Moss - Efteløt, Norway
Thursday June 28, 2018, 64 km (40 miles) - Total so far: 1,610 km (1,000 miles)
I'm not sure what to write about today. Lost in Norway.
Yes, I'm in Norway, but lost here has many dimensions--mostly vertical. Lost can be scary and dangerous. I've never had such a day such as this one.
First the good bits. Woke up and took my time, eating and packing; said goodbye to my host. She wished me luck.
It was a great tour of Munch's house--his favorite and the one he had before becoming rich and famous. He was a very complicated man.
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| view from Munch's front door |
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| Munch selfie (and, if you look closely--me) |
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| quiet Swedish road before craziness started |
Then.
It was VERY hot today. I went through water like crazy, yet my lips still stuck to my teeth, my mouth was so dry.
I'm not sure when and maybe later I can update once I'm home, but maybe around 2 p.m., the hottest part of the day, Google sent me down a gravel road. I've had this happen before, while on the Kattegarden. No big deal. And I could tell it took me under the E6(?) So I followed it and it remained gravel and steep. Okay. I kept going, thinking it must meet up with a real road. It took me by a sheep pen. Oops, off the blue line. I went back and down a creepier gravel road. The blue line took me over a slag heap and where trees had been uprooted. It was like a lunar landscape of red rock. There were big machines, as if to quarry. I walked the bike in circles trying to connect with the blue line. I went one way then another. There was no shade. I rolled the bike to a plateau at the top of the rock heap. There was another massive machine. I leaned the bike next to the house-size tire. I was thinking of taking a picture and sending it to Sandy Ramsey. But my battery was dying. Over-used. I put it on charge and said, you've got to get out of here. I started back, retracing my steps.
Then up by the sheep pen I saw a man with big buckets. I moved toward him with my fully loaded bike. I must have looked like someone from another planet. He threw the buckets in the back of his van. I thought he was leaving. HELP, I cried out. He stopped. I got closer. He stared at me. I took a breath: I only speak English. I'm lost and can you take me to a road. By now it was 4 p.m.
Get in, he said.
He told me I was lucky--I wanted to laugh--because he only comes out twice a week to water the sheep. Then I wanted to cry. I did.
He said he'd take me out, then he said he'd take to the next biggest town. Then he said he'd take me halfway to Kongsgårdmoen, my destination. I said that would be great. We passed roads with bike paths beside them. Why couldn't Google have put me on them?
It was 5 pm when I started toward Hvittingfoss on route 32. I'd have about 40 KM, but that's only 24 miles. I have time, the sun wouldn't set for another 7 hours.
But I had a headache from the sun, the stress, and crying. And there was wind. At one point wanted to take a photo of the Lagen river, and the wind almost blew me over, so kept going. Even going down hill I got no speed.
My cranks started clicking. Not serious, but annoying. Everything felt awful and bad. At 6:15 and only 64 KM, I pulled off the road at a church where I sat for a very long time. I only had 18 KM to go, but was done. Beaten. I went to fix my cranks (maybe) and discovered my lube had leaked. I cleaned up my front handlebar bag, got out my allen wrench, which was still slippery and went to tighten the cranks. My hand slipped and I fell head first into gravel, gashing my forehead.
Then my phone really blitzed out, like that day I tried to get to Zwolle.
I got permission to camp behind the church. Maybe the word is out a foreigner is here, every 5 minutes a new person drives up to water around a grave. Hopefully, tomorrow Kongsgårdmoen and Heddal.
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