaching the small village of Hals where I pulled in to the campground for the evening. It was a sunny afternoon, and luckily so, because my tent required some drying out after the morning rain that so conveniently propped overhead while I was packing up earlier in the day. I slowly set up camp after 115 km for the day. Looking on my map of the entirety of Denmark I had made good progress towards Arhus, and started to feel more confident about my riding capabilities now that I was no longer comparing myself to two men.

Friday brought with it some more menacing winds, but it was a fine start to the day which makes it so much easier to get up and going in the morning. I noticed as I dressed that the bruises from my fall near Flekkefjord were still lingering, but on the improve, only being a greenish colour rather than black and painful. My stitches also looked better; the wound had now sealed and no longer needed to be covered. I just hoped that Teresa was comfortable with cutting them out for me. I managed to pack and be on the road before 9am. I visited the bakery to pass time until the tourist information office opened. I was grinning before I even entered the shop, as I could already see the selection of treats in the window from outside. I was eager to try a true Danish pastry, but I could not see any and opted for a piece of truffle slice and a rum ball. Both were very nice, but I don't think truffle is for me, it was very strong. Once I had finished my bakery treats, I visited the tourist information to discover that the exchange rate was still not so favourable for us Australians here in Denmark. I also discovered that not many people know about the 'primitive campsites' listed on my map. It appears there are simple campsites throughout Denmark that have water and a basic toilet and might only cost about 20 kroner (or $4) a night.

Before leaving Hals I bought some sunscreen, as I noticed that my face was becoming quite freckly. The freckles had not dispersed themselves evenly though, it looked as though I had been playing in the mud and still had patches of dirt on my forehead and cheeks. After that purchase I was finally on my way to catch the short ferry across the bay to begin my day of riding.

Again I passed farmland all day, but the terrain was more undulating than in the north. At one point I had to turn directly east to catch a ferry to the south. Turning east, also took me straight into the wind and I was nervous that a storm might present itself at any moment. After completing the 5 minute ferry crossing I stopped and ate some lunch, conveniently sheltered between a hedge and a building. Eating quickly I packed everything away and then donned my wet weather gear, including the pack covers because the wind was so severe I thought there must surely be rain on the way.

Only about 10 km from my luncheon place I came into Allingsbro and was ready to set up camp for the night. It was not to be. There, a man at the local information centre told me about some huts that had just been completed next to an old castle. I could stay in them for free and they were only 4 km away, in Auning, so I chose to keep on riding and find the little shelters. After asking the lady at the castle entrance I was directed to the butik (shop) and was greeted by a young lady who was full of information. It turned out that the huts were down in the corner of a paddock, and that I had access to toilets and drinking water. Perfect. I made my way past the gardens and animals of the agricultural museum (now situated in the outer grounds of the old castle) and found the discreet little huts in the corner of a nearby paddock. They were made of whole logs and had 3 walls creating an open front to admire the views. They were raised off the ground and the rooftops were covered in grass. I chose my shelter, unloaded the bicycle and then returned to the agricultural museum for a better look around. There was old farm machinery and photographs of days gone by, but what interested me most was the assortment of gardens out the back. There were 6 separate gardens all grown in wedge shapes creating a large circle. Each garden had a different theme and they included plants such as herbs, remedies, berries, vegetables and ornamental flora. After sampling some of the berries I returned to my shelter and settled in for the night. The rain had largely held off, there was only a light sprinkle in the evening. It was so nice to lay down under a solid roof, even if the mosquitoes could still attack me, and I appreciated the space to lie my things on the floor to air, without having to worry about collecting them if the rain did arrive.

Next morning it was Saturday and I woke early to get a good day of riding in. That was until it started raining and didn't stop until 4pm. I waited and waited, and eventually decided I would just stay a second night in the shelter. There was a lot of snoozing throughout the day and I watched sheets of rain pass me by, obscuring the view of distant hills for long periods at a time. When it subsided a little I wandered up to the agricultural museum to see if the staff could help me with transport options across the water towards Copenhagen. I decided that instead of heading east to the small town of Ebeltoft, I would go south to Arhus, a major city where there would be more options for crossing the water.

I awoke early on Sunday morning so I could make it to Arhus by mid morning. I was riding by 7:15am and passed along country roads, dirt tracks and farm roads to get to the city. I think I lost the 'official' track a few times, and at one point found myself on a narrow sandy walking path in the suburbs. Upon exiting the sandy path I rounded a corner and my wheels sank in the sand, sending me into the thorny bush at the side. Luckily for me, nobody saw the event, well, nobody that I could see anyway.

Approaching Arhus train station along the main street was a nice entry to the city. The main street was closed to public traffic, as many central streets are in the cities we've visited so far, which makes more space for pedestrians to enjoy the city centre. As it was Sunday, many shops were closed, but that suited me perfectly as there were fewer people and I didn't have to push through the crowds with my fully loaded bicycle.

