Almelo to Amsterdam – The Netherlands – August 2025

Day 1 – Almelo to Deventer.

We cycle the scenic route regularly throughout the Netherlands; partly because almost everywhere we go is scenic, and partly because a direct route through a small country would be unnecessarily short, and we would miss things along the way. Our route becomes a squiggly line and we embrace the detours it takes and makes.

We eat lunch in dappled sunshine, in a cosy field of comfy grass. A miniature pony joins us at the fence for a carrot, and a few handfuls of grass. We watch as other cyclists approach and arrive at an intersection, before turning, or continuing straight ahead. There are road bikes, cargo bikes, kids bikes, and bikes with and without panniers. There are as many bikes as there are vehicles.

As we begin to admire another remarkably smooth, double lane stretch of dedicated bike track, the green arrows we are following make a sudden right turn. We join a single track that meanders between farm paddocks and a neat row of shady trees. It could be going anywhere. It is certainly not the most direct route. It keeps us continually guessing what might happen next. It is a fun way to ride.

When we arrive in Deventer, we are greeted with a friendly ‘Karibu’. It sounds familiar, but also a little out of place. Puzzled, we search our weary minds for this unknown but familiar word that we suspect must be a rarely used Dutch greeting. Fortunately, the lady who offered the greeting comes to our rescue. Karibu is a Swahili word, commonly used in East African countries, including on the Tanzanian islands of Zanzibar. Sam is wearing a Zanzibar soccer shirt. The greeting suddenly makes perfect sense.

We catch a short ferry across the Ijsell River to and from the town centre, where there are plenty of places to explore, and not enough time to reach them all. A formidable cloud builds in the afternoon. The wind blows wildly and heavy rain falls for a few minutes, before the sky begins to clear again. Campers emerge from their tents and there is still time for an evening wander.

Day 2 – Deventer to Arnhem.

Banjo plans and carries the list of bike route numbers for us to follow on our second morning. Initially, the path leads upstream, following the western bank of the Ijsell River. There are more green corridors of leafy trees, and a bus stop bench decorated with a street of small clay houses.

We source lunch supplies in Eerbeek, before plunging into the Landgoed Grootmoeshul forests. We are pleasantly surprised by the number of natural areas that we find within the first couple of days. Even more encouraging is the number of people on bikes, exploring places that fewer people might reach back home. This is apparently one of the hillier parts of the country, but the gradients remain pretty gentle.

We ponder ways that a micro cycling network might evolve in Australia, despite the barriers of distance, vehicles, terrain, etc. We love what has been created and supported in the Netherlands, yet it feels strange to have travelled so far to find a place where we could cycle safely for months, if we wanted. Banjo and Daisy are often well ahead of us, perfecting the art of riding with no hands. We rarely share our route with vehicles. We feel fortunate to have the opportunity to ride such an awesome network of tracks and trails.

At first glance, our lunch looks like one of the best so far. There are three cheeses, two breads, and two types of crackers. We eat most lunches in three stages; the first stage involves gobbling something immediately to ease our appetites. The second stage often involves a fresh salad sandwich, more carefully constructed and calmly consumed. And the third stage involves eating anything that is left. Today, this process is hastened by the appearance of Scottish highland cow with particularly large horns.

In Arnhem, the main campground is officially full but there is a delightful green field reserved especially for cyclists and walkers. We grow to love this place within the first five minutes. When we return to the reception to enquire about where we might find fuel for our stove, we are given easy to follow instructions and a printed sticker with the name and address of the store we need to find, attached to a map. We have no difficulty locating the store, or the fuel.

The campground at Arnhem and the cycling routes surrounding the town are too good to leave the next day, so we decide to stay an extra night. On our rest day, we ride. There is a mountain bike loop, a Rhine River loop, and another that visits both forest and purple heath plains. At times, we have to remind ourselves where we are, which is the Netherlands, and not the African savanna.

Day 3 – Arnhem to Amersfoort.

The campground moves to the rhythms of kids and families. The kids wake early. Play appears to be the first thing on their minds. Parents and Grandparents supply food, and TLC when needed. Most people seem to know each other. It feels like the kind of place that people might return to each year. We share our part of the park with at least four other families travelling by bikes. We think this is excellent.

We have been encouraged to ride through Dutch towns, even when the numbered points send cyclists around them. After missing a turn off, we find their are two ways to reach the number 79 marker on the other side of Renswoude. Undecided as to which we to go, two of us go one way, while the other two go the other way. It is a micro adventure with a happy ending; we arrive at the same place within a few minutes of each other.

Arriving in Amersfoort, we cycle slowly so we can take in our surroundings. We soon decide to walk our bikes, because even cycling slowly involves moving too quickly to appreciate the picturesque streets, lanes, squares, bridges, and the well preserved towers and walls that must once have protected the city. An older part of town merges seamlessly with the new; we find a supermarket stocked with everything we need in the corner of a wide open and welcoming square of the future.

There is a full size tennis court in Amersfoort, and we manage to squeeze in three practice sessions throughout our stay. We find and lose another mountain bike track, which results in a longer ride than initially planned. The flowing tracks are gentle and fun, and the riding is entirely different to what we do most days. We enjoy having no gear, and being more responsive to the tracks as they change.

Day 4 – Amersfoort to Utrecht.

As we near the end of our journey, the distance we ride each day gets shorter, even when we take the scenic route. While there is less need to be moving early each morning, this time of day is usually a nice time to be on our bikes. We are not the only ones making the most of the morning; we pass an elderly man whipper snippering his driveway in a pair of yellow, wooden clogs.

