There are so many bike trails in Sweden I can hardly believe it. As we drive from town to town you can see the paths follow the highway. I think the only place a biker really has to get on a street with a car is when they get to the centers of towns or the little residential street. And even there, if you know where to look, you can find bike paths The little town that Leif grew up in is crisscrossed with walking/biking paths that often don’t even follow the road but slip behind or between houses to connect one part of town with another.
On Thursday we were supposed to do another excursion with the car (still sounds way more sophisticated than road trip, which sounds like we are looking for cheap liquor and the possibility of jail time) but his brother got sick and had to cancel. His father didn’t want us to miss anything, so around 8am he suggested a ride on the bikes. He had been missing his rides while we were there and this seemed a good time to go. After all, the sun had been shining since about 4am. It was a beautiful day.
So Tord on his bike, Leif on his road bike, and me on his mom’s bike headed out. This was not an even playing field. Leif’s road bike was the obvious king here, but Tord had the advantage of riding this course every other day all summer AND he had three gears. I had a one speed bike with a foot brake and a certain amount of rust. I was twelve the last time I rode my purple and silver Schwinn. This was gonna be hard. Just remembering where my feet needed to be when I put on the brakes was tough, because if they weren’t in the right place I couldn’t get my foot down fast enough to stop myself from falling over. I wasn’t going to succumb to gravity again.
We headed out on the bike paths through town. I was pretty impressed with myself as I got used to riding sitting up (feels strange) with my hands holding a curved set of handlebars (way more comfortable on my wrists right now, but sure to become annoying later) and learning to pedal only so fast and no faster, or I just spin my feet uselessly. The sun went behind some clouds the instant we wheeled the bikes outside, but the rain waited till we were far enough away that returning home made no sense at all. It just kept raining, sometimes hard, sometimes just a sprinkle. Leif was the only one who brought a rain jacket. It is my opinion it would have been too hot to wear a jacket anyway. We rode to Linkoping (I think) where they suddenly left my comfortable bike trail and headed down a dangerously narrow road that I was pretty sure contained hills.
It was beautiful country, really. As I said before…so much like Minnesota. Pine trees and poplars and birches. Farms and animals. Made me sorry I hadn’t brought my camera. Then I remembered the rain (which was still falling, how could I forget?) and decided this was much better. It isn’t as flat as Minnesota though, and I approached the first hill with a little bit of fear in my heart. Why? Because I really wanted to impress my cycling boyfriend with my ability to ride and I know myself well enough to know that hills are not where I shine. At least I assume so, I have spent the last three years planning routes based on their lack of hills. So, yeah, my fear of hills is mostly in my own head.
We hit the first hill and…wow…I didn’t fall over or roll backwards. I didn’t have to walk the bike up. Of course, it wasn’t a big hill, but bigger than I usually want to tackle, even with all 21 gears. After that first hill the ride became fun again. OK, I won’t lie, I still approached each hill with just a little bit of uncertainty. It’s hard to drop a lifetime fear of hills in one short bike trip. But I do feel a whole lot better about riding my bike outside of Florence now when we go home.
We rode up and down the hills, through farms and forests and finally got back to the village as the rain stopped. Naturally. We all got out of our wet clothes and had our elevenses coffee and cookies. As we ate Leif and his dad talked. I could only listen, of course, because they were speaking Swedish. As we finished our coffee Leif said that his dad was impressed with me. He said that they had never seen their mother’s bike ridden that far or that fast before (she was a smoker before she passed away). Leif said that this ride was my official welcome into the family and the bike would be waiting for me the next time we visited.
If we weren’t all stoic Northern Europeans we might have had ourselves a little cry at that point.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
At A Snails Pace
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| Swedish Snail w/House |
Today’s discussion will be about all the snails I have seen on this trip. I’m sure there are snails in Minnesota, but they aren’t such a common occurrence that I am immune to them. The best looking snail by far was the one in someone’s yard, perfect for playing on. No yucky slime, no antennae.
Then there were the cute ones. Real, live snails carrying their little houses around on their backs. I admit to being a little put off by the mostly transparent body, but when compared with the others, these are Disney material: cute and lovable. But then there are the others…
One day we went for a walk, to loosen up Leif’s legs after the long race. Because of the heavy rains the day before, there were lots of puddles and wet areas on the roads. I noticed something brown on the road and stopped to see what it was. What it was is something that here translates into “killer snail.” I don’t know, “killer snail” just doesn’t strike fear into my heart the way “killer bees” does. No one runs in terror from “killer snails” like they would from a killer shark. There will not be a thrilling movie, “Killer Snails: Terror at 2 Millimeters Per Hour.“ The best this snail can hope for is a documentary, maybe with Discovery Channel, but probably with public television. This name doesn’t mean that it is carnivorous (like killer tomatoes, one of the great stupid movies of all time) or that it has some kind of great hate for humans, but that it isn’t native to this country and so has no natural predators and eats everything in it’s slimy path. It is about 3 inches long, fat and ugly.
