Oceania

It’s all about contrasts, isn’t it?

Last year I spent my birthday with my only company being the lactic acid in my legs, as I slowly headed up my very first mountain pass in rural China. After waking up to a -7C tent and a flat tyre, and before falling asleep in the only slightly warmer guesthouse bed that together with some overpriced (and under delivering) chocolates was my gift to my then 24-year-old self.

This year I spent it leaned back with a glass of wine and a t-shirt. And Mom.

Mamma.

My Mamma.

My sweet, loving mother who’d been brave enough to fly all across the globe to – if only for a little while – give the middle finger to that constantly growing geographical gap that had been keeping us apart for a good eternity or two. Touching ground at Queenstown airport, and giving me one of those near chokingly tight hugs exactly 365 days after that day of numb toes in China.

Contrasts.

Writing this I’m going to assume that you have a mom too. Perhaps even a daughter. And I’m going to assume that your imagination will do a way better job connecting to this feeling than my words could ever do.

As always everything is relative. But as far as this journey goes the 3 months I spent in New Zealand were all one long dreamy vacay. Surely one with all the elements that some thousands kilometers of cycling involves, but still. And that final week together with Mom. That was the crescendo of a lifetime.

And I think she was quite happy to see me too :-)

I’ll spare you with the details about us going full on tourist, exploring the southern parts of New Zealand’s south island together. Holding hands, bugging each other in true mother-daughter fashion, and then always ending up holding hands again. One thing that needs to be in the records though, is that after too many fruitless attempts we did manage to find this little guy!

Are people still playing Pokémon Go?

One week. One where as always, time was not enough. But oh, am I grateful for each moment of it. Because as though things inevitably come to their end, memories do last an eternity.

Tack för allt Mamma. Vi ses hemma. Jag älskar dig!

As every climb is rewarded with a descent, every high is eventually followed by a low. Having Mom disappear just as quickly as she came would no doubt have meant a big one, if it wasn’t for 2 very special people that I could never finish off this post without mentioning.

Gordie & Katrin. You mad human beings! If you only knew how glad I am to have gotten to stumble into your life, house and playground of a world. Thank you for every little (and big!) part of it.

We’re all different. And to me, these people are the ultimate form of inspiration. Two loving, playful spirits committed to making it all count. To making each day a good one. Including the ones where one’s mom heads off back to the other side of the world. Thank you is nowhere near enough for all that you’ve done for me, but I still want to say it one more time.

(And yes, yes, yes Katrin. Let’s play in Norway next time!)

Then at last – just as I started to find my balance on the SUP – came that very last sunset. And the following day I too boarded my flight. Closing a chapter of this journey that I have no intention of ever really letting go of.

It was that time of the year again.

Watch out South America. Here I come!

Until next time,

Fredrika Ek

‘Every new place comes with it’s own challenges. But more importantly with it’s own beauty. In Turkmenistan, for example… Blah blah blah…’

I’ve long lost count of the times I’ve been hearing myself repeat the mantra. Disappointing curious listeners hoping for some mucky stories about me getting ambushed by everything from assaulting men in the Middle East to poisonous snakes in Australia. Or at least about a few cyclist-hating drivers spraying me down with washer fluid.

I like to tell the happy tales. Partly because I have so many more of them. And partly… just because. That’s not what this post is about though. It’s about that first sentence.

‘Every new place comes with it’s own challenges.’

I could have written this post a week ago, and happily pointed out that this statement officially was no longer valid. Because except the occasional (OK, quite frequent) hill – New Zealand has zero challenges. For real.

Never before have I cycled through a place where the whole experience is totally comparable to spending a chill day, week or month sipping milkshakes on a perfectly puffy cloud, moving around in ideal speed above whatever view you fancy for the day.

Or so I thought.

Until last week. When I – for the first time – heard that ominous CAW CAW echoing from above, and got smacked in the back of my head by the horrendous flying demon that is currently my one and only arch enemy in this life.

Next time someone asks, there will be no more politician’s response.

‘What is the worst thing that’s happened to you on the road?’

I have one answer.

‘MAGPIES’.

