Up with the larks yet again we envisage a long day in the saddle, our intended destination is Tranemo. I've no idea why this is our intended destination, it shows nothing but a dot on our 1:800,000 Europe Road Atlas. I imagine Colby has simply picked a spot roughly 140km due south of where we are now. Which is fine by me, seeing as we no longer have any local maps, navigation is very much a trial and error affair of moving toward Italy in a southbound motion and trying to avoid motorways, which are pretty much the only roads marked on our atlas. Anyway, first off we have to complete 30km to Falkoping which was our intended stopping point for yesterday. Its an overcast but fine day and we are rolling along perfectly by 9am, on the major road 46, which is lovely and smooth much to Tina Turner (Hazel Learner)'s delight. At Falkoping we have a vague notion there is another abandoned railway we can cycle south on and as such, we head to Tourist Information ready to be informed touristically. Alas we are once again, too early, so we must retire for coffee to while away some time. Suitably refreshed Colby and I eagerly break down the door to knowledge, as usual the only customers these girls will see all week. There is an unbelievable wealth of tourist information centres in Sweden, and a dearth of actual tourists. This does mean however, that the little girls are always delightfully helpful. And blonde. Always blonde.
I have been chastised by Tina for calling the little girls, 'little girls' within earshot, as they are mostly aged over 21. It is however a habit I acquired from my grandmother, who at restaurants, always insisted to my Grandfather that he should covertly press a fiver into the palm of the 'little girl' waitress, rather than let it fall into the clutches of the greedy landlord. Of course, the little girl to whom she was referring was inevitably always about 45 years old, and probably the owner of the whole establishment. Anyway, I digress, back we go to the little girl in Falkoping Tourist Byra. Delightfully there is a paved cycle path across country all the way Ulricehamm, 40km south! Little girl even tries to give away a detailed cycle map to us which clearly should cost 300kr as marked, but not wanting to add to our mountain of paper information we refuse and press on with vague directions out of town. I confidently stride out, to be informed by little girl that I am going the wrong way. So much for my inner compass, I was myself once a little girl working in a Tourist Information Centre, but I believe my navigation skills are only active in the West Dorset area.
We roll out and on, and on, and on. It's the most unbelievably smooth and straight stretch of path, completely empty, and since trains dont really climb hills, totally flat! our journey is only interrupted by the occasional thermos break on conveniently situated benches. Before we know it we are in Ulricehamm, sitting by the lake whilst it chucks it down. It's really another lovely town, but the only sights we see are the Tourist Byra, theres more ground to be covered today. To our surprise and delight, we discover the smooth railway path continues on south, to our plucked from the air destination, Tranemo. We learn from another little girl that there is a hostel in Limmared, just before Tranemo. After another lovely spin along the track, passing a lake on our right (what else), we reach the town of Limmared. Nay, not town, factory, with added supermarket and sprawl of squat ugly houses. Touristville this is not. Some children are hanging out by the railway tracks, smoking. Although this is a nice reminder of the UK, it gives me a bad feeling about the place. This is Sweden! Usually the children are cycling, and eating grass whilst helping old ladies across the road. We search around for the elusive hostel and come across a damp looking building on the edge of town, darkened by trees. A group of fat old men stand smoking in the doorway and stare at us as we crawl up the hill. I squeeze past them to get to the front door, which is locked. Its 5.30pm. 'It's closed' one old man helpfully tells me in Swedish. There's a number to call, but with bad vibes hanging in the air like the smell of their tobacco and damp woodland, we press on to Tranemo. Back on the track, and Hazel inadvertantly cycles onto the real working railway track. Those attitudinal kids have obviously stolen the bike path signs! They attempt to block our way out of town, but then squeal and jump when they realise Hazel's fully loaded tourer is not going to slow down before impact! 8km later, and everything feels much better, the sun is out, and Tranemo is....well, not lovely, but a vast improvement.
There's only one accommodation provider, a 'hotell' which smells like an old person's home, but is cheaper than a hostel so we check in. To a twin room. Halfway through my shower, an employee comes in to bring a third bed. Unfortunately, Hazel, who has just finished showering, is trotting around naked as a baby. There are squeals and hysterics which I listen to, confused from inside my safe shower cupboard. Im not sure who's more embarrassed, and the poor lady flees, only to return a few minutes later, knocking hesitantly. She pulls out the bed from under the other bed (we could have done this ourselves had we known!) and cant leave quick enough. We do it seems, make an unusual sight, three young hip girls (ahem) with technical clothing helmets and panniers. People are quite unsure what to make of us, as we really dont fit the cycletourist demographic! We've also strayed quite far from conventional tourist routes! After a dinner of Kebab Pizza (don't ask) we retire to our three little beds and watch an awful film on the television. We enjoy it immensely nonetheless and learn some good Swedish from the subtitles. That'll be useful, as we plan to be in Denmark in two days!
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