After enquiry at the train station and discovering the price to Copenhagen would be around 400 DKK, I headed to the bus station. It was marginally cheaper, but there was no space for my bicycle. So back to the train I went, and booked myself on the 12:30 train to Copenhagen. I then called Teresa to tell her my arrival time, but it would change before too long because when the 12:30 train arrived it had no rear carriage, where I was to be seated. After a few minutes of waiting to see if the carriage would arrive there was a huge commotion. All of a sudden everybody that was standing beside me was now charging down the platform to speak to the train staff. Not understanding Danish, and therefore not knowing what anyone was saying, I quickly followed them to try and decipher the situation. I witnessed some emotive outbursts directed towards a bewildered looking man with a walkie talkie strapped to his belt. Once the crowd had eased I asked him what was happening, to which he responded 'I'm very sorry, the carriage was cancelled. We don't know what happened.' I was not so upset because there were 2 trains every hour and I would just try to book onto the next one. He seemed so relieved at my lack of frustration and pointed me towards the ticket office to get my ticket renewed.

At the ticket counter the man said 'oh, it looks like there's a bit of a problem.' I was worried I would have to wait until the next day to travel, but he concluded with 'There is no space until 3:30pm.' With that piece of news I returned to the phone box to phone Teresa with the new estimated arrival time of 6:30pm.

The train journey took me to the south of the country before passing over a bridge to an island between the west and the east mainland. To get to the eastern mainland the train first passed over a bridge and then through a tunnel. Apart from the announcements for each town, the only other announcement was for 'The Great Belt Tunnel'. There was no explanation as to the significance of the tunnel, but a few minutes after the announcement we indeed did pass through a long tunnel.

Pulling up to the platform in Copenhagen I had only just manoeuvred my bicycle from the train when I saw Teresa walking towards me and it took a couple of seconds for it to sink in that I was there in her home country and we were about to ride through the streets to her home in the city somewhere! Her accent was still so amazingly Australian when she spoke English. We stopped in at the pizza shop by her house and then climbed the stairs to her flat. On the front door was her name and again I had to pinch myself that I was actually visiting her in her own place. Upon entering the flat we cleared all her paints and renovation materials to the side of the room and never stopped talking, even through mouthfuls of pizza and cider.

That night we slept on our therma-rest's, just like uni days. Teresa had been renovating the flat for months, but now all the painting and major work was finished, so we peeled back the ground sheets to reveal her floor and set up our comfy little patch in the very centre of what would become her lounge room. It was exciting enough for me, so I can't imagine how ecstatic she must have been to see her home almost complete. We chatted until all hours of the night, but eventually our weariness got the better of us.

Teresa had to work on Monday so she gave me directions on how to get into the city. I waited for her parents to arrive and they gave me a key so I could get back in on my own if I needed to. I set out for the city and enjoyed wandering around on the narrow pedestrian streets, looking at the fountains and the grand old buildings towering up around me. I passed Tivoli Square and Hans Christian Anderson (in statue form). In the afternoon I made my way back and when I arrived the whole family was at the flat, except Teresa. So I stood and chatted to Teresa's sister and mother while her father finished off the skirting boards. Teresa's niece and nephew were also running around the place and soon Teresa arrived home with some extra materials. Once the last board was in place we all had a celebratory drink and then the family made a quick exit and we were left to arrange furniture and erect Teresa's bed for the first time in about 1 year! Around the hour of 11pm we realised we had not eaten any dinner, so headed to a kebab shop down the road and found ourselves a tasty, but not so hot, chicken kebab.

Tuesday was a day for jobs. I had to find a place to get my bike serviced and then I wanted to contact Wally and Jon if I could get myself a phone card. I wandered to the local bike store and was told that if I wanted to leave my bike there I could pick it up the next afternoon. I then found some new candles for Teresa's place and bought myself a cheap watch to use until my other one is fixed. I didn't manage to find any phone cards but I filled the whole afternoon wandering around, passing numerous amounts of kebab bars and feeling almost obliged to try one, at least. I resisted, however, and returned to the flat to listen to local radio and update my journal.

When Teresa arrived home we meandered down to the local sausage van for what she described was a typically Danish snack. It was like a hot dog, and we had one with the lot which included toppings of fried onion, mustard, tomato sauce and pickles. We retired to the park bench on the corner, where there normally lay an intoxicated member of the public. For now though, we sat hunched over trying not to spill our food all over ourselves. I managed to douse my hands with the juices, but it was so good that I had finished in a flash. Afterwards, feeling very satisfied, we did some people watching until it got cold and we wandered back to the flat. Lying in bed Teresa talked about how rewarding it felt to have renovated her place from start to finish. Everywhere she looked she could remember how it had once been and what she had done to beautify the different features of her home. It was inspiring for me to see what she had achieved without the help of professional labour.

