Our late afternoon/early evening entry into Mariehamn with fast traffic and steep hills couldn't erase from my memory what was the most sublime riding day in recent history. The night before we'd met yet another German cyclist who had discarded his BMW and the autobahn for a bicycle in Scandanavia. Richard was alone (male German cyclists travel alone, and females in pairs) and very well equipped. His coffee pot burbling away on his cook stove was the noise that woke me at eight. Unaccustomed to outdoor life, I found myself a little out of sorts in this rustic surrounding. As disorienting as it was, I loved the sound of the ocean lapping against the rocks on the shore.
It made a \"blooping\" noise, like the sound a cartoon character makes when they let air from their mouths under water. Finally I found my bearings and was scurrying around getting ready for the day that lay before us. After about a half hour Andy emerged from his cocoon and was luckily greeted by Richard with his favorite morning words, \"would you like a cup of coffee?\" Andy managed to act surprised, but I distinctly remember him dropping huge hints to Richard about his coffee addiction around the camp fire. The ferry was to leave at nine and I became a little nervous as Andy was scarcely ready and the motor was running, the gates were closed and all cars boarded.
We made it aboard in plenty of time. It was a remarkably well equipped boat with a huge lounge and café suspended over the auto deck. As we purchased breakfast we watched the ferry pull away from the dock. We were a little shocked that we had to actually pay for this ferry. The coffee lady demanded ten Finnish Marks for each of us and an equal amount for our bikes, imagine, nearly four dollars for each of us? We were really offended after not having to pay for a single ferry the day before. We were sipping coffee and making plans for the day's ride as we left the chunk of rock we called home for a night.
Richard, Andy and I decided that we'd make our way to an intriguing chain of islands called Brando. On the map it looked like they were scarcely wide enough for a road and looked like more water than island. The only issue would be that we had to make an amazingly tight set of ferry connections to get to the islands. This meant that we'd have to land at one ferry dock, sprint to the other side of the Island and repeat the process a number of times. I couldn't see how this would be possible for Richard. He had all the right camping gear, but it was attached to a big ol' three speed.
My fears were soon allayed. I was cranking along at over 30kph on a slight uphill against a little breeze and looked in my little rearview mirror to see Richard drafting me and Andrew somewhere off in the distance. Richard was strong. On that same islelet we decided we must stop for a moment, Andy needed cash and we needed some lunch. Andy wrestled with the cash machine forever it seemed while Richard and I shot the breeze. Finally Andrew wandered up a little confused; he didn't know where we were and seemed a little perturbed that we were late and wouldn't make our ferry connections.
It was looking a little tight as we got of the next ferry we had a scant 20 minutes to make 8.5K in order to find Brando. Andy immediately declared it impossible. I felt a little worried, but perked up as I watched Richard go into turbo mode on his brown ugly three speed. He cranked up the little tough hills against the wind and whooshed down the hills past the pine trees, wheat fields, marshes, geese, swans. It made me very proud of him. I struggled to keep up and Andy trailed behind. We made the ferry with a few minutes to spare and were lounging in the ferry bar before we knew it.
On the ride to Brando we ogled Finns of every age group banged on a gambling machine (a Finnish variety of the type that you put a coin in with the hope it will push more coins off into a tray) hoping that some coin would fall out. We munched our Salami sandwiches, tangerines and yogurt watching teeny isles pass by. The archipelago is astoundingly beautiful. Each island a chunk of rock that had been polished clean by the glaciers topped with a little soil and covered with pine trees. Brando was actually a string of these little stones. Most places you could see the sea on either side.
There was virtually no farming, few houses and only a few cars passed in over twenty kilometers (and then only within a few moments of our arrival by ferry). It's hard to describe this afternoon of perfect cycling. The chemistry of sun, breeze, vacant road, stunning scenery and great company. It only comes to you a few times in thousands of miles. We reached land's end only to find a hundred cars and an equal number of cyclists boarding the next ferry. Seems that we'd arrived at the perfect moment, just in time to make our next destination. As we boarded the boat the operators were having a nervous breakdown over the number of bicycles.
They wanted cycles of varying destinations in different piles and the young cyclists ahead of us were confused about their destination. So was Andrew. He thought that if we told them we were going to the near destination that we wouldn't have to pay and was trying to get us free passage (it turned out that this was for nothing, it was free regardless of destination). We finally put our bikes in the proper pile when one young girl almost lost it. Her bike was at the bottom of the pile of the bikes going to the wrong destination. We were finally settled in the cabin.
I napped until the next destination, where Richard parted company. When we finally arrived at our \"final\" destination we got off the boat and let all of the ferry traffic pass. I was in a little shock over the flurry of activity. There were hundreds of cyclists, fast cars and badly driven busses. It was too much after our idyllic ride over Brando. On top of all of the activity, the hills became long and steep and the riding seemed tough after the morning's sprints from ferry to ferry. The terrain chilled out and we spent the golden part of the day riding over gentle hills through wheat fields.
Upon entering Mariehamn we noted that there was a huge \"redneck\" factor amongst the drivers. The all zipped around town burning rubber, racing their engines and blaring their stereos at full volume. We'd not encountered such a phenomena since Florida. One driver even \"flipped us the bird\" as we entered the suburbs, the first time this had happened in my memory. I longed to be back on Brando.