Our arrival in one small town is perfectly timed; the church bells chime twelve times as we roll past the front door. Many windows are decorated with small ornaments that offer an insight into the lives and interests of the people who live inside. There is a peleton of Tour de France figurines, carefully arranged with the rider in the yellow jersey at the front. A branch of small crocheted birds. A mountain of freshly washed and dried clothes awaiting folding. Flowers in decorative vases. A cat napping among pillows.

We stop for a snack outside a local supermarket. A man cleaning a balcony above the supermarket accidentally squirts another man eating a pastry below. We take a photo of the ‘winkelwagens’, a delightfully descriptive term for a shopping trolley. Needing two hands to operate the camera, Sam holds the tip of an unpeeled banana between his teeth for a few seconds. Amused, a smiling Grandma kindly explains that the banana needs to be peeled before it is eaten, in perfect Dutch.

It is a stretch to call the campground in Utrecht a place for camping. The small patch of grass is surrounded by campervans on one side, and half finished concrete walls on the other. European countries are well represented on the vehicle number plates; their letters showing D for Deutschland, E for Espana, GB for Great Britian, I for Italy, and NL for the Netherlands. They remind us of an elderly man we met in Bergen, who happily took digital photos of interesting number plates as vehicles boarded the ferry.

There are boats, and an enormous number of bikes, in Utrecht too. A crowd gathers to watch two larger boats negotiate a tight stretch of canal, before applauding when they pass safely without a scratch. To avoid any collisions ourselves, we park our bikes securely below street level, in racks accessible via a special bike conveyor belt. Back on street level, maximum care is needed to avoid stepping in front of a fast moving bike, often with a passenger riding on the front, or behind.

Day 5 – Utrecht to Laren.

There are more hazards to negotiate the next day. Parents wielding cargo bikes full of kids at high speeds. A migration of mamils that come to a graceful halt together as one, kindly giving way to our much slower passage through an unusually busy intersection. Narrow paths and fast moving, oncoming electric bikes. Warnings about a wolf in a nearby forest. And of course, ‘wildroosters’.

We pass bikes carrying bunches of fresh flowers; in the front basket, on the rear rack, and sprouting from a pannier. One of the cyclists is an immaculately dressed woman who must be approaching 80. Soon after, we arrive at another field of flowering purple heath. Paths radiate in five different directions, and there are people walking and cycling on all of them. A rusted sculpture of a metal bull watches on.

On the edge of more forest, we stop to dry wet gear by improbable dunes of sand. This was a landscape that Krista’s Mum remembers exploring as a kid. Perhaps not surprisingly, there are still kids exploring here, almost 60 years later. The sun shines brightly and our gear is soon dry. A horse and rider pass. Runners arrive and disappear in different directions. Cyclists come and go. The place is a hive of activity.

In summer, Laren has a pop up poffertjes cafe in the local park. We meet Krista’s Mum’s childhood friend Ans and her husband Jan for afternoon tea. We are deeply impressed that this friendship has remained strong for so many years. Ans and Jan are a wonderful source of information about the local area, and we make mental notes about the places we should visit and the routes we should take to reach them. We are also equipped with maps and hand written notes from Krista’s Mum, and each evening we explore her list of significant sites as part of Krista’s guided, ‘Golden Hour’ tours of the town.

We stay two nights in Laren, and spend our second day cycling between houses and polders to reach a body of water that is tricky to define. It has beaches, but no waves, and no visible flow. Beyond it lies land reclaimed from the sea, although this too seems hard to imagine given the well established trees and villages that now appear on the map. We follow this coast to the fort town of Naarden, passing another cyclist in a Tanzanian soccer shirt along the way. The chances of such a serendipitous crossing ever occurring again seem unlikely. We should have stopped to take a photo to celebrate.

Naarden was part of the Dutch water defence line, which included a 200km network of forts, dykes, sluices, canals, polders, and pumping stations. If required, large areas of land could be temporarily inundated with just enough water to keep out armies travelling by foot, and boats approaching by water (the level being to shallow for boats). It was an eye catching feature on our map, and it is equally impressive in real life. We cycle around the moat, and test ride home made swings in a nearby park.

Day 6 – Laren to Amsterdam.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Amsterdam is overflowing with bikes. We count more than twenty passing for each minute we spend in Vondelpark. As pedestrians, we learn to look in every direction, multiple times, before stepping across a bike lane. Some of our walking is done with large cardboard bike boxes that we manage to salvage from local bike stores. We feel significantly safer walking around with these enormous boxes that will be used to transport our bikes safely home to Australia.

We encounter a heat wave that we tackle with regular cold showers, visits to air conditioned shops, and time spent anywhere other than our hostel room. We carefully choose the streets we wander; those offering deep shade are given high priority. One of these streets is lined with market stalls selling tulip bulbs, and every imaginable tulip themed souvenir. Many streets follow curving canals, and most streets are packed with people. We wonder whether there might be more visitors than locals in this part of town.

With no further to ride, our sense of purpose dwindles, then shifts to preparing for the journey home. We hunt for an elusive fourth bike box, as well as large, lightweight bags to contain our gear when we fly. These are the invisible parts of cycling adventures involving your own bike in another part of the world. The bikes that have served us so well are now dismantled. We lower them into boxes, pad them out with bulky items, estimate the weight of each package, then seal them securely with tape.

Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. The weeks tick by like seconds on Krista’s new Amsterdam inspired watch. Norway already feels like a distant memory; this part of our journey being somewhat separated from the rest by an overnight ferry. The joy and simplicity of Denmark; tucked beyond the up and down nature of cycling through northern Germany. A mostly continuous journey that we ourselves broke into parts by imagining each country as different to the one that came before, or after. At the time, this approach allowed us to celebrate subtle and significant differences. On reflection, it perhaps meant that we also overlooked what connected them; a world class network of cycling inspired infrastructure, and for us, a timely adventure in an unfamiliar part of the world.

We wonder about whether we would choose to ride further, if our circumstances allowed. The answer comes as a surprise; probably not. We realise that we have reached a stage of our lives where a journey with limited time is a ‘better fit’ than an extended or open ended adventure. We look forward to returning home to our friends and families, our home, and to meaningful work and purposeful projects. We hope that we will continue to find time to ride, and to share adventures like these together.

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Flensburg to Nordhorn, Germany – July and August 2025

Day 1 – Flensburg to Kolonistenhof Campground.

Cycling is a great way to pick up and practice greetings in another language. Greetings can be confidently tested when passing other cyclists heading in the opposite direction, who are unlikely to stop for a longer conversation, yet are likely to forgive poor pronunciation on our behalf.

‘Morn’ is exchanged regularly on our first morning in Germany. We assume this is a shortening of ‘guten morgen’ (good morning), although we notice it being used at all times of the day. We later ask someone about this, and we learn that the similar sounding ‘moin’ is used like hello in the north of Germany. We add this to our limited language repertoire for the next day.

The northern part of Germany has a handful of free ‘wild’ campsites, while there are heavy fines for camping wild in other parts of the country. When we arrive at one of these nominated campsites at Naturerlebnisraum Kolonistenhof, there are two functions happening, including a wedding, and the parking area is packed. We successfully locate the delightful camping area among fruit trees, beside a herb garden, and behind a small bakery. Better still, there are showers, a picnic table, and live music for most of the afternoon.

Two other cyclists arrive later; one towing a trailer with two dogs. They tell us a bit about the local area, which was originally shaped by glaciers. To the west, the landscape changes, flattening out and becoming more industrial. There is more water. They pull out their well loved, thirty year old maps to show us where they have been cycling, which appears to be around in circles. They seem to be having a great time.

Day 2 – Kolonistenhof to Hohenhorn Campground.

Our route for the day leads to, and then along, the Nord – Ostee Kanal. On the map, the canal looks like a snake, or a ladder, from the well known board game. It offers a quick way of getting from one place to another. For us, it leads toward a ferry that crosses the Elbe River at Gluckstadt. The canal is also used by small and large ships. We travel at almost the exact same speed as one boat, while huge cargo ships take a short cut through to the Baltic Sea.

Approaching lunchtime, we spot what appears to be a mirage on the far side of the canal. It looks suspiciously like a food van, but this seems unlikely given that nothing is open on Sundays. Still, there is a conveniently located ferry making regular crossings of the canal, and we decide it might be worth a trip to the other side to investigate further.

Good news; there is a small cafe serving far more interesting things than might otherwise await us in our panniers. We reach the end of an order that to us, is well beyond the monetary value being charged. Only then do we learn that the cafe only takes cash, and we have none. We retreat to a quiet table and eat wraps instead, on the wrong side of the river.

Day 3 – Hohenhorn to Krautsand via the Elbe River.

We cross the canal by ferry to ride in the shade. When we leave the canal, the change is instantaneous. Each bend in the road, the expansive views, and the continually changing scenery awaken our senses. A roaring tailwind when we first reach the Elbe River then brings further life to what was already a delightful ride among fields of black and white sheep. We use gears we have not used until now as we race towards lunch in Gluckstadt.

When we cross the Elbe River by ferry, there is a ridiculously long queue of vehicles waiting to go the other way. Many are heading to Wacken Open Air, a heavy metal music festival for 85 000 fans. Despite the long wait, these loyal fans could not be happier. Even a forecast of heavy rain and mud seems unlikely to dampen their spirits or enthusiasm.

We ride a longer route than planned to reach the campsite; a bridge that would have offered a significantly shorter route is only open to cyclists on weekends. Others must have taken a similar detour, as there are quite a few cyclists at the campground. Among the later arrivals are a German couple that we met on our very first night in Drammen. This is very last night of their journey. It is nice to see two familiar faces and a share few stories.

Day 4 – Krautsand to Gnarrenburg.

We dodge a few heavily laden rain clouds and are soaked by others from the moment we leave the campsite. This pattern continues throughout the day, but we are fortunate enough to find accommodating shelters when we need them most. Lunch at a hanging picnic table with enough roof for our bikes, and an old train station later in the afternoon. These showers tend to pass as quickly as they arrive.

We share the campground with a 72 year old cyclist returning home from a round trip to Iceland. ‘Nice bike’, we say, as he arrives on an electric recumbent bike with a trailer. ‘Nice bike, shit weather’, he replies. The conversation improves significantly throughout the afternoon.

He tells us that anyone can travel by bike, then explains how; three hours in the morning, three hours rest, three hours in the afternoon. 15km per hour. 90km per day. 900km in ten days. 1800km in three weeks. While his estimated speeds may be a stretch on a regular bike, we agree with his approach. Small amounts each day eventually add up to significant distances travelled.

Day 5 – Gnarrenburg to Bremen.