There were so many of them I had to watch where I was walking. They obviously don‘t use the survival instincts that the good Lord gave them. When it rains they try to get across the road, blissfully unaware that the rain will stop and the added boost the rain gives their slime will be gone, leaving them stranded mid-road with little hope of reaching the other side alive. I freely admit to kicking a number of them back into the middle of the road in the hopes that some car would “accidentally” hit them. I didn’t do any actual killing and so my conscience is clear.
We ran into a different kind of snail on our car excursion trip. This is one of the normal snails for the region. These also aren’t cute cartoon snails, but big, black, slimy ones that look like bloated leeches with antennae. Sorry there is no picture, but it was pouring rain. On second thought, I’m not sorry. You don’t want to see it. If you can believe it, they are even bigger and nastier than the other snails, but native to the region and so not reviled as deeply as the “killer snail.“ They don’t carry a little shell around with them and no one knows where they go when the rain stops but they always show up when it is wet out. I am going with the night crawler theory: the rain forces them out of their little holes and they are just trying to find a way back underground. Sounds so much better than that the rain re-hydrates them and they go on a feeding frenzy. Eeewww.
Oh, and maybe the best part…all these snails are also cannibals. Just think how deadly they’d be if they had any speed whatsoever.
Then there were the cute ones. Real, live snails carrying their little houses around on their backs. I admit to being a little put off by the mostly transparent body, but when compared with the others, these are Disney material: cute and lovable. But then there are the others…
One day we went for a walk, to loosen up Leif’s legs after the long race. Because of the heavy rains the day before, there were lots of puddles and wet areas on the roads. I noticed something brown on the road and stopped to see what it was. What it was is something that here translates into “killer snail.” I don’t know, “killer snail” just doesn’t strike fear into my heart the way “killer bees” does. No one runs in terror from “killer snails” like they would from a killer shark. There will not be a thrilling movie, “Killer Snails: Terror at 2 Millimeters Per Hour.“ The best this snail can hope for is a documentary, maybe with Discovery Channel, but probably with public television. This name doesn’t mean that it is carnivorous (like killer tomatoes, one of the great stupid movies of all time) or that it has some kind of great hate for humans, but that it isn’t native to this country and so has no natural predators and eats everything in it’s slimy path. It is about 3 inches long, fat and ugly.
There were so many of them I had to watch where I was walking. They obviously don‘t use the survival instincts that the good Lord gave them. When it rains they try to get across the road, blissfully unaware that the rain will stop and the added boost the rain gives their slime will be gone, leaving them stranded mid-road with little hope of reaching the other side alive. I freely admit to kicking a number of them back into the middle of the road in the hopes that some car would “accidentally” hit them. I didn’t do any actual killing and so my conscience is clear.
We ran into a different kind of snail on our car excursion trip. This is one of the normal snails for the region. These also aren’t cute cartoon snails, but big, black, slimy ones that look like bloated leeches with antennae. Sorry there is no picture, but it was pouring rain. On second thought, I’m not sorry. You don’t want to see it. If you can believe it, they are even bigger and nastier than the other snails, but native to the region and so not reviled as deeply as the “killer snail.“ They don’t carry a little shell around with them and no one knows where they go when the rain stops but they always show up when it is wet out. I am going with the night crawler theory: the rain forces them out of their little holes and they are just trying to find a way back underground. Sounds so much better than that the rain re-hydrates them and they go on a feeding frenzy. Eeewww.
Oh, and maybe the best part…all these snails are also cannibals. Just think how deadly they’d be if they had any speed whatsoever.
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| Killer Snail |
The Excursion
This morning it wasn’t raining…so Leif and I went for a walk to the local castle. Before you get all excited thinking that every town has it’s own medieval castle with battlements or even just a ruined tower sitting around, understand that the word “castle” here is simply a home for royalty. So many castles are more like a Swedish “chateau“, really a very large and beautiful home that is actually pretty contemporary considering Sweden’s long history.
Actually, what happened here in Sturefores and I suppose in many towns is that the royalty, somewhere between 1700 and 1900 decided that the old family home was just too outdated and they replaced it with something more sophisticated, with modern conveniences like electricity and indoor plumbing. But many ruined and going to ruin (actual) castles were torn down to make room for the new castle. The castle here is very pretty, built in the 1700’s, with a beautiful formal garden dating from the same period and several little “funny” houses built in the style of different cultures. The Chinese house is where Leif’s brother proposed to his girlfriend Karin last month.
