The path from Stockholm to Gothenburg was long and bumpy, but supplied some of the best views of the entire trip. You are never far from a lake in Sweden, at least along the path I took, because there must have been around 2-3 that I cycled along each day. Each lake has it’s own unique beauty, but they are consistently surrounded by large coniferous trees and sit beneath an expansive sky with billowy white cumulous clouds as far as the eye can see. Occasionally these clouds would become their less docile relative, the cumulonimbus, which meant rain and often thunder and lightning. On one occasion, I cycled straight into a lightning storm, which opened into vast fields where I was the tallest object for what seemed like a kilometer or more in each direction. In a situation like this, the only sensible option I had was to keep pedaling and make it to the tree line, which felt miles away. Thankfully, I made it before being blown to pieces by the lightning. It’s in these moments of powerlessness when I feel a particularly deep appreciation and respect for nature.
But before I jump into too many chronologically disjointed stories, I’ll begin by introducing the first leg of my journey across Sweden. Beginning in Stockholm and camping along the way, I pedaled the 64 miles to Nyköping (pronounced “Knee-shop-ing”). Before reaching Nyköping, I camped just outside the small town of Trosa on the side of a sleepy country road. When dusk finally fell, it was well after 10pm.
After making it to Nyköping the next day, I took a much-needed nap in a city park, restocked on relatively reasonably priced foods and other supplies (by California standards), then charted my next course in a local cafe. While in the cafe, I started noticing a pattern in Sweden: people had time to kill, even in the middle of the day, and would often gather with their friends for a coffee and pastry. I observed this time and time again while visiting cafes early in the day. This behavior stood out to me because of how different it is back home in the States, where working class people don’t usually have time to spare with their friends at a cafe during the work week. I admired this casual, social attitude and made a mental note of it.
From Nyköping, I continued Southwest towards Gothenburg. The next city I targeted was Norrköping (pronounced “Norr-shop-ing”), which was around 40 miles away. For most of my time cycling from city-to-city in Sweden, I passed through miles of forest along well-paved highways without many drivers on them. When it started getting dark that night, I slept in a small but scenic nature preserve.
Most of my adjustments during this nascent stage of my cycle adventure had to do with keeping the equipment tied to my rear-rack from getting wet, which was important because I didn’t want to sleep in a soggy tent and on top of a dripping sleeping mat. To fix the issue, I tied my rain jacket around my gear, which kept it dry and had the dual effect of allowing the rain to cool me off while riding. Another difficulty was the sun being in my eyes for several hours during the late afternoon. Not only was I pedaling primarily West, but the high latitude of Scandinavia in early-mid Summer meant I was pedaling towards a sun that was low on the horizon for several hours and in my eyes a bulk of the time. I remedied this annoying problem by purchasing a little sun visor that clipped to the inside of my helmet, which worked but made me look like even more of a goofball.
The next morning I pedaled the short remaining distance to Norrköping. This city has a sinewy river running through it called Motala ström, and beautiful brick buildings that comprise the Gamla Staden (or “old town” in English). The city has several dedicated bikepaths that follow the common roads, many of which are lined with tall and imposing birch trees that provide ample shade for the wary cycler. Norrköping struck me as a quiet city. Though it’s streets are wide and buildings large, the city itself has few cars or people milling about. After getting some food and water at a 7-11 and taking ample photos, I left the city and pedaled myself towards the next large (ish) city on my journey, Jönköping (pronounced “Yon-shop-ing”), which was a little over 100 miles away.
The stretch of road between Norrköping and Jönköping was certainly one of the most isolated throughout the entire cycling trip. As I rode along the meandering single lane mountain roads, towering conifers remained a fixture on both sides, and occasionally a clear, crystal blue lake would appear.
In contrast with my zen surroundings, my mind was in a state of unease and malcontent. Perhaps it was the isolation, or the hunger, or the lack of sleep, or the homesickness, or the recent messy breakup I had gone through with a girl I had been dating for nearly two years. Perhaps it was a little bit of all the above. What I do know for sure is that despite the pristine natural beauty that I was immersed in, I was struggling to keep it together internally.
During one of these bouts of sadness, I realized that, emotionally speaking, without deep valleys, we wouldn’t have tall mountains. I had found myself in a particularly deep valley, but without it I wouldn’t have the ability to contextualize how tall the future mountains would be during my trip. As I began waking up to these negative thought patterns, I shifted my focus to my bucolic surroundings. The tall peaceful trees, the clear-blue lakes, the big fluffy clouds above, the sunshine on my shoulders, the lack of noisy traffic. The palpable sense of freedom I felt from breathing the clean air atop my “home on wheels”. Noticing all of these each played their part in allowing me to once again appreciate this magnificent trip I had embarked on.
A few short months prior, I was a graduate student back in California spending most of my waking hours studying complicated engineering equations and attending courses I felt little interest in — all the while trying to move on after a shattered relationship. During this time I had frequently dreamed of being on exactly the same adventure I was on in that moment. (As an aside, I don’t want you to feel sorry about my life situation in grad school. Despite the difficulties I was facing, I recognize that I still lived a VERY privileged life. I only want to provide an account of what I was thinking and feeling prior to my trip.)
