French Connection

Lots to discuss. But, bottom line, the core of our trips continues to be about people. With all the world raging, American politics, Brexit, the Amazon rain forest, climate change, hurricanes, and all, at the core, there are people everywhere bonding, sharing, giving, accepting. It won’t be a news story. But people are good.

Our stay with Jayne at the BnB was calming. We knew she had a big dog. Just fine with us, because we miss our shared, family doggo. And, she had communicated with us all along the approach to the stay. Access to her home was open, whether she was there or not, and we appreciated that flexibility and the described access.

But, it is a little odd to arrive at a lodging and “make yourself at home.” We opted to move our things in, but hang out in the covered area with the garden. Jayne has a wealth of garden efforts, and later, when we talked about stuff and doing, and I said we had too much stuff, she noted that she didn’t want to give up any of her stuff. (Not a criticism, she has a quiver of shoes in the mud room.)

I wrote, Lynette had a wine and I had a beer. And eventually Jayne came and we had great discussions. Indeed, we solved some major issues: world peace, International stability, climate change, the purchase of Greenland, unrefrigerated milk, and the pronunciation of many Danish words, including “rugbrød,” a densely difficult word for Californians.

We slept well, eight and a half hours, and Jayne promised us coffee in the morning at 7 am. It was good. She asked us to bring California jam the next time we came, and we agreed.

*****

Now, I had booked a direct train to Roskilde for the next day, leaving at 9:35 in the morning. Tickets were booked, but they had to be picked up at a machine kiosk, which, from experience, meant credit card pins. I tried to be prepared. And that meant that on preparation that we needed to get there by 9 so I could fool inexpertly with the ticket machine.

So we took photos of the dog (not Jayne-go figure), and we hit the road. We were blessed with bike path the whole way. The weather was not ideal, but I felt stronger than I have this whole trip on the bike. We hit a little wet on the way into Vordingbord.

We left about 7:50, and arrived before 9 am. I had the reservations, and a code, but you have to pay with a credit card that has a pin, and that took me a while to figure out. Then, we went down to the wrong platform with the bikes and had to elevator, backtrack up, and over, and down, to get to the correct platform.

While we waited the fifteen minutes for the train to arrive, a direct to Roskilde (our destination) and then Copenhagen, a couple came down with light gear, backpacks. And, this is what I am talking about. They asked us about the bicycles. They were from the Burgundy region of France, had ridden trains north, rented bicycles and wandered. They were just wonderful. We chatted and compared experiences.

We got on the train, and they sought us out. I do not know their names. But the conversation was rich, with an appreciation of bicycling and activity. They helped us secure our bicycles on the train. I gave them a travel card, and I do hope they will contact us, and at least tell us who they are. Deep in conversation, the conductor came through with disturbing news. It was in Danish, so we didn’t know that it was disturbing, but a passenger across the aisle was very upset. Apparently, a track was closed, so the train would not stop at Roskilde.

The conductor worked to figure it out for us. The first option was to go to Copenhagen, then board a train back to Roskilde. But eventually she came up with another option, a transfer to a Regional train to Køge, then Roskilde, and this is what we chose. Our new French friends helped us-indeed, I had a bicycle spill because the train jerked and dropped me and my bicycle to the floor. Our French friends helped. I hope they contact me.

We switched trains, but before we could board, two guys with outlandish outfits and wheeled push carts entered the bicycle car ahead of us. Both the vehicles had outlandish decorations, and a “mobile pay” number. One of the gentleman, a crusty looking fellow, jabbered at me in Danish, and of course, I was struggling with train life and figuring out where the heck to put the bike securely, and finally, I said, “English.” I think his response was from the wilds of Montana.

Anyway, things settled out. He told us where the bathroom was. (It was labeled WC and right across from our seats.). I struggled with our cable lock, not to secure the bikes from theft, but to hold them to the seats. He said, “You don’t have to worry about them being stolen.” I explained.

I said, “So, what are you guys doing?”

“We are going to Køge to sell newspapers.”

He pulled out an edition, about the homeless. It was all in Danish. I said, “Hey, I can’t read a word of this!” He laughed and pointed to a page that had his photo on it. “For you!”

New best friends.

Five stops. They drank three beers. The dog was sober.

They left at Køge, and were so friendly. We wished them luck. Lynette tried to read the articles, with the translator, especially the one about Trump. Marginal success.

We arrived at Roskilde, and made our way to Langehueset, a bakery, and we like their sandwiches. I imagine they are like a McDonalds in Denmark, but, we knew what we were getting. They are expensive sandwiches, but we were only able to eat half- Dinner! The bikes and gear were parked out by some tables where we could watch them.

We ate what we could, and walked to the square to a bathroom by the Tourist information center. We hip-hopped in, and I had a great interaction with a German woman, and her Italian partner. She asked where the door to the information center was, but the conversation bloomed, and they were wonderful. More connections, more people, more stories.

We attempted to leave the bathroom, but there was a crowd of children around, with teachers and supervisors. We had seen them earlier. And, sure enough, one child popped off, “How are you?” I energetically replied, “I’m fine, how are you guys?”

Okay, so I could die right now and have this conversation be a legacy. They were so curious, trying the English, and so, so wonderful. I’m tearing up thinking about it. Most were hesitant about the English, but the final product here is a dual language sophistication that is amazing.

“I’m from Denmark.”

“I’m from Turkey.”

The teacher was supportive to the conversation, and it filled me with joy. The students were to sing in the Cathedral. I wish I had the time to enjoy it.

We rode north. Our objective was a “four star” hotel.

So, I think we have been on this route three times.. Our lodging is in Jyllinge. Three times we have stopped at a business called “Just Coffee.” This is a small, remote coffee shop, basically an importer from coop, small coffee producers throughout the world. He has a great dog. We love the dog. The dog is photogenic.

So, three years in a row, we stopped. The dog was not immediately present, but we had a couple of capuccinos, and engaged with the owner. He is originally from Wisconsin (think Lynette’s Danish ancestors coming to Fond du Lac, Wisconsin,) and we had a wonderful conversation. And, no. I don’t know the owner’s name. But I invited him to the sierras, and he just seems like a great guy. AND, he brought out the dog, resting from a long morning walk, a sweetheart.

*****

We finished our path to the lodging in Jyllinge. Now this is a four star hotel ($135), pricy for us living off grocery salads and fortified lunches, but, we had some expectations.

We pulled in a bit early for check in, but a gentleman from the kitchen came out to help us. It was like, “You want dinner tonight?” Me: No. “You sure?” His hand hesitating on the key like I would get a better room with an expensive dinner. Me: Yes. Bottom line, Finn, my dad was a cabinet maker/woodworker. I was put off.

I have never had any thrills with gold toilets. I can poop in the woods and have better posture and a more satisfying elimination than anywhere, but any pretense of class or status sets me off. And, my friend, Bonnie sent me to the Ritz in Paris that bears repeating, but not in this narrative.

As it turned out, the real host was a decent guy, and this place should not be judged on the snoot of the kitchen.

We finished the day with a walk into town, some ibuprofen to ease some aches, and lots of conversation between Lynette and I. We regurgitated the trip. We talked about communicating. We refined how we communicate and reviewed what was going on at different points in the trip. It was good.

Lots in the plans for the finish to our trip, and we are looking forward to all of it.

Collage

Morning

After a three day stay, we had our belongings spread our pretty disparately. Lots of things needed to find a place again, which is different from nightly stops, unpacks, and re-packs. We put effort into preparing, tried to eat up the last of the yogurt (I don’t think we will ever finish the muesli we bought at the beginning of the trip),

We made progress, but we had a late start time planned. Lynette had purchased a dress, but carried away the incorrect colors, green instead of blue. The shop would open at 10 am, and we wanted to stop and see if we could make a swap. So, close to completion on the packing, we headed off to the bakery.

