2019 Shikoku Pilgrimage: Back Story

We stumbled onto the Shikoku pilgrimage late 2018, researching a bicycle ride south from Kyoto.  

It was love at first sight. That said, in hindsight,  it had been waiting for us for a long time. 

The first thing to know about the Shikoku Pilgrimage is that it is Buddhist. And not just any garden-variety Buddhist, but esoteric Shingon Buddhist.

The second thing to know is that the pilgrimage revolves around Kukai or Kobo Daishi, the father of Shingon. (774 – 835)

Kobo Daishi, Courtesy of Wikipedia

Kobo Daishi was born on the island of Shikoku. He practiced on this island – in these temple locations.  It was here, he made his ultimate psychological breakthroughs. 

The pilgrimage is an homage to the man.

There isn’t really a Western equivalent to Kobo Daishi. If you combined Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Moses into one person, you might be getting close.   

Kobo Daishi was a brilliant artist, linguist, diplomat, and engineer who brought sacred teachings and texts back to Japan from China. A champion of regular folk. 

We already knew all about Kobo Daishi from our Buddhist journey. We had been married in a Buddhist Ceremony some 40 years ago, up to our eyeballs in Tibetan Vajrayana Buddhism, a close relative to Shingon.

Our Wedding Announcement

At the time we were running a solitary retreat center just north of the New Mexican Border. Peyote Road Men, Vision Quests, Drop City Communes, Alan Ginsberg. That sort of place. That sort of time.

FWIW, Alan Ginsburg came down for an extended solitary retreat. After just a couple of days he drove off in cloud of dust in the early morning. Not a word to us.

Not the first time someone had run away, but a bit surprising given his Buddhist street cred.

This pilgrimage seemed to offer the opportunity pay our respects, see Japan, and contemplate the next chapter in our lives, whatever that may be. Which is kind of how it all worked out.

Not in the way we expected, but that’s kind of the point – in the world of Kobo Daishi.

Planning

The pilgrimage is a loop of about 750 miles clockwise around the island of Shikoku. With 88 temples, the route is pretty much defined – just connect the dots.

Shikoku Pilgrimage Map. The numbers are Temples. Start at 1.

From other trips, we knew 30 to 50 miles a day would be about right, which would work out to roughly three weeks of riding – all things being equal – which of course they never are. 

We needed to factor in climbing, accommodations, and temple specifics.

As our first step we ordered the “Shikoku Japan Route Guide” from Japan.

A most excellent decision. We now had our overview, complete with detailed maps, elevation profiles, inn locations and temple protocols – all in one tiny book.

Elevation profiles looked extreme. Long flat stretches and then incredibly steep climbs. We double and triple checked our route with Ride with GPS software. Add three days. 

Inns not exactly where we needed them. Add a day.

Temple protocols. Only so many temples can be visited in a day if you are going to pay respects properly. Add a day.

We had a plan: 26 days of bicycling and another 9 for air travel, prep, rest and recuperation, packing and buffer. 35 days total.

We had a month window. 35 days seemed close enough. We bought our plane tickets. Arrive October 9 and depart November 12.

Now all we had to do was learn Japanese and get in shape.

Japanese

Sharon is one of those crazy gifted types. If you’ve seen the movie, “My Brilliant Friend” you kind of get the idea. She grew up dirt poor on wrong side of the tracks in a Spanish-speaking neighborhood in Florida. Went to college at 15. The truest of intellectuals, but on her own terms. An incorrigible iconoclast.

In the past 5 years or so, she has learned German, Italian, French, and Swedish. All I had to do was ask, buy the books, and sign her up for the language courses. 6 to 9 months later folks would be laughing at her jokes.

It’s oh so nice to have a travel companion who can speak the language.

When Japan started getting real, she told me point blank, “Don’t even think of asking me!” Fair enough. I’d do the studying.

I bought the books, found an app and started in. A few days later I had company. Someone couldn’t resist. I was shortly thereafter lapped several times over. 

Was I surprised when folks laughed at Sharon’s jokes in Tokushima? Yes, and no. Yes, because there’s always a new twist, and no, because that’s just how she is. 

When we were lost in the middle of nowhere, was I happy that Sharon repeatedly saved the day? You betcha. 

After one memorable GPS hiccup, we pulled up having lost our signal and our way, when seemingly out of nowhere, this magical little old lady appeared, as though she had been waiting for us. 

Sharon did her Japanese language thing.

The woman started nodding, laughing, and patting Sharon like a long lost best friend.

A somewhat regular occurrence, FWIW.

Training

We started bicycling three years ago in 2017. Sharon had a hip replaced the year before. Her rehab included a stationary bike. Bingo, inspiration. 

That winter we ordered a tandem that could be broken down for travel. The following Spring we started riding. That summer we took it to Italy for a group tour. Last year we took it to Finland and rode across the Finnish Archipelago – on our own. 

Each of the last two years, we logged about 1000 miles. This year we were just nudging another 1000 miles when we left for Japan. So I figure we’re no longer beginners – 

More like advanced beginners. 

Rationally this ride was way over the top, but realistically when you’re over 140, in tandem years, it’s best to get on with things while you’ve still got a shot.

This story will be told in 5 parts: This introduction and then 4 posts on the the 4 prefectures we circled through: Tokushima, Kochi, Ehime and Kagawa.

Day 1 , October 8 Tuesday; Fly to Tokushima City Japan (TKS)

We left our house in MA at 9 AM on October 8 arriving at Morimoto-ya Inn in Tokushima City at 9 PM the next day. We flew Boston to Toronto to Tokyo to Tokushima. 

Day 2, October 9. Wednesday [Itano Town Japan] Arrival in Tokushima

Toshimitsu Mima, or Mima-san, from Morimoto-ya Inn picked us up at the airport and served us a much appreciated late dinner when we reached the inn. We had been on the road 23 hours or so. 

We slept Japanese style on futons on tatami mats on the floor.

And were introduced to the world of Japanese Toilets.

Every button is a most intimate surprise

Day 3 October 10 Thursday; Test Run & Temple #1, Ryozen-ji

Temple 1 Ryōzen-ji 霊山寺 Naruto, Tokushima

The next morning I put our bike together out front of the inn.

And we rode it on backstreets to Temple #1, Ryozen-ji. Both shifting and braking seemed fine. A good thing. And reassuring. It hasn’t always been so, after baggage handling did their thing, on other trips. 

We pulled up to the temple gate. Our first of 88. 

Mima-san had tipped us off that the place next door was cheaper than the temple store for pilgrim clothes and supplies. So we moseyed on over, and picked up white pilgrim vests, temple books, nameslips, candles, incense and a lighter. 

Suitably equipped, we were ready for our first temple.

Back at the temple gate, we bowed and checked out the guardians. Always unique. Always no nonsense. Temples are considered sacred ground and the guardians are there to keep it that way.

So where to park the bike? I rolled it through the gate and locked it up on the backside. Where to start? In a flash, Sharon was off to the wash basin. Suitably purified she rang the bell announcing our arrival. 

I sat down on a bench next to another old guy and watched the Koi fish slowly swim around. 

In Japan, Koi are a symbol of good fortune associated with perseverance in adversity and strength of purpose. I was feeling the 13 hours of jet lag. The lolling Koi were about my speed.

Wandering through the temple grounds we soon found the Main Temple Hall, where following protocol, we lit incense and candles and left nameslips in the nameslip box and a small donation in the offertory box. 

Nameslips are something akin to a spiritual business card, including name, age, country of origin, and intent/wish. They are left at the Main and Daishi Halls, exchanged with other pilgrims and given to those from whom you receive gifts – osettai. More on osettai later. 

Then we wandered into the Main Hall itself. The lanterns were quite atmospheric. And the shrine felt oh so familiar. Memories flooded back.

Back in the early 1970s, I did a month long group Buddhist meditation intensive. Perhaps the first ever in the USA. All of us had been practicing formless mediation intensely several times a day and for weekend stretches, but never all day long for a whole month.  We wondered what would happen?

Bottomline: Nothing. Which is kind of the point. Lots of mini-drama though.

We’d be sitting there, eyes open trying to pay attention to our breathing and labelling thoughts thoughts, when out of nowhere now and then, someone would start laughing or crying. Internal monologues taking over. Nothing particularly new there.

One day a young woman next to me broke down sobbing. Later I asked her about it. Nothing to do with memories or fantasies.

She said that she had let a fly land on her face, and then walk across her open eyeball. 

At which point she broke down. Way over all the lines, & in the present to the extreme. Kobo Daishi stuff.

And I’d always thought of her as pretty easy going.

****

After the Main Hall Sharon and I made our way back to the Daishi Hall, lit incense and candles and left our nameslips per protocol. 

On the way to the Temple Office this was the pagoda view.

At the Temple Office we pulled out our virgin pilgrim books and received our first stamped calligraphies. 300 yen (about $3), well spent. 1 down 87 to go. 

We rode back to Morimoto-ya Inn, the way we had come. Arriving in time for an early private couple tub soak. Grandma knocked on our door to let us know that the tub had reached just the right, really-hot-temperature. We walked down the hall, and went in, locking the door behind us. 

We showered side by side, sitting on low stools with handheld sprays in the open room. Suitably clean, we slowly lowered ourselves into the steaming tub sized for two. Grandma had expected us to bathe together. 

Welcome to Japan. 

At dinner there were two Japanese, two Germans and us. The Japanese kept to themselves, as did the Germans until the meal had almost finished, & then the German woman broke into English. 

It turned out that she was German/Japanese with excellent English and Japanese. Her German friend, she had met that day on the road.

In her late 20s, she had spent the last 6 months caring for her dying mother, grieving at a crossroads in her life. Her band had broken up, and her boyfriend had left.

She had decided to do some of the pilgrimage as a time of reflection in memory of her Mom. She said perhaps she would visit the first dozen or so temples. Or as far as her limited budget would go.

We saw Anika again at Temple 12, photo below. 

In late November, I checked the Shikoku Facebook page, and there she was. 88 temples. Kudos Chica.

People do the pilgrimage for many reasons: honoring loved ones, religious conviction, a break from daily routine, or simply as a challenge. All are welcome. All equally valid. Kind-of like formless mediation.

We had heard that the Shikoku pilgrimage was pretty much undiscovered by Westerners. True. In our month on the road we met perhaps a couple dozen Europeans and only two other Americans. 

That said, the trend is fewer Japanese and more foreigners. Will this be an issue?

Yes, as Jean Phillipe explained a week later in Minami Town. 

Day 4 October 11 Friday; Another Test Run, & Temples 2 – 5

2 Gokuraku-ji 極楽寺 Naruto, Tokushima
3 Konsenji 金泉寺 Naruto, Tokushima
4 Jizō-ji 大日寺 Itano, Tokushima
5 Dainichi-ji 地蔵寺 Itano, Tokushima

The next day was another test run. We looped back to catch Temples 2, 3, 4 and 5. 

