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Some Welcome! We ate muslix and fruit on a bluff overlooking the arm. The intensity of the sun's rays reflecting off the water's surface was blinding. The roads blared "No Cycling" signs. We tried to find route 115, but following unsigned bike paths led us otherwhere. While trying to determine the situation, Sharon stopped at a yield sign to check the map. She faced oncoming traffic. There was little traffic at eight am Saturday morning, but the second car to approach slowed down to a stop beside her, blasted his horn and gave her the finger. I was on the opposite curb and yelled a universally understood expression toward the open driver's side window. Sharon was not impressed with the driver's rudeness. Drivers were not considerate when we stopped where they considered their sacred domain--the side of the road--horrors! The other day the same thing happened when all four of us had stopped alongside the road. We were off the road, past the white line demarking the road's edge, when a car thundered past, leaning obscenely on the horn. It was always males. Some macho idea short-circuited inside their whacked-out pea-sized brains. Observing the sun we determined the approximate direction we should be heading. Again, we blindly followed the bike path. When it veered off in the other direction I took a street. Growing frustrated we examined our map again, however useless that may be since we didn't know where we were. A fellow cyclist noticed and enquired if we needed help. He led us to the road we wanted and then turned around to head back to wherever he had been going. Sharon wondered why, whenever she was ready to condemn the whole lot as miserable wretches, someone was pleasant to us. Invariably, that usually happened. In Sarpsborg I noticed every bike outside the Rema wasn't locked. Determined to spend our remaining one-hundred-seven kroners we entered. We bought a loaf of bread. Sharon wanted two buns also, but after I figured out they cost more than our loaf of bread I tossed them back into the bin. As we put things into the cart I deducted the amount from our total funds. At one point an intense debate raged on the merits of buying chocolate sauce or a bag of carrots. In a bizarre switch, I took up the cause of the carrots. The carrots emerged victorious, but the victory turned hollow after I discovered they tasted like three-quarter inch plywood. The bill came to one-hundred-five kroners. I bought another banana for two kroners and that was the wad. We returned to the picnic tables by the lake and discovered afternoon diversion being provided by two supple topless sunbathers. Two boys and their dog swam off the end of the dock, much to the girls' irritation and the boys' pleasure. An old man settled himself at the farthest picnic table and stared raptly, drooling at the firm young bods. Sharon commented dryly, "That'll be you in a few years." "Oh, I hope so," I licked my lips. "Where are Roger's Mickey Mouse shorts when I need them?" The old man finally wobbled off on his ancient bike when the girls rolled onto their stomachs. It looked like he was having trouble pedaling with a hard-on. Just on the outskirts of town, a car stopped to give us a choice of routes to Holden. We chose the "lightly rolling hills" through farmland and evergreen forests. We climbed constantly. Up. Down. Up. Down. I was exhausted from the constant effort. A large lake was in the valley below us. Looking at the map beforehand, I imagined we would be alongside the lake. Now I wondered if we would ever descend to it. It vanished out of sight behind the forest.Near Ende, a large pond at road level appeared at the top of a long climb. There were even picnic tables. Unfortunately, it was so late in the afternoon the tables were in the cool shade. Sharon went for a swim while the sun was still on the pool of water. She swam over to another area and found a great camping spot. Going in for a dip, I amazed Sharon yet again. The rocks by the lake edge formed stairs into the water. No one was around. It was totally peaceful. A large yellow and black zebra-striped dragonfly came by and repeatedly dipped its hind-end into the water. Maybe it was French and thought this was a bidet. In the morning, Sharon roused me with, "You better get up or you'll miss the show." We were still twelve kilometers from Sweden, but somewhere along the way Sharon's natural inhibition had disappeared. Off a convenient rock she dove into the tranquil pond butt nekkid. I could tell it was going to be a good day when the morning started so fine. Breakfast by the pond consisted of eggs with tomato and cheese. I finished up with cereal and fresh picked raspberries. Sharon found a blueberry bush and emerged with blue-stained fingers. |
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