Tag: Wheelie

#throwback – 10 June 2024

Bad weather is forecast, and of course today’s route is long. I’ve almost run out of food, so a visit to the supermarket is a must. Just as I’m about to leave, it starts pouring with rain, so I postpone my departure for a while.

Suddenly, a man walks into the hut. “Oh, I didn’t expect anyone here,” he says—neither did I. He’s here to hang an information board about the nature reserve. He tells me he used to be a commercial photographer, but he got completely fed up with the industry. At 40, he changed course and now builds shelters and other structures in the wild. He says he notices that especially men around forty tend to be jealous. The idea of spending your days outdoors and escaping the rat race seems like heaven to many of them. It pays less, but it brings a huge increase in well-being. I can only agree.

When the weather clears, I head out. The trails are varied—some easy, others so difficult I really should have carried the cart on my back. But hey, you learn as you go. Less than a kilometre from the store… the deluge hits. Once again, I’m lucky: I spot a bus shelter. I don’t stay completely dry—the driving rain blows in—but it’s still a big help. I’m incredibly relieved when I finally see the Willy:s megastore appear in front of me. Inside, I warm up on a bench with a fresh roll that tastes like a pastry. The misery is quickly forgotten.

Nothing changes faster than the weather—suddenly the sun bursts through in full glory. I seize the moment and cook a hot meal next to a volleyball court. A touring cyclist stops by, clearly craving a chat. He sits with me for a while and shares all kinds of route tips, which come in very handy.

On the map I see that a shelter is only four kilometres away, but I end up walking double that distance because I run into two closed paths and have to make long detours. So frustrating—by then, I’m completely exhausted. At a scouting hut I finally roll out my mat and sleeping bag, and sleep wonderfully dry.

#throwback – May 28, 2024

I wake up in the sunshine and, for my standards, I set off early. The frame of my cart has now completely broken — I tape the pieces together and plan a route along paved roads, avoiding the forest trails. At a scenic viewpoint, I spot a van with Spanish plates. It turns out to be the home of Tania and Pablo from @patas_traveling. They’ve embraced vanlife with passion. After working hard for eight months in Galicia, they’re now travelling through Scandinavia until October. Their previous journey was through the Balkans. Their dog has clearly had a long walk and is totally crashed out in the van — doesn’t even look up when I pass. What a lovely encounter. We agree to keep following each other’s journeys.

I see a sign pointing to a viewpoint, 200 metres into the forest. I leave my Wheelie by the roadside and head into the greenery. Then panic strikes: I’ve left my Wheelie unattended! The zippers can be locked, and I have a cable lock to secure it — why didn’t I use them? I tell myself not to overreact. I’ve only seen two people all day, so what are the odds? I walk on. After 200 metres I see nothing. Nor after 400. On my app I realise I’ve gone the wrong way. Panic rises — without my gear, this entire adventure falls apart. I walk/run back. My Wheelie is still there in the sun, untouched. The relief is immense. I lock everything up and head to the viewpoint after all. There’s nothing to see. No view — but a great insight: never again!

The landscape becomes more rural, and I’m walking straight into a strong headwind. Suddenly, a huge animal crosses the road — a wolverine! (the picture is not mine) Wow, that’s rare! I hear thunder and see lightning, but I get lucky: only ten minutes of rain. I find a beautiful camping spot near a lake, where I cook dinner and video call my son for his 23rd birthday. So good to see and talk to him — I’m incredibly grateful for today’s technology!

#throwback – May 27, 2024

In my little shelter, I hear the steady tapping on the roof—it’s raining! Luckily, the weather radar says it won’t last too long. I’m hungry, so I make the most of having a dry spot with a roof over my head. I fry some eggs and brew two rounds of coffee.