The first two temples were a piece of cake. Then we headed to temple 4 as dark clouds were gathering. One bad decision followed another as we raced to beat the weather. 

We arrived at what we thought was Temple 4, but really was temple 5. Then headed off downhill to where we thought 5 should be. Our bike computer kept rerouting us in circles, down on the flats miles off route. 

Rain started falling. We were tired, disoriented and getting our first lesson from the world of Kobo Daishi.

“Slow down and pay attention.” 

If we had just taken more time and paid proper attention, we’d have already been soaking in that tub at Morimoto-ya Inn. Instead we had to retrace our steps. Back at Temple 5 we faced a big climb to Temple 4 which we had barely missed when we went left instead of right. 

The women in the Temple 5 office laughed knowingly at our story, glanced at each other, and then one offered to drive us up to Temple 4 in her car. 

She walked us through the temple. At the wash basin, after washing each hand,  I went to wash my mouth out, per book protocol. She made a nasty face and said, 

“No. The water is dirty. Just watch and imitate.”

Which I did and from then on, after washing each hand, I simply let the water run back down the ladle’s handle and over my hand like 98+% of the other pilgrims. Cool, smooth, simple, symbolic and hygienic.

Sharon, the incorrigible one, continued with her mouth washings. As we worked our way around the island from temple to temple, I noticed that the really hardcore pilgrims did the same. 

Traditionally the 4 prefectures: Tokushima, Kochi, Ehime and Kagawa are associated with 4 places of training. Each have personalized lessons. Tokushima was the first: The Hosshin dojo or Place of Spiritual Awakening.

We certainly weren’t shortchanged on lessons, or more accurately, I wasn’t.

Back in the day, a friend used to laugh about Jack Kerouac thinking he could reach enlightenment by going faster. Suppose anything is possible, but that’s kind of the wrong end of the stick.

You’d think that after all these years, now in my old dog days, I’d have figured that one out.

Nah.

“It’s about slowing down psychologically and the connections.” My personalized Tokushima lesson.

The next morning we would bid our comfy and cozy inn goodbye. We did a final packing and sorting, with one eye on the weather.

A typhoon was bearing down on Japan. A really big typhoon. Tokyo looked like a direct hit. But Tokyo was 300 miles away. Maybe we’d luck out.

Maybe not. 

Link to next Shikoku Pilgrimage post: Tokushima.

Finland 3: The King’s Road

We pushed south from Matilda reaching Hanko on southern tip of Finland just ahead of the storms. Hanko’s August 25 end of summer celebration was our goal all along and we made it.

In Hanko we stayed with our Finnish counterpart Liisa and her daughter Saila for a three days. Did some visiting, did some mushroom hunting, did some sightseeing, and did some laundry.

Generally had a great time.

Together all of us said our final farewells to my Mom and tossed her ashes into the Baltic as she had wanted.

Then Sharon and I bicycled back up the coast to Helsinki along the historic King’s road.

Day 11  Friday August 24 Matilda to Hanko

We were up early. We had a big day ahead. The final push to Hanko.

The challenge of the day would be our route. We now knew enough to know that our bike computer had us riding many miles on gravel roads. Those dashed lines on our paper map were a dead give-away, and gravel was not for us. 

We came up with a plan, but first another wonderful Finnish breakfast. 

Then, we picked up a loaf of fresh bread from the baker behind Terho and lashed it on top of our trunk bag. Sharon and the baker had hit it off the day before, when Sharon was exploring. The baker threw in a couple of most appreciated extra treats.

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Sharon’s baker friend

After leaving the woods of Matilda the roads got bigger and and the traffic picked up

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We took the smaller side roads where we could. And were rewarded accordingly.

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Our rear bag bread shrank as the miles added up.

We had some nice wide smooth roads through some big trees.

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We finally hit the main route to Hanko a bit worse for wear, and running empty on water.

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We were huddled over our map, plotting our next move, when a car pulled up. 

Remarkably it was Saila. Helsinki family headed south to Hanko. We asked her how she knew it was us. 

“Not too many tandems in Finland.”

5 minutes earlier or later, and we would have missed each other. 

Synchronicity Magic. 

Perhaps it was the bag of my Mom’s ashes in the back of the car. Who knows? 

In any case, it was all for the good. 

Saila took our water bottles back up the road for refills. On her return we transferred our bike bags to her car. Another blessing. 

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We were able to ride the last 20 miles into Hanko on an unloaded bike. We followed the bike paths when available. We would veer off onto pieces of the old road to Hanko when directed. Once again weather was threatening. 

We arrived in Hanko only a bit damp. A half hour later, the heavens opened up.

By then we were safe and sound in Liisa’s house.

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Days 12 & 13; August 25 & 26;  0 miles 

My great grandfather Alexander and Liisa’s great grandmother Fredrika and were brother and sister. Our families diverged when all 5 of Alexander’s children and his wife emigrated to the USA in the early 1900s.

Liisa’s family, and Alexander, stayed in Finland.

The photo below from the 1880s is Alexander, his wife Heta, and probably my grandfather’s older brother Abraham, the first born. 

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Alexander and Heta’s was a family-arranged marriage. It didn’t work out. From what I gather, he was more refined intellectual than businessman. Heta was a bottom line kind of gal.

After the split-up, Alexander wrote a book, “The Pitfalls of Marriage.” No copies survive that I am aware of, but the title does kind-of say it all.  

I feel for the guy.

Hi marriage hit the rocks. His wife left him. And to top it off all of his children and ex-wife emigrate to the USA and he never sees any of them again.

Liisa says her side of the family held Alexander in high regard. He was said to be a thoughtful, responsible, and all-round nice guy. He had beautiful handwriting and a prodigious memory. Story has it that he memorized the whole Bible. 

Apparently all this wasn’t enough for Heta. 

In 1901, Alexander’s 2nd son Peter, my grandfather, was working in Helsinki as a watchmaker and engaged to the bosses daughter Signe, when he was drafted by the Russians to fight the Japanese. The photo below is from that time.

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Peter was a tough guy, faced with hard choices. He chose to emigrate to the USA, where eventually he married my grandmother Tyyne, another Finn, in 1919. By then he was an established successful businessman owning a jewelry store in Duluth MN.

Tyyne was a catch, if you like young, really smart, no nonsense, professional women, which apparently my grandfather did. Tyyne was an MD.

By all accounts theirs was a happy marriage. Complicated, but happy. I wish I had known them, but I grew up a couple of thousand miles away in California. But that’s another story.

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But Peter never forgot Signe back in Helsinki, keeping her gold snake ring his whole life, hidden away: engraved with her name inside the band. My Mom found it sorting through odds and ends. 

Years ago I nabbed it. I didn’t care about the story, I simple liked the look. The diamond on top of the snake head was the clincher.

I’m still wearing the ring as I write this. I find it curious that the ring and its memories have survived more than a 100 years. 

When Peter emigrated to the USA, he left from Hanko, the southernmost port in Finland. Because of its location and the mild sea climate, Hanko was the only harbor open year round.

In the early 1900s, Finland was ruled by Russia and a popular destination for Russian nobility who built quaint charming summer homes, restaurants, casinos and so forth. Much of that charm lives on today, including Liisa’s house.

****

We were all up early. The next two days were pretty much open. Plenty of time for laundry, a visit to the robot boat, mushroom hunting, sightseeing, a swim in the Baltic, and a farewell to Mom.

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Great to have access to a washing machine
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Our visit to the Finnish “Robot” Boat
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Mushroom hunting

When the hour finally arrived to send my mother on her way. The four of us piled into Liisa’s car and headed for Mannerheim’s Café. It had closed for the day.  We had the place to ourselves.

We walked around back to the rocks on the Baltic. On a rock outcropping, a millstone was setup as a table. This was the place. On cue, the sun dropped down below the clouds. All was still, save for the waves gently lapping.

Saila and Liisa had brought the champagne and glasses. I brought Mom’s ashes. 

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Saila poured the Champagne

Time to say goodbye. 

Almost.  

We needed a cup or spoon or something to scoop ashes. In an ah-ha moment Liisa remembered the wooden, antique, hand carved Finnish bowl, spoon, plate and ladle we had brought as house warming gifts.

They had come down in my family through my Mom. It had seemed fitting they return to Finland. 

Twenty minutes later Liisa was back. The wooden implements were perfectly practical and appropriate. 

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We toasted my Mom. I seem to remember saying something along the lines of: she did it her way. And that she was a bit of a free- spirit. Both creative and stubborn. Not an easy path.

Each of us took turns tossing her ashes into the sea, as we said our final goodbyes.

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We said our final goodbyes

I think my Mom would have been most pleased. She never explained her reasoning behind her request to have her ashes thrown into the Baltic here, and I never asked why. But, I think I know.

Many angles. Clever woman. 

Her ashes were to be returned to the homeland of her spirit. Hanko was both a gesture respect to her father, and Liisa’s family. And, our coming to Finland, would be a bonding between favorites in both family lines.

She was very attached to both Liisa and Saila. I suspect that she hoped that both would be here to send her off. Which is how it happened.

Well done Mom. 

Our next stop was a beach for the bonfires and fireworks of the end of summer celebration. The bonfires were pagan tradition. The fireworks, a 21st century Hanko icing-on-the-cake. 

We had been in Hanko for the festival in 2005, on another beach. A far more vivid and raw experience. The bonfire that night had been big as a house. The guy next to me, had handed me a bottle of a horrible, awful, stiff, licorice drink. I had looked up the coast and could see huge bonfires on islands disappearing up into the archipelago. 

This iteration felt a bit too refined. Candles were placed along the water’s edge every 10 feet or so. I’m not sure if there actually was new age background music, but there were lighters, swaying and singing-along, so I think there was.

No matter. The magic was still there, swaying lighters and all. Fireworks coupled with the poignancy of Winter’s knock above the 59th parallel. 

Suspect Mom would have approved.

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Day 14; August 27 Hanko to Inkoo

Our mission accomplished, we still had another 2 days and 89 miles up the coast to Helsinki. The first stretch would be a retracing of our ride down the peninsula to Hanko. 

Not all that exciting.

Liisa suggested that we take the local train up to Raseborg, knocking a big chunk of mileage off the day. Not much downside as long as our tandem would fit on the train. A short field trip confirmed it would.

We rode our tandem to the station. Liisa drove over to see us off.

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We had purchased our tickets the night before online – 2 pensioners & 1 bicycle. It’s kind of an honor system with a big stick. Every now and then someone inspects for tickets. If you don’t have one you pay not only for the ticket, but also a very stiff inspection fee.

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Our bike strapped in next to us, we settled into our seats. It was the Monday morning commute. The young woman opposite us was putting on her face. Sharon had the window seat. In a stretch through the woods, she saw a young moose – watching our train roll by.

It wasn’t long before we were in Raseborg. Far larger commuter crowds were ready to board. Once off the train we found a quiet spot to put ourselves together and come up with a plan. We were far off our computer-based route and would have to find our way on our own.