After reporting on the likelihood of better weather before going to bed, our new friend is disappointed to discover the forecast has changed in the morning. We manage to pack still wet tents before a light drizzle begins to fall. Fortunately we only have a short distance to ride.

Bremen is a once walled city that is also guarded by a large park. We seek shelter beneath the canopy of towering trees as the drizzle becomes a downpour. When we emerge from the trees, we are in an entirely different corner of the park than we expected to be. We correct our course, and return to the city streets. A kind local stops to offer twenty minutes of information in two. She tells us the park is owned by the people of Bremen, and is a source of much local pride.

We wander the streets of the old town, and visit a famous statue of the Bremen ‘musicians’; a chicken, a cat, a dog, and a donkey. A touch of the donkey is said to bring good luck. We are in the right place at the right time when a bell glockenspiel plays a selection of songs about ocean adventurers. We replace two of our books with brand new ones from a shop that has very comfortable armchairs.

We spend a second night in Bremen, and take the train to Hamburg on a rare day with no cycling. Without much of a plan beyond a book flea market at the local library, we are lucky enough to find a Hamburg guidebook written in English. It doesn’t help a great deal with planning our day, but there are great essays about the formative years of the Beatles (who honed their craft in Hamburg), and FC St Pauli (a progressive team whose flag features a skull and crossbones).

We eat an entire loaf of sourdough bread by tearing off chunks because we forgot to bring our knife. We dodge more rain showers, before racing back to the station for a train that is forty five minutes late.

Day 6 – Bremen to Huntlosen.

After a couple of nights inside, Banjo begins the day by announcing his happiness to be returning to the tents again. Both kids sing to themselves as we begin a complicated departure from Bremen. On a nearby wall, someone has painted ‘we are the music makers’. It feels good to be on the move again, and we slowly gather momentum as we leave the city.

For the first time in Germany, we realise we are wearing the colours of the national flag; Banjo’s black jacket, Daisy’s red jacket, and Krista’s yellow shirt. We reach the small village of Huntlosen in the afternoon, where we locate a house, ring the bell, and receive a warm welcome from Andreas. We find Andreas via the website 1NiteTent, which has a map showing homes where the owners allow people to camp in their backyards overnight. On a rainy afternoon, Andreas’ soft green lawn and dry glasshouse and garden sheds are a perfect retreat.

The local football team need all the support they can get when they take to the field against a larger, neighbouring town later in the afternoon. The real highlight comes during half time, when a rainbow appears between a break in the clouds. We make the most of a similar break to have our first hit of tennis on an real tennis court.

Day 8 – Huntlosen to Werlte.

It is hard not to stand out a little when we arrive, depart, or simply take a break in a small town with four heavily loaded bikes. Mornings are generally easier because we are often on our bikes before people are out of their houses. If we look lost or need help, a friendly German is usually not far away. Even the local horses are friendly.

There are few stops as we race heavy rain forecast for the afternoon. We eat a family sized bee-sting for morning tea, and load up with extra supplies before the shops close for Sunday. As a result, lunch is a feast in another excellent and conveniently located shelter. We ride on to the campground and spend a productive afternoon washing our clothes and bikes.

When the barrier is closed, the entry gate at the campground that evening becomes a makeshift net for tennis practice. A hedge retrieves any wayward balls on one side, while the absence of a real net means that any low flying balls can be played too. We pause for people walking dogs and a pizza delivery, and wonder what those watching the security camera will think of the footage.

Day 9 – Werlte to Lingen.

Having already learnt a valuable lesson about not riding past German bakeries that are open on Sunday mornings, we stop for fresh bread and salty pretzels before leaving the first town. To our surprise, we then ride past another bakery around midday. It feels too early for lunch, but not too late for a second morning tea, especially when the apple strudels are on special.

There are an infinite number of bricks in Germany. They are used for all the usual things; houses, churches, barns, etc. They are also used for footpaths, roads, and fences. In some places, bricks cover entire horizontal and vertical surfaces; road, bike path, footpath, fence. Another path leading to the brick steps of a house beside a barn, beside a handful of smaller sheds. Sadly, we see very little rusty, corrugated iron.

In Lingen, we camp beside the Ems River, where there are almost as many canoes as there are bricks. Actually, there are 70 canoes, but when you include the neatly organised sheds of paddles, PFDs, and waterproof plastic barrels, there is an enormous amount of gear. Although this river does not inspire us as others have, we love the enterprise of this place.

Day 10 – Lingen to Almelo, Netherlands.

Our second favourite stretch of cycling in Germany is also our last. We are reminded once again that the best tracks and trails to follow are often discovered entirely chance. They rarely pass or lead to places described in guide books or featured on local tourism maps.

Sometimes it helps to be there at a particular time of day, when the light is falling in a certain way. The freshness of early morning, or weariness of late afternoon, can also affect the way we experience a place. It could be where we have come from, or where we are going next. It could be any number of things really, so what it is about this place?

It is a pretty typical path following a straight canal. To our left, there is forest, and sunlight. To our right, a single row of larger trees and a grassy slope rolling down to water. The path is just wide enough for two bikes travelling in opposite directions to pass with care. The surface is bumpier than asphalt, yet smoother than gravel. It is peaceful; we pass few people here. It is a relatively short stretch of riding, meaning these moments pass faster than we like. We ride for moments just like these, and feel fortunate when they find us.

