Samoens

Salut!

We arrived, colder than hell, in central Geneva 6am on Wednesday last week, 20 hours after setting out from London. You're probably thinking "they must've been stuck at Heathrow for ages, just like everyone else - stop moaning!", but we weren't stuck anywhere, except for an hour in Paris for coach change and under gun point in French customs.

"Have you got anything to declare?" - We're not supposed to open half our packing 'till the 25th.

"Are you carrying more than €10 000?" - What do you think?

We were picked up from Geneva Airport by Gillon, a manager at the company. He took us to Samoens and the flat we'll spend our next five months in, and invited us to meet all the co-workers for dinner later on. We put our bags down and that was about it for floor space. So it's not big, but it's got the necessities: bed, shower, kitchen. Another thing that came with the flat is a balcony as big as the flat. Unfortunately, since we're on ground level, we can't store anything, like skis, on our balcony.

We were served a three course meal by two colleagues, and all sixteen of us at Alps Accommodation sat down to eat and chat. After dinner sixteen sets of red wine stained teeth went to a seasonnaires party at the cinema. We met some people and drank more wine, but walked home reasonably early after our knackering journey the previous night.

The following week was spent training as professional property assistants(/chalet cleaners), or, in the Grand Massif, skiing. We'll tell you more about the latter.

The lift map is huge. We live in Samoens, we have a bus that takes us to our cable car lift each morning. Our cable car lift, Grand Massif Express, takes us from 700m above sea level to 1600m, and from there we can get straight up to 2200m for a wide selection of pistes (or powder between the pistes). We had almost perfect conditions on the first day, new snow, empty slopes and sun.

Three days followed with us working mostly and when we went back up the mountain on Tuesday the temperature had risen and a gazillion people had arrived only to turn the white tip into a sharp point with spots of brown sorbet. We did go to the other side of the Grand Massif (where it reaches over 2500m), as far our lift passes take us, but still have many lifts and even more pistes to go up and down, up and down, up and down...

Our three days in the piste have brought us joy, fatigue and some anger - it usually depends on the weather, the amount of people in the slope or how many jagermeisters were consumed the night before. Covey's Irish pub seems to be our new local, who would've thought.

We bought each other a Christmas helmet to save the little brains that remain. Sally has developed her skiing massively over these days and doesn't have a problem keeping up, even in the red pistes. Soon she'll be better than Carl, yes, we all realise this.

Christmas Eve tomorrow, off work for two days, weather report says snow - fingers crossed for some ski action on Christmas Day. If not, we're all chipping in with some Chistmas buffet smorgasbord fillers and secret Santa for Christmas Day, so we'll have mulled wine and mince pies to keep us amused.

Merry Christmas

Carl and Sally

PS. This is the company website, check it out. If you're planning a ski trip this winter or spring, contact us, we get discount on accommodation for family and friends!

www.alpsaccommodation.com

off ski

Bye everyone!

Our coach leaves Victoria station in an hour and a half and at about 7am on Wednesday morning we should roll into Geneva.

Sorry to all you who we didn't get a chance to see!

Take care, merry christmas and a happy new year!

Carl and Sal x

Fin

I'm sorry for being so shit at this blogging, but in my defence, I have been busy.

Ok, so what's happened since Lisbon? I'll write you through it quickly and I'll write some more about the highlights.

We left Lisbon and went down the coast via Setubal (where we didn't see any river dolphins), Santiago do Cacem, Odemira, Aljezur and then reached Lagos on the south coast. We went along the Algarve in hope of seeing some amazing streches of beach, but saw mostly northern europeans and shopping centres since the road following the coast is further inland so we spent our days savoring the moments when we catched a glimpse of the sea. We passed through Portimao, Lagoa, Albufeira, Faro, Tavira and in Vila Real de Santo Antonio, we crossed the river mouth over to Spain. On a beach near Isla Christina, we unrolled our ground sheets and parked our bikes for two days and two nights, slept under the stars and woke up with the sun.

Finally, on the third day we set off again to Huelva where we caught a train and started our journey through the south, south-east and east of Spain. We went through and had short stops in cities like Sevilla (where we got lost trying to find camp grounds ), Cordoba, Jaen, Alcazar de San Juan (where we were going to sleep on the platform but were instead shown into a, usually locked, waiting room by the nice station staff (he even woke us up)) and finally stopped in Valencia. We stayed in Valencia for five days. All the other tourists were there for the Tomatina festival. We missed it by an hour. Intense, barely legal brits, aussies and kiwis at the camp site at night and refuge in the hot city at day. Valencia is beautiful, with the dried up river bed turned into an enormous park, the restaurants, the architecture and is a definite to return to.