10 miles later we were back on our coastal route. We had passed the test.

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While we were standing by this sign, we got a good news email from Gunilla at Westerby Gard, our inn for the night. They would be opening their kitchen that night for a group which had just booked. Were we interested in dinner as well?

Yes!

The next stretch was the oldest road in Finland once linking Sweden and Russia. It’s also the likely route my grandfather took in 1902 when he traveled from Helsinki to Hanko and then on to the USA.

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Sharon still talks about about the wonderful, clean, fresh, cutting smell on this stretch. I suspect is was the ozone after the rains. Or perhaps it was just the earth at the end of summer in these parts of rural Finland. 

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Cheesecake and Coffee on the Museum Road

We stopped for cheesecake and coffee on a special section designated as a “Museum Road”. It was great riding- no traffic, scenic, rolling and winding.

And the sign confirmed that indeed we were at ground zero for historic roads in Finland – in four languages – Finnish, Swedish, English and German :

“Fagervik museum road follows the route of the medieval Great Coastal Road from Turku to Vyborg. The coastal road ran along the southern coast through the oldest parishes and ports. It is not known when the road was first established, but it is considered to be Finland’s oldest road.

Evidence of the age of the road includes 15th century records of bridges across branches of the mouth of the river Kymijoki. The coastal road was a national highway between Sweden and Russia and also a connecting link between castles of Turku and Vyborg.”

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The magic came to an abrupt halt when we hit route 186. We had choices. Gravel roads, or big roads with big trucks? We had sworn off gravel roads, but the semi’s were articulated and the shoulders were pretty much not there. 

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Gravel it would be. We crossed route 186 and rode on the as-it-turned-out, not so bad gravel road to Inkoo and Westerby Gard. 

I was expecting Westerby Gård to be interesting and charming. It didn’t disappoint.

Set on a 17th-century farm in the Inkoo archipelago, Westerby Gård was a relaxed, clapboard hotel in the middle of nowhere. But only a bit over an hour or so, by car, from Helsinki, it catered to sophisticated folks looking for a break from the rat race.

Sharon made friends with Gunilla’s dog, we unloaded our bags, and then I parked the tandem in the barn.

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Sharon, Gunilla and a new friend

The dining area had a white theme. Check out that white wood stove! You won’t see too many of these. 

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After showering and relaxing it was time for dinner. We asked if we could eat early, before the group. No problem. Thanks Gunilla.

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It was all pretty much perfect for our last night on the road. Good food. Good drink. Nice folks. Great bed. Farmland quiet.

Day 15; August 28 Inkoo to Helsinki

After a great breakfast, we checked out, loaded the bike, and waved goodbye to Gunilla. We thought for the last time, but au contraire, we would see her later up the road.

Our last day of riding from Inkoo to Helsinki started with a few miles of gravel road. We stopped for this pic at the fork. 

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It was a nice gravel road.

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Then we were back once again back on the King’s Road which had stretched from Oslo to St Petersburg. Some of the old forgotten granite road markers had survived the centuries. Sharon noticed them first. No surprise there. 

After the third or fourth marker, I finally stopped for a closer look. These were the real deal from days long gone by. 

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Then my phone started ringing. In Finland I never answered my calls. USA robo-calls were forwarded and if I answered, I paid. 

For some reason I answered this one. It was Gunilla.

Did I still have our room key? A quick pat on my back jersey pocket confirmed that I did. 

I had meant to pass it over at check-out, but the conversation was very entertaining and I hadn’t.

This was a very valuable key. Ironically, Sharon and I had joked about the sign in our room, that if the key was lost, there would be a 200 Euro charge. 

It looked like the joke would be on us. 

Gunilla said, “No problem. I’ll come get it. Where are you?”

Well, we were about an hour out, by bicycle, which was only 20 minutes by car for Gunilla. We explained about where we were. She suggested, we not move, so we didn’t. 

As we were waiting, up strolled a guy with a charming little dog. He was also a bicyclist, and we shared stories as Sharon made another friend.

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Gunilla pulled up and we passed over the 200 Euro key. All’s well that ends well. A tip of the hat to Westerby Gård.

Back on the road, we passed a few more historic granite road markers along the old wooded rolling rural road, and then abruptly the mood shifted as we hit the extended Helsinki suburban sprawl. 

The bad news was that we exchanged the woods for 21st century strip malls and heavy traffic.

The good news was that we had bicycle paths and were into our home stretch. Soon we were paralleling the freeway to Helsinki. 

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Some paths crossed bridges. I didn’t take any pictures of the crazy twisting bike paths in obscure neighborhoods. Bike computer humor.

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By early afternoon we were approaching Helsinki. We had been worried about rain all day. Roads had been wet from recent showers, but we were lucky. Only a few scattered drops.

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After one last bridge we arrived in Helsinki. We stopped shortly thereafter at this public sculpture. It was really big and kind-of wedged onto plaza alongside big traffic.

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This 50 foot high, black-painted, aluminum sculpture is named “Rumba.” The official interpretation is that: 

“Rumba’s lively figure has inspired a host of interpretations. Some have seen it as the Nike, the winged god of victory from Greek mythology while others have taken it as a depiction of the dynamics of movement, referring only to itself as is typical of the 1990s modernist sculpture. The title is a reference to music, and in Martti Aiha’s opinion, it also refers to the “Rumba” of the passing traffic.”

The back story is that Alko, the Finnish government-owned alcohol company, donated the sculpture as part of its 60th anniversary. Alko’s headquarters are nearby. 

To me this sculpture epitomizes the Finns evolving relationship with alcohol. Something of a twisted tale. 

Back in 2005 my Mom told me that Finns have a reputation for liking to drink, but our family in Finland didn’t drink at all. Suspiciously, this line was repeated far more often than necessary. 

Once in Finland, Sharon and I exchanged amused and knowing glances, at each meal, when the wine came out, then were the mid-afternoon cocktails and the after dinner apertifs. Might have been some schnapps as well.

Mom loved it. Held her own. Never mentioned family drinking habits again.

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Photo above is from Hanko 2005. Liisa’s mother Kaija is on the left. Fun, generous woman and a beauty in her day. The boy next to her is Erik, Kaija’s grandson and Hannu’s son. Lisa’s brother Hannu had married German and lives in Majorca.

Which kind-of explains how Erik grew up to be a talented Finno-German musician who raps in Spanish. 

Erik

We wove our way into Helsinki, on the city’s bike paths. Left of the tree- bike path. Right of the tree – pedestrians.

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We pulled up to Hotel F6 in the early afternoon. Our friend Riku at the front desk, was happy to see us. He knew our story and plan and like many along the way, I suspect wasn’t sure we’d make it.

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Riku went for coffees and we exhaled.

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We walked the bike into the courtyard and pulled our bags off. Doesn’t look like all that much for two people, 13 days on the road. Then again, less is better – doubly so on a tandem. No regrets.

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We took the bike apart and started packing it up. Then it was time for showers and out on the town for a great dinner. 

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Day 16; August 29 Back to Boston

We finished packing in the morning and had a relatively smooth return to Boston.

Liisa picked us up for the drive to the Helsinki airport, but we had time to spare so we headed to her Helsinki apartment. We chatted, met her cats, and enjoyed the view.

She had a portrait on the wall.

Liisa explained that she had inherited it early. No one in the family seemed to like it. 

So Liisa asked us, “So who do you think it is?”

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Kaija Portrait

Of course, it was her Mom, Kaija.  The portrait is dated 1957.  So she probably would have been in her early 30s. 

I love this portrait, the severity and intensity. Although I never saw this side of Kaija. I knew it in my mother. Most knew her as polite, friendly, artistic, and fun. But underneath all that, there burned this same Finnish severity and intensity.

On the way to the airport, Liisa told us a Finnish saying, which explains nothing and everything. A bit of Finnish Zen if you will. 

Oma maa mansikka; muu maa mustikka.

My country strawberry; other country is blueberry. 

I remember thinking at the time, how it made perfect sense. 

Now, I’m not so sure.

The very Finnish state of mind was fading.

Finland 2: The Turku Archipelago

We crossed the Archipelago on the Northern Route from Åland to Kustavi. Kustavi was the northernmost point of our journey at about the same latitude as the southern border of the Yukon and the Northwest territories in Canada.

From Kustavi, we looped south on the well-known circular Turku Archipelago Trail and then back up to the Finnish mainland @ Kaarina on the outskirts of Turku.

From Kaarina it was around and down on the Finnish mainland to Mathildedal, home of hipsters and namesake of our granddaughter.

From Mathildedal, the next leg (and next post) would take us down to Hanko on the southern tip of Finland, at the Southeastern corner of the Archipelago.

It would have been far more straightforward, and adventurous, to travel south through the inner archipelago from Korpoström, the southernmost town on the Ring Road, through the inner Archipelago to Hanko via water buses and ferries.

But it wasn’t meant to be. And not for want of trying. We were just too late in the season. Ferries had shut down and critical waterbuses had suspended operations for the year.

The Inner Archipelago will have to wait for another day.

Day 7  Monday August 20 Vardo Island to Kustavi

I breathed a sigh of relief when we pulled up to the ferry at Hummelvik. There were lines of cars and trucks, waiting to board. We pulled up and took our place. Then we noticed a few bicyclists upfront and to the side. We rode around and hung out with them. 

Motor vehicles board first, bicyclists last. 

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The Hummelvik ferry- A 6 euro 2.5 hour scenic ride from Hummelvik to Torsholma

Once on the ferry, we lashed our bike to a rail with our trusty plastic covered steel/kevlar cinch lock. We weren’t expecting choppy water, but you never know. Then we headed upstairs to the lounge where everyone hung out.

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We found a home upfront at a corner window and when the cafe opened, Sharon headed off to place an order for meat pies, another culinary favorite of the archipelago. 

We were both a bit stunned when they were delivered.

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meat pies

Where to start? We tentatively picked them up and took a couple of bites. An elderly gentleman and his wife at the next table were watching. He got got up and disappeared. A couple of minutes later he reappeared with knives, forks and napkins – and mustard and ketchup, which he placed as if he were a waiter. He returned to his table without a word. 

And then we all laughed.

Sharon scoured the lounge for reading material. After her morning Swedish lesson, she konked out. 

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The ferries had great public WiFi. I checked email and so forth and then took a stroll up top outside to watch the archipelago slide by. Another couple, also dressed spandex, were doing the same. We struck up a conversation. They were Austrians, probably in their late 30s, riding mountain bikes, out for the day. Clearly in great shape, and having a good time.

“Yeah, we love Scandinavia for bicycling, our next stop will be Norway for Birken, the world’s largest MTB race.”  They weren’t worried about the race or much else for that matter. I was starting to relax.

At noon, the ferry arrived in Torsholma, we were last off – after the cars and trucks and after all the other bicyclists. We took our time as we walked down the metal grating of the ramp.