The canal continues after morning tea, but there are changes. Having crossed a seemingly invisible border, we find ourselves in a new country – the Netherlands. There are way more cyclists here. If we stop anywhere for more than a few minutes, other bikes will almost certainly pass. Occasionally we cross a road and encounter other vehicles, but mostly we are free to simply ride.

Our destination is Almelo. More specifically, we are heading for the backyard of two generous and friendly locals – Justus and Karen. Having used the 1NiteTent website on the their own three month cycling adventure, they now offer travelling cyclists a place to stay in Almelo. We are delighted to spend an evening with them both. We enjoy sharing stories and we gather some great ideas for what lies ahead in the Netherlands.

And our favourite stretch of riding in Germany? Effortlessly racing along the Elbe River.

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Hirtshals to Padborg, Denmark – July 2025

Day 1 – Hirtshals to Bronderslev Shelter.

A suprisingly high number of heavily loaded bikes roll from the ferry when it arrives in Hirtshals, Denmark. Within a few minutes, most have found a direction that is entirely their own. Ours leads to breakfast by the water, where a fishy ocean smell is strong in the air.

Leaving town, we ring our bells to greet cyclists heading the other way, on the opposite side of the road. There are dedicated cycling paths on both sides; our first glimpse of the extraordinary cycling infrastructure that exists in Denmark.

Late in the day, we reach our first collection of three sided camping shelters. Denmark has an extensive and accessible network of these shelters for walkers, cyclists, and people who are keen to spend a night outdoors. A local family are having a picnic when we arrive. They offer a warm welcome, then a warning about an imminent downpour. We toss our gear into the largest of three shelters, and enjoy watching the rain fall steadily outside.

A French walker arrives later in the afternoon. He has travelled a long way, both today, and over a number of months. He is one day from a ferry to Sweden, where he will continue walking until he has spent six months on the trail. From there, he will return to his home and family.

Day 2 – Bronderslev Shelter to Aalborg.

We reach the fabled Haervejen pilgrim route the next day, which we plan to follow throughout Denmark and into northern Germany. Initially, the route is a gravel road through rolling hills and golden fields of grain. At other times, it will follow dedicated bike paths, rough cobblestones, shady forests tracks, walking trails, and quiet country lanes that feel further away from vehicles and villages than they really are. This fascinating maze of paths is well signposted and we grow to love the familiar number three signs that guide the way.

We reach Aalborg in time for a late lunch in deep shade. There is more shade at the campground, along with immaculately manicured lawns, and one shower token per camper. Beyond the campground, there is a massive lake like pool with diving boards and a 10m platform. Half the population of Denmark appear to be there, yet there is still enough water for everyone to get wet.

Throughout the afternoon, a handful of other cyclists roll into the campground and set up for the evening. This becomes a familiar pattern in Denmark. Cyclists who may have started later, or ridden for longer, or be following an entirely different route, yet our paths cross briefly. Only once do we see one of these cyclists at the very next campsite. There are so many routes to follow, even in a relatively small country.

Day 3 – Aalborg to Hobro.

An early start soon sees us riding between paddocks with matching black and white horses on each side of the road, followed by a horse in the next paddock that looks like a zebra. Branches of fresh cherries hang above the track, and we stop to pick a handful to eat as we ride.

A late morning swim in a nearby lake proves irresistible on a hot day. There are fewer opportunities to swim in Denmark than there were in Norway, so we take every chance we get. The heat means we crave deep shade too, and we are fortunate to ride forest paths for most of the morning.

A busy local artist has sculptured a 1.6 km long winding tunnel of woven branches along the edge of the lake in Hobro. We explore the neat cobblestone streets and eat sushi bowls for dinner on a picnic table overlooking the lake.

Day 4 – Hobro to Viborg.

On the edge of town are the ruins of a viking ring fortress known as Fyrkat. The fortress ring has an inner diameter of 120m, and is surrounded by a 3m high earth wall. The four entrances were once protected by wooden gates. Inside were 16 long houses, carefully arranged around square courtyards. We imagine viking ships arriving via the nearby Mariager Fjord, before setting sail ourselves.

Three things we love about cycling in Denmark include: the gentle terrain (the crests of the hills are never far away, and the descents are sheer joy), the ease of navigation along the Haervejen route, and the regularity of small towns and villages for resupplying food. Family sized cinnamon strudels become a popular morning tea, while lunches usually involve a loaf of fresh bread with salad vegetables and cheese.

The campground at Viborg takes orders for fresh bread deliveries the following morning; a service we fail to make the most of on this occasion. Instead, we refresh our weary bodies with an evening swim in a nearby lake, and we make plans for our first genuine rest day, to coincide with a couple of days of rainy weather.

Day 5 – Viborg to Silkeborg.

The bright morning sun, which soon becomes a hot morning sun, means we are awake early and packed efficiently. Sunscreen and sunglasses become essential items, and we sometimes choose to wear wide brimmed hats instead of our bike helmets. We welcome stretches of riding through shady forest, including the smooth, green corridor that leads directly out of the city centre.

We are intrigued by the number of walkers we encounter while riding. The Pilgrim Route is a shared trail that follows an old trade route to Germany in the south, and Sweden in the north. There are lovely patches of forest, but for walkers, there must also be long stretches beside sealed roads. A Mum and a daughter. A Dad and a son. Small groups of young people. We admire their dedication to a slower way of seeing the world.