Because magpies are the ultimate proof that there is no God. Or that if there is, he clearly isn’t a good person. Furious like Greek shepherd dogs. Vicious like Malay monkeys. Persistent like groping Vietnamese MC-douchebags. These guys (girls) have got it all. And they can fly.

We’re obviously doomed.

I remember the time (say two weeks ago) when I thought these birds were awesome. Amused I watched as they were outsmarting any cat around and strutted about with their full on bird swagger. And I mean they’re pretty enough, right?

No.

Not in nesting season.

I don’t even know how to begin to describe this new element of daily life on the road.

This is what ‘Birds of New Zealand’ sais:

“this now ubiquitous, introduced Australian songbird is loved by many and despised by most…it can be a considerable public nuisance during the breeding season, when it becomes highly aggressive, and will knock cyclists off their cycles and hit passing pedestrians on the head.”

What Youtube sais:

Haha. Do take 2 minutes to watch this! And let’s all try and appreciate not being the girl in the saddle at the moment.

What I say:

Thank you birds, for making me fall back in love with my helmet :-)

What I really say:

#%@!*^#%#<'@!!

And lastly. What the queen of all evil sais herself:

I mean. That this is what you find on Google sais it all?

Haha. I guess that’s all for now. Wish me luck going back to battle tomorrow!

Until next time,

Fredrika

After kissing my friends goodbye at Queenstown airport we took a seat in different planes. Theirs going halfway around the world, back to squeeze out the very last of the Swedish summer. And mine being just a brief session in the air to get back to Auckland and Mr. Bike.

Generally my route through any given country falls more or less naturally, connecting the borders I’m travelling between. But with New Zealand being the island(s) that it is, that just isn’t the case. This combined with having a good chunk of time to spend, is setting things up for some rather good times if you ask me.

So with time so see it all, and the opportunity to choose your own starting point. Where do you go?

To the edge of land, of course!

Cape Reinga, the northernmost point of New Zealand.

Hitchhiking with a fully loaded bicycle is a little trickier than with only a backpack, but thanks to a bunch of friendly people in pick-ups it didn’t take me much more than a day to get from Auckland to the lighthouse that would serve as the starting line of my Kiwi bike ride.

As it turned out this spot didn’t only make up for a good looking point on a map.

Cape Reinga is incredibly beautiful, but not only that. It’s where you watch the big swirls from the country’s two massive surrounding oceans (Tasman Sea and The Pacific) joining to one. And the sacred place where the indigenous Maoris believe their spirits begin their final journey to the afterlife.

And yes. There certainly is something in the air up there.

So, I made it to the start. Pointed my bike south.

And let the ride begin!

I have a feeling this is going to be a good one. What do you think?

Until next time,

Fredrika

I came to Australia with one thing in mind – outback adventures. And boy had I found what I was searching for. My months in the country had given me thousands and thousands of kilometers of its intense emptyness, and I was done.

The very last one of the dusty tracks and trails I had used to wind my way through the center had come to an end, and that early morning when I finally rolled back onto tarmac I was quite happy to do so. I still had 1500 or so kilometers to go before reaching my final destination, but just having my tyres touch that smooth surface felt like a finish line as good as anyone.

Flinders Ranges and the Great Ocean Road alone are good enough reasons to come to Australia. This time however, they simply got to play the part of a heartfelt outro to an adventure already finished. While heavy winter storms came crashing in one after another, absolutely pristine scenery and a bunch of lovely Aussies set me up for the breeziest ride imaginable through it all.

Thank you Sari & Simon, Marg, Bruce & Helen, Astrid, Kirsten, Robbie & everyone else for spoiling me ruthless, and almost making me forget what a wet sleeping bag feels like. I won’t ever forget you – you lovely, lovely lot.

As we all know, sooner or later all things do come to an end, and eventually the Great Ocean Road and my whole Australian route did as well. The flight taking me from Melbourne to New Zealand was now only days away, but there was still one important thing left on the itinerary.

Meet up with the Knee family!