Almost a week of not cycling any great distances except the 15km between camp site and city, so needless to say we were eager to set off. Castellon de la Plana, Vinaros (where we camped by a male nude beach, with an awful lot of spectators literally staring down at the rocks with all that washed up flesh), Tarragona (lunch stop, needs revisiting: beautiful), Calafell, Sitges and then cycling a little too much on the 8 lane motorway to get in to Barcelona. Terribly difficult to find alternative routes into the city. 'Neways, we're alive and we've arrived in Barcelona. We stayed for six nights with Rudie and Sarah, two friends who got tired of London, moved there and are, after almost two years, understandably, still happy. We were well looked after by our generous hosts and we took in lots of good food, beer and art and did lots of walking.

From Barcelona we went north towards France. Girona, Figueres, the majestic Pyrenees (which we crossed with road N-11 which doesn't really offer any climbs or views, so we took a little detour for two days and saw some picturesque villages, high mountains and deep valleys), Thuir, Perpignan, back to the coast by Canet-en-Rousillon and followed it up to Narbonne. We had now started asking at vineyards we passed if they had any work for the grape picking, but with no luck since the harvest had already started and was done mainly by machine.

Some internet research had taught us that we wanted to go further north in order to catch up with the harvests, so we took a train via Avignon to Vienne, one stop south of Lyon. Disappointed not to find any vineyards in the area, we took off to Lyon and literally passed through it trying our luck further north. Note that Lyon was amazing - although a little hard to get in to by bike - and deserves a proper visit. Asking around at the vineyards revealed that the combination of a bad grape year and the economy offered less work, so we decided to start making our way towards Paris.

However, passing through the village Beaujeu, we popped in to a winery that was too close to not try. At first 'pas de travail', but as we were walking up the drive way, the woman in the office opened the door and asked us to come back. They'd gotten on the phone to a patron to find out whether he needed more 'vendangeurs', and yes, eight days decent paid work, accomodation and food included. We worked at two different farms, of which the second was connected to the winery so we could pop down after work to see what the result of our hard work was. 15 days of killing back aches and millions of cuts - shallow and deep. We met some really nice people and some really horrible people. Some had only half as many teeth as we and some wet their beds at night - yes, they were bunk beds and he was on top - poor Ludovic. We were given wine at nine in the morning with brunch in the fields and with every meal for the rest of the day. First week it was sunny, second week it was raining. All in all we can say it's a good way of getting over a fear of spiders, it's lots of fun and easy money but it's painful to the point of tears.

With pockets full of cash we jumped on a train to Paris to visit Alain and Jean-Christophe, who put us up for three delightful nights in this city of romance. It wasn't as much romantic as it was crowded, we calculated early on. Our hosts took us out in their car one evening to see Paris after dark and it changed our initial idea about it. After that we'd just avoid the touristy bits we'd already seen on the first day when we took a river boat with guide and all, this way it was easier to find good sights and nice shops.

After Paris we took another train to Calais, where we got on a ferry to Dover, to finish the rest by bike. Slept a night in a cow field, cycled to Rye, where we popped into Hannah's mum, Sarah's, cafe and ended up sleeping on her floor - thank you so much! The following day Sal's knee was tender after starting cycling again after such a long break, so we relaxed and did the remaining 100km to London in two days, with a night in Tonbridge, at The World Famous, in Tom's caravan.

That wasn't supposed to be that long. I was gonna do it in like one paragraph. Oh well.

And now we're back, since Saturday the 9th October, the date our travels were over. Until December, when we go to France to do a ski season, but that's another story and I'm sure we'll tell you even less about it.

Fun facts: our body weights are the same as when we set off. We have both done what bears do in the woods, in the woods. We're still a couple. We cycled 4550km/2844 miles. Fixed four flat tyres (one tyre four times actually, Sal's back). Our most common breakfast was porridge. Every three days Carl boiled his socks. Our highest speed was a modest 58.7km/h. Carl hasn't shaved since the beginning of June. We have had water thrown on us (from pedestrians and moving cars), been shouted at (pedestrians and cars), been spat in the face (England) and had fingers given to us (England).