Then my phone rings—right on time. It’s Radical Design, the manufacturer of my Wheelie cart, calling to let me know when the spare parts will arrive. Yesterday I gave them the address of the post office I hope to reach on Wednesday. The package is being shipped via FedEx, but there’s no FedEx location in that town, only a regular post office that also acts as a DHL pickup point. Turns out, Radical tried calling the post office to confirm someone would accept the package, but nobody there speaks English. So then they reached out to the pilgrim association in Vadstena—no luck there either. Finally, they got hold of someone at the local campground. She promised to call the post office and explain in Swedish that they really needed to accept the delivery. I’m impressed by how much effort Radical Design put in to make sure the new frame gets to the right place. They even added stickers on the box with instructions in Swedish. What a service—so much care and heart for their customers. Chapeau!

By 10 a.m., the rain stops, and less than half an hour later the sky is a perfect blue. Since my cart can’t handle rough terrain anymore, I stick to paved roads, which luckily works out fine. Around 11:30, I arrive in Ödeshög, a village with a square featuring a giant sculpture made of spheres. No idea what it’s supposed to mean, but it’s definitely… noticeable. And ugly!

The weather quickly takes a turn—dark clouds roll in, and I can already see rain and lightning in the distance. There’s no way I’ll stay dry today. A grumpy man smoking on the square tells me I look like a horse with my cart. I laugh—well, I’ll take that as a compliment. Noble creature, right?

Just after admiring some Bronze Age rock carvings, the sky suddenly opens up—it’s like someone dumped a whole bucket of water over me. It happens so fast I don’t even have time to put on my rain gear. But then, not even a hundred meters ahead—I spot a big, spacious bus shelter. And that’s where I end up staying for the next three and a half hours. The rain pours down endlessly, but I’m dry, I’ve changed into warm clothes, and I’m perfectly fine. I read a little, snack a bit, text some friends—honestly, I’m having a good time. Nothing and no one could ruin my mood.

Once it clears up, I follow a gorgeous trail along the lake. The landscape here feels completely different again. Such a treat, and the sun is starting to peek through. In Omberg, I find another shelter—this one with a view and a staircase leading down to the water. I try to go for a swim, but the water is freezing—ice cold! There’s a little waterfall flowing in right there, straight from the mountains, completely unheated. I go for a sponge bath instead. That feels brave enough with water like that!

At the stairs I meet Anders Jonsson. We have a fun and pretty long chat—until the mosquitoes get too annoying. We mostly talk about hiking. He’s been wanting to do it for ages but hasn’t quite taken the plunge. He thanks me for the tips and the inspiration. We exchange Instagram handles and will probably stay in touch. Turns out, he’s a Swedish singer—quite a successful one, apparently. The start of a fun new connection.

The shelter comes in handy—I can dry my stuff there and have a backup in case the weather turns bad again. I do sleep in my tent though, because the hut reeks of smoke. But the night stays dry, and I sleep like a log after such a beautiful day.

#throwback – May 25, 2024

At half past one at night, I wake up in shock. Terrible, harsh sounds tear through the darkness. My God, what is that? Is someone being attacked? A wild animal? I quickly turn on my Garmin, ready to press the SOS button if needed. Sitting upright in my tent, I listen intently. What on earth is this?

Suddenly I remember: deer can be really loud. I search online and yes — it turns out to be a barking roe deer. Look it up on YouTube: “barking roe deer.” Unbelievable that such a harmless-looking creature can make such a terrifying sound. It surely won’t be the last time I hear it.

The route today is absolutely stunning, though poorly marked. I take several wrong turns and end up in rough terrain. It’s hard going with the cart, especially uphill, and the left handlebar keeps getting wobblier. I have to lift the right one more often to compensate, which takes extra effort.

Halfway through another climb, I pass a house where a tall man is fiddling with his robotic lawnmower — they’re everywhere here, these lawns are immaculate. He looks up and greets me, and we start a lively conversation. Turns out he’s an engineer at Husqvarna, specialized in robotics. Even he doesn’t know why his robot isn’t connecting to the satellite. “Not a problem your cart has,” he jokes.

Later in the afternoon, I dine in style at a golf club. I find a comfy picnic table and cook myself a healthy, nutritious meal. It tastes absolutely wonderful. Some of the golfers give me odd looks — no golf clubs in my cart — but they’re all friendly. I’ve passed at least four beautiful courses already on this journey.