That afternoon, as promised, we all got into Tomas’ car and started our “little excursion with the car.” Five of us went: me, Leif, Tomas, their father and Frederick…a good friend to Tomas and Leif. It looked like rain, so we packed rain boots (for the off-road activity, whatever that meant) and coats, folding chairs and the cooler and of course my camera for our drive around the lake near Linkoping. First stop was an old church and ruined cloister from around 1100. It’s a beautiful place, far different from the churches in Florence. Still vaulted, but not as high. None of the colorful frescoes of the later catholic churches, just lots of gray stone. Pews in place, with little doors and numbers so each family knew where they were supposed to sit. Frederick and I walked around taking about a million pictures while the rest watched me and I’m pretty sure laughed at me. I like ruined things, broken things, things that have used by people and show that use. It gives them life.
We all piled back into the car and drove to the next site, but on the way we saw an actual ruin of a castle tried to see it, but it is a private property. Belonging, in fact, to the major family buried in the church we had just left. Douglas…not a very Swedish sounding name, but they said that they weren’t Swedish, but probably Scottish from several centuries ago. This was the old castle (yes, really a castle with a tower and everything) and their new home was right in front of it. Maybe when they are done restoring it I’ll look and tell you about it.
The next stop was a canal built between two lakes. We followed a couple of canoes through the locks (one lake is higher than the other) and watched the rain come towards us across the lake. It’s a big lake and shallow. Probably a lot like Mille Lacs in Minnesota. In a country filled with lakes, this one was created to help complete a waterway between the east and west coasts of Sweden. We decided to start again before the rain reached our next stop: the mysterious “off road” adventure.
This was the north shore of the lake, where the glaciers had scraped everything away and what’s left looks just like the woods we find “up north” in Minnesota. Big stands of pines planted years ago, poplars, birches and oaks. This region is known for the oaks that grow here. They are strong and grow like weeds and were harvested almost into extinction for shipbuilding. As we drove we kept our eyes open for deer and moose, all the while claiming that the virtual downpour we were driving through was really only a few small drops and shouldn’t stop us from walking for a bit. Well, everyone except Tomas and Leif. OK, really just me and Frederic, everyone else wanted to skip the walk.
But being the gentlemen that they are they left the decision up to me and the rain really had let up by then. So we put on our boots and jackets, grabbed the umbrella and the cooler and headed off across a rye field. Halfway across the field it started to rain again, not much, but enough to make several in the group look at me with crossed eyes. Once we got into the trees it wasn’t as wet and we marched onward towards the “perfect” spot according to Frederick, who first discovered this place years ago. It is now and official “historic” spot with ruins from several different centuries somewhere out there in the woods. We were headed for the Iron Age fortress, which has a fantastic view of the channel between the lake we had driven around and the rest of the chain of lakes. It was only a pile of rocks, but the view truly was worth getting wet for.
We unpacked the cooler and took turns standing under the one umbrella, eating our sandwiches and drinking our coffee. Leif’s dad followed the whole way, preferring his clogs to rain boots and shunning the umbrella completely. It really was a fun adventure for me and one I didn’t want to miss because of a little rain. What if I don’t get back here? I didn’t want to miss anything, and Tomas said that for him it was nice to get visitors so he can see his country again. Leif says that taking me places lets him see with new eyes, because we look at the world very differently most of the time. On the way back to the car, Frederick ate part of a fern root with me. He says that they are good “bush” food if you get lost in the woods. I suppose so, they taste almost like licorice. But this is also the guy who picked up a snail, put it under his nose and asked me what I thought of his moustache. He is probably one of those people who can see the word “sucker” tattooed on my forehead.
Back at the car we took all the rain gear off and stowed it into the trunk and packed ourselves back into the car. Did I mention that there were two men and me in the back seat of a BMW sedan? We didn’t really need the seat belts, we were held in place by the force of the doors against our bodies, but rules are rules. We decided to skip one of the last stops because we missed our turn and headed for our last castle of the day.
This was another site which had a new castle built on it, but the site was fantastic. It’s possible to walk to the castle on two sides. The other two are sheer drop offs to a huge valley below that used to be a lake. Absolutely breathtaking. Also easy to see how this spot was easily defendable. It also gave us a great view of the coming storm, which was blowing up strongly with thunder and lightening, so we decided to call it a day. And it was a great day.