I, Carl, am back working in the pub. Sally is decorating christmas trees and selling wild beef at Borough Market.

Good to be back with baked beans, pint measures, gloomy skies, people shouting 'wanker' and most of all our friends. A month and a half and I think we can't wait to go again.

Thanks to everyone we stayed with. Thanks to everyone we met.

Thanks to you for reading,

Much love

Carl and Sally

Wizz! Crack! Bang!

Lions, Jelly Beans, Candles, Purple Spektrums, Silver Spinners, Crackle Cones, Saxons and lots of paraffin, methanol and petroleum jelly were among the ingredients to six days of hard work for 2x45mins of sexy showtime! The five day starter consisted mostly of gaffer tape, cable ties, fire blankets, glass fibre rope (itchy, itchy) and litres of sun screen.

So this is what Sal does for a living: fireworks. It is clearly a lot of work for something that's over in a matter of minutes. It is also a field of work where there's no post-editing: Exciting.

The show is called Full Circle and is the collaboration between a Slovenian folk rock band, Terra Folk, and the british fireworks company, The World Famous. It has been touring since early 2008 and visits mostly festivals and the like. It's been to Portugal, France, Italy, as well as exciting places in the UK such as Stockton-on-Tees and Milton Keynes.

This time it was part of Festival dos Oceanos 2010 Lisboa, a two week festival around Lisbon, with concerts (a Lauryn Hill who had a slow start but made up with some classic tunes towards the end, tonnes of Fado and a rubbish Estelle), museums, exhibitions and cultural events all free of charge. Tonight is our last night here and we're going to watch the Porto based fireworks company, Luso, do a display to mark the end of the festival.

Since Sally working and Carl volunteering for the show, which ended on Sunday, we've cruised along the beaches of Costa da Caparica, across the river from Lisbon, for a few days to detox and regain some sleep. In comparison to the beaches and resorts around Cascais and Estoril, this is where the portugese people themselves seem to go, so it was a different pulse and a huge price cut in camping. The surf has, unfortunately, been close to nothing though, but we're confident it'll get better further down the coast, which is where we're heading next. Fingers crossed!

Setúbal, then lots of country side and, apparently, empty beaches all to ourselves and, then, finally, Algarve and through to southern Spain and then north and Barca and then we don't know, but it'll be fine.

Lots of love

Anaerobic climbs, the sea and detours

We arrived here, in Lisbon, on a hot Monday. Cycling 42km is by our standards an easily achievable objective for a day. Doing it in 40 degrees celsius, hasn't been our standards up until now. We went straight out west, to Cascais on the coast outside Lisbon. The tent stayed up for four days, a well deserved rest.

Let's start at the beginning.

We took a train to Portsmouth on Wednesday 21 of July, from where we took a 24 hour ferry to Santander. In Santander, on the north coast of Spain, we were informed we'd been misinformed; most trains in Spain do not in fact take bikes on board, only regional trains. We get on the 14:15 train to Valladolid, due to arrive at 18:11. It takes us up through the rocky, beautiful Basque country and so far going regional was great: it gave us more time to see the amazing views. Just as it starts to flatten out a bit, we start hearing a repetitive, hammering noise from just underneath our feet. Nevermind. Hmmm. We're slowing down. Full stop and not a platform (or any kind of building) in sight. The train driver comes stumbling down the side of the train, gets in under it a few times and it becomes clear to us, the witnesses, that he hasn't got a clue what he's doing. Waiting. Waiting. More waiting. After an hour or two in a very hot train carriage, another train engine comes along and picks us up. We get a lift to the next, completely desolate, station, where we get a ride with a coach to Valladolid. Thank you Mr Bus driver for not making the smallest amount of fuss about our gigantic bicycles.

Sneaky, stealth pitch by the river in Valladolid. In the morning we went to the tourist information where we recieved lots of help and camping information and with this we decided to get back in the saddle down to Salamanca. Getting out of Valladolid on the right road took us about two hours, including a road side puncture repair. Got on the road that took us a very, very long way around and then finally to Tordesillas, where the signs said a pathetic 22km to Valladolid, when we'd clearly cycled way over 60.