So began our ride across the Åland archipelago municipality of Brändö which consists of over one thousand islands, ten of which are inhabited and connected to each other by bridges, causeways and small ferries.

The municipality covers an area 634 square miles: 39 square miles of land and 595 square miles of water. Population 465. 

Those 465 have their own coat of arms, which pretty much sums the situation up perfectly. Birds and fish, but no people.

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Brändö coat of arms

We loved Brändö. Quintessential archipelago. A highlight of the trip. Our road below.

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Borrowed Aerial photo Brändö

In planning, I would joke, that I hoped we wouldn’t fall off the edge of the world.

Afterwards I say, that while we didn’t fall off, we did get to peer over the edge – While thinking of Brändö. 

Not surprisingly, there was no traffic, as virtually no one lives here and virtually no one passes through. Beautiful undulating roads, with postcard-perfect Baltic vistas in every direction. 

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Sharon on road- taken on one of the curves in the causeway in the aerial photo above

Curiously the landscape itself reminded me of one of my favorite places, the high Sierras in California above Tuolumne Meadows – gnarled low wind-swept trees and glaciated granite. Curiously, because Tuolumne Meadows is upwards of 8600 feet in elevation and alpine. Here we were perhaps 10 feet in elevation in a landscape flat as a pancake. 

 We had one more long ferry ride to reach the other side of the archipelago. We pulled up at the ferry landing. Just as a ferry was about to leave. It was smaller than I’d been expecting and I hesitated. Next thing I knew, it was too late. The ferry was pulling away.

I kicked myself for the next 45 minutes, until I looked more carefully at the posted ferry schedule. Thank god we hadn’t rushed on. 

Another on of those life lessons: There is one thing worse that missing your ferry –

Getting on the wrong one. 

As it turned out, we had time to kill. A couple of most-entertaining Lithuanian cyclists were waiting with us. A filmmaker and a bio-tech grad student. Mid twenties, they had bicycled their way over from Helsinki and were now heading back to Lithuania.

They had been stopping at yard sales across the archipelago, and showed us their treasures. We offered them one of our favorite energy bars … on one condition: 

That we get a Garuka Bar photo, which we had promised the makers after telling them of this adventure. Photo below:

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Garuka Jonas

After the photo shoot, it was fishing for dinner. A few bites, but no catch.

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And then Sharon and I posed for a photo.

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I wore my “Bike NYC 2018” jersey the first half of the trip, because I thought it was amusing. Sharon thought it was tasteless, which I also found amusing. I stashed it away in the home stretch after deciding she was right.

Our ferry finally did arrive and it was a big one.

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We settled back and watched the archipelago slide by.

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There was some traffic on our route

The cafe opened and we offered to buy a round of ice-cream for our Lithuanian friends.

All of us went for the most unusual ice-cream bars – chocolate covered vanilla ice-cream with a licorice core with hot pepper. 

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You probably have to be a Finn to like them. Once in a lifetime was enough for us. The Lithuanians were of a similar mind. 

Once off the ferry, we thought it would be a straight shot to Petersen’s Boathouse, our evening destination. It would have been, if we had had a good GPS signal. 

As it was, we lost 45 minutes on a dead-end ride, one turn too soon, which took us into a forest, then onto a dirt road and finally to a loop of cabins at the end of the line.

We backtracked and eventually arrived at our destination.

Home sweet home in cabin #9 at Peterzens Boathouse below.

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We liked Petersen’s: nice folks, great food, sophisticated design, and antique boats. We were now in the Turku archipelago – the Finnish side. No more Swedish. 

I had been thinking of showering in the sauna, but on second thought, passed when the only signs were in Finnish for “Men’s” and “Women’s.” Which would you choose: Naiset or Miehet? No graphic clues provided.

Peterzens was more marina that B&B – a Finnish boat resort, if you will. And a nice one at that.

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Only an of hour by car from Turku, the oldest city in in Finland, and a tech center today, Turku’s prosperity and sophistication had reached Peterzens. 

Day 8  Tuesday August 21 Kustavi to Nauvo

The weather looked good for our ride into the heart of the Turku Archipelago.  This would be a full day of island hopping: The big islands: Iniö, Houtskär, Korppoo, and Nauvo.  Smaller islands: Jumo, Mossala, Björko.

At breakfast at Peterzens when we asked about the antique sailboats moored outside, we were told,

“They belong to the big men.” Translation: The high-end wealthy, probably from Turku. 

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Another couple were eating off by another window. Interesting match: He was older- 50ish, perhaps 145 lbs, a bit grey and grizzled, and on the short side. She was much younger- 30ish, perhaps 170 lbs, blond and vigorous, and at least a head taller. 

Clearly they got along just fine and had been together for a while. I thought to myself, 

“Way to go Finland.”

We checked out of our cabin and headed for the ferry. 

We arrived just in time. Rolled right on along with the Lithuanians, the odd couple from breakfast and a couple of Germans.

The seemingly-mismatched couple from breakfast were not Finnish after all, but another couple of Americans. 

Good folks from Brooklyn. He had been in a motorcycle accident and bicycling was therapeutic. They had taken a flier on a self-guided tour and had ended up here, in the Turku archipelago. 

Once we were rolling, we geared up. Pretty good country for tandems. We started passing the other bicyclists. One of the last was the German couple. 

We had chatted on the ferry. He had been trying to get a rise out of us by calling us “Asshole Americans,” which we found rather amusing. After a while he started calling himself an “Asshole German,” which he kind of was.

When the ferry had arrived at Mossala, he had sprinted off, leaving his girlfriend trying to catch up. First we caught her, and then eventually, we passed him. We smiled and waved. He grimaced.

Shortly thereafter we stopped for photos. He flew by. And after a bit, his better half rolled by as well. Photos below.

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We crossed paths for the last time at the next ferry. Sharon asked him if he was a doctor.

He looked incredulous, “How did you know?”

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“It was your use of Angioplastik.” 

Angioplasty is a fancy word for hip replacement, which Sharon unconsciously delivered in dead-on German. Score one for the Asshole Americans.

Sharon noticed that Oreos were being sold on the ferry for 1 euro each or $1.14 ±. We had been going through a misguided junk food = bicycling food thing right before this trip and it just so happened we were loaded with Oreos.

Which Sharon found most amusing.

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Before the trip, I had worked out our daily routes and entered them into our RideWithGPS software on our laptop, which then, thanks to some cloud-magic provided turn-by-turn directions for our Wahoo Elemnt Bolt Bike Computer monitored by Sharon. 

For the most part I just had to enter the beginning and the end of each day and our software generated the route.

Which worked pretty much flawlessly as long as we had a dependable GPS signal. We did have a wrinkle though- for some curious reason, the software was partial to gravel roads – which we were not.

On the day’s home stretch into Nagu on Nauvo Island, we were directed North off the main road. The first mile with a tailwind was great, but then we hit the gravel. 

Decision time. 

The question was whether to continue and hope for the best, or turn around and fight the headwind back to the main road. We forged ahead. 

Bad choice.

Scenery was great and there was zero traffic, but the gravel just kept on keeping on.  We rode slowly while I worried about our tires.

Our tandem is a road bike. We ride with 110 lbs of tire pressure. Not so great for gravel.  We blew out a tire in Italy after a gravel stretch. 

My mood was foul, as I waited for the blowout as we sliced ahead through the sharp rocks.

7 miles ± later we were back on pavement. We stopped for a break and looked around. Rich, slightly rolling farmland. A bit of forrest. It could have been our trial run in Vermont. I tenderly spun the tires against my riding gloves to scrape off the last of the gravel.

Perhaps all would be OK.  Which it was. But we made a vow to each other. No more gravel.

We had received a text message earlier in the day with a code for the front door of our evening destination, the Lanterna Hotel. We pulled up, entered the code and we were in.

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The key to our room was on the front desk as noted, and we made ourselves at home. After showers, it was off to dinner at the highly recommended L’Escale Restaurant, right around the corner. 

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L’Escale restaurant photo, courtesy of restaurant

Dinner was great. Seafood with a French influence. The good life. The archipelago has its own black bread, svartbrod. Pretty wonderful. Not many other customers. The high season had passed. School in Finland begins mid-August. All the better for us.

We turned in early, but not before a bit more Duolingo Swedish study for Sharon. We still hadn’t seen anyone from the hotel. Mr. Tandem was happy to serve as an overflow clothesline. We had hung the rest outside on an empty clothesline, “For Hotel Use Only.” 

No harm, no foul.

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Day 9  Wednesday August 22 Nauvo to Kaarina

Today we would loop back up out of the archipelago into the urban suburbs of Turku. 

I am up early. So I took a walk. Nagu is a most pleasant resort town. 

Our ride in below:

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180 degrees from the above was another view of the L’Escale restaurant- the white building centered on the road in the distance. 

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I still hadn’t seen anyone from the hotel & we needed breakfast. Concern flickered.

On return, from the bustle and aromas, it was clear all was well. After a chat with the proprietress we would be in for entertainment as well. 

Breakfast on the enclosed sun porch was totally wonderful. See below. Eggs – cooked to order – not shown.

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The decor of the hotel was a reflection of the personality of the proprietress. Scandinavian minimalism it was not.

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The walls were full of pictures, a kaleidoscope of genres and intent. A bit of hardcore religion here, a bit of kitsch there, and in between primordial landscapes. This woman was not blocked.

Along the way she explained that property values were up in Nagu, approaching those of Helsinki. Our Helsinki relatives rolled their eyes on hearing that one.

Back on the road it was soon clear that the remote stretches of the archipelago were behind us. Traffic picked up and the roads were sized accordingly. In a half hour or so we reached Pargas ferry – our 11th – and last of the trip. 

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Soon we were on bike paths, which we rode the last 15 miles or so into Kaarina. The Finns take their bike paths seriously – to their credit. Wherever possible, traffic is separated.

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A stretch of one path had been used for construction access. 

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Our bike path crossed bridges. The one below was the last of the archipelago.

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As we made our way into the suburbs of Turku, our path ducked under cross traffic with bike/ pedestrian underpasses. A nice touch. No broken glass in the tunnels. For that matter we didn’t find broken glass anywhere on our route. 

When we pulled up to Väliaikaisasunto, our inn/hostel for the night, we noticed what seemed to be a “Beware of Dog” sign in some language or other. Not Finnish or Swedish. Looked like Polish and was: Exact Translation: “Bad Dog and the Owner Even Worse”

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And thus we were introduced to “Believe in Santa Claus”, the biggest dog I have ever met. 100 kg or 220 lbs. 

A totally nice guy too. And yes that was his full name.

Generally though he went by “Bélieve”, English, accent on first syllable.

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We asked about his breed, and were told “Danish Dog.” Which as best we can tell is a Broholmer, a descendant of Viking dogs, crossbred with Great Danes and English Mastiffs. 