Actually, what happened here in Sturefores and I suppose in many towns is that the royalty, somewhere between 1700 and 1900 decided that the old family home was just too outdated and they replaced it with something more sophisticated, with modern conveniences like electricity and indoor plumbing. But many ruined and going to ruin (actual) castles were torn down to make room for the new castle. The castle here is very pretty, built in the 1700’s, with a beautiful formal garden dating from the same period and several little “funny” houses built in the style of different cultures. The Chinese house is where Leif’s brother proposed to his girlfriend Karin last month.
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| Vreta Kloster Kyrka |
We all piled back into the car and drove to the next site, but on the way we saw an actual ruin of a castle tried to see it, but it is a private property. Belonging, in fact, to the major family buried in the church we had just left. Douglas…not a very Swedish sounding name, but they said that they weren’t Swedish, but probably Scottish from several centuries ago. This was the old castle (yes, really a castle with a tower and everything) and their new home was right in front of it. Maybe when they are done restoring it I’ll look and tell you about it.
The next stop was a canal built between two lakes. We followed a couple of canoes through the locks (one lake is higher than the other) and watched the rain come towards us across the lake. It’s a big lake and shallow. Probably a lot like Mille Lacs in Minnesota. In a country filled with lakes, this one was created to help complete a waterway between the east and west coasts of Sweden. We decided to start again before the rain reached our next stop: the mysterious “off road” adventure.
This was the north shore of the lake, where the glaciers had scraped everything away and what’s left looks just like the woods we find “up north” in Minnesota. Big stands of pines planted years ago, poplars, birches and oaks. This region is known for the oaks that grow here. They are strong and grow like weeds and were harvested almost into extinction for shipbuilding. As we drove we kept our eyes open for deer and moose, all the while claiming that the virtual downpour we were driving through was really only a few small drops and shouldn’t stop us from walking for a bit. Well, everyone except Tomas and Leif. OK, really just me and Frederic, everyone else wanted to skip the walk.
But being the gentlemen that they are they left the decision up to me and the rain really had let up by then. So we put on our boots and jackets, grabbed the umbrella and the cooler and headed off across a rye field. Halfway across the field it started to rain again, not much, but enough to make several in the group look at me with crossed eyes. Once we got into the trees it wasn’t as wet and we marched onward towards the “perfect” spot according to Frederick, who first discovered this place years ago. It is now and official “historic” spot with ruins from several different centuries somewhere out there in the woods. We were headed for the Iron Age fortress, which has a fantastic view of the channel between the lake we had driven around and the rest of the chain of lakes. It was only a pile of rocks, but the view truly was worth getting wet for.
We unpacked the cooler and took turns standing under the one umbrella, eating our sandwiches and drinking our coffee. Leif’s dad followed the whole way, preferring his clogs to rain boots and shunning the umbrella completely. It really was a fun adventure for me and one I didn’t want to miss because of a little rain. What if I don’t get back here? I didn’t want to miss anything, and Tomas said that for him it was nice to get visitors so he can see his country again. Leif says that taking me places lets him see with new eyes, because we look at the world very differently most of the time. On the way back to the car, Frederick ate part of a fern root with me. He says that they are good “bush” food if you get lost in the woods. I suppose so, they taste almost like licorice. But this is also the guy who picked up a snail, put it under his nose and asked me what I thought of his moustache. He is probably one of those people who can see the word “sucker” tattooed on my forehead.
Back at the car we took all the rain gear off and stowed it into the trunk and packed ourselves back into the car. Did I mention that there were two men and me in the back seat of a BMW sedan? We didn’t really need the seat belts, we were held in place by the force of the doors against our bodies, but rules are rules. We decided to skip one of the last stops because we missed our turn and headed for our last castle of the day.
This was another site which had a new castle built on it, but the site was fantastic. It’s possible to walk to the castle on two sides. The other two are sheer drop offs to a huge valley below that used to be a lake. Absolutely breathtaking. Also easy to see how this spot was easily defendable. It also gave us a great view of the coming storm, which was blowing up strongly with thunder and lightening, so we decided to call it a day. And it was a great day.
Random Thoughts...Sort Of
It has been interesting seeing Sweden without the snow. It reminds me so much of Minnesota, right down to the huge granite boulders pushing through the fields here and there. There are lakes and rivers and so many trees that are the same. Oaks trees and pine forests like we see in northern Minnesota. The white birches look mostly the same, except the branches weep like a willow trees does. There are roses and hedges of bridal veil and juniper trees.
There are great sections of land that have been cleared and planted in crops, but the crops are different. This is definitely not corn country. There were fields covered in a low blue-green plant that had a blue haze of blossoms hovering above it. Someone told me they thought it was linseed. What ever it was, it was such a beautiful thing to see. I wish we had the time to stop and walk into one so that I could smell it. In my imagination it smells better than lavender, more beautiful than roses. In reality it probably smells like a skunk. There are also fields filled with yellow flowers, bright yellow like every little kid colors the sun. I don’t know what they are. Leif said they were used for some kind of cooking oil. I will have to do some research on that one.