Next day, back in our own track, to go down, via Medina del Campo, to Salamanca. A quick look at a map would make you think: "Why? Why?". We arrive, 125 hot km later, in pitch black darkness, after asking half of spain for directions through crack alleys and over endless fields, to a camp site just outside of Salamanca. Check in. Pitch? Ehm no, bar's open for another 20 minutes, let's drink a lot of beer and eat crisps 'till it closes, then pitch. Since it certainly didn't get lighter, it took a while before the tent was up and we could go to sleep on top of a few too many ants nests.

Salamanca is, apparently, really famous for old buildings so it was a day of aah's and ooh's and clicks before we set off on yet another train journey at 4:34am, after a night on a station steel bench. Worth pointing out is that we yet again were told by the ticket office staff: "yes, yes, if you get the [expensive] cabin, you can take a bike on the train, without taking it apart and putting it in a bag" and just out-of-bed, sleep in our eyes, were told by the train guard: "No, no, no, you cannot take the bike on my train". Luckily, a guardian angel of ours was working the late shift and persuaded her boss it wasn't such a big deal. In five minutes two puppy eyed travellers got their bikes in pieces and into one of their beds and shared the other for the way to Lisbon. "Obrigado! Obrigada!" Miss carriage supervisor.

So, here we are. Well, back here. After four days and nights in Cascais, with a cycling day trip to Sintra (which included a painful climb up a small sized mountain) and all the million steps up to the Palace of Pena and the moorish castle, we returned to Lisbon. Work starts for Sal in two days and we have yet a whole capital to see.

No time to waste.

x

PS! If you expect pictures of the magnificent Palace of Pena and the stunning Moorish castle, forget it, Carl used up all the batteries on the camera on moderately amusing posing pictures on the way up there...

Witness the fitness

Hello!

I feel bad for writing this on my own, but we're apart for most parts of this stay in Great Britain and it needs to be written.

We're back in the UK. I'm currently at LXV Books, 65 Roman Road, London. Sally is in Milton Keynes.

To begin with, I'll just run through where we went after Hamburg.

We cycled to Zeven, a nice town between Hamburg and Bremen, where we enjoyed the sun at a non chlorinated, outdoor swimming pool and camped at a nice camp site for a reasonable price, unlike in Neustadt. The prices have varied a lot, between €7/night to €23.70/night and £18/night (for two adults in one small tent). More money doesn't necessarily mean tidier premises or cooking and showers included, it simply means the owners are greedy and aware that people will pay it. Shame on you.

Anyways, off to Bremen the following day, where we decided to cheat once again, so we stayed at the city's camp site, located by the University and jumped on a train in the morning that took us to Leer (small town at the edge of Germany - train ticket prices went up drastically as you cross the border of Holland). From Leer we cycled to (this town needed to be looked up on Google maps :) Slochteren, where we had to cycle around for a good hour to find the camp site (which wasn't the one we'd started out looking for). The Dutch roads are edged by few signs and they aren't easy to understand either. Still, we have to say they have a well developed cycling network and should inspire city and road plans for countries like England and Sweden.

Then through Groningen, camped (illegally and inexpensively) at a road side stop and parking space in Oranje Would (orange woods) outside Herenveen. That day we'd set a new record: 109km in one day. The following day we cycled 124km. Down to the coast to Urk, where we found out the ferries didn't start running until a few days after, but we had a nice fish & chips by the harbour, where we had a dip in the, surprisingly, fresh water for dessert. Down to Lelystad, cycled over what we were informed was a ditch, which it clearly wasn't. It was simply a man made road built on water, so a different kind of bridge, which ran 32km over to the other side and in to Enkhuizen. The last two-three k's the air was so full of flies we almost choked. They were in our mouths, eyes (even though we were wearing shades), ears and covered our whole bodies. We'd cycled far in two days and were ahead, so we decided to stay on the nice camp site next to Enkhuizen for two nights. We watched football and did nothing.

Well rested we went to Amsterdam on a Saturday, foolishly without booking any accomodation. I, Carl, should've known it's a city you book in advance since the last visit in 2007. We side tracked through Zaanstad and had an ice cream by the massive wind mills. It started raining, so we rolled into the Dam late Saturday with wet clothes, nowhere to stay, the first puncture of the trip, to find it full of people in white who were all attending the biggest indoor party in Europe (white sensation - guess the dress code) or passing through after watching the 180 inhuman cyclists set off on le Tour from Rotterdam. Man did our moods drop. Fixing a puncture under the roof of Amsterdam's central station on a Saturday evening is something I think every man should do in his life at least once. We'd gathered that there wasn't a bed in any of the city's hostels and we don't like hotel rates, so I walked into a internet cafe and looked up camp sites. There's two quite central, and I'd definately recommend it to the cheap traveller, a tent and a couple of nights there is even cheaper than a dorm bed.

