Travellers’ tales: The longest day

On the cycling trips I’ve done, I find there’s one day when you really hate your bike. Most of the time it’s great but that bad day is also part of cycle touring.

That day where you have to grit your teeth and ride through the hate to rediscover your love for cycling. For me that day came on the Åland Islands, halfway through a tour of the Archipelago Sea.

I was overtired and sunburned. Already 30km into the ride, the campsite was another 24km away. It was unbearably hot. I had no food or water. Then I arrived at the campsite, there in the middle of nowhere, and it was closed. It was devastating.

I huffed and puffed but no matter how hard I blew, that wooden barrier wasn’t opening. So of course I did what any reasonable person would do: I blamed it all on my bike. It was as if the previous 160km and four days that it had carried me meant nothing.

Then I searched my torn map and found another campsite 18km away. I would likely arrive at 10pm – even hotter, even thirstier, even more miserable.

With little choice I rode on under the midnight sun along heat-reflecting tarmac, passing Falu red barns and mottled brown Ayrshire cattle. Open farmland shelved away to the right, ending in an azure sea that mirrored the clear skies overhead.

On my left was sparse pine forest. Feathery green needles and brittle pinecones littered the road. A blast of decaying seaweed hit me around the next bend. It marked the bridge to Prästö Island.

The map said my campsite would be opposite. To my relief it was – and it was open. I pedalled into a deserted field and wearily unpacked my tent. Resting my cramped legs in the calm evening, I began to rekindle my love for cycle travel. Then an army of mosquitoes arrived…