After two mornings in the bakery, I came to appreciate what an essential part of the town it was. In the mornings, locals popped in for the breakfast Danish. Some ordered buttered bread, some other breads for the day, some the sugared Danish we preferred for cycling, and some positioning themselves at what appeared to be their “regular” table.

We enjoyed this three day ritual, allowing me to cap my blogging in the morning, cap my caffeine with a cappuccino, and capture a plan for the day. One day, we were in a bit later (the day we went to Nyord), and they put out some sandwiches that looked awesome (frickadeller for sure).

The Painter

When we first arrived, Motel Stege was being prepped for painting. We had been told to put our bicycles in the shed, and the painters were using the shed as well. One of the painters (actually doing plaster work to prep the walls) chatted with us, and he was great fun. By the way, the painter’s English was somewhat limited, but he was a big man, jovial and open and friendly.

Of course on Day One and Two, the wind was crushing it, wreaking havoc with downwind cyclists, making a straight course difficult, and almost pushing any softly managed, loaded, touring bicycle to the ground. As we put our bicycles in the shed, we whined to the painter about the wind, and he suggested that the thing about the wind is that it always, always comes from the direction you are traveling in. And, of course this rang so truthfully to me that I looked at him with new eyes, a wise man he was, indeed.

And, as we left, he stopped to chat with us again, asking about our journey, our direction, and suggesting that it was a good day to ride. I liked that guy. He had a sense of humor and a sparkle in his eye. And the fresco work he was doing on Motel Stege was good. We talked a bit about American politics-Trump continues to be a bridge to humor and sympathy from the locals, and it was a good conversation.

The Dolmen

When Mallory was two, we took a trip with our friends Hugh and Trisha to Wales. It was another month long stay and a wonderful experience. We stayed near Hugh’s parents in Conwy, across from an Edwardian castle, near a destroyed Welsh castle, and had a spectacular time exploring. Hugh’s mother was interested in “Cromlechs,” megalithic (large stones without mortar) altar-tombs that were surrounded by a stone circle. We followed her fascination to many Cromlech sites, and Mallory and Maddy would climb to the top of the mounds and sing “Ring around the gay!” I have no idea what that meant.

Still, it piqued an interest in these megaliths. In Ireland, we encountered another variation, the Dolmen. On a bicycle ride, we passed Poulnabrone, a massively impressive dolmen. And here in Møn, we discovered that there was a dolmen on a route back to the bridge, a passage burial site (as opposed to a barrow) and it would eliminate some of the unshouldered road for us while giving us something interesting to explore.

So, we said goodbye to the painter, stopped at the dress shop for a quick swap of colors (she was very accommodating), and we headed across the bridge and took a left through the neighborhoods rather than jumping on the road with no shoulder and big traffic.

Lynette spotted it first. It was a mound in the middle of a field, with two prominent trees, distinct from the surrounding, leveled fields and expanse of agricultural land. A bulge from history. It was distinctly different.

We found a marker but no trail to the dolmen, so we just walked along the field edge. Lynette left her bicycle by the road marker, and I pushed mine through the field. There was another sign near the dolmen that described the sophistication of the design, with flat stones angled to shed water away from the burial chamber. It was really impressive.

One of the trees on the side of the mound was an apple tree. The other tree was a pear tree, and, typical of what we have seen over here, massive amounts of fallen fruit. We circled the mound to the entrance, a low, crawling entrance with side stones and a cap. Fascinating. We just didn’t have the clothing or youth to snake in, so I took some photos from the entrance. And, then, reverently of course, because these people believed something about death and the meaning of the mound, we departed. (On that note, Biblical scholars might explain how they deal with the void before the codification of the Bible or anything? Seems like a pretty crazy opps for a creator, I mean, letting folks go off and create their own myths about existence?)

We made our way back to the side road, and we braced ourselves for the ride to the bridge.

Two heads, no shoulders

Now, on the way into Stege, we had a terrifying ride with horrible winds on a stretch from the bridge to town that had no shoulder. The odd thing was that the route is a designated cycle route. Cars were respectful, but clearances were generally smaller, and with the wind and the side wash of big trucks, it was not, not fun.

So, this was a source of dread, and the side trip to the dolmen was actually and advance on the route. It gained us some altitude via neighborhoods, and it eliminated the altitude gain on the main road, which would have been another complication.

We discussed it. And, I probably won’t read this part to Lynette, but I am always thinking, “Let’s go five miles out of our way to avoid dangerous roads.”

So, I say, “Do you want to avoid the road?”

And she says, “No, I think I just want to get it over with.”

(She has done this before. Trooper.)

So, grit and roll.

Now, to describe the ride overall, I don’t think we could have timed it better. We had only one large vehicle, a local bus and it only passed Lynette (I was ahead and had a turnout), traffic was light, the wind was moderate, and it went well, very well, and before we knew it we were on the designated path before the bridge. The Danish gods are looking over us. So is Finn, I suspect, cause he is tracing our progress on an app (more on that later).

This time, when we got to the top of the bridge, we weren’t holding onto our bellybuttons so that they didn’t fly off to Russia. The wind was moderate. We had time to enjoy the view. And, I noted that there was a grocery in the harbor, and being three miles from our lodging, I figured we should stop, get groceries, and see if we could find a cafe.

The Winery

Lynette had indicated a need for a bathroom, so we headed into the harbor. They had a WC, but it required door codes, and fortunately a guy from a boat let Lynette into the restroom. We crossed the street to the market, and got a salad and some sandwich fixings for tonight (we are still carrying a tube of mustard).

A man in a jittery auto came up, engaged us about the bicycle mirrors (always a source of conversation), and we asked him about a place to get something to eat. He gave us directions, sort of, and we thanked him.

Following his sketchy pointers, we went back to the traffic circle at the foot of the bridge and headed up the hill, toward the path we had used to approach Møn. There was one signal light up there, above the Kirke (church) and he had indicated that as a marker. We did the climb up, got to the light, but I didn’t see a “meat market/boutique/whatever he said.”

I looked to my right at the light, there was a sign for a winery, so I leaned the bicycle up to the road sign and walked up the drive. There was a courtyard. There was a car with a hatch door open, and a happy Labrador sitting on blankets in the back, and a gentleman came out of the home on the right.

“Hello, I think I am lost.”

As it turned out, he owned a winery and was just so genial and fun. He showed me his wine stock, and we chatted and joked. He affirmed that there was a deli fifty meters north, and I had the best time jousting with him and engaging. It was good. We talked about wine, about California, and about what made a grape good. “I have been told that the best wine comes from grapes that struggle.”

“Yes,” he said. They have to suffer.”

“So,” I said, “Since we have had to struggle so much against the wind, I guess that makes us pretty precious grapes?”

He laughed.

We are.

In the middle of nowhere

So, the deli was closed. No stories here.

We were three miles from our lodging, a very reasonable, no frills stay on the path to the train station in Vordingborg, which will take us to Roskilde.

We were disappointed. Both the market shopper and the wine friend said that it was a good place. The truth is that we are in rural Denmark. In our conversation, later, our host suggested that this is a “poorer” part of Denmark, in the south. But, given things, I don’t know how one would categorize okay and poor.

So, we pedaled a high route, above, and made our way to the lodging. This was a Booking spot. We found the site, the entrance, the room….it was all fine.

Finn texted me. “So, I see you are in the middle of nowhere.”

I told him that “Nowhere” is the most reasonable place to be on the planet.

End

Place looks fine. Cultural interchange with the host was good. Learned not to point at my wife, but I am going to cousins for more information. Something about not using the fingers to point? Referring by name. I’m corrected but confused. More details in tomorrow’s posting.