The Vliegenbos camp site was, naturally, the most expensive camp site we'd visited (€23.70/night) and it had UV lights in the toilets (you probably all know why, but to make sure you get the picture: UV lights makes white shine and other colours fade, so it's cool in clubs and in toilets it has the function of hiding your blue veins so you can't inject drugs). We stayed there for three nights and it worked out fine in the end, it was a five minute ride to the, free of cost, ferries to the city that ran every fifteen minutes.

One thing worth mentioning was all the mental football fanatics who inhabit Denmark, Germany and Holland; they are everyone, and they celebrate in a wild fashion. It's all about wearing the colours on the streets, putting flags over the entire hood of your car, getting very, very drunk and then loudly, parade the streets into the early hours on a Tuesday.

We saw central Amsterdam, we went on a canal boat ride, we drank Amstel bier, we walked, we avoided any confrontation with the intense camp site owner and then, on the third day, we left.

Cycled to Den Haag, where we walked on the beach. Then we kind of left the camp site, forgetting to pay, and upon realisation, did nothing about it. Naughty. We cycled the last 15km to Hoek van Holland in the morning, got on our ferry to Harwich, arrived, got a train to London and that was Wednesday 7/7. One week ago.

On Saturday we cycled to King's Cross St Pancrass, where we got confused like everyone else, nearly missed our train to Chesterfield, where we cycled out to a place called Unstone Grange, where the lovely Lucy and Ben became Mr and Mrs, fed us their wedding cheese cake (yes, it's true, the cake was Shropshire blue, a Brie, a Cheddar and two more gorgeous cheeses), had us camping and let us party all night. Thank you and best of luck you two!

Yesterday and today I'm selling books at LXV Books, a nice second hand book shop which certainly needs all PR it can get, cos it's f'in empty here!! Lena came and had tea and cake with me today. Lazy, fat Carl is having those cakes for lunch.

The incredibly fit and hard working Sally is in Milton Keynes with The World Famous (http://www.theworldfamous.co.uk/) and in her text earlier today, she explained it's a weird and boring city. Now I'm really psyched about to going up there for Friday's fireworks display. For you readers in or from MK, don't be offended, prove me wrong and give me some recommendations for fun stuff to do.

I'm done now, it's was quite a long one. Pleased with myself, indeed.

Just want to say thanks to Anne, Joe, Paul, Ollie, Andreas, Amy, Kris and all your pest pets for letting us crash on your floor and/or putting up with having our smelly stuff around! LOVE YOU!

Going back to Facebook skyveing and the Stockholm Symphonic Orchestra on radio 3.

Ta'

PS! Shiet, forgot to write an explanation to the title. Just wanted to let you know the knees are starting to heal and we're ace and cycle a lot longer now than we used to. Witness the fitness.

Sally vs Nature

We're at Instant Sleep hostel, Hamburg. Just dusting off the helmets after the weekend in this massive, beautiful city.

We took the train from Stockholm to Göteborg on the 15th and continued down the beautiful and, mostly, sunny west coast for three days. We passed through Falkenberg, Varberg, Halmstad and Ängelholm on the way and we had little problem finding places to pitch for free. We even swam in the ocean! Most meals were cooked over camp fires which added to the cozyness and saved some pennies in the non use of fuel.

Since the last blog we also became the victims of crime. In the early hours of the morning at a campsite in Sweden, a thief broke into our tent. Sally was woken by the tell tale sounds of rustling coming from our bags. Carl was woken by Sallys warning clap, employed to alert the would be robber that we were no longer sleeping, but after mumbling something incoherant he dozed back off, leaving Sally to deal with the marauding bandit. As the clap had not deterred our unwanted friend Sally had to get serious and take action. The thief in question was found face first in one of our food bags gorging itself on some very yummy marshmallows! Still stuffing its face while Sally picked up the bag and turned it upside and shook it until finally scurrying off into the darkness like some wind up toy with a broken a wheel. Sally had just about dropped back off to sleep when the culprit returned, we were now dealing with not only a thief but a marshmallow addict. As he realised all Sally was armed with was a torch and some harsh words; 'just f-off you prickly little shit', he returned four times until he was satisfied there were no marshmallows left.

