20 years ago today - Day 150

View Larger Map

Wednesday, July 31st - Saeby to Orsted, 8059 km

It's a sunny morning as I leave my refugees camp in the Saeby school gymnasium. It could be a Sunday morning the streets are so quiet. I managed to reach a Servas host in the town of Orsted last night before going to the pub. He's a young farmer named Morgens Horning, which I think means 'morning hard-on' in Danish. He was a bit reluctant to host me because he is in the middle of a heavy work program, but he doesn't get many guests being in the countryside and I assured him I will be quite tired myself, having covered 125 km by this evening and a total of 500 km over the past four days.

The strained tendon in my left knee has improved over the past two days, which is especially notable today. It is calm and sunny with no hills anywhere on the route. It's like Holland without the dikes, and so far, without the winds. I will take it light and easy. I have told Morgens I will call him around 6pm when he returns to his house for dinner, so I will have plenty of time.

The road I am using is an unnumbered side road that follows the coast 46 km to the village of Hals. It is perfect cycling weather, warm but not hot, very little traffic, gentle breezes and landscapes. As pleasant as the scenery is, there is nothing extraordinary. There is only the hazy blue Kattegat, the strait between Sweden and Denmark, a thin strip of rocky beach, farm houses, dairy cows and fields of golden grass.

At Hals, there is small ferry every 20 minutes that crosses back and forth across a body of water that looks like an inlet. My map shows that it continues right across the country to the North Sea, passing through the city of Aalborg 20 km west of here. It seems that the land to the north of it that I have been cycling is actually a large island.



Beyond Hals, the road remains close to the shore, passing through a small nature preserve of forested dunes, fields and marches called Mulbjerje. Beyond the reserve, the road continues another 20 km until I turn west to the town of Hadsund to reach a bridge over the Mariager Fjord. From there I jog south and east on side roads to Mellempolde, which is more of a landmark than a village. From here, there is a small private ferry across the 300 m entrance to the Randers Fjord. It has no schedule. It just sits there until someone needs a ride.

An older fellow, formerly from New Zealand, runs the ferry. Being from the other side of the world, he takes his amusement from talking to his passengers and hearing their points of view. He has a wizened face, full of ironic humour, and rather wild silver hair that likes to dance with the breeze along the fjord. He asks me what I think of Denmark. It's gentle, I tell him, and he smiles.

It is only 10 km from the south side of Randers Fjord to Orsted. It is 5 pm when I arrive there, so I kill an hour writing my journal before phoning Morgens. When the time comes to call, Morgens gives me instructions on how to reach his farm. It is a low, ancient farmhouse with a thatched roof, almost Tudor is style. Morgens youthful appearance doesn't seem to fit. He is a pleasant-looking guy, almost 30, masculine in a casual way, his muscles naturally acquired through hard work instead of by pressing weights and taking steroids. He invites me and chats with me while his common-law wife Pia make our dinner.

He dispels my image of farmers as simple, slow-talking labourers, content in their slow rural lifestyle. He's the type of guy who constantly has projects on the go and who will look for more if his plate isn't full. Besides running his dairy and chicken farm, he sits on local planning boards and teaches courses in agriculture at a nearby university. His life is full, full, full and he comes across as skilled and knowledgeable about his work as any other PhD certified professional. I am impressed. He's single, but I presume that's because he hasn't allowed himself the time to date. He has to run off to some sort of meeting after dinner, leaving me here with Pia and his 4 year old boy Misha.

Pia is happy to relax once Morgens has left and the dinner dishes are soaking. She won’t let me do them. We now have our chance to talk. She is a warm, attractive woman, a long-haired blond with a slender, agile frame. We talk about Canada and her home in Odense, on an island south of here. She and Morgens were students in university studying agriculture when they met. Misha is a dark-haired boy, cute but very shy of me at first. That passes and soon he has claimed me as his official chair. Pia shoos him off in spite of my insistence that I don’t mind. She puts him to bed and I spend the rest of the evening reading Walt Whitman.


PHOTO 1: church in Saeby
PHOTO 2: a Danish chateau I pass
PHOTO 3: pastoral scenes abound
PHOTO 4: grain field
PHOTO 5: Mulbjerje hills
PHOTO 6: Mulbjerje beach
PHOTO 7: Morgen's historic farm home