 “Bélieve” had an artificial knee, made in Estonia. Surgery in Switzerland. He was 6 years old. The third Broholmer of the couple running the place.

We parked our tandem by Bélieve’s mattress in the carport on the other side of the fence, confident that no one was going to bother it.

Relaxing in our room, we heard Bélieve bark, though the word doesn’t do the sound justice. It was a foghorn burst, rolling out in the lowest of registers.

Väliaikaisasunto was closer to hostel than B&B. We had a private room, but the toilets were shared and downstairs. No food provided. We asked about destinations within walking distance for dinner and breakfast.

And settled on Hesburger for dinner. Hesburger is the king of fast food Finland with all the expected variations of burgers and fries. Founded in 1966 in Turku, there are now over 260 restaurants in 60 towns across Finland. 

The appealing Finnish twist for us were the Turkish-Mexican options.

We both ordered the Kebab Tortilla. A tortilla wrapped around kebab meat, iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, jalapeños and paprika mayonnaise. We found a table where we happily munched away, entertained by the drive-though on one side and indoor kiddie play area on the other. 

Back at Väliaikaisasunto we climbed the stairs to our room. We nodded greetings to the smiling guy in the hall, still dripping from the sauna, wearing nothing but a towel. Fell asleep to the wind in trees and the traffic noise from the divided highway down the hill.

Day 10  Thursday August 23 Kaarina to Matilda

We stopped for breakfast at Naantalin Aurinkoinen Oy on our way out of town. Bélieve’s Dad had told us, “Best Breakfast in Kaarina.” It was far from fancy, but pretty great.

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Pastries to die for. Avocado and feta lettuce and tomato on toasted focaccia. Best focaccia we have ever had. When we told the cute young platinum blond at the register we were headed for Mathildedal, she blinked unknowingly. Clearly a Turku local. 

We followed the bicycle paths out of town, but soon they dribbled out. We rode on the highway for a while, but soon we were faced with a decision. Stay on the main highway or take the longer secondary route?

It was an easy choice, our nice wide shoulder had disappeared and the traffic had picked up. And our bike computer sided with the longer more scenic route. We gave in and turned north towards the town of Paimio. 

Traffic into Paimio was on the heavy side, but we had a shoulder. We worked our way through the Paimio bike paths and headed south and east. After a couple of turns, the traffic was gone and the landscape opened up into rolling farmland. It was mid morning. Clouds threatened, but that was all. 

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We saw more tractors than cars on this stretch. We rode by a remarkable log house, and then looped back for a closer look. Check out the hay bale on the front corner.

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Not a soul was around. We found out later that it dated from the 18th century and perhaps had been a hunting lodge for Swedish royalty when they were in the mood for roughing it. The door couldn’t have been more than 4 foot 6 inches tall. 

My Finnish grandmother Tyyne might have had to duck. But not much.

Soon we were in the town of Salo, and turned south into a headwind. Threatening, but no rain yet. 

Mid Afternoon we pulled into Mathildedal, having outrun the wet weather. 

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Our inn for the night, was Sypressi, an 1840s log house in the middle of Mathildedal perhaps 100 feet from the sign above. Right off Sharon was fast friends with Mr. Dog. He wasn’t so sure about me.  

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We were staying in the Matilda Room. Our granddaughter’s name is Matilda so it was pretty much perfect. 

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This place was the real historic deal, with log walls inside.

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Our friends at hotel F6 in Helsinki had quipped, “All the hipsters are in Matilda,” which seemed to us, an odd comment to make about a small town in rural Finland, pretty much in the middle of nowhere.

We were curious.

We know from hipsters. Our son and his family live in Williamsburg, Brooklyn NY. Ground zero for hipsters in the USA. Walk down the street in Williamsburg and get a preview of what will be media-celebrated, as the latest fashion trends, 6 months hence.

Back home in Massachusetts, we play a game, walking through Harvard Square – “Guess who’s from Williamsburg.” Lots of pretenders. Few keep pace.

We wandered over to Kyläravintola Terho, the eatery next door. Terho bills itself as Mathildedal’s living room. Local craft brews, food, live music and so forth. 

Terho photo below is from Cosmopolitan Magazine.

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I was most pleased to discover that they served flights of local craft beer. 

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We settled back into our pillows and struck up a conversation with the most pleasant, most stylish, late 20s-ish blonde at the next table. She was a local, kind-of.  

Owned a house in Mathildedal. She was “living with renovation”. Telecommuting now to Helsinki. She worked in advertising copy. We laughed about the complexities of the Finnish language. She said that even as a professional and a native speaker, she wasn’t sure sometimes, that she had it right.

Truth-be-told, she and her fashionable little dog were more Cosmo Magazine than Williamsburg hipster. Other young folk filtered in and out. One young guy had the eye of the girl behind the bar. 

He had come in with a very large, very clean, very expensive backpack, and had settled in on the other side of the room. I had no doubt that his body fat percentage was very low. He looked a bit like a model from a catalog. 

Mathildedal is surrounded by a national forrest, so that fit. But something was off.

Then it hit me, his leather boots were waxed just so, but there was no mud, no scuffs. His haircut fashionable. His clothes more distressed than worn out, and on the tight side.

He was a bit more self-aware of his appearance than the run-of-the-mill trail junky.

Bingo. Mathildedal Hipster.

We wandered down the hill towards our recommended restaurant Ruukkifest Oy, overlooking the marina on this, the southwestern, edge of the archipelago.

Almost there, Sharon spotted the alpacas so we had to head over for a closer look.

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A couple of things to note in the above photo. This alpaca had just been sheared and that’s me in the red bicycle jacket up the hill. I’m averting my eyes because I knew Sharon would not be deterred. She was going to pet this guy, no matter what the signs said. 

I didn’t want to be watching when her fingers were nipped off.

No fingers were lost and the wool was said to be wonderfully soft.

At Ruukkifest Oy, we had the best seat in the house. No one else was there. Our waiter was a mild-mannered, pleasant guy. One of those folks who had walked to the end of the plank. And jumped. Landed on his feet here in Mathildedal.

We struck up a conversation. Driving into work, he had passed us, on our way into Mathildedal. Once we said “Tandem”, he knew it had been us. Not too many on these roads.

From the Netherlands, he had fallen in love with a Finnish woman. She didn’t want to move, because she felt that the Dutch language would be too hard to learn. It was those “H” sounds. 

So here he was in Finland, struggling to learn Finnish, at least an order of magnitude more difficult. So how difficult is Finnish? 

Not so bad if you speak Mongolian. If not, well, Buena Suerte. Good Luck.

Finnish has no connection to Latin or Germanic language groups. The graphic below sums it up pretty well. 

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Lohi is salmon. Käärme is snake. So a dragon is salmon snake. Simple. ¿No?.

Not only are words unrecognizable, but Finnish has 15 grammatical cases and the smallest change in the end of the word can change its meaning.

Back at our inn, we turned in early. Terho next door was pumping out Cat Power’s “Greatest” CD onto their back patio, which was pretty much under our window. Chan Marshall was a NYC hipster, 10 years ago.

Still a favorite of mine. Some folks used to go to her concerts just to see if she would break down, which she did on a regular basis. 

Thankfully, soon it was quiet. Small-town-Finland quiet, and I was gone.

Next: Hanko & the Kings Road [add new link. This one is old]

2018 Finland: Helsinki & The Åland Archipelago

This trip was my mother’s last request. At least the Hanko part.

As her end neared, she totally surprised me, when one day she announced, “Mark, I know what I want you to do with my ashes.” Pause.

I thought local, to myself, Walden Pond? Charles River? Revere Beach?

Not a chance. She had far bigger plans.

“I want you to go to Finland and throw my ashes off that rock behind Mannerheim’s place in Hanko.”

I was both stunned and proud of her. From the tone in her voice, I knew that she knew exactly what she wanted, and she had thought it through.

Lots of angles, covered. In this one request she paid homage to her family’s homeland, and she paid her last respects to her father. She pulled favorite family together. And she would go out in style. Details left to me.

None of these reasons were ever discussed. It was all between the lines. The Finnish way.

My favorite picture of my Mom is below – at her college graduation. She was 100% Finnish and looked it: A platinum blond with a touch of the exotic east.

rita college graduation 1946

She made it to 92. A full life. A bit of a wild child. She did it her way.

When my Mom passed last year, I knew what what needed be done. I knew where and I knew when. August 25 would be the best day, as it was the end of summer celebration in Finland. Big pagan fires and, as it turned out fireworks too. 

As long as we were going, why not make it an edge of the world bicycle adventure?

That would be the Archipelago Sea stretching between Sweden and Finland. 

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The Archipelago Sea. Borrowed photo

World class island-hopping, undiscovered bicycling. Using a generous definition of “island,” there are about 50,000, which makes the Finnish archipelago the largest in the world.

This trip snapped into focus when I realized we could fly into Helsinki, leave our luggage at our hotel, catch a ferry to Åland on the Swedish side of the archipelago and bicycle back across the archipelago to the Finnish mainland, then south to Hanko and for the home stretch, back to Helsinki.

The stake in the ground was the end of the summer festival in Hanko on August 25. Working backwards and forwards, I booked plane tickets, our ferry to Mariehamn in Åland, and our bicycle overnights at 30 to 50 miles a day. We had a plan: 300 miles ± of bicycling over 9 days,  lots of ferries and a couple of days off in Hanko.

This story will be divided into 3 parts: Helsinki & The Åland archipelago; The Turku archipelago & Mathildedal; and Hanko & the King’s Road.

Helsinki & The Åland archipelago

Day 1 Fly from Boston to Helsinki. Overnight on plane

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We left Cambridge at 6:00 PM. Two bike cases. Two carry-ons.

Hit international security at Logan Airport around 7:00 PM. 

Sharon was behind me, chatting with a young woman heading to Israel for Rabbinical Studies. I could hear them, “No I’m not doing the full seven year course of study.” Jay Leno walked by on the other side of the security glass, and my carry-on headed into a highest tech scanner I had never seen.

Sure enough, I was called over for suitcase inspection. I had feared exactly this. Mom was going to get the once over. 

He knew what he was looking for, and dug around until he found it- a suspicious 4 lbs plastic bag of chemical ash. He swabbed, checked analysis, and gave me the all-clear. 

He didn’t ask and I didn’t tell. Mom would be going to Finland. 

I exhaled.

Day 2 Helsinki Hotel F6

We arrived at our hotel in Helsinki at 3:00 PM the next day – a bit worse for wear. Little or no sleep will do that to you. The first leg to Reykjavik was the longest and our seats didn’t recline. Note to self, “No seats backing up against anything ever again.”

That said, the our hotel in Helsinki was pretty much perfect. Great location, great staff, great design. 

Hotel F6
Hotel F6

I get points for the buffer day on arrival. I lose those points for no buffer day on departure. But that’s jumping ahead.