In the bathroom, I splash water on my face, and to my horror, my iPhone later gives a warning: water detected, can’t charge until it dries. I could kick myself. Such a stupid move, and I don’t have much battery left. It could take hours to dry. A good reminder: keep it charged and keep it dry — luckily, the solar panels are working great in this sunny weather.

As I approach the town of Gränna, I start looking for a place to sleep. I’ve learned that camping near residential areas is rarely possible or allowed. Sure enough, there’s nowhere suitable. I end up near an industrial area — no houses, and it’s Saturday, so I figure I can get away with it.

There I meet Joran, cycling by — a 63-year-old who took early retirement. We have a long, meaningful talk about what matters in life, about chasing dreams, about breaking free from the rat race, about courage, and taking control. His surroundings didn’t agree with his early retirement, but he did it anyway. He wants to live now, just like me. The future can wait — if it even comes.

By now, it’s getting late, and I still need a place to sleep. I take the risk and pitch my tent near a picnic table. The next morning I find out I was only 500 meters from a campsite. I bet passersby were confused. A few people walked or jogged by, but it wasn’t busy. In the end, I had a solid night’s sleep and morning coffee at an actual table.

#throwback – May 24, 2024

After my night in Huskvarna, I head to the post office to return a pair of shoes. I bought them too small, and they start to hurt after walking more than 4 kilometers. I notice how much stronger I’ve become—and how much weight I’ve already lost. I can now feel the cart perfectly; we’re slowly becoming one.

The trail continues along the massive Lake Vättern. It’s cloudy but dry. Thousands of tiny flies travel with me, oddly entertaining, and they don’t bother me. The further I walk away from the city, the calmer it gets—and the better I feel. It’s clear where I truly belong. Later, the route turns inland toward a smaller lake, where I eat the most expensive potato salad ever (yesterday’s mistake)—though I must say, it’s exquisite.

It’s chilly, but two girls are having the time of their lives in the water. It reminds me of my childhood; I never seemed to get cold either. Swimming with blue lips—but it didn’t matter. Things are different now, and the fact that I’ve even been swimming this year already feels like a personal victory.

After a long break, I continue uphill. My cart feels wobbly, and I can’t figure out why—until I spot a tear in the frame. I make a short video and send it to the manufacturer, Radical Design, asking for advice. It’s Friday evening, so I don’t expect a reply. But within an hour, I get one—what amazing service! “This isn’t good,” they say. “We’ll make sure you get a replacement frame part. We’ll start arranging it Monday morning.”
To be honest, I think it’s not too bad, and I wrap the pipe tightly with sturdy tape. Just bad luck. Even a Rolls Royce can have a glitch. What matters is being able to rely on your supplier—and having someone who acts quickly. I’m incredibly glad I bought my cart from a trustworthy Dutch company. I don’t even want to imagine dealing with a broken-down cart from some cheap factory in China.

After more than 25 km, I find a beautiful spot to camp in a field full of buttercups.

May 20, 2024

I start packing at 8 a.m., but of course I don’t hit the road until 10. Still, it’s nice to watch the locals coming by early in the morning for a refreshing swim. I just sit there, people-watching for a while—which is actually quite fun. I hear kids playing at the nearby school. What strikes me is that there aren’t any fancy or expensive playground structures. The boys are lugging around tree trunks and building things with them. From where my tent is, I can’t see any girls, so I don’t know what they’re up to—but it wouldn’t surprise me if they’re just as involved.

I take a short detour from the trail to buy some groceries and have to cross the highway. The noise startles me. It feels like all sounds hit me much harder now—after barely three weeks in nature. What will happen to my senses after a whole year out here? I guess I’ll be able to answer that by the end of this journey. I’m curious.

I treat myself to a beer and a warm lunch, which tastes great—but it’s a windy spot by a small lake, and cooking on a spirit burner in the wind is quite the challenge. The flames blow in all directions, and a lot of heat is lost. Plus, it’s not exactly a comfy spot. The sun quickly disappears behind the trees, and with the shade and the wind, it gets chilly fast. So I move on.