Long story short would be that after spending a year of her teens milking their cows, this has always been my Mom’s long lost 2nd family. And though they’ve (for obvious reasons) been way to few, every opportunity to meet up have been taken ever since. Even I got to join once, and growing up I’ve always kept that Aussie trip past Rae & Bruce’s farm as a childhood highlight.

And oh, was it great to be back.

Nothing was the same, but everything still just as I remembered it. Not the same ones, but the dogs were there. The quad bikes too, though they’d been upgraded years ago. The calves I’d met then would surely be great grandmothers today. And Dan – who was born in between milking sessions back in my Mom’s days – was now running the farm.

I don’t need to tell you that this was a happy time, do I? In short, all was good. And for my part – after 3 months and 6000 kilometers – Australia was officially a finished chapter. For this time around. Because though I have no idea when, the fact that there will be a next time is a definite.

… & I mean, what actually changes in a decade anyways?

My answer is nothing. And everything.

Until next time,

Fredrika

If one’s looking for time consuming activities, making detours on a bicycle is a great idea. Making detours on a bicycle in Australia, is a genius one. After reaching Alice Springs and the halfway point of my quest to cross the country north to south I had taken a right, headed straight west. Making the so called Meerine Loop, taking me past Uluru (Ayers Rock), along with a few more of the continent’s most important landmarks.

In the end this side trip added up to 800 extra kilometers. 800 great ones. Anyone who’s read the previous couple of posts of this blog know that. As we just settled though, making detours on a bicycle takes time. And this particular one had surely put a strain on the remaining time on my visa. Though things still were totally alright, the margin of error I’d found comfort in up until then was now long gone.

I still had time enough to complete the route I’d set out to do, but not much more than that. Tasmania got scratched off the map. So did plans for proper breaks. Along with any single days of rest to speak of. And getting sick? Don’t be silly.

Time was border lining between being just, and not enough.

Then came the rain.

Let’s make a long story short with this one.

I’d just made it back onto my actual route and was back on yet another outback dirt trail, winding it’s way south. From the tiny aboriginal community Finke, I was about to ride south along the outskirts of the equally big and dry Simpson Desert. We’re talking very dry. Dry as in that the region has an average annual rainfall just above 100 mm.

…which this particular weekend fell during a period of 48 hours.

QUÈ?!?

Rain in itself doesn’t bother me much. On mud roads however, it rules your life.

Considering alternative outcomes, I was in great luck. Thanks to a perfectly timed snap of a cable – I happened to be held up in Finke just as the rain rolled in. And instead of being flooded in my tent somewhere along the road, I got to spend those couple of days with a roof over my head (thanks again, guys!), making friends with the always so hilarious village kids and their ‘pet’ pigs.

Great times, but fact remained – I was in a total rush. Time kept moving forward without mercy while and I was dead still. Until that morning when the local police finally decided to let me hit their closed road, a couple of days before any other traffic.

‘Alright then. Give it a go, we won’t stop you. Get ready though – ’cause the road probably will.’

One deep breath and an awkward smile later, I tied my shoes and swung one leg over the frame. Doubting, but definitely hoping that the 400 km between me and the next settlement somehow would turn out do be doable.

First impression: a little rough.

Second impression: a lot of rough.

Third impression: …

So, what happened? Instead of going on too much about it, I figured I’ll just show you some of what the muddiest week of my life looked like. Putting every hour of daylight into moving forward, I was still struggling to log more than 50-60 km a day. Trying to stay on track for my visa quickly lost priority though, and once again food and water set my time limit.

I don’t have that many photos from it, and the ones I do have are taken whenever my hands were clean and dry enough to want to touch my barbag. Anyways, I think you’ll get the gist of it.

Here we go.

Keywords: Mud. Flooded creeks. More mud. The odd combination of lactic acid and patience. Mud again. And above all else – beauty.

There was quite a price to pay for it, but fact is that rain equals life. And I was lucky enough to see this normally arid, dead landscape greener than it’d allegedly been in 30 years. 30 years! Ankle deep in mud, sure. But desert flowers springing straight out of the road?

Always, always worth it.

When life gives you lemons… :)

Fredrika