Tag: Wheelie

#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.

May 14, 2024

I actually manage to get up early and head out in good spirits. I come across a lovely little church with another unique bell tower—these seem to pop up all over the place here. I refill my water – there’s always a tap at cemeteries – and keep walking. Before long, I’m hungry again. Around 12:30, I fry up some eggs and bacon for lunch. Using the beautiful multitool engraved with my name—gifted by my fantastic colleagues when I said goodbye—I fix my hiking pole. Thanks team, this tool is proving incredibly useful!

Once again, I’m thoroughly enjoying myself. I sit for hours, and yet—there it is again—that nagging feeling of guilt. Why? I don’t owe anyone anything! Still, that little voice keeps chattering: you’re not making enough progress, you’re being lazy, blah blah. How persistent these thoughts can be… And that, even though today’s route is beautiful: no more highways, just rolling farmland and forest.

At the Willy:s supermarket, I restrain myself so I don’t end up lugging a heavy cart again. While walking through the town of Ljungby, I’m stopped by a couple and their young son. The Swedish woman is excited: “We saw you walking this weekend too! We’ve never seen a cart like that before!” She introduces herself, asks a ton of questions, and really wants a photo with me. I think it’s pretty funny, so I pose while her husband takes a few pictures.

I walk quite a bit more and find yet another stunning spot with a picnic table and a small dock. I wash my things, cook a good meal, and sleep wonderfully again. It may be starting to sound repetitive—all this happiness—but honestly, I could get used to this.