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.

Sharon’s baker friend

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

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

Our rear bag bread shrank as the miles added up.

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

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

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. 

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.”

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. 

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.

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

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

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. 

It was a nice gravel road.

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. 

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.

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. 

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

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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

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.

Riku went for coffees and we exhaled.

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.

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. 

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?”

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.