Early ride tomorrow for a train in Voldingborg. Looking forward.

360 Degrees

Okay, there is a cafe here in Stege that is just the best. It is so, so good. Just heaven. Of course I had to talk Lynette out of eating at the cheap hamburger stand at the harbor, but I remained strong, persevering after the phone battery died and I couldn’t find any more reviews of places.

For some reason on these trips, Lynette doesn’t want to make decisions. I put forth an effort to have her choose, but I often get “Whatever you decide,” which is not helpful. I have more control, and responsibility than I want. And, given that I am dragging her here and there, not always accurately, and I understand that she might need more control, or a sense of control. The riding, the bike, the choices she makes about crossing roads, well, that is all fine, but the routes and lodging and distances are softly dependent upon me. Anyway, we are a good team. We do fine.

So we came back after today’s adventure, looking for a place for lunch in town. We ended up at the harbor, at a burger stand, and Lynette was willing, but it wasn’t what I wanted. We had a market salad for the evening, so I wanted something less than a “Restaurant,” but more than a Danish hot dog. We walked the square and checked places out-pizza? No. Shawarma? No. Pick a meat and then hit a buffet? No. Finally, we chose to drop the bikes and gear at the motel and walk back to David’s cafe, the place we ate the very first day.

It was late in the afternoon, but still before three, and we got a table in this very open, busy cafe, with a back courtyard, oodles of light, and a menu of sandwiches, salads, and tapas. The food preparation area is immediate to the tables, and David works in the kitchen square, oozing competence and control. I believe that his wife was working with him on our last visit, but this was later in the afternoon, and he was solo, and very present over the food preparation and other details. He sports a beard, shaved head, and professional apron. He had servers that were young and accomplished. And the clientele was across the board, formal dress, casual dress, bicycle tourists etc.

Lynette and I opted to split something, and I chose the “max” tapas plate. Lynette had an elderberry soda, and I a large local Møns beer. And it was spectacular.

Okay. Left to right, spinach quiche with watercress, cheese and tapenade, prosciutto with diced, pickled red onions, pumpkin soup with crispy roots, plaice ceviche with red pickled cauliflower, smoked salmon mousse with crem fraiche, shrimp with slivered beets and sweet and sour sauce. Oh, and bread, with Danish butter.

So, this was NOT about portion (although we were just fine sharing). This was about a skilled chef, and tasty food, and a reward for our effort for the day. And, for perspective, my fast food jones for pasta back in Praesto led to some indigestion. I do not anticipate anything but satisfaction from this food event.

As we left, and it was late in the day for a cafe that closes at five in the afternoon, I made a point of saying to David, “That was the best food, ever!” He beamed. I felt good, with food and acknowledgement, and we were off.

*****

So, before lunch.

Good sleep. Morning brought us more wind, cold, but apparent clear skies. Now this is important because I am writing this in the afternoon, and the weather is changing. It is getting warmer. The wind is backing off. We are happy about this. We have to leave this island to the west, and 20 mph winds are not good.

So, I pottered about in the morning with the blog, with communicating to our next stay, and looking at alternative routes that would get us off the small shoulder, and trying to decide what to do today. Two broad options were to ride to Nyord Island, a nature preserve, or head south to check out some Dolmens we were interested in (Neotlithic burial chambers, either passage sites or barrow sites, long or round).

Given that we can see one significant passage tomb site tomorrow, on our short hop into the wind, we decided to head up to Nyord, a natural area, an island, northwest of Stege. So, we loaded up, over layered clothing (at least I did) and we pulled our way way cross wind, and up to Nyord Harbor. We pedaled perpendicular to the wind, turned up by the strand (beach), and our progress was eased by the forest, sprinkled with small houses.

The forest was green and safe from the wind. As always, the tunnel through trees and hidden trails was comforting and interesting. Few cars passed us, and we pretty much had the road to ourselves. At times, briefly, the canopy of trees would open up. The homes were very small, little hideaways. It was a lovely area.

We got to the bridge, an open area, and riding on a relatively empty route, with a stop at a nature tower with 360 views of the area. I was so gratified to see geese, struggling with the wind, progressing like challenged cyclists. Nothing like riding into the wind, and watching geese, on the slo-mo setting, go left to right, scraping their way against mother wind. Sisters and brothers to cyclists.

We stopped at the observation tower for a while, and then we continued on to the Nyord Harbor. We took a dirt path around to the town, which had a cute harbor and plenty of tiny houses. There was a restaurant, but no place to snack, so we headed back, buoyed by the wind, and made it back to Stege by about two in the afternoon.

You know the rest.

*****

So, the weather is important here. And folks are aware. The wind is supposed to drop. (Good). The temperatures are supposed to improve (Good).

We have a short, short ride (15 km, 10 miles) to our next lodging, but we have to either make it a longer trip heading south on smaller roads, or suck it up on the major highway with small shoulders. This is always complicated by wind.

I got some communication from our next stay, which is fun. We have a room (cheap, like $60), but she is worried about our access to markets (she is remote) and the bed size, and her dog. Personally, I think this will be great. More on this later as it evolves.

The weather is changing. The wind is lessening. It is warming. This is a changeable climate.

And, of course, we are good.

Cliffs-mas Tree

When we left Finn and Marianne in Copenhagen, and boldly headed north, Marianne gave us a gift of some of her company swag, related to bicycling, and it has been essential stuff. Included in the swag bag were a bicycle water bottle, a rain cover for the seat, a nifty keychain with an orange hat that makes me aware of where my bicycle lock keys are, and a multi-use “buff” neck gator which I used today to warm my neck and keep my hat from blowing to Russia.

These days, most unaccountable things blow to Russia.

We decided that a twenty-five mile bicycle trip to the white, chalk cliffs at Møns Klint would be impractical today, and counter-productive to exploration at the area, so I figured that we would take the bus, which turned out to be a good plan.

So, we got up at 6:15 or 6:30, but then with all the poking around with the blogging, and orienting to what had happened in the US while we were asleep, it got to be about 8 before I looked at the bus schedule and tried to figure it out. I got the time, and we rallied to gather stuff for bussing and weather and detachment from things, and the unknown experience of the chalk cliffs.

We had some juice here at the motel (which I like, nothing fancy, they just leave you alone with the kitchen), and then we charged up to the local bakery so we could be Danish, eat Danish, and sup cappuccino. Goodstuff. Then, we walked down to figure out the bus thing, which, worked great-bus east, four minute transfer, bus north to Møns Geo Center.

So many times, this one included, we end up being successful with an adventure, and I think,”Omigod. This worked. We are on the right bus/path/route, and I am amazed.”

The transfer bus from Klintholm Havn (which should be explored-unfinished business), made its way super leisurely, arriving near 10, and we were the only people on the bus, and the driver stopped and pointed. The bus ride, with transfer, was 24 kr (about $3.80 US) per person. Two zones. One got a ticket printout for the transfer that was good for a limited period of time. So, 48 kr ($14) for the one way ride.

I post this for memory. I post this for you. You may want to come to Møn.

We got on the bus with a look-alike for a game of Thrones character. Lynette thought he looked like Samwell Tarly. Who knows?

The bus from Klingholm Havn brought us to the Geo Center and it was not yet open, but we used the bathrooms and headed out to hike. We started to the south, figuring a loop from the farthest stairs, down to the beach, back up to the north route stairs, and then back to the Geo Center. We didn’t see anyone. We were alone, for a long, long time. The forest and trail and scenery were spectacular.

