Translated with Deepl
I sleep in until 9. It feels good, my exhaustion from yesterday seems to have gone. I decided yesterday to only go as far as the recommended DNT hut Fønhuskoia today. 60km, 1100m of climbing leave me enough time to start the morning relaxed. The constant rain does not tempt me outside.
I set off at eleven, everything is wet. I feel very sluggish, hardly pedal at all and just roll along. After a few kilometres I take a break, hoping to find my motivation. The rain is a little less unpleasant when sitting, but it’s cold. I eat crispbread with caramelised cheese and raspberry jam (my current standard meal) and phone my grandmother.
I slowly continue, the rain is dampening my motivation. But I imagine my destination, the hut, to be all the more beautiful. And I’ll certainly make it there by 4pm, I think. I consider buying cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate so that I can really enjoy the afternoon at the hut. After my shopping trip, I realise that it’s almost 2pm and I’ve barely managed 20km. Maybe my plans are a little too ambitious.
I’m slowly realising that I’ve completely misjudged the situation. My goal seems to be getting further and further away. It’s getting really steep and muddy, and the path is constantly crossing streams. My tyre keeps spinning out. I’m a little disappointed that I won’t be able to use the hut as relaxed as I’d imagined it would be throughout the day. At the same time, I’m actually enjoying the challenging ride, and the rain is usually just a bit of fun.
It is 7pm by the time I arrive at the hut. A mother-and-son team is already there and has heated up the place. That’s very welcome. After a quick dip in the lake, I slowly realise that I’m quite cold and spend the first hour next to the fire, slurping ramen.
The hut is architecturally excellent, elegant but still playful. There is even a drying room (very welcome, also for my laundry, which I do later). Beds are hidden in different places. I enjoy exploring them. I chat with the other two guests, whose names I unfortunately never asked. The thirteen-year-old son answers like a shot: “90s rap” when I ask him what his favourite music is. I enjoy how specific he is about it. Apparently this music is played in his computer games.
It often happens that I misjudge how early I will arrive in the evening. In the morning, I often seem to have to find my rhythm first. In the early afternoon, I feel as if I haven’t cycled yet and then want to catch up a little. Uncomfortable perhaps, but I need the physical exertion.
As an unpleasant bedtime story, I realise that my phone is no longer charging – maybe the rain has broken it. There’s nothing I can do about it now, but I also don’t have an internet connection to research solutions.