An older cyclist once told us that ‘the best view of the world is from the seat of a bicycle’. While we reach fewer places, we do get a behind the scenes view of these places. Smelly farms, automatic lawn mowers busily cutting grass, an elderly man painting a shed wall, gardens of flowers, the back streets (both neat and neglected), the edge of towns. A fleeting glimpse of the rich tapestry of life and lives in another part of the world.

Day 6 – Silkeborg to Jelling.

Our soggiest day of riding so far. We dodge snails, slugs, and small frogs that glide, wriggle and hop across the wet road. Meanwhile, the water finds a straight channel as we weave down a series of bends to reach the town of Vrads. The local shop is closed, but there is a large hexagonal shelter which offers an excellent break from the rain.

Two Dutch cyclists are drying gear and reassessing their route when we arrive. They kindly make room for us and point out where to find a toilet and running water, which appears to be everywhere. Their trip has involved four days of headwinds, four days of sunburn, and two days of rain. We make hot chocolate as the rain gets heavier. A string of coloured light globes add colour to the grey beyond.

For some reason, there appears to be more cyclists on the route, in the rain, than on any other day so far. Most share a supportive smile, and occasionally we catch an encouraging ‘god tur’ as we pass in opposite directions.

Day 7 – Jelling to Jels.

Possibly our flattest day of riding so far. Until now, Denmark has been a landscape of low hills, criss crossed with undulating tracks, and perfect for cycling. As we ride further south, the route begins to straighten out as well. We pass towns roughly every 10km. Most have a church, often surrounded by small cemeteries that are tended with care.

In other places, memorial viking ships and mounds serve a similar purpose. The largest of these is the 350m long ship in Jelling, within the walled complex of the legendary Harald Bluetooth. We find other, lesser known ruins along the way.

Our repair kit includes a length of dental floss and a needle that are handy for repairs that need sewing. Feeling inspired to fix a handlebar bag and hole in the back of some shorts, we pull it out and discover less than 1m left. We source a replacement, which we later realise is mint flavoured.

There are other repairs along the way, mostly involving Banjo’s bike; three punctures, new front and rear brake pads, two new tyres, and a rearrangement of screws when the rear rack threatens to collapse. We patch two holes in two different panniers, and one small hole in a tent. An inner sheet tears, but the scraps make handy bike cleaning rags.

Day 8 – Jels to Bommerlund Shelter.

Jels has a circular wooden jetty that we swim from in the afternoon, and again the following morning. The morning is misty, and the only other people in the water are three elderly women. They look like regulars. They swim slowly, sharing their news as they go.

In the afternoon, we reach a double arched stone bridge at Gejla Bro. A gently flowing stream passes beneath the bridge and continues toward green fields and caramel coloured cows. Although shallow, there is enough water for a refreshing bath at the end of a long day of riding.

A further few hundred metres brings us to a brand new shelter and camping area in the Bommerlund plantation. We meet a lovely French couple travelling with a seven month old baby, meaning our first and last nights in Denmark are spent with friendly French travellers. Two German cyclists arrive later, and we discover four more tents in the morning.

This is one of our favourite campsites in Denmark. We wonder why we have not spent more time in places like these, rather than campgrounds in towns. We have everything we need, and feel very much at home, and sleep has no trouble finding us in our cosy beds.

Day 9 – Bommerlund Shelter to Flensburg, Germany.

The border is only a short ride away, but we feel no hurry to get there. It attracts and repels us like a magnet. We are drawn toward unfamiliar places and new experiences, yet also reluctant to leave a place that has been so good for cycling. We make a final stop for morning tea in Padborg, before rolling across the border and into Germany. No passports needed, no questions asked. Soon after, a kind German cyclist stops to ask if we need help with directions. We follow his suggestions to Flensburg, where we celebrate our arrival in Germany with kebabs on flatbread; a perfect lunch for four hungry cyclists.

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Oslo to Bergen – July 2025.

Day 1 – Oslo to Drammen.

Our journey begins from a campground on a hill in Oslo. We cycle through the city on bike paths, passing places we have discovered the day before; the ramp like roofs of the opera house, street art paintings of a gorilla and a purple owl, and floating saunas on the fjord. Still on the search for milk powder, we stop at a larger supermarket. There is no milk powder, but there are freshly baked pastries for morning tea, with pecans and cardamon.

Navigation is relatively tricky as we follow a route on a mapping app, and signs along bike tracks. We emerge in a peaceful valley perched in the hills, tucked away from the rush of the roads below. Four girls sell painted rocks at a small table beside the track, but we have no local money, and precious little space on our bikes.

Between the four of us, we have four bikes, eight larger rear panniers, four smaller front panniers, and a couple of spare dry bags. This is more carrying capacity than we had for a longer and more remote trip in Patagonia, but Banjo and Daisy are bigger now, and so are their clothes and their appetites. We are also carrying a few too many ‘luxury’ items; one ukulele, two tennis racquets, three puffy jackets, four oversized mugs, and five books.

We eat lunch in Asker and reach Drammen in the afternoon. We meet two friendly cyclists from Germany who are travelling with hiking packs and shoes, which makes us feel better about our own extra gear. Later that afternoon, we stumble across a padel court, so the tennis racquets get some use on a court that is shorter, and enclosed by glass walls at the end. We swim in the cold river, and fall asleep in the bright evening light.

Day 2 – Drammen to Kongsberg.

The next day we cross catchments to reach the Numedal River at Kongsberg. We hear about a festival in Kongsberg before we arrive, which turns out to be an annual jazz festival; the headline act in 2025 is Grace Jones. Fortunately for us, there is a campground set up beside the river. We can’t believe our good fortune. Showers and toilets are available in a local gym. Outside, a crew of street artists have painted themselves a blank canvas, which they then spend a busy afternoon repainting with fresh designs.

