August 21, 2013
A strange Viking man of the mountains: And the long downhill
Unfortunately when I woke up the clouds were still there, hiding the mountain's secrets. I packed up slowly and carried on cycling slowly, hoping for a break in the weather. But then I said to myself that I should just appreciate the scenery for what it was, high in the mountains there was supposed to be cloud, it was mysterious and it was beautiful in its way, and it was great to be somewhere so remote and far away from civilization.
Being so far away from civilization, it was a bit of a surprise to see a man appear stumbling down the mountainside towards me carrying a bicycle. He had an awful lot of hair. He was wild and ragged. He looked like a viking and he clearly wanted me to stop. He asked me if I had a bicycle pump, except he didn't know the word so he made the action which could have been very confusing and scary if I couldn't see that he had a flat tire. I could tell that my pump wouldn't help because he had a different type of valve to me but he didn't understand so I had to get out my pump and show him (as the actor said to the bishop.)
I asked him what he was doing up here. It seemed he had been living in the mountains for some time. He said something about a cabin, that he had been here for weeks. He had a million layers of clothes on and didn't appear to have shaved this millennium. He had absolutely no interest in me whatsoever. Once he realised my pump wouldn't work he said he would take the bus to town to buy a new one. There was no traffic on this road, I thought he would be waiting a long time as he walked away from me to hide his bike behind a rock. I took a quick picture, I didn't dare to take one of his face although I really wanted to. "Bye then" he said when he came back. He was so rude, so wonderfully viking-like, this mad man of the mountains, I was in awe. I cycled on, wondering about what this strange bearded guy was doing alone in the mountains with nothing but a bike and a few possessions. I imagine the feeling was probably mutual.
Soon after that I reached the highest point of the road, of any road in Norway in fact. There was a very large rock. An information board told me that in days of yore this rock was used as a hiding place by vagrants who would leap out and ambush wealthy merchants making the journey over the pass. It seemed like an appropriate place for this vagrant to sit and eat a celebratory banana. I had a nice view of a lake and some mountains with glaciers, still mostly covered by cloud and the air was cold and so pure and refreshing. Then a campervan pulled up in the parking space beside the rock. I could see the licence plate was Danish. 'Danish people are wealthy' I thought to myself. An old couple got out to stretch their legs. I considered. Was it time for me to cross to the dark side to supplement my travels? I bet their camper van was full of gold, those wealthy Danish merchants. But just as I was about to jump out brandishing my banana the old couple got back in the vehicle, perhaps sensing the danger, and drove off.
Then of course, came the downhill. The wonderful, wonderful downhill. It was perfect, not too steep so that it stretched on and on, a gradual descent, easy cycling, free kilometres. My delaying in the mountains now meant that I had it all to do to reach Stockholm by the morning of the 28th. Less than a week to travel 900 kilometres or so. The race was on.
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Today's ride: 127 km (79 miles)
Total: 3,440 km (2,136 miles)
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