We had lunch with Leif’s sister, her fiancé and their two children. The girls are sweet, 12 and almost 6, and full of energy. Even the little one is trying to learn English so she can talk to me. Her fiancé on the other hand is one of those people I can’t seem to stop picking on. He has a great sense of humor and always has that “I just did something wrong but you’ll never guess what” look on his face. I can’t resist giving him crap, but I probably should. He reminds me of my brother, always joking, always picking on his girls, and they always give as good as they get from him. Very fun to watch, even if it's usually in Swedish.
It has rained all day, so I haven’t been able to get out and see more for you. I am hopeful for tomorrow. Leif’s brother called today and said he was “thinking of a small excursion in the car for tomorrow." I think his phrasing sounds way more exciting than “hopping in the car and looking for something to do." This sounds far more exotic: something requiring picnic baskets and blankets, definitely a camera and some Dramamine. He drives fast and I will be in the back seat.
There are great sections of land that have been cleared and planted in crops, but the crops are different. This is definitely not corn country. There were fields covered in a low blue-green plant that had a blue haze of blossoms hovering above it. Someone told me they thought it was linseed. What ever it was, it was such a beautiful thing to see. I wish we had the time to stop and walk into one so that I could smell it. In my imagination it smells better than lavender, more beautiful than roses. In reality it probably smells like a skunk. There are also fields filled with yellow flowers, bright yellow like every little kid colors the sun. I don’t know what they are. Leif said they were used for some kind of cooking oil. I will have to do some research on that one.
We had lunch with Leif’s sister, her fiancé and their two children. The girls are sweet, 12 and almost 6, and full of energy. Even the little one is trying to learn English so she can talk to me. Her fiancé on the other hand is one of those people I can’t seem to stop picking on. He has a great sense of humor and always has that “I just did something wrong but you’ll never guess what” look on his face. I can’t resist giving him crap, but I probably should. He reminds me of my brother, always joking, always picking on his girls, and they always give as good as they get from him. Very fun to watch, even if it's usually in Swedish.
It has rained all day, so I haven’t been able to get out and see more for you. I am hopeful for tomorrow. Leif’s brother called today and said he was “thinking of a small excursion in the car for tomorrow." I think his phrasing sounds way more exciting than “hopping in the car and looking for something to do." This sounds far more exotic: something requiring picnic baskets and blankets, definitely a camera and some Dramamine. He drives fast and I will be in the back seat.
Race Day
I should correct my numbers from yesterday. There were 23,000 start numbers issued and 19,000 people officially started the race this morning. It may interest you to know that Leif’s group was the first to start without lights. Yes, at 3:40 in the morning it was no longer necessary to use lights. I think they have a whole hour and a half of actual night here right now. So early this morning (1:15am) the alarm went off and Leif got dressed, ate breakfast and left for his bike race. I am a terrible girlfriend. I didn’t get up with him. I didn’t exactly fall asleep right away, but figured he didn’t really need me, and he might be more comfortable being his “before a race” self without me around. His dad is used to it. Leif has been racing since he was about 15 years old and his dad has been with him the whole way.
Which brings us to his dad, Tord. While Leif is off happily (in my mind anyway) pedaling around a lake I am waking up in a house without English. Just me and his dad. He is really a wonderful man who is very careful with me always. We just can’t speak to each other. So this morning we silently emptied the dishwasher together, set the table for breakfast, ate breakfast and then cleaned up. It was a pleasant meal, just very quiet. I discovered that I chew loudly. I may in fact slurp my coffee slightly. When he bit into his flat bread topped with caviar it sounded like an explosion. Halfway through breakfast even the stoic Swede couldn’t take it anymore and turned on the radio.
Leif’s mother passed away several years ago, so his dad is turning back into a bachelor. As everyone knows, single people live differently than people who share a space and a life with another person. Certain economies begin to happen and habits are formed in seclusion. For example, when a woman lives in a house the toilet paper is comfortable. It doesn’t have to feel like sitting on clouds of gossamer silk and chiffon, but it shouldn’t feel like sliding across a tree trunk either. A happy medium in feel and price is called for. Men don’t have these same guidelines for toilet paper. His dad buys his in a pack as big as an over-sized suitcase. He keeps it in the basement because there isn’t a cupboard in the house big enough for it. It looks like cheap paper toweling made out of grey newsprint with Braille printed everywhere. I’ll let you form your own opinion as to feel. I’ll just say that when we visited in December I had a cold and in half a day of using it to blow my nose my upper lip began to look like I slid across a concrete driveway on it. ‘Nuff said.