The last day in Sweden we went from the eastern beach of Halmstad (where a legendary miniature golf game took place - it was a draw) to Hellebaek, north of Helsingör, Denmark. It was a new record in distance, 104km! That meant the remaining 45km to Copenhagen the following day took forever and Sal's knee suffered a lot. We stayed a night in a hostel, where we shared a dorm with a couple of swedish boys from far north. They met up with us later on after we'd had a meal out and we went for a couple of drinks. The day after we had a take away pizza - from Tino's as recommended by Mikkel - by one of the canals and a coffee and a yummy cake from Manefiskeren in Christiania.

We left Copenhagen later that day and continued down Sjaelland and through Lolland over three days. Of course we stayed loyal to our budgetting and camped at the listed free camp sites. Unfortunately the islands of Denmark doesn't offer quite as good a deal, so we had no running water, shower or toilets most of the times, so we had built up a bit of an odour as we came sailing into Puttgarden from Rödby. We visited a german beach that evening, it reeked worse than ourselves from the dried seaweed but the wash was a god send.

Next day we got back on the saddle and went to Neustadt where we were ripped off at the camping site, but enjoyed another freezing dip in the ocean.

Not looking back once, we went to Hamburg the day after. Friday night, put our stuff in a safety box at the train station, brought sleeping bags, clothes and toothbrushes out on the town, thinking we'd spend the night in a park. We were having our last drink, which it turned out not to be, and suddenly we were invited to stay at a new found friend's place!

On Saturday we took a ferry (line 62 from Landungsbrücken, included in public transport travel cards) around the harbour, which is lovely. We finished off the night with a walk down Reeperbahn and the red light district where a Harley Davidson event was taking place. Lots of beer bellies, prostitutes, cheering, smoke, pollution and sweat would sum it up.

'Nuff said

X

Barbeques, a race and a cabbage-wrapped knee

"We'll cycle a little bit every day, right?"

Right. We didn't. We cycled maybe two or three times over our two week stay in Stockholm.

What we did do:

We drank beer in Tanto. Twice! We watched Carl's youngest brother, Ludwig; graduate, climb aboard a lorry full of beer and friends, disappear, reappear drunk and euphoric, have dinner, sleep, wake up and jump on a bus to another party. Well done! We had a million barbeques with friends and Carl's family. We swam in lakes. We slept in almost every day. We've participated in a bike race, more about it in a minute. We've been bitten by endless amounts of mosquitoes and Carl had a tick removed. Met our friend Tej, who had come from London to Stockholm for four days to work. Hope he got up on Tuesday morning. We visited 'After...' and it was epic. Of course. We went to Debaser and a lot of good people showed up! We had dinner (non BBQ'd) at Sanna's, which was delicious and fun!

Phew!

Oh, and Sal's got a new bicycle. It's a Kona Deus Plus. It's got disc brakes, 700c wheels and 24 gears. It's matt black, and it's shit hot! Now I'm super speedy and Carl is jealous.

On saturday Carl's dad, Peter, took us (Carl, Sally, Kicki, Björn and Ludwig) to Motala. Motala is kind of in the middle of Sweden, but not really, cos Sweden is funny shaped. We stayed at a friend of Peter's, who took good care of us and told us what to expect of the cycling race the following day. The race is a half distance version of a classic race around Sweden's second largest lake, Vättern. The full length version is called Vättern runt, the one we did is called Halvvättern. We had ten hours to cycle 150km.

The day started with sunshine but a nice breeze, about 30km in we got a few raindrops, but it was soon over and our focus lied mostly on the stunning views and the free buns, bananas and blueberry soup we were given at the depots. We'd set off with good speed and kept it going, so Kicki, Björn and Ludwig had fallen behind. We found out after about two thirds that Carl's brothers had dropped out and been driven back. After about 90km Sally's knee started to hurt and at the third depot Kicki caught up with us. Another 10km after that, Sally reluctantly had to throw in the towel, less than 40km from the finish line. Just about managing to hold back the tears until being picked up by the recovery vehicle when a fellow race drop out commented "but you're so close...!" at which point it was very hard not to act like a three year old who just had their favourite toy taken away. But thanks to a very understanding race attendant and a very large bag of pick and mix sally was able to keep her composure.

