Author: Ilia

1. Befriend some careless Swedes. Start with one, and there shall be more.

2. Become a part of a bicycle company. It will probably take more than one trip to fit in properly.

3. Cycle with them. Share food, beds and farts with them.

4. At some point, suggest the team split into lesser groups. It’s best if you pretend to be injured.

5. Let the other group go more dramatic route, as they will draw everybody’s attention.

6. Make a plausible excuse and go shopping in some big city. Buy trash bags in a supermarket with cash. Look for the largest size possible, preferably 100-200 litres.

7. Prepare what’s needed in front of your unsuspecting prey. Tell them it’s for the flight. Your bike needs to be packed, right?

8. Cover your soon-to-be crime scene with plastic. Make sure no one was tailing you to the hotel.

9. Do the job.

10. Pack the bodies. Try your best to give it an overall bikey shape.

11. Fly away as fast as you can.

12. Stay tuned for our next lesson: “Hostage Negotiation: How To Make Your Demands Happen In 12 Quick Steps”.

I am so full and drowsy so I will just post several pictures and write some captions. Blog must be blogged, but sleep must be… slept?

So, polish people are very tall.

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Their beer is very excited.

They drink 95% spirit.

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They greet Johan with sieg heils.

They are into bentwood.

They are not really good with aligning things.

They are quite laconic with signs.

They like to dig.

And they have prepared a splendid apartment for us.

Here’s Johan enjoying the apartment literally 5 seconds after he went in.

I hope these guys will add to this post with blogging gems of their own, as I am going to sleep now.

Tomorrow we are going to ride 140 kilometers. Or 180, as some other sources say.

Exciting!

Kaj decided to replace the tube just for the joy of it.

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All set! Now we will grab some food and head to the city.

Here’s his busy face.

I’ve barely made it to the flight. I was stopped by police, then some nice finnish guy disassembled my bike to pieces, and some nice finnish lady told me it’s too late. It was intense, to say the least.

Here’s how it all happened.

My hostel accommodation (1 bed in 18 beds dormitory room) wasn’t the comfiest choice, but it had its advantages. First, it was in the northern part of Helsinki, meaning relative proximity to the airport. Second, breakfast was included. And, as a wise man said once, nutrition is key.

My flight was scheduled at 10:45. Hostel breakfast was being served from 7:00. My plan was to leave the hostel by 7:45, make an easy 18 km ride in 1 hour, which would leave me with 2 hours before taking off — not too much, but good enough to pack my bike (1 hr tops) and get through the airport security.

Well, my calculations were almost correct. Except that they weren’t.

Easy ride to the airport might have happened on a road legal vehicle, meaning car or something like that. I was on a bicycle, and highways were closed to me.

Knowing that, Google navigated me to the network of smaller roads, with lots of traffic lights, roundabouts and turns. Apparently I’ve made some wrong ones, and after 15 minutes of cycling I’ve realized I am not getting any closer to the Helsinki airport.

At this moment I was like: “Okay, it is getting interesting!”.

After a struggle with Google maps I’ve made a decision to use the highway after all. I knew it’s not exactly legal and quite dangerous, but well, this is Finland, everyone here is a pro-driver and a very polite and intelligent person as well. Finns would not drive over me.

And they didn’t. But oh boy, they honked at me! 1 of 20 car and 1 of 1 bus and lorry drivers decided to show me how wrong I am and how they are dissatisfied with my behaviour by using their mighty horns right as they were driving pass me.

The only silver lining was the road itself: I am not a crazy person to ride a bicycle on a highway lane, I was using the technical part of the road, which was quite wide and seemed safe. Well, safe enough.

I was making good progress, as a police car appeared and blocked my way. Uh-oh.

I didn’t wait for police people to ask me what the hell I am doing, you are fined, let’s do some paperwork and miss the flight. I made my move first: I asked them to help.

I told I have tried to use smaller roads but was lost, and now I am scared shitless by those big lorries and please please could I go with you guys, your car is big enough? Pretty please?

It wasn’t a lie or an act — I was quite anxious and really hoping they would pick me up and give me the lift to the airport. Unfortunately, they refused. I was politely told to take the very first exit from the highway and never get back on it. Never.

Also they agreed to be in this post.

Okay. I behaved and took the very first exit. Together with Google we’ve found a nice bike lane heading towards the airport. I wasn’t that late. Things were still good.

And… after a while I was lost again.

Another 10 minutes wasted.

I had to violate my oath to the police and switch back to the main road for the last mile or two.

Finally, at 9:18 I was entering the T2 terminal. Flight was at 10:45. 40 minutes to pack. It’s doable.

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I have started preparing the bike for the flight: took off the front wheel, lowered the saddle, and fiddled with the steering wheel, as it should be turned to the side and secured that way. As I was doing this, a guy came over, took the mulitool and started helping.

I was glad and amused, until I realised he totally disassembled the steering wheel. Fork, steering, bearings, all the smaller stuff I am not sure how to name properly — everything was lying in pieces on the floor.

I kindly asked the disassembling maniac to leave and started putting everything back together. It was 9:45.

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At this moment I was like: “I still got it!”. I switched myself to a Hyper Focused Turbo Ilia Mode and in 15 minutes I was at the oversized/special luggage desk with everything packed and ready.

And then I waited. And waited. And waited for the luggage lady to make the moves that were meant to be made to send my bike down the oversized/special luggage way.

— It’s too late, she said at 10:08. — Your bike was supposed to be ready by 10:00, 45 minutes prior to you flight.
— But it was ready by 10:00! Let me show you the picture, I’ve made it for my blog!

I don’t know if it’s the power of visual storytelling or what, but at this moment her radio went on and said something in Finnish.

— Oh!

The lady was visibly surprised.

— Your bicycle will be accepted. Follow me.

At this moment I was like: “That was pretty darn close”.

And so I followed.

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I am writing this post in Krakow airport waiting for the first wave of Swedes to arrive. I’ve just got the bike, it seems to be in one piece.

And there’s also a dog. Dogs are always a good sign.

Can you tell the difference?

I’m in Helsinki!

And this is my ride for today.

Packing. Last time I did this, I was prepping for two weeks which included 2 overnight trains, a friendly 3-days visit to my wife’s parents in Kaliningrad and a weekend of fun in Riga.

So I’ve kind of overkilled it.

Now in the spirit of ditching the backpack I was packing lighter.

But! The longest one-day distance in Ringen-Riga was 110 km. Now as part of Team North I am facing three 150 km rides in a row.

So nutrition is key. And medication.

Here’s my belongings assemblage, carefully arranged for you to inspect.

In the picture above you don’t see a powerbank (it’s still charging) and knee ointments, painkillers and other drugs I’ve packed in case of certain medical emergencies.

So, no long pants, no casual jackets. I have one semi-casual outfit — a high-tech polo shirt (supposed to be wrinkle-proof) and a pair of shorts. In case we attend a black tie party we will have to buy everything.

This is how it looks on my bike.

Beautiful, innit?

You can see I’ve managed to shove a 700 ml bottle into the triangle bag. It’s for the flight mode, but it also shows extra capacity I could get if I move the bottle onto the steering wheel. (Wheel? It it really called a wheel? Steering horns it is!)

I still have a lot of stuff that is ditchable. So, if I feel it’s too much I will throw away two big rolls of duct tape without any regret. Well, at least one of them. I think.