We picked the Hotel F6 primarily for the location. We knew the neighborhood from our visit in 2005. Just south of the Esplanade, it was between the historic district, and the design district, next to the Marketplace and the close to the harbor where we would board our ferry to Åland in two days. 

Day 3 Helsinki Hotel F6

We awoke early the next day and after a Finno-Japanese breakfast started re-assembling the bike.

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It went smoothly, except for one, not so minor problem. Our front derailleur wouldn’t move when asked. So we emailed the man who knows all things bike – Ed at Belmont Wheelworks. It would be 4:30 AM in Boston.

Within a minute we had a response,”I’ll miss my ride if I answer this – I’ll get back to you as soon as I get back.”

Fair enough, and most-promising, if you know Ed, who can be rather hard to reach, unless he feels like it.

We finished putting the tandem together. No need to panic. No need to panic. No need to panic. No need to panic … Yet.

Sure enough, 2 hours later Ed emailed us a most-condensed and thorough essay on the dual ratchet system in STI shifters and the pawls used there-in, and how to re-engage them.

Which involved rolling the rubber boot off the shifter and removing a most tiny phillips screw. Unfortunately we didn’t have such a tool – but the front desk did. A few pokes and knocks later, all was well.

To celebrate, we went for a walk – down to the Esplanade, 

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through the marketplace and up to the Russian Orthodox Church.

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Recently it has occurred to me that my grandfather Peter probably spoke Russian, to go along with his Swedish, Finnish and English. No way to know now that my mother is gone, but it makes sense. The Russians were running Finland and he was working at a prominent Swedish jewelry store in Helsinki – below. 

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Peter was drafted by the Russians in 1901 to fight the Japanese. He chose instead to emigrate to the USA. Good choice.

Back at the hotel, we hung out for a while in the lobby chatting with a cordial young blond woman at the front desk. Highlights were the Japanese, Aerosmith and Swedish TV.

There were a whole, whole lot of Japanese at the hotel. She explained that Finland and Japan were sister countries with a shared design aesthetic. Finland has also become a Japanese European travel hub with new direct flights. 

Our son came ever so close to being Eero Smith. We figured the band would never come back. But got cold feet at the last minute. You never know. Lucky for him, as it turned out.

Our friend at the front desk found our story hilarious, but couldn’t understand what the problem would be. 

Then she shared that Aerosmith front man Steven Tyler was fond of Helsinki and had been known to play anonymously with Helsinki street musicians, and pulled up a YouTube video on her phone to prove it.

Which transitioned into a discussion of the exasperating political correctness of standard-fare Swedish TV which we had been watching almost every night for 9 months as part of our trip prep. 

Us, “Every chase scene, it’s the woman cop who tackles the bad guy.”

“Every show has a psychologist, who helps with understanding hurt feelings.”

“And the really bad guys are always international pharmaceutical companies.”

Finnish Blonde, “Fuck yes, that’s the Swedes for you. Always so nice and polite and condescending. You know, us Finns have some historical issues with the Swedes.”

Uh huh. Sweden lorded it over Finland for centuries. Ruling with an iron fist. Swedish was the language of the aristocracy, until replaced with Russian.

Day 4 Ferry overnight to Mariehamn

We checked out of our room. Left our luggage with the hotel, and headed for the Viking ferry for our overnight to Åland island mid-afternoon. 

We walked our loaded tandem along the Esplanade and then by the Marketplace, riding the last stretch to the check-in for vehicle loading. A pleasant young woman checked our passports and confirmed our online ticket. She then directed us to lane 4.

We were first in that line.

Front of the line

First in lane 5 was another bicyclist, a Finn, our age. He was headed for Germany where he was going to meet up with his son who would be bringing his American muscle car, to see how fast it would really go. 

We waited and waited. Our lane was the last to roll out. Around the corner we were directed to wait with the Jinx Crows, a Helsinki motorcycle gang, until the last remaining trucks were loaded. It was all quite entertaining.

Jinx Crows

Jinx Crows went right and we went left through the giant doors into the bowls of the ship. We were the last in. The Jinx Crows knew the drill, out came the nylon webbed straps to triangulate their bikes in place. 

We were directed back behind a semi-trailer. It occurred to me, that we had a strap too. Out came our cinch-able kevlar and steel 5 ft band lock. and lashed to a steel pipe, we were in business. Now all we needed was to find our room.

Fifth floor, up at the very front right. As we made our way down the long narrow corridor, who should pop out of a room in front of us wearing only a small towel around his waist waving at his friends behind us?

One of the Jinx Crows. A bit of skin in public. The norm.  Welcome to Finland.

We found our cabin, unpacked and then headed out for dinner. The grill on deck 7 was talking to us. We chowed, while watching the water slip away. Next we explored the ship. The door to the casino wouldn’t open from the deck, so we let that one pass. 

Up top we had pretty much a 360 degree view. The sea was calm. We could see perhaps 5 or 6 other cruise ships. Some close. Some far off. Some coming and some going. Business as usual on the Baltic, driven by tax-free shopping and cheap booze.

We turned in early, setting our alarm for 3:45 AM for our 4:30 AM departure in Mariehamn. 

The Åland Archipelago

Day 5  Mariehamn to Saltvik

It was night, or more accurately astronomical twilight, when the ferry doors opened and we followed the 6 departing cars out into Mariehamn. On the upside of the ferry terminal, we found a bench outside and waited for dawn.

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Mariehamn is the capital of the the Åland archipelago, an autonomous territory under Finnish sovereignty. Back in 1920 or so, the League of Nations asked whether Åland wanted to be part of Sweden or Finland. Over 95% voted Sweden, so as the fates twist fate, the League granted sovereignty to Finland.

Not much seems to have changed in 100 years. Just about everyone in Åland still speaks Swedish, which actually makes eminent 21st century sense as coast of Sweden is only 24 miles of open sea away to the west.

We weren’t headed west, though,  but rather east, back across the archipelago to mainland Finland. First up was a very early morning wake-up ride south to the Nåtö Nature Reserve. 

And yes, it looks just like this. Except the road is pink close-up. A whole bunch of blue herons took off as we rode by. No sign of anyone else.

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The pink road to Nåtö. Borrowed photo

We were back in Mariehamn by 6:30 AM. We had an hour+ wait for Cafe Julius to open. Second-rate pastries, second-rate coffee, and an ornery owner. No problem. It was the only open cafe in town. We were happy to have a seat at a table, some food and entertainment.

Sharon had been studying Swedish for last 9 months or so. This cafe was shaping up as her first real-world test. I was curious how immersion would play out. In character she grabs a semi-used local Mariehamn paper off a neighboring table and disappears into the Swedish copy.

A few minutes later she surfaces and gives me a full run-down on the local crime report. Ending with,

“Did you lock the bicycle?” 

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We were in waiting mode. Our next stop was the Mariehamn Maritime Museum, 1/4 mile away, which didn’t open for a couple of hours. Sharon disappeared once again into her Swedish paper. I refilled my coffee, and looked around. Full house. Interesting crowd.

A table of old guys were in the corner, clearly early-morning regulars. One poured me my first refill coffee. 

I recognized a family next table over from the ferry terminal. They had been asleep sprawled across chairs, also waiting for first light. Young parents, young kids. Good can-deal-with-it attitudes all around. French. 

A trio of young camping, bicyclists were yukking it up next table over.

A couple of hard-nosed working guys, perhaps at shift break, were eating the only available real food- plastic-wrapped sandwiches from at least the day before.

And one outcast local old guy off by himself at a table in the far corner, putting on a brave early-morning face. 

Folks filtered in and out. Eventually Sharon folded up her paper. Next guy over asked, in Swedish, if she were done. Having read every word, and reported on every detail in every article, she passed it over with a few words in Swedish. Time to move on. 

At the museum, we locked up on the anchor out front, found a bench and kicked back into 1/2-hour-waiting mode.

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In the distance a beautiful harbor. In the foreground a big bush full of yellow-ish berries that neither of us recognized. Birds were loving them though. Sharon gets up, saunters over, picks a few, pops them in her mouth and announces, 

“They’re great!”, and starts chowing down. 

I avert my eyes. We’ve been through this many, many times before. So far, remarkably, she has survived. Each time, though, I cringe.

Sharon heads off to read all the historic signs. I lean back. Beautiful light.

A local walks by, spots the berry bush, doubles back and starts happily munching away. After he had had his fill, and departed, I venture over and tentatively give a couple a try. Quite good actually. Didn’t eat too many though.

You never know.

The Maritime Museum opened and we headed in. 

Top of the list was the pirate flag. Only two authentic pirate flags are known to exist from the 18th century. One was here. It didn’t disappoint.

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What I didn’t know was that Pirate flags were either black or red. Black meant we’re going to take all your stuff.

Red meant we’re going to take all your stuff, but first you’re all going to die. 

Sharon says this flag was red. No doubt it must have stories to tell.

After a pass through the museum proper we headed off to the Pommern tall ship.

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The Pommern was undergoing restoration. We had arranged a private tour as this was the only way we were going to get onboard. This morning no one else was onboard.

There had been a fund-raising event the night before. Lots of empty wine bottles. Every good cause needs a good party.

The Pommern was a working cargo ship well into the mid 20th century. Locals would ship out for up to 2 years. Tall ships had continued to be cost effective because there were no fuel costs and one could be sailed with a crew of only 26. 

Until 1949 tall ships from Åland circumnavigated the globe and carried grain from Australia to Europe. Hard life though, and more than a few had jumped ship in Australia.

The archipelago has been a maritime culture from Viking times. The tall ships were the last of the glory days.

Our tour ended, and it was time to head north to Saltvik for the evening. 

We passed by lots of vistas like this on Åland.

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All day, we kept seeing tandem bicycle signs like the one below, which made no sense to us, as we never saw another tandem in Finland.  It’s always nice to have one’s existence recognized though.

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We rode right by our last left turn at the Viking camp, which is kind of a fairground for re-enactments of times gone by. 

On second pass, we had a better look at the perimeter fencing which we would see across the archipelago. This was the real deal. Practical, functional and efficient. Proven over the centuries.

Museum-grade, but for now still just working. 

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Viking Fence. Borrowed photo

Good design lasts or lingers – depending on how one thinks about it. 

Saltvik was a highlight of the trip. And rightly so. It took a bit of edging into though. We were tired, still jet lagged, and it had been a very long day, when we pulled into Kvarnbo Gästhem, our B&B for the night. 

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We found out later that, Kvarnbo Gästhem had been sold out for over 100 days. When I first checked it was indeed sold out, but I kept checking, and one day, Bingo, there it was.

A couple of clicks later, this night was ours. 

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As we sat munching our dinner, we could overhear several Americans discussing their non-reservation with Martin, who runs the B&B with his wife Anna.

“We had this night reserved”

“Actually you didn’t. I emailed you that the reservation hadn’t gone through properly”

Silence. We had nothing to add.  