On my last full day in Copenhagen I headed into the city again. I took a canal tour and spent one hour

floating around the waters of the city listening to its history. I took my last photographs and then headed back to pick up my bike from its service. The brakes were adjusted, but I don't know if they bothered doing much else. Teresa and I ate sushi that evening, and enjoyed a cider or two on my last night in Denmark.

In the morning, Teresa was off to the west of Denmark for work, so I packed my things and headed off through a thunderstorm towards the north. I followed the coast to Helsingor, a beautiful little place on the north east corner of Denmark. Amazingly, on the way, I met Teresa's sister about 40km north of the city. I had stopped to have an ice cream and she was there waiting to pick up her children. I could hardly believe my eyes as she walked toward me!

Arriving in Helsingor, I ate some lunch, had a look at Kronborg (made famous by Shakespeares, Hamlet) and then boarded the ferry to Sweden! Again I was amazed at the ease of crossing international borders. I didn't have to show my passport at all. From Helsingor (Denmark) I could clearly see Helsingborg (Sweden). It was so clear across the water that I thought it must have been an island of Denmark on the way to Sweden. Only 30 minutes later I was in a new country with new money and a new language. Stepping off the boat (where you will see from the photo below, that I could still see Denmark across the water) I wandered through the market square to the tourist information. They gave me a map and told me the currency conversion which was now quite favourable. I got some food and then headed north out of town. That night I hid away in quite an urban forest, but luckily in a corner where I wasn't spotted. Packing up the next morning I found the fattest slugs I had ever seen, suctioned onto just about everything I had left out in the open. My tent was glistening with their goo as I rolled it up. All I had heard about Sweden was that they have HUGE mosquitoes, but nobody mentioned anything about the slugs, and as Wally and I discovered later, the ants!

I passed through many small towns, stopping for the internet and to buy a sim card at one of them. At Angelholm I stopped at the tourist info for a new map and shortly after leaving, there was a thunderstorm. In an attempt to avoid getting saturated I sheltered at the supermarket and snacked on some nuts. After I while the sky cleared and I was on my way, but not for very long. Looking at the maps I was unsure how often I would find suitable camping places, so I pulled off as soon as I found something, even though it was between an old main road and the new one. A creek separated them and there was enough space for my tent at the picnic area. I spoke to Wally for the first time since leaving them in Kristiansand and it was nice to hear his voice. They had made it to Oslo.

Strong winds on day 66, as I headed north along the west coast of Sweden. I passed some ancient burial mounds (pictured above) and many wheat fields. Even though the sun was out, the wind was against me, and I was exhausted after about 60km. I started looking for somewhere to camp but nothing presented itself and I wheeled into Falkensberg to ask their advice. In the end I covered over 100km and resided at a beautiful lake for the evening. Before I had time to set up camp I was stopped by an eccentric man collecting berries, then by a joking Dutchman, and in the end I scurried away from their conversation after finding a tick imbedded in my forearm. One of the other things I had heard about Sweden was that the ticks can cause brain tumours. So, needless to say I was quite nervous about the situation, and I spent the rest of the evening carving a slight hole in my arm to make sure there were no remains of the little insect burrowing into my skin.

In the morning I had hoped for sunny weather so I could make the most of the nice lake with its pontoons leading out from the bank, but it was not to be. I packed up and headed back to Falkensberg to try and find some public transport to take me up to the boys. Being a Sunday, everything was closed and there was hardly anyone to be seen. That left me with the option of staying another night at the lake, or pressing on to the larger town of Varberg to see if they had anything on offer. I chose to ride. Choosing the coastal route proved to be quite a poor decision, as I was hounded by a headwind coming off the water the whole way. It was only a short distance, but following the bike signs led me a few extra kilometres than I really needed to cover. Having said that though, I wasn't on main roads which meant I didn't have to contend with fast vehicles whizzing past me quite so often. In Varberg, again the station was deserted of staff, but the tourist info provided me with the information I needed and I was on the next train to the north. First stop Gothenburg, where I paced the length of the station a few times asking the different companies whether I could take my bike onboard, and in the end there was only 1 option available. I had to first catch a bus, and then take another train, in order to get to Oslo. This time we crossed the international border on the train and I paid my fare in Swedish money on Norwegian ground. By 22:00 I had arrived in the capital city of Norway with a new friend, Jose, from San Sebastian, also on a cycling tour.

After exiting the train and heading to the station entrance I was a bit nervous whether Wally and Jon would find me. But after only a few minutes they came into view and we headed to the pub for a reunion drink. After we finished one beer and they had eaten all my lollies, it was already getting late and the riding was not complete; we had to ride 10km back to the flat where the boys had been staying. After such a long and eventful day I slept like a log. For now, my solo trip was complete.