After having cycled five straight days, I finally bathed in a river. Why had I not done so earlier, you might be wondering? It wasn’t because I couldn’t find a good spot — as I’ve mentioned, lakes were all over the place. Ideal spots weren’t common, but I passed by more than a few along the way. No, I hadn’t stopped for 5 days and around 250 miles of cycling because I didn’t want to sacrifice precious riding time to allow myself the “luxury” of bathing. If I stopped, what if I didn’t reach my 50-60 mile goal for the day? In other words, I was constantly allowing my ego to take control over my personal hygiene. But damn did my legs look good.
Eventually, I had enough of this bathing moratorium and decided to jump in a lake beside some houses. The lake floor was muddy so I kicked up a lot of muck and gunk as I shuffled about, but it didn’t matter. After all, the gunk in the lake couldn’t match the gunk that had accumulated on my body after all those days of riding. When finished stripping off the several layers of sweat and grime from my road-worn body, I pedaled the remaining 20 miles to Jönköping.
Jönköping, unlike the first few cities I passed through, seemed a lot more affluent and touristy. This is likely in part because of the city’s proximity to Lake Vättern, which is the second largest lake in Sweden and sixth largest in Europe. Though I only cycled a few miles along it’s bank, Lake Vättern was perhaps the most memorable of all the lakes I cycled along during my trip.
Being a finger lake, Lake Vättern is not very wide, but boy is it long. Indeed, one can easily see the other side when looking from one of the lake’s long sides. However, when looking lengthwise (across it’s long axis), one has no hope of seeing the other side. Not even on a clear day while squinting.
After making it to Jönköping, I felt the physical strain from cycling 8-10 hours for the last five days most poignantly than I had since the start of my journey. The 20 miles I had pedaled from my campsite that morning had felt like 40. Thankfully, I picked the right spot for lunch, because their padh-thai was undoubtedly some of the tastiest I’ve had.
Another thing I noticed while cycling so much each day: food tasted better. Much better. And I could eat more of it too. So, when I sat down to eat this padh-thai, the restaurant’s “large” portions were no match for my empty stomach. It was gone in minutes. Contrasted to the food I prepared at my campsites, this was easily a 5-star meal.
After eating and resting at the restaurant, I then restocked on food and other supplies at a grocery store and hit the road in the direction of Gothernburg.
At this point on my journey, I was feeling an intense pull to be in a soft bed, which I convinced myself existed only in Gothenburg. So, I began cycling harder. Instead of 50-60 miles a day, I was now averaging above 70.
I’ve forgotten to mention until now that the bicycle seat I started with was hard plastic with zero cushion. Not even my cycling shorts with decent cushioning could save me from this seat’s wrath. After 10 hours of riding each day, my sitting bones would be pleading for mercy so I’d have to routinely get off my bike throughout the day.
So, was the additional suffering from cycling longer and harder hours each day worth it only to arrive at a room shared with 5 others (and, of course, with at least one person snoring all night)? Absolutely. Was a warm bed with clean sheats and a hot shower and, oh yea, a freaking sauna worth pedaling a little more each day? Decidedly so.
But, before I skip to the final destination of this leg in the journey, I’d like to touch on the several beautifully quaint towns I passed through between Jönköping and Gothenburg. The main cities included Ulricehamn and Borås. Among the many small hamlets included: Hökerum, Varnumskulle, Gånghester, Sjömarken, Tullebo, and Landvetter. See the map below for a visual of the route I took.
A few miles outside of Jönköping, I met a kind but reserved elderly couple who primarily navigated using a paper map atop a metal stand mounted to their handlebars with an adjustable LED light that looked like a snail’s eye. I showed them my route and mentioned that I had been winging it while finding a place to sleep each night. They then showed me a helpful open-sourced app called Vindskyddskartan (Shelter Map) that shows you several camping shelters throughout Sweden and Norway.
My day after riding from Jönköping was a long one. I pedaled more than 70 miles over hilly terrain for most of the day. This was Day 7 on the road out of Stockholm — my last full day of riding before reaching Gothenburg, which would be easily in reach 30 miles from my campsite.
That evening, I decided to use the Shelter Map app that the kind elderly couple had showed me the evening before. I found a nice looking shelter only 10 kilometers away, so I decided to go for it. I quickly realized that this was no ordinary 10 km. I must’ve climbed over 2000 ft along the way, and by the time I finally reached it I was completely bonked. After trying and failing to make dinner, (see picture below) I recooked dinner, ate, set up my bedding inside the shelter, and shut out the lights.
That night I woke up at around 3:00 a.m. to howling. I did a quick check on my phone and, sure enough, I was in wolf country. So there I was, halfway across the globe from my home, sitting in a wooden camping shelter in the Swedish wilderness, listening to wolves howling somewhere nearby. Fueled by the howls all around my, I must’ve opened 10+ tabs on my phone to find out how many wolf attacks had happened in this region and how to defend myself if they decided to eat me. Needless to say, I did not get my desired sleep that night, but I lived to tell the tail.
The following day I cycled the remaining 20-something miles to Gothenburg a few days ahead of schedule. I was supposed to meet my mom’s coworker and close friend Gunilla, who would soon be visiting her sister and other family just South of the city.
Milo Klein 