But I really like him. He reminds me of my dad. He cross country skis in the winter and rides his bike in the summer. Like my dad, he feels that many manufacturers lack some common sense when designing products and he likes to make his own “improvements” to those things he uses most. Like his skis. He wanted to find a way to stop sliding backwards with his skis, without stripping and reapplying wax for each different temperature and snow condition. His solution was to mount a gate hinge on the back of his ski that would open flat when he moved forward but would be pushed into an “L” shape if he started to slide backwards and act as a brake. He also got tired of his poles breaking through the snow and plunging down so deeply he couldn’t push forward. His solution to that was to cut a salad plate sized disc out of sheet metal and mount it directly below the manufacturers small plastic disc. Again, like my dad, I’m sure that he didn’t have to buy a thing to make these improvements. He was able to use odds and ends of things sitting in his workroom. The only thing better than improving a sub-standard product is to do it for free. They could be twins.
He jingled his car keys at me about 11:30. This meant “time to go” so we went to his brother’s house to get them before heading to the finish of the race. He had been getting text updates on Leif’s progress and said that he was projected to arrive at 2:30pm earlier in the morning, but that the projection was now for 1:23pm. Which would be great, because that would put his time for 300 kilometers at around 9hours 30 minutes. And he arrived at 1:30 making his official time exactly 9:30. He was very happy with that time. I was just happy that he had survived the ride and seemed to have had a very good time with the group he rode with.
He was sore, needless to say, but nothing hurt and he slept like a baby. I did too, who knew a day spent mostly in silence could be so exhausting?
Which brings us to his dad, Tord. While Leif is off happily (in my mind anyway) pedaling around a lake I am waking up in a house without English. Just me and his dad. He is really a wonderful man who is very careful with me always. We just can’t speak to each other. So this morning we silently emptied the dishwasher together, set the table for breakfast, ate breakfast and then cleaned up. It was a pleasant meal, just very quiet. I discovered that I chew loudly. I may in fact slurp my coffee slightly. When he bit into his flat bread topped with caviar it sounded like an explosion. Halfway through breakfast even the stoic Swede couldn’t take it anymore and turned on the radio.
Leif’s mother passed away several years ago, so his dad is turning back into a bachelor. As everyone knows, single people live differently than people who share a space and a life with another person. Certain economies begin to happen and habits are formed in seclusion. For example, when a woman lives in a house the toilet paper is comfortable. It doesn’t have to feel like sitting on clouds of gossamer silk and chiffon, but it shouldn’t feel like sliding across a tree trunk either. A happy medium in feel and price is called for. Men don’t have these same guidelines for toilet paper. His dad buys his in a pack as big as an over-sized suitcase. He keeps it in the basement because there isn’t a cupboard in the house big enough for it. It looks like cheap paper toweling made out of grey newsprint with Braille printed everywhere. I’ll let you form your own opinion as to feel. I’ll just say that when we visited in December I had a cold and in half a day of using it to blow my nose my upper lip began to look like I slid across a concrete driveway on it. ‘Nuff said.
But I really like him. He reminds me of my dad. He cross country skis in the winter and rides his bike in the summer. Like my dad, he feels that many manufacturers lack some common sense when designing products and he likes to make his own “improvements” to those things he uses most. Like his skis. He wanted to find a way to stop sliding backwards with his skis, without stripping and reapplying wax for each different temperature and snow condition. His solution was to mount a gate hinge on the back of his ski that would open flat when he moved forward but would be pushed into an “L” shape if he started to slide backwards and act as a brake. He also got tired of his poles breaking through the snow and plunging down so deeply he couldn’t push forward. His solution to that was to cut a salad plate sized disc out of sheet metal and mount it directly below the manufacturers small plastic disc. Again, like my dad, I’m sure that he didn’t have to buy a thing to make these improvements. He was able to use odds and ends of things sitting in his workroom. The only thing better than improving a sub-standard product is to do it for free. They could be twins.
He jingled his car keys at me about 11:30. This meant “time to go” so we went to his brother’s house to get them before heading to the finish of the race. He had been getting text updates on Leif’s progress and said that he was projected to arrive at 2:30pm earlier in the morning, but that the projection was now for 1:23pm. Which would be great, because that would put his time for 300 kilometers at around 9hours 30 minutes. And he arrived at 1:30 making his official time exactly 9:30. He was very happy with that time. I was just happy that he had survived the ride and seemed to have had a very good time with the group he rode with.
He was sore, needless to say, but nothing hurt and he slept like a baby. I did too, who knew a day spent mostly in silence could be so exhausting?
