you get pulled up to the top where
the ride down begins. It’s a pretty
exciting experience.
We continued north, following
gravel roads through the gorgeous
Swedish countryside, stopping here
and there to explore, like climbing
the bell tower next to a church.
I found that I rather liked riding
with a friend, being able to show the
best of riding in my home country.
I was used to being on my own,
making split decisions, following
my whim. I had always thought this
bubble of freedom would be deflated
the moment I was no longer solo,
but I now realised this would not
necessarily be the case. I suppose
you just have to ride with the right
person.
As the day drew to an end, we
found a wild campsite, next to a lake,
pitched the tents, strapped up the
tarpaulin, made a campfire using the
birch bark and Stephen’s flint. With
the lake as backdrop we then cooked
a delicious meal, had a few beers and
soaked in the tranquil Scandinavian
summer evening. It’s hard to imagine
a better way to finish off a day of
riding.
In the morning I again found
myself in complete absence of stress.
I had no need to hurry away from the
campsite. We had breakfast and a
few cups of coffee before packing up,
just sitting, talking about what to do
this day.
Stephen wanted to make some
adjustments to the power socket on
his bike, so we took a detour to a shop
called Biltema, a dream for any petrol
head. After spending a few Krona on
parts, and a handful of attempts to fix
the charging station in his tank bag it
was back in order and we could carry
on along the gravel roads.
At one point we ended up on a
small trail that looked like something
made by heavy forestry machines.
As the tracks became deeper and
deeper, it seemed more obvious that
we weren’t supposed to be here. A
fallen tree even needed to be cut
through for us to pass. We refused to
give and ultimately, we became stuck.
Stephens BMW was suddenly
hanging on its panniers, stopping
him from continuing, as well as
backing up. I don’t know if I would
have continued as far into the rough
had I been alone but in this situation
the advantage of being two riders was
very clear.
We managed to get the panniers
off and laying the bike on its side in
order to spin it 180°, lift it back up on
the higher midsection from where
Stephen could ride back out of the
jam.
In the middle of all the excitement,
Stephen noticed that he had lost his
watch. We backtracked to see if we
could find it, but it was nowhere to be
found.
“I bet you’ll find it inside your
tent,” I joked. “If not, it will become
a spectacular puzzle for future
archaeologists to figure out”.
We managed to get back out to the
right road and before we knew it, it
was time to set up camp again.
The next day we woke to rain, but
that didn’t dampen our enthusiasm.
While we had breakfast, I noticed
that Stephen had his watch back on
his wrist. When I asked him about
TRAVERSE 27