Day 3 – Kongsberg to Rollag.

Light rain is falling in the morning, and we have to think carefully about how to pack without getting too wet. This requires a couple of stages; firstly packing what we can in the tents and moving this gear to the shelter of the gym, and then returning to pack wet tents. When we are ready to go, we are slow to leave. We hope that the rain will ease, or pass. With a long day ahead of us, we can’t wait around forever.

We continue to follow the Numedal River for most of the day. The landscapes become more rural, the roads become quieter, the route finding becomes simpler. The rain eases. Nearing the village of Rollag, a marker suggests we leave the sealed road a take a gravel track instead. It looks suspiciously like someone’s driveway, but another marker confirms that we are apparently on the right track. An elderly woman smiles as we cycle through her frontyard, and farm dogs watch us pass without barking. It is the first of many delightful and unexpected changes of direction.

It is not the only one. We soon spot a narrow wooden suspension bridge from the road. Banjo has stopped to check the map, only to discover that the faint walking track  leading to the bridge is also the route to our campsite. We push our bikes over the bridge, emerge in a farm paddock, and find a helpful sign pointing the way to the campground. A short stretch of single track leads to grassy lawns overlooking the river. Our friendly Dutch neighbours share their local cheese as we set up our tents and settle in for the afternoon. It is without doubt our favourite day so far.

Day 4 – Rollag to Fauskodammen Kulturpark.

Our fourth day of cycling is the last of our warming up days before the daily elevation gains become more significant. In Veggli, we discover a fleet of colourful, carefully designed bikes that can ride the local railway line, as well as carrying passengers in a side car. This seems like a novelty until an elderly couple zoom past us after another hour of cycling. It then begins to feel like a missed opportunity; maybe we could have loaded our own bikes and gear in the side cars, and ridden the railway tracks instead!

We find wild strawberries and a fantastic black and gold church at Nore. After reaching Rodberg, our planned end for the day, we make the tough decision to push on, to save ourselves twelve kilometres of riding the next day. Most of this distance involves climbing on a gravel road, but we have no regrets.

We set up camp on lumpy ground in what seems like a historic park. There is a massive picnic table, a meandering stream, and a flat rock slab sloping to the water. There are also biting bugs, so we don’t stay long the next day.

Day 5 – Fauskodammen Kulturpark to Geilo.

We ride on to meet the sealed road near Dagali. This area is dotted with alpine lakes and neat huts, including many with turf roofs. We meet two cyclists at the local shop; one riding an electric mountain bike, who eats a chocolate bar and drinks soft drink, and a bikepacker from Finland who eats a fruit bun and drinks complimentary coffee. We make tea on our stove, and eat salad sandwiches for lunch.

We climb to the ski village of Geilo, and choose a campsite above a rapid filled river. There is a sauna, and we feast on  nachos for dinner, for the second time on the trip.

Day 6 – Geilo to Finse.

Norway’s most famous cycling route, the Rallarvegen, awaits us the next day. We cycle 23km to reach the start at Haugastol, where there are at least one hundred bikes available for hire, and plenty of cyclists preparing to ride. The downhill into town deserves a special mention; the fresh black asphalt, perfect gradient, and warm sun on our backs is an absolute dream. So are the cardamon buns and coffee for morning tea.

There is something special about sharing a trail with other cyclists of all ages and abilities. For some, this may be their first adventure carrying their own gear. For others, it may be their very first ride; one brave couple stops regularly to feed and settle a baby who is travelling in a bike trailer. Who knows where they might be in ten or fifteen years time…

For the moment, most people seem to be following strategically placed markers to a vaffler (waffle) cafe. We eat our waffles with jam, cream, and brown goats cheese. Meanwhile, the route continues to amaze us with waterfalls, clear mountain streams, snow capped peaks, alpine lakes, the top of a glacier, and more immaculately maintained huts in extraordinary locations.

At Finse, we camp on the south side of the lake. We swim in the icy cold water, then rearrange quite a few rocks to anchor our two tents to the ground. We are carrying plenty of warm clothes for camping at this elevation (1200m), and we are pleased to have the opportunity to finally wear them.

Day 7 – Finse to Myrdal.

Finse feels like the highest point of our route, but the following day involves more climbing before we eventually begin our descent. We encounter patches of snow and we follow the unlikely combination of foot tracks beside bike tracks in slushy snow. The cloudy sky looks ominous, and drizzly rain arrives as we reach a sign warning of a dangerous stretch of road. We eat dried mango under a railway bridge as the rain clears.

There are fewer cyclists on this stretch of the track, and none travelling in the opposite direction. We continue to pass huts in remarkable places, most with no apparent vehicle access. Anytime we think we have just seen what most surely be Norway’s most spectacular waterfall, or picturesque valley, we are proven wrong. Again and again. After lunch, two waterfalls are visible from the same wooden bridge, which is followed by a gorge with even more falling water. It is hard to know where to look as we descend steeply, and with great care.

We soon reach a lake lined with more huts, and the village of Vatnahalsen. The Rallarvegen continues from here to the fjord town of Flam, and we see cyclists and bikes descending by zipline to the valley far below. From there, some will ride the final 20km to the fjord.