We found the southern flight of stairs, but before we went down, we walked a little bit farther, and we were rewarded with a glorious view back toward Klingholm Havn. Again, these last couple of days I have been aware of the existential nature of our travel. The words I write, and the photos I capture just cannot convey the scenery. I think there was some kind of Platonic allegory about man living in a cave, and it is only the shadows of the truth of the real world outside that he perceives. But, that is stretching the limits of my university education.

The stairs were an adventure in faith. One goes down. One trusts legs and individual will to go back up. And to be truthful, the path along the cliff tops is much more up and down than walking below on the flintstone beach. The stairs go down five hundred steps, I think, with some bench spots and great terrain. Wooden investments, some resting areas, but always down.

We did the stairs down, a Grand Canyon experience, down is easy, but you might need a helicopter to get back up. No donkeys. One spot with an overhanging limb was warned, “Watch your head.” A courtesy. Down, down, and finally beach.

We had decided to do a loop, walking the beach to the stairs north of the highest point of the chalk cliffs. And the walking was flat, but not easy. Most of the shore was stones of flint. To the left, the chalk slumped to the beach. We understood that there were fossils to discover, but we didn’t even know what to look for. Waves lapped the flint on the beach, rumbling a smooth, easy pattern of natural joy. We tried to record a bit of it on the phones. Fun.

At one point, we found a litter of apples on the beach, and looking up we could see the tree on the cliff that was producing fruit, but it was far to high to have any subscribers. And, of course, we found ornamentless trees who had given up their hold on the cliff, and now waited decoration on the beach. The cliffs are dynamic.

We poked north along the shore, looking for fossils (which we had very little information about), and enjoying the walk. We saw no one for the longest time. Ultimately, right before the stairs at the Geo Center (halfway), we turned a corner, endured some wet feet on quicksand-like seaweed, and found ourselves on the north half of the big walk, heading to the largest area of chalk cliffs. There were more people here, probably because the largest chalk cliff was to the north.

We walked to the north, admired the cliffs, and gained the stairs to complete the loop, a steady, incremental up. That’s what stairs are. And then we followed the cliff trail back and got lunch at the Geo Center. Nothing fancy, just lunch.

After lunch, we purchased tickets and did a fairly fast coverage of the museum center. We learned that the fossils, although varied, were mainly belemnites (cuttlefish) and urchins. We learned a bit about the formation of the chalk substrata, which is very common to this area of Europe. We learned that the creation of flintstone is still somewhat of a mystery. And we also confirmed the large amount of chalk graffiti in the area (bust stop, etc.) could be attributed to cliff souvenirs.

(By the way, on the beach we saw many stones with initials or names (Lars + Marie), which I realized is a variation of the custom we have seen of folks locking small locks to bridges and throwing away the key, symbolizing lasting love. Lynette brought back one heart-shaped stone of flint.)

Here are some more photos:

We explored the gift center and focused on getting back, which turned out to be no problem. The bus was a little late, but the handoff in the harbor town was fine, and we ended up by the windy TI (tourist information station), close to our motel.

Here is a video:

Click to View

We regrouped in the apartment, with the goal of evening food, opting to shun the Netto and walk to a Facta grocery north of the old moat ditch that defined defense for the town center which, in it’s heyday, had the biggest square in Denmark. (I think Stege was known for herring.) Facta turned out to be less than spectacular, as Netto proved the day before.

But, we are not picky. We stopped en route a couple of times. Lynette bought a blouse. At the bakery, we bought a couple of rolls. We stopped at a wine merchant, and the silver tongued former owner sold me a fabulous Portuguese wine and some local snaps, both of which were delicious.

And. Well, we were done. Close the books. All done. Tomorrow, we shall timidly test the wind and look for lunch in Nyord, a small island to the northwest.

Stege (Pronounced “STY”) and Møn

Woke up this morning feeling refreshed, but the day proved that we still are tasked by the riding. And, this is good. Part of the reason we do these adventures is to see if we can keep doing these adventures. And, there are lots of personal benefits to this. For example, I have issues with hip and back, and even though they hurt, I think stuff is getting worked out. It is much easier to swing the leg over panniers, and duffle bag, but I still defer to a post or a curb for the six inches more that I need to efficiently mount/dismount.

We continue to enjoy the scenery, the movement, and the people, and the exotic nature of travel, although, we are not going to be drinking “mare’s milk,” like my friends Bob and Susan, who chose to go to Mongolia for cuisine. And, I laugh about that. Love those guys, but the differences between the trips we chose just cracks me up.

I was thinking about our history of travel. In the early days, we had a Volkswagen bug, and sleeping bags, and we would pull off the side of road and sleep, listening to the Jacob brakes on trucks and the other sounds of the “forest.” We got a camper van, and it was heaven. We had routines. We found places for daily showers/sponge baths (Lynette’s bottom line) and fantasized about writing a book about places to snark showers, or waterfalls, or isolated bathrooms with sinks. And then, the cabin sophistication, but now this touring thing.

When we did our Volkswagen camper trips, Lynette would get yarn and knit while we traveled. Lynette is active. She likes to get things done. With the scenery whizzing by, we had the appearance of making progress. The knitting was just doubling down. I am remembering this because I asked her about why she does this stuff with me. “I like the movement, the travel. I like the people. I like the independence.”

Now, we are not making big mileage, to be sure. This wind complicates everything. But, we are moving, I think there is some knitting going on, somehow, and we are testing ourselves, probably getting healthier, pickled herring and beer notwithstanding, and we love it.

*****

So, we showered, organized, staged, and loaded the bicycles. Henrik was about and came out to see us off. He brought some chain lube which he used on our chains, and suggested that we would be there in no time because of that lube. He said, we would have to follow the “small roads,” and indeed, the route was much like that video game, “snake.” We would go forward, then left, then right, 90 degree turns for much of the ride, and each turn put the monstrous (MONSTER) wind at a different angle. Generally, we were at an path off the downwind, with some backwinds, but always in the wind.

The route was primarily Cycle Route 9. It was marked, and there were spots were we deviated to avoid going into a town and then back UP to a higher location. Green fields, high fields, farm houses, it was all so scenic. The experience is. I can take some photos, but there is no way to communicate the there. And, I think this is a challenge, too. Stuff hurts. Riding might be hard. Where did that hill come from? But, it is important to think about the moment, to be mindful of place, progress, geography, wind, and mutual states of mind. For gosh sakes, one is on a clean, paved road, in southern Zealand, in an exotic spot in the world because you have never been there, and you are breathing hard cause you are carrying too much stuff, but you are moving, knitting a story. I am breathless.

Lynette was getting flagged with fatigue, and Finn called us on Messenger. This is pretty funny. I am using the phone to track progress, and so if Finn makes a call, it comes up. I can punch answer and he can watch my face as I struggle along. “The sky is blue,” he said. Of course it was, the monster wind blew the clouds to Russia. We had great fun, but I stopped for a bit and Lynette just kept riding, and when Finn wanted to say bye, I had some hard pedaling to catch up.

We were on the high farm area, and there was a significant drop to the bridge to Møn. Lynette was ready for a break, but there just wasn’t any place to stop. So, we just made the journey. The wind was basically behind, but the bridge crossing was harrowing. Two workers in bright orange were in the middle of the bridge, looking over the side, with safety ropes, which generated a lot of concern for us. Lynette chose to walk 2/3 of the bridge. I was able to flow, with the wind pushing me, but having to walk where the iron girders at the top interrupted wind flow and made it too jerky to ride.

We regrouped on the path on the island, but there were no facilities, so our option was to continue on into Stege. Now, this would have been a totally benign choice, but there is no shoulder from beyond the bridge to Stege, and even though this is an established bike route, we were at the mercy of large trucks, and licensed drivers. And this wouldn’t have been so bad, except that the backwind, so monstrous, made it hard to stay on the mini shoulder to the right. Very concerting. We ended up sprinting and stopping, to regroup, but made our way to Stege.