Later, we told Martin about our riding into the ferry in Helsinki with the Jinx Crows. From his decidedly neutral expression I could tell I was missing something.

What I hadn’t picked up on was how seriously he was into motorcycles. This hadn’t been lost on Sharon, who knew all about such as one of her ex’s had been a biker. 

Martin took us over to his garage to show us his bikes. First he showed Sharon his pinball machine.

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The showpiece was this 1944 Indian Chief motorcycle, immortalized on this Åland postage stamp below.

Indian Chief 1944 postimerkki

Martin had found it in boxes in Australia – unwanted Army surplus, brought it back to Åland and restored it. 

Relatives had been tall-ship sailers who had jumped ship in Australia. The Indian Chief we saw wasn’t for show, but a working bike. Martin had just gotten back from a 1250 mile ride across Europe.

We just missed Martin’s wife Anna – 2010 photo from the local paper below.

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Anna sipping from a $50,000 bottle of Veuve Clicquot. Borrowed photo

Anna, a sommelier, is drinking the world’s oldest drinkable champagne, Veuve Clicquot vintage somewhere between 1841 and 1850. This bottle might have been sampled by Madame Clicquot herself, the French “Grande Dame of Champagne.” who would have been between 64 and 73 at the time. 

Another bottle from this batch later sold for close to $50,000 at auction.

So how did a local girl from Åland come to be drinking a $50,000 bottle of champagne?

It helps to live in an archipelago where there are a lot of shipwrecks and next to shipping lanes to historic courts like St. Petersburg. 

It helps too, if a particular shipwreck  carrying a particular cargo of champagne just happened to settle at a depth characterized by minimal light and temperatures ranging between 35 and 39 degrees Fahrenheit- Conditions pretty much perfect for preserving champagne.

And it helps if you are a local with good, curious friends who dive and like to party. 

This being Scandinavia there are all kinds of rules about shipwrecks, with government ownership front and center. This being Scandinavia there are local grey areas.

A local diver finds some bottles, brings a couple over to share with friends- not a problem, before anything is official. 

A media-twist later it’s a heart-warming world-class Saltvik tale, picked up around the world.

As the Smithsonian put the question,  “What does this stuff taste like?”

Martin said it was very tasty with tobacco overtones. 

A second bottle is still in the fridge. But don’t tell anybody.

Day 6  Sunday August 19 Saltvik to Vardo Island

Kvarnbo Gästhem is famous for their breakfasts. Ours didn’t disappoint. 

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Kvarnbo Gästhem’s breakfast – borrowed photo

The next morning, on our way out of town, we stopped at St. Mary’s Lutheran church. Sharon had visited earlier that day with Martin who is a church warden. He showed Sharon around.

One highlights was the silver Eucharist chalice from the 1300s – the oldest chalice in Finland. 

Martin had noted with amusement that it might be made of “hack” silver.  A Viking reference. Plundered silver was hacked-up silver. Value for the Vikings was weight not form. 

A Christian silver chalice made of Viking plunder, which may have been Christian in the first place. And perhaps nabbed from the Vikings before that.

St. Mary’s vicar was a 29 year old woman. Sharon said the blind organist singer sang like an angel.

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The Church is located in the middle of the biggest Viking graveyard in Åland, which makes a certain amount of sense, as this is the oldest place in the archipelago.

10,000 years ago there was no archipelago. The islands began rising after the last ice age when the weight of the glaciers was gone. 

First out the water was Saltvik.

The islands in the archipelago are still rising. Faster than sea levels. Faster than the erosion is wearing the islands away.  Up to 4 inches every 10 years.

Around the corner from the Church is Putin’s place. Yes, that Putin. It used to be Anna’s grandmother’s. The Russians grabbed it as war reparations. Many were, and still are offended.

So how does one tweak the nose of the macho Russian bear?

The Scandinavian solution was to set up a pop-up copy of the infamous Gay Bar from the movie “Police Academy” on the property, take a few photos, and post them on the internet. 

Mission accomplished.

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Putin and his Blue Oyster Bar

The Russians were not amused. The perpetrators were brought into court. Charges were dismissed, though, by the local authorities. It was, after all, a brilliant tweak.

A half hours ride brought us to Kastelholm Castle, a Swedish-built medieval castle built in the 14th century. Time to practice stopping and seeing the sights. Off with the bicycle shoes and on with the sandals.

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We climbed up to the top of the ramparts.

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Where we could look out across the rolling green landscape. A far cry from the water days of the 1300s, when the castle was surrounded by moats and sharpened stakes. 

Today it sits high and dry – 700+ years of uplift changes things. 

The interior courtyards and spaces were actually more interesting than the outside.

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One of the most compelling places was inside the inside – a small room on the third floor of the Kure tower, where Swedish King Erik XIV was imprisoned by his brother in the autumn of 1571. The official line is that Erik was insane by then. I have my doubts. 

Erik died 6 years later of arsenic poisoning, while imprisoned in another castle. 

Back on our bike we headed for Vardo Island. We had asked Martin about a place to stop for a late lunch/early dinner. It was Sunday and not much would be open. He checked and there was cafe/campground on Prästö Island that would be open.

“If you get to the ferry, you have gone too far.”

We crossed the bridge to Prästö and watched for cafes. We got to the ferry and doubled back. When we reached the bridge, we doubled back again across Prästö to the ferry. No cafe. 

On our next very slow pass back we pulled off at a clearly closed resort- just to make sure. There was one car. The owner had been running. We asked about our cafe. 

“Oh, that’s back on Åland across the bridge.”

We told our story.

“If you’re headed to Sandösunds Radhus, they have food”

News to us, and good news. 

Sharon had wandered over to a small roofed structure, the size of a big outhouse.

She reported that inside was a vending machine- for vegetables. Perhaps I should take a photo?

So regrets are born. I blithely replied,

“We’ll see others”

Well, actually no, and when I asked our Finnish relatives about such, they looked back blankly. 

The ferry to Vardo Island was a cable ferry pretty much exactly like the Ticonderoga Ferry on Lake Champlain between Ticonderoga, New York and Shoreham, Vermont. 

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We pulled into Sandösunds Radhus mid afternoon. Sandösunds Radhus is a resort on the far eastern edge of the Åland archipelago. Not much out here. 

We checked into our room – a bit like a USA Motel 6 with a green sod roof .

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Our casement windows, at first glance, were nothing special. 

However on closer inspection they were, hands-down, the most impressive we saw in Finland. Operable, built for extreme cold, with many insulated glass panes working like pivoting parallelograms, sealed with multiple weatherstripping gaskets. 

Besides our motel-like home, Sandösunds Radhus had floating saunas, a campground, a hermit cottage, a chalet, mini-golf, swimming, kayaking, bike rentals, a restaurant and behind us a super-sized teepee. 

Here in the middle of nowhere on the edge of the Åland archipelago, at the end of a gravel road, the owner was clearly having fun as a self-styled entrepreneur.  Our age-ish with plenty of pep.  

After unpacking we headed down to the campground restaurant for dinner. Sharon noticed Åland pancakes on the menu. She knew them from her Swedish studies – a signature dish of the archipelago. Not to be missed.

Once served, we recognized them. Having had them twice before. Previous incarnations had been small baked rice pudding pastry bars with a fruit topping and whipped cream. A sure-grab for me at a buffet breakfast, but … 

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Åland pancakes – borrowed photo

This time around they were bigger, thicker, and less professional. My guess an old local recipe. Not particularly sweet with a touch of cardamom. A bit foreign – in a good way.

The young woman running the register was clearly not a local. Sharon asked. 

“Oh I’m from the Philippines. In the winter I work in the ice hotels up north. Summers, I come south and work here.”

Sheesh. The Philippines are close to the equator. We were standing at 60 degrees north latitude, about the same latitude as Anchorage Alaska.

And yes, the ice hotels are much further north, made of ice and snow, and have to be rebuilt every year, since they melt in the summer. 

Purportedly excellent for viewing the northern lights in the dead of the arctic winter. Now on our non-bicycling list.

Our next day was going to be a biggie- crossing from the Åland archipelago to the Turku archipelago. 

The morning ferry from Hummelvik was a must-catch, departing at 9:30. We were about 6 miles away. No problem, if there were no problems. We turned in early.

Next: The Turku Archipelago & Mathildedal [add new link. This is old]

2017 Italy on a Tandem

Italy pose & bike

The plan had been to borrow a tandem. See if we liked it. Try a short local tour. Buy our own tandem. Build up the miles and eventually celebrate with a tandem tour in Italy. A perfectly reasonable 3 year plan.

On the other hand, we could just order a tandem.

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Put down a deposit on a European tour. Borrow a friend’s tandem. Have it rebuilt. Wait for the ice to melt. Learn to ride between snow storms.

Take delivery of our new tandem. Ride the 5 Boros of New York City with 32,000 other bicyclists. And celebrate our survival with a ride across Italy 3 weeks later.

In character, Grandpa Pig, “Snort”, went with option 2.

And survived. Barely.

Sharon graciously agreed to try to learn Italian for the trip. I had no doubt 4 months was plenty of time. Sharon rolled her eyes.

The Burley Rumba – Back to the Future

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We ordered our Co-Motion Carrera Tandem towards the end of January. Delivery date Mid April.

Friends had a Burley Rumba Tandem in their basement- untouched for a decade+. Dreams unfulfilled. They most graciously offered to loan it to us.

The Burley needed some work.  One makeover later, we had a new old bike:

Burley

“New shifters, old derailleurs (the compatibility chart is 3 pages long), running 8-speed shifting with only 7 gears (it’s a 7-speed rear wheel). Road brake levers with Canti brakes…  I came in ready to rebuild a tandem and see just how many things don’t work together – standard practice.

This is where it gets weird, everything worked.  Perhaps a little too well,

I was expecting to have to replace the 7-speed chain with an 8-speed, but I didn’t.  All of the cables were showing rust, so I changed all of them. The shifting and the brakes worked like a new bike right out of the box.”

Back to the Future.

Riding a Tandem – Never ever dump the Stoker

Riding a tandem is different than riding a single bike. A tandem is longer and heavier and balance isn’t the same.

Then there is the division of responsibilities, the challenge of synchronicity and the not-so-minor issue of trust.

There is an old saying about couples and tandems:

Wherever your relationship is headed, a tandem will get you there quicker!

Ed gave us the 15 minute beginners crash course in a parking lot across from the shop. Conclusion: Sharon was a natural stoker (2nd seat) – no fear, no wobble.

Yours truly, the captain, had a steeper learning curve ahead. Steering, braking, shifting and balance on stops needed work.

Ed summed my responsibilities up: Never, ever, dump the stoker!

Mid-March, we rolled the Burley a quarter mile across a snowfield to get to our first ride around a local pond.

Our Co-Motion Carrera – You must like to ride fast

Our Carrera tandem arrived right on schedule in April. A most beautiful bike. Complete with custom lettering: Advencha before Dementia and our grandparent names by the seat posts: Amona and Papo.

