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August 23 Wednesday sunny Bicycle touring Denmark Our new bicycle touring meeting plans are
to look at the map the night before and decide where we're going
to ride to the next day and then meet on main street in the chosen
town between a specified time frame. That way everyone can get
up whenever they want, and leave whenever they want, without
having to wait around for the other party to make plans. Plus,
we can cycle any route we choose as long as we get to the specified
meeting place on time. We decide to meet in Fakse, Denmark. We all buy the same map. Guess that way we won't be able to say that road wasn't on our map. Arran and Rebecca cycle down the road while Sharon and I bicycle into town to buy groceries. Sharon hits the Iso food marke while I watch kids splash in a fountain. At first, only three and four year olds were in the fountain laughing hysterically as they got too close and the water splashed them. Later, some older primary school kids had a thorough soaking, walking right through the great gushing columns of water. I bought a Presta pump at a bicycle shop for 35 krones. When I asked the guy how much he said, "25." I attempted to clarify, "Twenty-five?" "Yep," he confirmed. I handed him a 50 kroner note and he rang my bicycle pump purchase up at 35. Hmmm. I could have sworn I could hear the difference between the numbers 25 and 35. Next time I won't give the money first before it is rung in, or give exact change. Of course, maybe his English wasn't that great and he forgot the number for 35 and said 25? Regardless, unlike some other misunderstandings in the past, the lesson wasn't too expensive. Sharon was sitting beside her touring bike, eating breakfast by a church wall when I arrived back. Her front tire needed air too. As I was playing around with the old pump while she was in the Iso grocery store, I succeeded in letting air out of her tire instead of putting it in. I screwed on the adapter and stuck the pump on. Our new bicycle pump is a Zefal pump, like our old one, but made entirely of plastic, unlike our old metal one. The spring is always on in the handle too, which makes pumping more difficult, but I managed to put in 70 pounds, so it'll work well enough. Two men and a woman came along on their bikes and sat on a bench, kitty-corner to us. Out came the beers. Nothing hiding in brown paper bags. They just pop them open right out in the open. The Danish people are very open about drinking in public. Having slaked their thirst after their bicycle ride, they belch loudly, no doubt complimenting how good the Danish beer is. Next, the hash pipes come out and they all have a little toke. Nothing like a beer and a toke at 10 in the morning. Quite the coffee breaks they have in Denmark. Passes the day much more salubriously, no doubt. No wonder they're so placid. They're all stoned. A scraggly guy comes over and says if we need water there's a tap just over the fence in the graveyard that we can use. The Danes are friendly enough, no doubt about that. We cycle through Taastrup, Denmark, which has many modern buildings with futuristic looking peaks and points and mounds of sculpture. There are lots of bike paths leading off in all directions. There seems to be a lack of people. The place is huge, but there is hardly anyone around. The place has an eerie deserted feel. Even the wind sounds hollow. We have difficulty finding our way out of town. All of the bike paths lead back into town or into housing suburbs. At one point, we were cycling alongside a major road and the bike path we were following ended abruptly along with a "No Bicycle" sign. Hmmm. A new bike path took us back into Taastrup. Sharon was beginning to show signs of frustration. Finally escaped Taastrup and stopped to eat pizza beside a daycare in Greve, Denmark. Briefly cycled through the town of Tune. It is the first time in my life that I have been in tune. We picked up a bike route and bicycled along it, meandering peacefully along country roads and back lanes. We got lost once, ending up in a farmer's yard. Shades of bicycle touring England. It was getting close to 6 PM, our appointed time we were to meet Arran and Rebecca in Fakse. Fakse was turning out to be a farther bike ride than we anticipated with the headwind and meandering lanes. We still had 30 kilometres to go at 5 o'clock. We pedalled into the headwind, making steady, but slow progress. A solo cyclist, on a training run, blew past us. Sharon and I smiled at each other. We grabbed his tail and hung on in his draft the best we could. He wasn't a real happy cyclist, seeing two overloaded shaggy touring cyclists tied to his skinny butt. Not sure about those racing cyclists; they seem to be a macho lot. On the hills he would try to shake us, and would leave us a few metres behind him. But, with our immense cycling muscles, we'd tuck down, crank it up a notch, and catch up to him on the flat. He wasn't happy to see us tagging along once again, but it really helped to be behind him into the wind. We stuck with him for 20 kilometres, then he turned. Unfortunately, we had to stop and check our map to make sure we caught the right road to Fakse. We pedalled off, then stopped beside some picnic tables next to a river. I plotted the map to figure out where we were while Sharon disappeared down to the river. A wrong turn, or actually a turn onto a road we thought was the right one on our map, but wasn't indicated, took us in the wrong direction for a ways. Discovering this, we changed at a crossroads. When we saw a sign for Tokkerup (great name for a town in Denmark, eh?) we knew we were cycling on the right track. When we approached Fakse, Sharon waited with her bike at a road into town in case Arran and Rebecca were still on their way, while I rode into town to check for Arran and Rebecca. I found them by the fountain. It was 6:05. Not bad timing, eh? I told them to wait there and I cycled back to get Sharon. She asked how long they'd been there. "Judging from Rebecca's still-red face," I said, "not long." Maybe they'd made a last minute cycle race, too. In fact, they had arrived only minutes earlier. I glanced at my cycle meter. Our day's touring in Denmark, we had cycle toured 98 kilometers. Arran and Rebecca told us where the good Danishes in the bakery at Fog were. We indulged. The Danish pastry was great. They have all different flavours with layers of goopy decadence. Powered by Danish pastry, we cycled out of Fakse and camped just out of town. In a short time, a loud thunderstorm cracked and crackled overhead. |