Now, the last two days, I confess to some indigestion, I believe from the frozen lasagna that I had. Anyway, as we arrived in Stege, I needed a toilet. On the right, pulling into Stege, was a TI (Tourist information center). We pulled up. I left my bike and Lynette, and went in.

There were two folks in a well appointed office, and a mature woman came up to me.

I said, “Is there a restroom here? Or a restroom in the Centrum?”

She looked confused.

“A water closet?”

She looked confused.

Finally, she said, “You mean a toilet? We have a toilet there.”

She pointed to a door behind behind her.

“Is it outside?” I didn’t know what she was pointing at.

“No, that door.”

So, bicycle helmet on, I soldiered my issue and walked to the door. I opened the door, and there was a narrow staircase, a small space with two guys in it, one with a notebook, a bathroom was on the left. I was surprised.

“Are you guys waiting?”

He looked at me, puzzled. I pointed to the bathroom.

“That’s a toilet,” he said, kind of like I needed a definition, but I understand his confusion.

“Thanks,” I said, realizing that he was on a different mission than I was, and oblivious to my needs.

As an aftermath, given my need and blundering search for a toilet, I thought it would be best to engage with tourist information support and make sure they knew that I had some worth, bowel movements aside. The lady who guided me to the bathroom was on the phone, and I waited, and she gave us awesome information about the island.

Embarrassing, but it must be in the record for our island experience.

*****

We walked our bicycles to the hotel, and we were early for check-in, but the lady doing the rooms let us put our gear into the room and the bicycles into the shed. We found a wonderful cafe for lunch and the food porn photos here will not do justice to the meal. So awesome.

Lynette had a quiche, and I had a veal sandwich, and they were spectacular.

We finished lunch, went back to the motel, and crashed, hard. Deep hard naps.

We hit the local Netto and got some breakfast items and fixings for a sandwich later in the evening. The motel has a common kitchen area, and a comfortable room. Lots of options. Lately we seem to be enjoying a cafe meal for lunch, and light fare for dinner. All good.

We were going to ride bicycles out to the cliffs tomorrow, but I think we will do bus instead. The wind is just awful.

A good day.

A Rest Day

Fitbit says I slept eight and a half hours last night. Even Lynette managed over 8 hours.

Getting up this morning, we just decided it was going to be a stroll around Praesto and nap day. Plus, it is a Sunday, and shops and services will be closed-not much going on. We will just contribute to not much going on.

However, I had time to try to fill in the blanks for our last two weeks, and this is what I did. You can see my working notes above, with lots of calculations of mileage and possible stays and activities. And, by the end of the morning, I booked everything to finish off the trip. Of course, making the wheels turn, getting on the correct train, and the execution of the travel is still to be resolved.

Basically, we are heading south to an island called Møn, to see some famous cliffs and explore new areas. I’m planning three nights there, with two, unloaded day trips, one to the cliffs, and one to a smaller island north of Møn. Then, back to Vordingbord, a train to Roskilde, a tough afternoon ride north, three days in Jaegerspris, three days in Farum, and then Copenhagen to pack for home. And, there is a bridge ceremony in there, too.

I don’t mind the planning. But, my brain seems to work on stuff at 3 in the morning, when there is a puzzle to resolve, so I think I have cleared the chalkboard for multiple nights of sleep unfettered from puzzles to solve.

I reached an almost completed spot, and we bundled up and left to get a coffee and Danish in the bakery in the Meny. At one of our bread making classes with our Danish policeman, his friends Charlotte and Michael, who own bakeries here, brought snegle to share. Delicious. Unfortunately, they were not there on a Sunday, so we purchased a card and Lynette wrote a note to them.

We walked around the harbor, and then, I swear, we came back and I napped hard. Lynette worked on a professional letter to the Antioch Chancellor, and then she napped, too.

It wasn’t until 3 pm that we roused ourselves and went back to Cafe Mocc@, for a gluttonous meal-just the absolute best. I had a huge burger (200 g, about .44 lb), and Lynette binged on curried pickled herring and a plate of fish delicacies. Lynette also had a French coffee-cognac and Grand Marnier, which she knew how to spell, and I did not.

We sauntered back to the lodging and lay down some more. Nothing to see here.

But, I did take a look at train schedules, bought tickets for Friday, called the train operator and adjusted my ticket for bicycles, and thus resolved another issue.

And, that’s it. A couple of photos from the area. Windy and overcast most of the day. Spectacular, the wind singing and whipping through the stays on the masts of the boats in the harbor-notable.

And, that’s all I got. A quiet day. A balancing day.

Pumping to Praesto, and the Pasta Jones

Today was another challenging day. I’m beat. This may be short.

I didn’t get to bed until after midnight, and we woke up a little after 6 am. The room was just brilliant with light, and detail. Lynette noted that the items in the cottage were of quality and thoughtful. We had a bit of muesli and yogurt, which we finished, and I took another stab at lodging.

It was Saturday, and so many lodgings on my booking tools were already booked. And, with Airbnb, some of the search results were not in the vicinity of where I was headed, and hits showed up that were not available for the dates I entered, and I had to make sure, to the best of my knowledge, that we got a bath and shower, and maybe a private entrance.

And, then, there is the issue of the bike ride and distance. We had a difficult day yesterday. Anyway, looking at it all, I started checking going to Præsto all the way, a longer ride than we have been doing, and I found a cottage attached to a house, private entrance, big floor space, private bath for $70 a day, but close to 50 km away, on the direct route. I shared with Lynette, she went along (trooper), and we locked and loaded for a long day, but with an early start, and fortunately, we got a prompt response and acceptance from Henrik and Tine.

So, we had this great one night stay in Køge, arriving late from the ferry, no opportunity to explore, but a live band to our left in a night spot, and a wild Irish pub to our right, all noted as we sacrificed our future to Google maps to find the cottage in the full moon dark. Don’t know what Google learned from tracking us, but it was a great place. We never saw our hosts, and I am sorry for that. Their place was immaculate, and the garden a treat. Just great. It kinda makes me want to build a tiny house next to the cabin. David and Mallory wouldn’t fit in it, but the dog could be set up like royalty. Sweetheart. I know, she needs to be with us! But sometimes she needs her own bed.

We left the place in good shape. The showers were good. I locked door and put the key in the lock box, and sent a message to the hosts. And, in what was surprisingly cold weather, we headed off.

Now, at the beginning, the route followed Eurovelo 10, part of the bicycle route network being developed in civilized Europe where dreaded social democracies pay for climate friendly, bicycle touring and the stimulation of the economy by folks like me, who have single-handedly refreshed ready made salads in multiple Nettos, Meny’s, Remagen 1000’s, and Dagli’ Brugsens. (Can’t remember the exact names, they speak a different language here.)

But, the road forked, and the maps programs sent me on a direct path along a busy highway. For the most part, there was shoulder, but no bike path. Now, we have done this highway before, one time panicking and heading off into the wilds off small roads and inefficient travel. I had flashbacks.

And, sure enough, we had a spot with no shoulder, troublesome, lots of stops to check attitude and fortitude, and eventually, we reached Ronnade, a town we have been to multiple times. One time, we tricked ourselves into an outrageous meal at a restaurant. The next time, we had croissants and snacks at the Meny, and this time, we split a sandwich and juice and studied the maps and struggled to sit down and eat our split sandwich and then, miraculously, get up again. Biking is a singular sport. Flexibility and other activities need to be dealt with separately.