I’m fascinated by the fences I keep seeing out here—they’re put together without a single nail! Then comes the hardest part of the journey so far. A poorly maintained section of the trail, with tall grass, endless bumps, and steep grassy hills. But the worst is yet to come: I run into six (!) gates, all built in a V-shape.

The idea is that livestock can’t make the turn through the gate—but neither can my Wheelie. Honestly, even with a big backpack you’d have to take it off and put it back on every time. A real pain in the ass. Fortunately, I manage to slide the Wheelie flat underneath the barbed wire. That’s only possible because the wire isn’t stretched too tight, and sometimes I have to walk a bit further to find a good spot—off-trail and through rough terrain. It’s a stroke of luck that it works at all, because otherwise I’d have had to unpack and repack everything. I don’t even want to think about it. The most annoying part is that these gates aren’t marked on the map—otherwise, I would’ve taken an alternate route.

On my Komoot app I see a campsite recommended by another hiker, so I head that way. And yes—it’s small, but perfect. I take my second swim of the year to wash off the sweat, then crawl into my sleeping bag fresh and clean, after doing a bit of hand laundry. That makes up for everything.

May 19, 2024

After a long, lazy morning, I set off late—but that’s allowed now, I tell myself with a smile. The trail is tough today. Stunning, but really tough. It’s a wildly uneven forest path full of bumps, dips, and constant changes in elevation. Probably the hardest route so far, but I’m feeling fit and cheerful, and all in all, I’m handling it well.

Then, after those tricky forest trails, there’s yet another challenge: the Nydala boardwalk. It’s made of two narrow planks—just too narrow for my Wheelie. The only option is to do a wheelie with the Wheelie! That means balancing it on one wheel across the planks. Not easy, but I manage. Still, I suspect I’ll be feeling it in my muscles tomorrow—keeping that cart balanced takes real effort. But what a beautiful trail, what a remarkable natural area. Off the planks, the ground is marshy—you really can’t walk there. The landscape is breathtakingly open. I don’t think the photos quite do it justice, but trust me, it’s stunning. And the silence! Not a single bird to be heard—it’s almost deafening.

It’s warm today, and as luck would have it, just when I get hungry around 4 p.m., I ‘happen’ to pass the perfect spot to cook. There’s water, there’s shade, a bench, and even a crate I can use as a cooking surface.

And the day just keeps giving. After walking a little farther, I arrive right on time at a beautiful little beach, where I take my first dip. The water is wonderful—especially at the surface. What a feeling! The beach is near a school and not far from a village, so I’m not completely alone, but that’s fine. There’s enough space, and I find a slightly hidden spot to pitch my tent, where I soak in a magnificent sunset.

May 17, 2024

I get up to pee and now, in the daylight, I see where I pitched my tent last night in the dark. Not under a tourist information sign, as I had thought, but under a sign for a shooting range. What?? The sign explains how to hunt wild animals—where to shoot a bear or a moose. All around me are warning signs about stray bullets. Not exactly an ideal camping spot… But hey, I didn’t hear any gunfire, so no harm done. Still, a good lesson: even in the dark, read signs carefully—and luckily, Google Translate’s camera function works great for that. Without coffee or breakfast, I quickly head out and find a nice spot for a break later on, next to a beautiful lake.

Since I won’t be passing a supermarket for a while, I stocked up on groceries yesterday. I feel the weight in my cart, but I’m also getting better at adjusting the straps that connect it to my hips, so I can hit just the right balance point where the cart feels as light as possible. It’s different every day, depending on how heavily it’s packed and how I’ve arranged everything.

I notice my mind is much calmer today. Has the great letting go finally begun? The weather is beautiful, though there’s a breeze that makes cooking tricky—my alcohol burner’s flames flicker in all directions. But, lucky as I am, I stumble upon a shelter that isn’t marked on any map, just when I’m getting hungry. I cook out of the wind and lighten the cart a bit—from trolley to tummy. I wash my dishes in a little waterfall and carry on walking.

After more farmland, a wedding venue, and some forest, I pitch my tent in a quiet meadow. It’s by a small road, but apart from one car and three cyclists, no one comes by.