The Day Before the Big Race
We spent today getting Leif and his bike ready for the bike race he will be riding in tomorrow. It is called the Vätternrundan, which I think means “around the lake.” It is a 300 kilometer race around a lake. If you think this is the kind of race no one rides in you’d be wrong, there are almost 20,000 start numbers; at least 15,000 of which will probably show up and ride. And not just Swedes, mind you, but people from all over the world. Apparently it’s a big deal.
He put his bike together in the morning. It was a little nerve-wracking because he had to take the handle bars, seat, pedals and wheels off to get it into the special bike suitcase. I think he actually held his breath as he opened the case up. He was worried, as anyone would be, that the bike would be broken in some way. We have all seen the American Tourister commercial with the apes beating up on luggage. A giant case that says “CAREFUL, dream bike inside” is certain to attract the wrong kind of attention from overpaid but dissatisfied baggage handlers. He has heard horror stories from cycling friends about their bikes and the way they have been handled by the airlines and by security people.
But he and his dad got it all back together again in time for us to get in the car and go to his brother’s house so we could go to the town where the start/finish of the race is to sign in for the race. It is a cute little town on the edge of a large (obviously, it’s 300k around) lake. Right now it’s absolutely buried in people. This is a multi-day event and those always have a circus of side shows happening all around town. An outdoor gym offering spin classes (funny, huh?), live music, food, food and more food. Anyone who has been to a trade show or in a race knows exactly what waited inside the sign in tent, but thankfully the sign in was before the sales floor. It was a quick trip for them to sign in. I think it took longer for us to get ice cream because I couldn’t think of how to say yes in Swedish. Ja, I know, duh.
Leif’s brother was supposed to ride with him but hurt his knee so he isn’t able to ride tomorrow. He got his number anyway and was lucky enough to have a friend call and say that he knew someone who wanted to buy his number. This involved numerous phone calls and a trip to the IKEA parking lot. I felt sort of like I was in the middle of a Swedish drug deal, without the drugs. I don’t know if it’s exactly illegal to sell your number, but I’m sure it’s frowned on. I told them if I ended up in a Swedish prison one of them would have to call my mother and explain, and she would not be happy. They both laughed (but I think it was nervous laughter, a mother is nothing to trifle with) and told me it was fine.
We picked up Tomas’ (new) fiancée from the train station and went to their father’s house for dinner. After an excellent Swedish pizza (lots of shrimp choices) everyone trooped downstairs to look at Leif’s bike. He bought it in Italy and no one in his family has seen it. I asked, naturally, if he had taken it for a little test spin to be sure everything was working right. He said no, I frowned, he gave me a look, I said “hey, at some point you should at least sit on it to be sure the seat doesn’t fall off.” He couldn’t really argue with that logic and so with his jeans tucked into his socks above a pair of his father’s clogs and wearing a purple windbreaker two sizes too big he rode up and down the street a few times. Nothing fell off or froze up, so he declared the bike ready for the race and put it away again.
His brother and his girlfriend left, saying that Leif had better get some sleep before he has to get up for his early start tomorrow. They weren’t kidding. He has to get up at 1:15am (0115 for you 24 hour clock freaks, I mean fans) to get to his ride by 2:30 so they can get to the meeting point in time for his 3:40am start. What, you thought all 15,000 riders would start at the same time? They began the stagger starts at 8:30 this evening and will have starts every 6 or 10 minutes apart all night. The fastest riders will finish 7 to 8 hours after their start, while others will be riding for maybe 18 hours. Leif is shooting for a time under 10 hours. I’m thinking he’s gonna be pretty tired when he’s done. Uffdah.
He put his bike together in the morning. It was a little nerve-wracking because he had to take the handle bars, seat, pedals and wheels off to get it into the special bike suitcase. I think he actually held his breath as he opened the case up. He was worried, as anyone would be, that the bike would be broken in some way. We have all seen the American Tourister commercial with the apes beating up on luggage. A giant case that says “CAREFUL, dream bike inside” is certain to attract the wrong kind of attention from overpaid but dissatisfied baggage handlers. He has heard horror stories from cycling friends about their bikes and the way they have been handled by the airlines and by security people.
But he and his dad got it all back together again in time for us to get in the car and go to his brother’s house so we could go to the town where the start/finish of the race is to sign in for the race. It is a cute little town on the edge of a large (obviously, it’s 300k around) lake. Right now it’s absolutely buried in people. This is a multi-day event and those always have a circus of side shows happening all around town. An outdoor gym offering spin classes (funny, huh?), live music, food, food and more food. Anyone who has been to a trade show or in a race knows exactly what waited inside the sign in tent, but thankfully the sign in was before the sales floor. It was a quick trip for them to sign in. I think it took longer for us to get ice cream because I couldn’t think of how to say yes in Swedish. Ja, I know, duh.