Beyond Ronnade, there is a significant hill. I studied the mapping tools and found a downhill course that bypassed that hill and forest, and we chose to try. It turned out to be pretty nice, rural, no traffic, gently downhill or flat with mild uphills the whole way, It was awesome. The downside was that the road went east and then turned back into the West winds. The issues are hills? Or wind? Tough choice.

Praesto fjord is impressive. We looped around the top of the fjord, stopping for a lay-down-and-let-your-back-straighten stop, and then finished into Praesto. Very scenic. It was 2:30, too early to check in, so we headed to Cafe Mocca, in the harbor, where we had eaten dinner on our last trip. We got a table outside and had a beer and a wine. It was cool. The waitress was a delight. And, for some reason, I was bone cold, but I pulled out some layers and made it through okay.

I Googled the address for the Airbnb, and we arrived at a real estate office, not what I expected. I don’t want to buy Greenland. After communications with the host, we figured that the address included a “2,” for the unit, that confused Mr. Google. Shame. We made our way and all is good. Great space. Lots of room. Near the centrum. All you could want. We hit the market, got some goods, and I have a jones for pasta. Bought some frozen stuff. It will be good. There is a microwave here. No worries.

Plan is minimal biking tomorrow. Rest the bodies. I am breathing the effort from the last two days. I know the signs. Hysterical laughter in a hot shower, short breaths. Nothing carnal nor caramel, just effort rewarded.

Adventure ahead. Thinking we are heading for some islands. Thinking that we are going to train back north to finish the last week.

And, as our host told us while we were lost, “Look under the rock. The key is there.”

Wise words.

Gaggle of Geese, Murder of Crows, and a Breakfast of Seniors

Given the stress that Lynette has experienced with the very active and direct seniors that seem to be out vacationing, she decided that it would be best to hit the buffet right when it opened in the morning, 7:30 am. Besides, we anticipated headwinds and were unsure of the routing, and we certainly didn’t want to crunch time on the ferry.

So, promptly at 7:29 we arrived at the breakfast room, and we were stunned by the scene. The breakfast buffet was surrounded, encircled, and enclosed by a wall of very focused seniors, shuffle-stepping around the items on display, foraging for rolls, butter, cheese, liver pate, and jams, dishing on the eggs, the sausage, and the bacon and jellied meats. The kind lady managing the carnage showed us an unused table and asked if we wanted coffee. Lynette said, “It looks like we a bit late to the party.”

Lynette went to look at the tail of the line that hadn’t even gotten to the buffet square, and looked discouraged, like this:

https://flic.kr/p/2hf6hoo

By the way, I found the time productive, plotting the end of our trip and finding, I think, a plan to get the boxes to the Clarion hotel near the airport, as well as free up time to get to the bridge opening.

Anyway, a kind lady noticed Lynette’s discouraged look and came over and pointed out that the yogurt station was under-used at that time, and we might at least start there, which we did. I practiced other techniques I had seen the locals use (like putting the muesli in the bowl first), and adding the fruit cocktail to the mixture for a little sweetness.

Finally, after about 20 minutes, Lynette said she was going for it, left our breakfast bunker, and joined the queue lacing off the back of the slow square dance of the buffet. I photographed the time, 7:48 am.

The whole thing was pretty humorous. And, really, at the half hour mark, the encirclement dissipated, folks engaged in table conversation and breakfast camaraderie, leaving the food square to us. Again, I enjoyed the scrambled eggs and bacon, although I must say that they had a tray of soft boiled eggs, shelled, and cut in half, so either way, I was a winner at this particular wagon stop on our journey.

*****

We busied about getting packed up, and the terrace off of our room was a welcome staging spot. The ferry left at 5 pm, and we knew we were going to have serious headwinds, and maybe some rain. I even told the hotel manager while I paid my bill, “showers pass,” my new catch-all.

It was drizzling when we left, and it wasn’t until we left the protected neighborhoods and an adjacent forest, climbing into the open area of fields and no wind breaks that it really started to pour. We were riding just a bit off a direct line into the wind, but I recall heavy rain crossing right to left, not up to down, in front of our tracks. The legs were feeling good, and the work generated enough warmth to stay a bit damp, but comfortable, and we stopped for a bit under an evergreen to regroup, basically at the turn-off to the dunes we had visited yesterday.

Lynette was in good, determined spirits, and we took off again, noting what seemed like some blue sky in the future. And, pedaling and patience, the dark clouds followed the lateral rain, and when the sun came out, the colors were cheerfully brilliant. I was struck by how conditions, in this case, wind and rain misery, lifted to light, giving one the eyes of an artist. I took a couple of photos, but I am not sure that they honor justice to our experience.

So, we rode on.

As you can imagine, the wind continued to harass and test our emerging riding muscles. It was difficult. Forest, buildings, helped, but briefly. Sometimes, even with forest on both sides, the wind took advantage, ignoring the wind breaks on both sides just to hit us in the middle. It was scraping, red-eye riding, with many gear shifts, and games to play in counting kilometers, and watching the banners, stiff and wind-mastered, but always pointing in the direction we were coming from.

In a way, I think this is pretty awful, but good riding. It was a challenge, partly a rage, but always the kind of ride that ensures being alive, and being able to persevere. But then, of course, the bookend to our gathering of Breakfast Seniors, is always the Commuting Classroom.

I saw in my mirror that Lynette was tailed by a large cycling group, ill defined, but large. Usually, Lynette will defer to these groups, so I pulled up to a stop, and allowed (surprise) a classroom of eighth graders, thirteen year olds, to pull in front of me and block the whole intersection.

You have to love this shoulder month travel-seniors and students everywhere.

So, it turned out that the classroom trip was spread out. The peloton included the teacher. The laggards included a boy and a girl interested in some privacy and moderate distance, two girls who didn’t like the wind, and another interesting girl at the back.

We tag and looped for a bit, but the peloton went way ahead.

The path opened up to lots of fields, good news for the wind, bad for us. The final girl in the class had passed us at a road crossing, but we could see her ahead, walking her bicycle. At this point, the riding into the wind had reduced progress to more than a walker, but pretty darn slow. As I approached her, she looked back a couple of times and when I passed, I said, “Stop this wind!”

She said, “Well the thing is that I am on a class trip and we did x kilometers and there were 200 steps in the hotel…”

And, I put my gear in low, and we rode/walked for a while, and she was delightful, articulate, happy, even though she was bringing up the tail of the class, and she seemed to want to chat, and it was fun.

Here is what I learned. She was proud to be a good student, and that her teachers said that she has the skills and preparation for the next grade. She gets very good marks. She goes to a private school, the best in Bornholm. She agreed with me that class trips are better than being in the classroom. Her sister teaches English. She thinks she is using more English than Danish these days. Her parents have a bed and breakfast in Rønne. She has been to New York and Vegas. She was in Vegas when she was six. Students get to do some kind of three day educational trips, she chose English (not sure what those are). The family is going to Indonesia for a vacation. She thinks she is lucky.

And, I was lucky, slow pace or not, because it was a distraction from the wind. I didn’t even get a good look at her, other than a Euro shaved cut and topknot, which I am sure has some name. But she walked. Eventually, I told her to say hello to my wife, behind me, and moved on at a bit higher gear.

We passed the peloton, later, sitting at a roadside rest, but on the other side of the highway, and I figured to move on. They didn’t ask me about stragglers. I don’t know if they had a SAG support. But, it is Denmark, and reasonable risk is acceptable. The wind is way different from gun control. Guns could be regulated. The wind is wild.

And, so we trekked. Some parts were harder than others. Some parts were a relief. Downhills, on the mapping, when I looked, were always more trivial than one would hope. It was a textured ride, an inconsistent geography, a floundering topology. But, we ground out the meters. By the way, signage on the roadside is very consistent, fifty meters between a white post, twenty posts to a kilometer. Just things I am aware of.