After the loss of a very talented and inspirational cyclist Carl and Kicki somehow managed to continue. The rain came back, the thighs made themselves acknowledged but the pace increased. Carl crossed the finish line at 16:40:42 and Kicki at 16:40:45 and due to one second difference when crossing the start line, Carl was only two second faster. We started at 9:28:12 and 9:28:13, so Carl did it in... hang on... hmmm... 7 hours 12 minutes and 30 seconds..? Think that's right.

So here we are, Sally's got white cabbage wrapped around her left knee (witch craft method from Kicki, it's apparently used by swedish ski queen Anja Pärson), we've got a train tomorrow morning at 9, and a few things to do today. So it's time to stop writing and start packing!

X

London to Stockholm

We set out less than an hour later than planned. who would've thought?! No one according to all the encouragements we received the days running up to the beginning of our trip.

Thank you all for coming to our leaving do in the Carpenters Arms, and thanks for all the brilliant gifts! All but the filofax (with all your addresses) have been used on daily basis. So don't think you're the only one who hasn't received a post card. Oh, we haven't used the butter, we're saving it for a special occasion.

Day one still holds the longest distance we've cycled in a single day. 102 km. 6 hours 22 minutes. Seems inconceivable today. As soon as we crossed the border to Essex it went uphill. London is flat, very flat! Sal got a fly in her eye just before we crossed the M25, first of many for us both. Bikely.com gave us our intended map for the first leg; London to Colchester and Colchester to Harwich, thanks big Anne and little Anne for printing, cutting and pasting. The map turned out to be misleading and sometimes useless: the very first turn outside Victoria Park led us on to the A12. We chose to abide to the law and stay off the A12, get a new map and try to find our own way. After ten minutes of cycling in the completely wrong direction we realise that this can take some time.

We stayed at a camp site in Colchester, had chinese take away for dinner and slept very well.

Day two still holds the shortest distance we've cycled in a day. Approximately 38 km. We came to Harwich in good time. Well on the ferry we'd met a few fellow cyclists. Three british chaps cycling to Prague in six days, and an older, english couple who were cycling across Denmark. We'd ended up around a table in the bar, talking packing, weather and diplomacy in Bavaria, when the UK entry to the Eurovision song contest stepped up on stage. Josh gave us a few memorable numbers. He sang us some Michael Bubble. This was later followed by onstage drinking competitions. Sally fed a welsh cyclist beer from a babies bottle, watched by a very bemused scandinavian audience.

We're at the moment realising how much time and energy this blogging takes.

The rest;

We cycled Esbjerg to Fredrikshavn in five days. Denmark offers close to a thousand free camp sites (nature camping), mostly running water, toilet and showers are available. Sally has perfected her skills in making camp fires and Carl his skills in cooking over them. The wind in Denmark is mental, you should not have to pedal to go downhill. We would like to thank Mikkel Venge (and family) for his fountain of knowledge, generosity and use of facilities. A truly wonderful guy!.
Sally has from early on had pains in her left knee, but persevered with some help from deep heat, ibuprofen and shitloads of chocolate. Carl hasn't had a cigarette yet, so just don't push me all right.

London to Fredrikshavn, Denmark: approx. 524km.

Took a night ferry to Gothenburg, after sleeping a couple of cold hours on the concrete floor in the ferry terminal. On board we met a couple of drunk cyclists from north London, one heading to Västerås, to fly home. The other settling in the county of Dalarna in Sweden to work as a kayak instructor. We ended up staying up all night, drinking beer, listening to their anecdotes from their 23 days on the road.

In Gothenburg we stayed at Carl's old class mate Amanda's. Thank you for a lovely floor space, very refreshing showers and your great company. Best of luck with your studies, doc-to-be.

We set of midday the following day. We were heading towards Katrineholm, 350 km northeast. We booked train tickets from Katrineholm to Stockholm and had five days to get there. After two days of cycling and two nights of camping by lakes, Sal's knee had resigned. We packed our bikes in bin liners and jumped on a train straight to Stockholm.

London to Falköping took us eleven days. a total of approx. 682 km.

Quote: "That doesn't seem much at all". Sally, a minute ago.

Two days until Carl's brother's graduation. twelve days until we're supposed to cycle a race of 150 km. Then many many more days of cycling back and forth through Europe, over a long, long summer.

At least we got here earlier than expected!

Until next time,

Lots of love

Cally and Salle