Day 10: Byske -Skellefteå - Bygdsiljum | 102km
The sun was already high in the sky when the loud honking of a group of geese jolted me awake. It sounded like they were splashing in the water just outside the tent, but it was time to get moving anyway, so I didn’t mind much. A layer of mist hovered above the lake, which I’d later learn it was called Tåmeträsk, a name that translates closer to "swamp" than lake, which explained the muddy bottom I’d waded through the day before. Perhaps not the ideal place for a wash, but it was too late to rethink that now.
The tranquil morning was abruptly interrupted by brooding clouds rolling in from the east, followed by a light drizzle. I quickly packed up the tent and got going, knowing I had only about 40 kilometers to Skellefteå, where I’d treat myself to a proper meal. By now, I’d realized that one hearty plate of real food a day was essential to keep pushing my body the way I was. Noodles or sandwiches just wouldn’t cut it on their own. The longer this trip goes on, the more I worry I’ll only write about food, but if that’s what occupies my mind, there’s not much I can do about it.
The road into Skellefteå was incredibly enjoyable, and the well-kept houses and small farms in impeccable condition made for a nice visual distraction. Being from southwestern Sweden, I’ll admit I have a bias for the scenery down there, but I figured that since land is both cheaper and more accessible up here, many homes had sprawling gardens, multi-car garages, and it seemed like people had poured a lot into making their houses beautiful.
Before reaching the city center, I crossed a long, ancient-looking yet sturdy wooden bridge spanning a wide river that cut through the town. When I stopped to take a photo, a kind-looking man approached, and seeing all the bags on my bike, he asked about my trip. He was baffled when I told him where I’d started, and admittedly a bit jealous, or perhaps regretful, that he hadn’t done something similar when he was younger. Recently retired, he said he believed everyone should go on a trip like mine at some point in their life. We chatted briefly about how taking breaks in life is good for perspective, and not forgetting to live while we’re busy with work. He also told me we were standing on the longest wooden bridge in the country. These little random encounters are exactly what I’d been hoping for when I set out on this journey. I always keep moving forward, but stopping to talk with people who live such different lives in such different parts of the country, and the world, is what gives me energy. And I’m sure I’ll remember that man more vividly than the city itself, no matter how brief our chat was.
I rolled into what looked like the main square in the city center, where political parties had set up tents to inform, and I suppose, persuade voters for the upcoming Swedish election. Sadly for them, there weren’t many people around to persuade, and I think they could tell from my untidy appearance and bike, packed full of bags, that I was merely passing through, so their efforts would be wasted on me. There was a mixed-Asian buffet restaurant in the corner of the square, which I decided would make for a perfect lunch. It’s people like me that buffet owners fear. They were fifteen minutes away from closing when I stopped in, grabbing two plates and piling them high with a mix of rice, meats, sauces, and dumplings. Oh, it was heaven. The only other people in the restaurant were pensioners, and I enjoyed semi-eavesdropping on their conversations about local gossip, even though I obviously didn’t know who any of the people they talked about were. I stayed for two hours, also enjoying a cup of coffee and the pastries set out on the buffet, before continuing on.
The road leading out of Skellefteå was just as beautiful as the one leading in, and I really enjoyed admiring all the well-cared-for houses, taking mental notes for the home I hope to own someday, hopefully soon. Although I was heading south, I took a slight detour into the countryside to avoid the bigger roads. One thing to know about inland Sweden is that it’s all forest. You can pedal for hours and see nothing but endless forest, and so I did. The farther I went, the more timber trucks kept passing me, which made sense when I arrived in Bygdsiljum, a village with a massive sawmill where logs are processed into usable lumber.
If there was a center to this small village, I couldn’t find it, but there was a small campground, though no staff in sight. The forest surrounding the town was so dense that I was unsure about finding another good spot to camp for the night, so I pitched my tent on the empty campground and then went for a swim in the nearby lake. Luckily, it wasn’t a swamp, and the water actually felt refreshing.