We left at 9 am, and we pulled into Rønne about 1 pm, not bad. The last bit was very scenic, fairly flat, protected and through a forest. We found our way into the centrum and eventually settled on a fast food pizzeria, where we could watch our gear (necessary?), sharing pizza and a Greek salad. It was not fancy. A locals spot, for sure. And, we had some pizza to take on the ferry.

After lunch, we found the ferry, checked in and had some time. Near the end, a foursome of riders on a three day junket stopped and chatted. Way fun. They were from “Mamu” or something. They had come from the same area that we had, and we commiserated over the rain, the wind, and the ride. It was good.

This ferry seemed to be loaded with the trailers, not the cabs, of many many truck and trailers. Handlers with “tow-truck” loaders guided the trailers onto the ferry. Pedestrian traffic was limited. We had tons of room in the upstairs cafeteria, and few constraints. Lynette napped on the cushions by our table. We were in the front of the ferry, worrisome for rocking, but the ferry must have been large-it shouldered the waves, the wind, and our direction in a manner I wish I had been blessed with.

I feel asleep for about an hour, too, and Lynette roused me to the lights of shore and the ferry pulling into dock. Thinking that we needed to get down to the bicycles, and hearing a call for drivers to get to their cars, we gathered our things and left to find the stairs we had taken up to the passenger lounge.

When we got down to deck 3, we could see that the truck trailers had been loaded with slim tolerances and precision. There wasn’t enough space to walk between trailers, and the door to the bicycle room was completely blocked. The door to the ferry, clanging and echoing loudly, started to open and a yellow-jacket guy told us to stay put. We were in the middle, between two corridors of two lanes of truck trailers, with a large container box in front of us, so we were safe, but the noise was frightening.

The ferries only load the trailers, no truck cabs. The trailers are put on a metal stand instead of the cab, and the substantial stand makes it possible for the trailer to be hooked up quickly. Four guys in these tugboat vehicles drove at breakneck speed, slamming under the front of a trailer, the operator swiveling in his seat to hook up the pneumatic brakes, and then madly dashing to pull the trailer out at full speed. The tolerances were close. It was amazing.

Finally, our farmer cyclist friends came down (we should have followed them rather than running off on our own), and in a few moments, the path to the room was clear, and we un-hitched our bicycles from the stabilizing bars. This time, we waited until the cyclists made a move before we followed.

We moved out in a group, watching for those “tugboats,” and exited to the streets. Our friends checked with us (they were riding five minutes to cars), and we waved goodbye. Lynette and I had a dark ride on a full moon night to an Airbnb about 10 minutes away from the harbor, the final 200 meters cutting down a dark, dirt alley path, and finding the house number at 11 (23) at night. Feeling a bit odd, we entered by the back gate, and sure enough, the key to a small cottage was in the door!

The accommodations were just awesome. A cozy cottage, and I just wished that I had been able to book it for two nights, but it was not available. Very pretty.

I fretted for an hour or so trying to find lodging for tomorrow night, with no success. It is a Saturday night, so many hotels are busy. I will give it an effort tomorrow morning and see what our options are. We may head down to Praesto and then Møns. We shall see.

A Chance Meeting

I have often noted that there are few issues, no matter what the category-relationships, financial, and even moral, that cannot be resolved simply by lowering one’s expectations.

Knowing this, you can understand my solution to the soft boiled egg conundrum. As we made our way to the breakfast at this particular hotel, soft eggs were in the back of my mind. Fractured shells, small fragments, shell parts peeled off with chunks of egg white stuck to the outer shell, The inefficiency astonishes.

However, to my delight, Strand Hotel Balka Søbad presented me with this satisfaction in the morning:

Scrambled eggs need no preparation! And, I must admit that I had more than a proper share of bacon, something I have not seen lately, enjoying the decadence of American eggseptionalism. I also confess to two of the little sweet pastries. It was a fine breakfast, leaving me with a reinforced sense of accomplishment and worth, my dignity intact.

*****

I slept restlessly, for me, last night because I woke up worrying about not being able to get bike boxes at the airport, a wrench in my brilliant plan with the hotel booking for two nights at the end of the trip in the hotel across the street from the airport. So, after breakfast, I got on the phone and called the airport, and they confirmed that they no longer sell bicycle boxes. Thanks to Anne-Marie for this heads up! This was a disappointment and an issue for anxiety. We are plotting to be available for the opening of the bridge in Fredrickssund, and there will be some logistics in getting to the opening, and then getting back to Copenhagen, and then there are the bicycles.

However, I did have success in locating a Mailbox Etc. Shop in Lyngby that sold boxes, and is expecting a refresh order in the next week. I thanked him profusely for being there, and I think it will all work out. I know that people get boxes from bike shops, but we were unsuccessful with that in Santa Barbara, so I am glad to pay for big boxes and then cut them down to fit. Smaller just wont work.

That business done, we left for a walk along the strand, the white beaches in Balka.

It rained a bit as we left the hotel, but by the time we arrived at the beach, the sun and clouds were playing their cat and mouse game of honoring us with hot and humid, and cold and windy temperatures. Such a shifting temperature presence! The walk on the beach was great. I waded in to check the temperature of the Baltic, got my feet wet, and it was not bad, but, like Finn, I am not a winter swimmer.

Lynette collected shells, a fond memory of her childhood, I took photos of clouds, and we walked to the tip of the beach crescent. It was very beautiful and empty, with a few bathers, a few dog walkers, and a couple in deep conversation. The light was good. We saw a rainbow. Swan bodies (no heads), were foraging under water and bopped in the bay. Spectacular. We wandered back to the hotel, admiring rose hips as large as cherry tomatoes, blackberries, and elderberry that defied photographic focus in the wind and will have to remain imagined. Pretty cool.

Now I wanted to check out the dunes to the north of us, the Dueodde Strand, apparently an area of land owned by Frederick VII (think Jaegerspris and Lynette’s forester ancestors), who had so much trouble keeping the shifting sand in check, that the King eventually had it planted with trees. This is a limited inaccurate interpretation of what I read on the signs. But, the outcome we were later to see, was magnificent forest leading up to white sand beaches, a forest with a mossy carpet and open space between the trees.

We left the hotel and followed Eurovelo cycle route 10, pushing headwinds (tomorrow, gulp!), and found our way through strand neighborhoods, and forest and field to a very busy parking lot, Western style steak house, ice cream shop, souvenir shop, and busloads of students. We locked our bicycles and followed a wooden path out to the ocean, with hordes of students clogging the walkway and providing entertainment for those of us who enjoy that kind of thing. And it is students who fund my cheer and provide me with laughter and joy.

It was pretty funny. About three of the junior high aged students walking against our flow on the wooden walkway to the beach “popped off” to me with adolescent bravado, a strangely confident greeting purely for their own amusement, to which I would respond in my best, gringo American, an energetic return reminiscent of “Yo, bro, what’s the haps!” But not in those exact words. And, the bravado would melt and they would achieve a look like, “Uh O. Unknown variable.” And then, they would look somewhere else. Pretty fun, for me.

The dunes and beach were scenic. A whole group of kids were on one dune, running down and jumping off a short cliff and just having the best time. We spent some time at the beach, snapped photos, and then headed back to the origin of the path.

*****

Now, the most incredible thing happened. Just as we reached the end of the path and the parking lot, we looked to the right and spotted a bearded gentleman and his wife. He recognized us immediately, and I, them. It was the carpenter from Rostock! The coincidence of meeting, here, in a random place was surreal. I had written specifically about him in two blog postings, and he had profoundly influenced my writing, my message, and my thoughts.