Instead, we veer east and take a six minute train ride through the mountain to Upsete. No other passengers get off the train here, and it is the end of the road for vehicles coming the other way. We ride a further 5km to Myrdal, where we enjoy a rare night indoors, and make good use of an outdoor pool and another sauna.

Day 8 – Myrdal to Vossvegen.

The gradient for the following day appears to be all downhill, and the road is sealed for the first time in a couple of days. Rain falls lightly in the morning, but it begins to ease as the valley widens, offering panoramic views across the Kleivelvi River.

Before long we find ourselves in Voss, setting up camp on green grass overlooking a glassy lake. Paragliders drop in from nearby mountains, and there are people everywhere, enjoying the summer holidays. We enjoy a restful afternoon ourselves.

Day 9 – Voss to Kvandaal.

It takes eight days of cycling to reach Voss. Ordinarily, this might be a good time for a rest day, but we have a ferry to catch in Bergen, and we may need an extra day to get there. We ride out of town a little reluctantly, but after passing a stunning waterfall, and circling a lake, we feel good when we reach Granvin for lunch. We negotiate our first Norwegian road tunnel with bike lights, and make it to the ferry terminal at Kvandaal by mid afternoon.

We plan to catch the ferry and continue riding the next morning. We camp in the shade and share the afternoon with Peter from Denmark, who is also travelling by bike. The ferry jetty offers a great launching place for swimming in the fjord, where the water is warmer and saltier than in the mountains.

Day 10 – Kvandaal to Strandebarm.

The second ferry to Utne leaves at 8am the next morning, and we are packed and ready to go by then. A gradual climb out of town is followed by ripping down stretches through fruit trees and small farms. We stop for fresh cherries along the way, and make it to Herand for morning tea.

The only real climb of the day comes before the district of Samland. We reach the ferry at Jondal and cross the Hardinger fjord for the second time. We buy mango ice creams from a store that is 100% self service; let yourself in with a credit card, scan your items, pay for them, then use the receipt to scan your way out again.

The final stretch of riding to Strandebarm is tough in the hot afternoon sun. On arrival, we are greeted with an unfriendly ‘no tents’ from a resident of the campground that apparently does not accommodate campers with tents. We are too tired to ride much further, so we swim and cook by the local marina in the afternoon, then camp behind a nearby pool and athletics field. The views over the fjord are excellent, but the foot traffic does not ease until after 11pm.

Day 11 – Strandebarm to Fusa.

On Sunday morning we are at the local supermarket a few minutes before it opens at eight, keen to purchase supplies for breakfast and snacks for morning tea. The car park seems surprisingly quiet. The supermarket is closed on Sundays. We eat the last of our quick oats cold, and swim before riding on.

There is a bigger town along the route, so we cycle there for lunch. The entire shopping centre is closed on Sundays, apart from a pizza restaurant that opens at 1pm. We wait until opening time, then order two large pizzas that turn out to be enormous. We pack one in a box and strap it to the bike rack to have with dinner later.

We continue along a sleepy coastal road to the town of Fusa, where we swim in a sheltered cove and camp overnight.

Day 12 – Fusa to Bergen.

A ferry takes us to Hattvik the next morning, and we cycle through Osoyro to a local convenience store that is famous for take away pancakes. The busy baker has multiple pans sizzling. We order six pancakes and need a rest before riding further.

The final kilometres race by as we join other cyclists rolling into the city. We emerge beside a lake, among more people than we have seen for possibly the entire ride so far. Gardeners are busy pulling weeds from colourful flower gardens, and mowing neat rows of grass. At least one massive cruise ship is in town. We miss the wild places already, so we make sandwiches outside a gear store with posters of wild places in the window.

In the morning, we wander around World Heritage Listed Bryggen. At home, we have a collage in our living room that includes a photo of three shop fronts, painted in different shades of red. We included this photo without knowing where it was taken. We now realise it was here in Bergen, on the west coast of Norway. After twelve consecutive days of cycling, we are tired, but we have plenty of time to rest on the ferry from Bergen to Hirtshals, in northern Denmark.

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South America 2019 – Arequipa to Australia.

The final week. Fortunately for us, it involves three places where we enjoy spending time. Firstly Arequipa, which some people say is Peru’s prettiest city. The central plaza is certainly pretty. Many of the buildings have been constructed from white volcanic rock, including an impressive church that rises above the green lawns, bubbling fountain and many people who come to chat, think or simply observe life.

Continue reading “South America 2019 – Arequipa to Australia.” →

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South America 2019 – Cusco to Arequipa.

There are no easy paths to Machu Picchu. It’s possible to walk, but this would take more days than we have available. Another option is to spend two hours in a vehicle to reach the train line at Ollantaytambo, followed by two hours in a train to reach the village of Aguas Calientes. From there, it’s a further 30 minutes on a tourist bus, or a steep climb by foot to the fabled Incan icon.

Continue reading “South America 2019 – Cusco to Arequipa.” →

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South America 2019 – Santiago to Salta via Mendoza.

A strange thing happens in our Santiago sanctuary. While the speed of our adventure temporarily slows, days themselves seem to pass more quickly. We visit the Australian embassy to vote in the federal election. We find new tyres for Daisy’s bike, which we plan to leave in Santiago for friends. We clean and pack our bikes, which is a time and emotion consuming project. Banjo scores an early birthday present – a new backpack for the next stage of our journey. And we book bus tickets to Mendoza, an Argentian city on the far side of the Andes.

Continue reading “South America 2019 – Santiago to Salta via Mendoza.” →

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