The heavens sure were angry. At least judging by the amount of rain they sent our way in the morning. Less than five minutes and we were soaking wet. Luckily we had already packed our gear, so the damage was limited to our persons.
The pretzels at the gas station looked good. But upon closer inspection were laced with lard. Which of course is a big no-no for a vegetarian. So we opted for some herbal tea and a regular bread roll with peanut butter and jelly. Enjoyed while sitting on a bench outside the gas station, so than no one would touch our beloved bikes.
We were tired. So every movement felt somewhat sluggish. Every mile was hard, not excruciating, just hard. There was little joy in the ride of the day. More like something to get over with. We knew that most of the day would be climbing. Which is a thing that in itself helps dampen the spirits.
But one reason why bike trips are so great for you is that you just can’t quit whenever it’s not fun anymore. Instead you push on. And in the beginning it often comes to this. That is until you find your routine. And until your body adapts to the new kind of strain you place it under.
And then came the junction from where it was all downhill. And this time we mean it literally, not metaphorically. We had been struggling all day going ten kilometres per hour or so, and then suddenly, without any effort on our part we were cruising down hill averaging something around 25!
At night Christoffer cooked us some kidney bean pasta and we ate to our hearts’ delight!
Like a cycling truck driver called Berthus we once met on Iceland said: One very quickly forgets the hardships of the day, when one is allowed to sleep in a dry sleeping bag. True words.