Leif’s brother was supposed to ride with him but hurt his knee so he isn’t able to ride tomorrow. He got his number anyway and was lucky enough to have a friend call and say that he knew someone who wanted to buy his number. This involved numerous phone calls and a trip to the IKEA parking lot. I felt sort of like I was in the middle of a Swedish drug deal, without the drugs. I don’t know if it’s exactly illegal to sell your number, but I’m sure it’s frowned on. I told them if I ended up in a Swedish prison one of them would have to call my mother and explain, and she would not be happy. They both laughed (but I think it was nervous laughter, a mother is nothing to trifle with) and told me it was fine.
We picked up Tomas’ (new) fiancée from the train station and went to their father’s house for dinner. After an excellent Swedish pizza (lots of shrimp choices) everyone trooped downstairs to look at Leif’s bike. He bought it in Italy and no one in his family has seen it. I asked, naturally, if he had taken it for a little test spin to be sure everything was working right. He said no, I frowned, he gave me a look, I said “hey, at some point you should at least sit on it to be sure the seat doesn’t fall off.” He couldn’t really argue with that logic and so with his jeans tucked into his socks above a pair of his father’s clogs and wearing a purple windbreaker two sizes too big he rode up and down the street a few times. Nothing fell off or froze up, so he declared the bike ready for the race and put it away again.
His brother and his girlfriend left, saying that Leif had better get some sleep before he has to get up for his early start tomorrow. They weren’t kidding. He has to get up at 1:15am (0115 for you 24 hour clock freaks, I mean fans) to get to his ride by 2:30 so they can get to the meeting point in time for his 3:40am start. What, you thought all 15,000 riders would start at the same time? They began the stagger starts at 8:30 this evening and will have starts every 6 or 10 minutes apart all night. The fastest riders will finish 7 to 8 hours after their start, while others will be riding for maybe 18 hours. Leif is shooting for a time under 10 hours. I’m thinking he’s gonna be pretty tired when he’s done. Uffdah.
Back in Sweden
Last night we arrived back in Sweden. The last time I came here was in December and I was looking forward to seeing what was underneath all that snow they had then. We got into the airport late, almost midnight. We had amused ourselves all evening watching six Italian women traveling with us on their first trip to Stockholm. They were in their late fifties or early sixties and I think if they had this much fun in the airports and plane, Stockholm will never be the same. We landed just before midnight and they were still chatting away and laughing, taking pictures of the sunset (I know, way too late for a sunset, but it was there) out of the plane windows and pointing at everything they saw. It was light enough to see that there was no snow (yay) and that there was a lot of water around. Really, it was like landing in Minnesota.
Leif’s father met us at the airport and drove us home. It was a strange drive. As I looked out the left side window I could see a beautiful, soft blue velvet sky with the nearly full moon shining through a veil of clouds. Straight ahead seemed like the sky just as dusk is turning to night, an odd mixture of light and dark that makes it hard to see anything clearly, yet everything is still visible. Out the right side window was a sky at sunset. Not the bright and vivid colors of the new sunset, but the muted colors of the memory of a sunset. Pinks, golds and reds stained the sky and cloud bottoms.
In Minnesota, this is the sky that happens just moments before darkness arrives and so I waited, watching for that blue darkness to suddenly drop over the colors of the clouds. Then both sides of the sky would match and night would have begun. It has to begin sometime, right? It was after midnight after all. It never happened. I kept looking from one side of the car to the other. So strange to see evening and night happening at the same time separated by what? Nothing, that I could see. Just two sides of the sky, one at sunset and the other at night, all the way to Leif’s home. Very strange indeed.
Leif’s father met us at the airport and drove us home. It was a strange drive. As I looked out the left side window I could see a beautiful, soft blue velvet sky with the nearly full moon shining through a veil of clouds. Straight ahead seemed like the sky just as dusk is turning to night, an odd mixture of light and dark that makes it hard to see anything clearly, yet everything is still visible. Out the right side window was a sky at sunset. Not the bright and vivid colors of the new sunset, but the muted colors of the memory of a sunset. Pinks, golds and reds stained the sky and cloud bottoms.
In Minnesota, this is the sky that happens just moments before darkness arrives and so I waited, watching for that blue darkness to suddenly drop over the colors of the clouds. Then both sides of the sky would match and night would have begun. It has to begin sometime, right? It was after midnight after all. It never happened. I kept looking from one side of the car to the other. So strange to see evening and night happening at the same time separated by what? Nothing, that I could see. Just two sides of the sky, one at sunset and the other at night, all the way to Leif’s home. Very strange indeed.
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