We chatted again for a long time, blocking the path and some efforts of restaurant staff to serve customers, and it was good. His English was limited, but the messaging, I think was clear. For some reason, I have the utmost respect for this man (couple). He was present, joyful, vibrant, embracing his age, his family, his home, and his Sequoia. He showed me a photo of it, now 25 years old, and it is beautiful, near his house, his greenhouse, and his barbecue. Just fine. California Sequoia, growing in old East Germany, and in a relationship. “It will be there in 1,000 years!” he said.

The grammar of fate and the message it conveys is not lost on me. That which appears to be significant, should be read as such. Nothing conspiratorial about this, but something for me to ponder upon.

We parted. I do not know his or her name. It is okay.

Lynette and I rode back, the wind truly at our backs (worrisome for tomorrow), making good time and arriving at the fish smokehouse in Snogebæk and pulling in to split a lunch. We had beer and an elderberry soda (which Lynette loves), and then split a fish plate with fish cakes. I wrote some on the blog, and it was just fine. I think I could live my life traveling and writing in cafes in the sun, with a coffee and snegl, or a beer and fish plate. I’m pretty sure that the writing wouldn’t be any better than what I am doing so far, but it would certainly amuse me, allow me to hold Lynette to task for listening and suggestions.

It was a nice venue, along the beach, moderately scenic, but pleasant. The people watching was fine, the observation of locals lunching and sharing was instructive, and we enjoyed ourselves to the max. After lunch, we headed up to the market for some bread and sandwich fixings for later. All good.

So, tomorrow will be an interesting day. We have a 20 mile ride, probably into the wind, with a five pm departure on a ferry back to Zealand, arriving at 10 pm. We have a late airbnb check in. And then? Not sure.

Is it okay to be “Not sure?”

I don’t know. I’m “Not sure.” But heck, this is Denmark. And, I married a Viking. We are good.

The Wind at my Back, Sometimes…

Lynette was up and ready to rumble with the senior thugs, figuring an early run to the buffet would catch them bleary-eyed from an excess of schnapps, however, as I checked on the bikes, I saw a couple of them returning from an early swim in the second story pool. Yikes. They were up, fresh from a swim, and probably hungry for more liver pate!

I alerted Lynette, and she buzzed down to the breakfast, buffet battleground, while I finished adding a video to the blog posting for yesterday. When I got down, I found Lynette had chosen the far, corner table in the room, and I thought of the Norwegian who had designed the fortifications at Christiansø, and I pondered strategies of defense, and buffet opportunity.

We had no trouble securing a decent breakfast. However, I do struggle with the whole soft-boiled egg thing. I recall that in my youth, I was a poached egg guy. I never ate the white though, just the yolk, on the toast. I had to mature into eating the whole thing, but that happened much later.

So, these wonderful, varied hotels offer boiled eggs. One, I recall, had 6 minute eggs and 8 minute eggs (or was it 4 minute and 6 minute?). Anyway, they offer these cute little egg cups to put the egg in while you prepare it, which seems to involve de-egg-capitation of the top of the egg, and then with the little spoon, the eggsperts seem to eat the guts out of the shell. Now, the part that mystifies me is how they get the top off cleanly. I seem to be missing some valuable information, like knowing that babies are not brought by storks, but not understanding the intimate act that leads to procreation. (Blame this metaphor on the chickens.)

Yes, I look around me in the breakfast room, and all I see are completed eggs, somehow efficiently and magically prepared, with happy guests and small spoons using an intact egg shell to hold the soft contents while they enjoy their protein.

As for me, soft taps to the shell result in a fractured spot, nothing clean, and inevitably I start peeling. This morning was no exception. I did manage to extract product, and it was wonderfully soft-boiled (Lynette said, “That looks so good!”), but I had to transfer it out onto a plate. Scan the room, senior thugs all around, with topless eggs and clean lines and small spoons, mocking me for sure.

*****

We managed our stuff down the stairway to the courtyard to load up. And, by the way, the sun was out, the wind was out, but it looked like it would be a fine day. I checked out, and when I returned to the loaded bicycles, Lynette was in conversation with another, Danish cycling couple about our journey. I believe that they were automobile touring, but riding bicycles in the forest trails. We had gotten a taste of that riding from Rønne to Phil and Katrin’s farm. Goodstuff.

Anyway, the woman pointed out a couple of things. First, Bornholm has a coast that is rocky, unlike other parts of Denmark, and scenic. Second, the wind is bad (truth). Third, if you ride in the forested areas, the wind is not so bad. Fourth, the coastal route is not flat, rolling rides and headlands. (Oregon was like that. Big pulls up and then down.). So, with that inspiration, we headed out to walk our bikes up the steep road to the headline, to begin a ride down to the next rise.

We walked our loads up, and I pondered a yard sale of crap that I had kept in my bag. It was far too steep to ride, and frankly, getting going in the am requires at least a little road to get the rhythm. We achieved the road, and on the downhill passed the egress to Cycle Route 25, which we had walked two days ago to get back to Phil’s farm after bussing to Allinge.

Our goal today was a 20 mile ride to a beach hotel, Balka Strand, with a stop in Svaneke for the Wednesday market of local goods and local shops. Again, we are not doing big miles this trip, and in my defense I call on the wind. She is deadly. When you have to pedal to go downhill, or a gust in a corridor pops you so that you think you are going into traffic, she demonstrates her power.

All in all, with the exception of one, massive, sustained hill, it was a good ride. We achieved the ride, stopped at the top of the hill for a nice, scenic break, and watched the clouds control the temperature. Clouds on? Windy and cold. Clouds off? Warm, almost hot. What a variable climate at this time of year. Clothing swaps are necessary. And, always, thinking about the Vikings and history, one can barely imagine how they fared.

We found our way into Svaneke, home of the local, island brewery, and in the harbor there was a tourist information center (TI). These are great places. I went in, to a lonely representative, and presented my credentials as a “tourist.” She was wonderful. I asked about the location of the craft fair, and she tore a map page off the back of a German brochure to guide me.

We walked our bicycles up to the craft square and found a wall to park them on, and Lynette took off to shop while I engaged a ceramics lady (great pottery, couldn’t carry product) in all manner of things. She was fun, and her product was beautifully crafted. She laughed. I like folks that laugh. Think about that, will you? Chat and laugh. Even if there is no commerce in goods, there is commerce in conversation. Equal talking. Evidence of transaction and satisfaction.

Lynette was off shopping, so I went across and bought a sausage, and then later an ice cream. It was good, but not as good as Jaegerspris! I realized later that I was sitting next to the brewery, and, well, more unfinished business. All good.

Lynette returned, and we gathered gear and headed south. The wind just rips one here, scraping at the face and making everything more difficult. Everything that was said by our acquaintances in the courtyard at the previous hotel is correct. Denmark may be flat, but riding a downhill into the wind may still require pedaling.

All in all, it was a pretty good route, and the painful parts were not long and crippling, and after a couple of scout-abouts, we just headed on to the venue, checking in and finding a delightful room with a back terrace, and serene quiet. A nice place with a kitchen, although we stuck to a store purchased shrimp salad.

And so, the rest of the story is long term planning. And it is sort of working out. We are trying to be available to the opening of the new bridge in Frederikssund-great grandmother Bodil would have crossed that water (Roskilde Fjord) on her way to Flensburg and immigration to Wisconsin, historic family information.

Mileage taken in to consideration, we had a day to kill, so I booked this room for one more night, and we can check out the beach and another area northwest of here. The ferry to Køge, on Zealand, south of Copenhagen leaves at 5 pm and arrives at 10 pm. I booked a late arrival at an Airbnb, and I’m sure it will work out.

I do have some concerns about the availability of bicycle boxes for the return trip, and I will have to figure out how to verify it.

A calm, quiet, late afternoon.