We had picked metallic blue. A nod to the color of the full metal jacket of the main character in the Japanese SF novel All You Need is Kill.

Carrera Specs:

• 700c wheels with rack and fender mounts

• Reynolds 631 steel tubing

• Dual disc brakes and Shimano Ultegra kit

• Tapered headtube & carbon tandem disc fork

• Rolf Prima tandem disc wheels

• Gates Carbon Drive timing belt

Gary, who put our tandem rack on our old Audi, took one look at the bike and noted:

You must like to go fast!

I didn’t understand then.

I do now.

NYC 5 Boro Bike Tour – If they get in your way, run them over

We were going to NYC to visit our son and his family- the same weekend as the 40th 5 Boro Bike Tour. 40 miles through 5 boros, NYC route streets closed to cars. I figured we could handle it.

Ed wasn’t quite so sure. The distance didn’t worry him. The other 32,000 bicyclists did. Especially the congestion at the start. His advice on how to deal with on-street aggression:

If they get in your way, run them over

Here we are in the official start photo. We were upfront because we had VIP tickets, the only ones available when I signed us up.

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As it turned out, we had no problems with other riders or the official tour.

5 boro on bike

The most challenging part was the last few miles back to our hotel in the rain.

The first stretch post-tour was the 4 miles back to the Staten Island Ferry.

No problem there, with the ice-cream and party favors.

Manhattan on a tandem, mid-day, in the rain, was another matter altogether.

We used Google Maps Bicycle with turn-by-turn directions.

Which kind-of worked, except that the traffic noise drowned out the audio and I couldn’t read the screen.

And then the rain hit.

The dodgiest moments were the wet steel plates over excavations, in traffic, on curves.

Back at our hotel we walked dripping across the lobby, swung the tandem vertical, rolled into the tight elevator and breathed a sigh of relief.

One test down. Next up Italy. But first we had to pack our bike.

bike packing

We had ordered our tandem with couplers so it could be taken apart, put into two standard-sized suitcases and checked as regular luggage.

The not-so-minor wrinkle was that the entire bike had to be disassembled.

And then put back together on arrival.

I figured I’d have time to master the process.

Not a chance.

With Ed’s help, the cases were filled and –  by a hair’s breath – latched.

I looked at Sharon. She looked at me. it was understood. We weren’t opening them again until Italy.

Then TSA got ahold of them. Then Air France lost one – for a while.

Italy

We flew from Boston to Florence with a transfer in Paris, where we ran a couple of miles to catch our plane. We would have missed it, but the pilot was late. We were last on- across the tarmac and up a mobile stairway.

We almost landed in Florence the first time. Pulled up 100′ from touchdown. The second try, we just flew around circling hesitantly. The third time we touched down.

The announced explanation was that winds were the problem. The whispered version had the pilot intimidated by Florence’s short runway.

In any case, he did hit those brakes hard.

When the Florence baggage carousel shut down, we were one case, or 1/2 a tandem short.

1/2 a tandem is less than nothing, and Italian bureaucracy only promised to deliver- eventually, so we camped out.

Thankfully the missing case arrived 2 hours later on the next flight from Paris.

By then the rest of the tour group had left in the fancy bus for Spoleto. We followed in the support van with our Italian guide Giovani.

Our tour would take us up through Umbria, across Tuscany, finishing in Liguria on the Italian Riviera. All by tandem.

Italy Map

There were ten other tandem couples on the tour including our tour leaders. An interesting group – early 50s to early 70s. All, except us, seemed tough as nails. Fast too.

20% (1)

We kept up just fine on the flats, but the serious climbs were something else altogether.

20% grades we walked.

In total we rode over 350 miles and climbed over 20,000 feet.

There were no grade signs posted on the toughest stretch of our most difficult day.

Probably a good thing.

Arrezo to Villa Lecchi was 57 miles with 4530 feet of climbing, most of which came in 4 miles.

There’s a reason they call them “Hill Towns.”

Umbria

We had been up almost 24 hours when we rolled into Spoleto from the Florence Airport. Mr Sun was setting. Sharon needed to lie down. In a fog, I reassembled our bike with critical help from our tour mechanic.

Note to self, do yourself a favor next time and schedule a buffer day on arrival.

Spoleto is in Umbria, the only Italian region having neither a coastline nor a border with other countries. We liked Umbria.

Umbria was the pleasant surprise of the trip. Not as refined as Tuscany. But every bit as interesting and beautiful. Far fewer tourists too, though the roads were a bit rougher.

Small price to pay.

Spoleto

Our first day we did a short-ish loop ride out of Spoleto.

I would guess some of the climb was over a 10% grade.

Just about killed me.

At the bottom of the descent, right before this pic, I just about dumped Sharon when I misjudged my footing.

We’ve all done it, the others kindly said. For the rest of the trip the memory lived on in my left side.

Assisi 2

Our next stop was Assisi. Home town of St. Francis.

Sharon and I took the day off, as most of the others went off for another loop ride.

We had a great time wandering the narrow medieval streets.

Lost, we were making our way back up towards one of the towers along the perimeter wall.

Through an iron gate we caught a glimpse of a red Lamborghini parked cockeyed in amongst olive trees. A metaphor or sorts for today’s Italy.

Assisi basilica

A local tour guide took us through the Basilica. Photo to the left.

Sharon loved the guy. He knew his history.

Afterwards Sharon went up and thanked him, somewhat extensively in Italian.

He looked a bit shocked and said,

I didn’t know you spoke Italian. 

Afterwards, Sharon explained to me,

I can’t say much, but what I say I say well. Yup.

Assisi hotel

Our hotel was drop-dead gorgeous. Once a nunnery, it was slated for condos until Roman ruins were discovered underneath.

The Roman ruins have been preserved as part of a spa and the whole place done over in High Italian Modern.

On theme, the female receptionist wore an impossibly tight, short skirt and dangerously high heels. Food was fabulous.

Assisi was the favorite of the trip. Layers of history. Wonderful views. Interesting all around. Would go back in a second. Our room was behind the last two windows at the corner in the photo above. We had our own private interior stair. Great views.

Tuscany

If Umbria was our initiation, Tuscany was the tease.

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We rode by many fantastic-looking towns. Anghiari above.

The epitome was San Gimignano. City of Beautiful Towers. One of the best-preserved medieval towns in Tuscany.

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This is as close as we got. Perhaps we’ll get there some day.

We spent our second night in Tuscany at Villa Lecchi, a restored 19th century residence in the middle of nowhere. Site goes back at least to the 900s. Below.

Villa Lecchi
Ferraris

The Russian Ferrari/Porsche crowd likes Villa Lecchi.

Here is Sharon checking out their wheels.

On the way in our GPS acted up. We were alone and lost.

We flagged down a local in a dust-caked, old battered car.

Zero English. No surprise there.

He and Sharon had a very Latin, animated, convivial, loud conversation in Italian.

A very entertaining travel moment, & his directions were good.

We stayed 2 nights in Lucca, with a loop-ride to Pisa. Lucca is a sophisticated historic town. Narrow winding streets with high end shopping in every direction. Great gelato.

Pisa

Pisa, on the other hand, was overrun with tourists. As we approached the Piazza del Duomo, there was no room to ride. We walked our bikes. The guards wouldn’t let us even lean our bikes against the wall. After 20 minutes or so, we headed back to Lucca.

Nonetheless the Piazza del Duomo, with the Leaning Tower is a rather remarkable place.

The next day, we rode our last stretch from Lucca to the coast and up to Lerici, Liguria and the Cinque Terre on the Italian Riviera.

Liguria

We rolled into Lerichi on our own, a bit worse for wear. We had blown a tire and then dropped behind on the climbs. The good news was that Sharon had mastered our Garmin GPS, so on the way in, we knew where we were and where we were going.

We could take our time.

As we were walking our bike up through a series of steep switchbacks, we passed this memorial to Vilmo Montanari. We have no idea of his story, but it seems his life ended here in 1984 age 49, most likely on a bike, and clearly some folks still care. A poignant moment.

Note to self: Take care on those tight corners.

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We reached the top of the climb and headed down. We were high up with views out over Lerichi to the sea. A great way to end the tandem part of our trip.

High Lerrichi

The tandem wrap: This tour was a stretch for us beginners- a tandem intensive, if you will. After riding with a fast, experienced crowd we now know we have a lot of work to do and miles to log. Spin classes are fine and well, but no substitute for time on the road.

The rough plan is to try to ride a minimum of 1500 miles in the next 12 months, and learn climbing techniques. And then ride the Finnish Archipelago next year.

My Mother passed this year and asked that her ashes be thrown into the Baltic Sea from a particular rock in Hanko Finland. We could bring the tandem and ride to Hanko down through the Finnish Archipelago from Turku.

Suspect Mom would approve.

Cinque Terre

We still had a day to explore Cinque Terre – an Italian national park and World Heritage site comprising 5 villages and surrounding hillsides. No bicycles for us, just a relaxed ferry cruise up the coast.

Untouched by time. Odysseus would know his way around this coastline. We joked about Cyclops popping up and throwing boulders at the ferry.

The villages were impossibly picturesque and choked with tourists. Rick Steves described the Cinque Terre as “one of God’s great gifts to tourism.” An edgy comment for Rick, but perfectly put.

Florence

Florence

Our tour dropped us off at an airport hotel in Florence mid-day.

Check-in wasn’t for a few hours.

What to do with our spare time?

The obvious solution was to catch a taxi into Florence and see the sites.

But where to start?

The young woman at the tourist office had a 3 hour plan.

“Don’t go in anywhere. Just walk the city.

Here’s a map. Here is a route. Come back to Florence, when you have more time.”

Wise advice.

We circumambulated the Duomo and Baptistery, then headed to the Piazza Della Signoria to see a replica of Michelangelo’s David where it first stood.  The original is now safely stored away in a museum. Then it was over to the Biblioteca Nationale and across the River Arno with a climb to Piazzale Michelangelo and its sweeping views across the city – photo below.

brunelleschi's dome

Then back across the Arno via the Ponte Vecchio, a medieval stone bridge complete with shops, and then up to the Museo di Santa Maria Novella, where we caught a taxi back to the hotel.

Catching a taxi in Florence is a little different than in the USA.

No taxi stands.

They don’t stop if you wave. You have to call the office. I passed the phone to Sharon who took care of business, in Italian, of course.

Our taxi driver didn’t speak a word of English.

Sharon told me he said,

I’ve driven a taxi here for 30 years, I’ve never heard of your hotel. 

A quick google search later and he laughed, and said in Italian, Oh that hotel, they changed the name last week. 

Then he and Sharon exchanged jokes, in Italian, as we raced through the back streets, cutting across parking lots to save time.

Perhaps we will return to Florence in the not so distant future. No bike. Focus: Museums, Walking and Sightseeing.

Grandpa Pig owes Sharon this one.

Vamos a ver. We shall see.