Solo Bikepacking 1,500 km to Kebnekaise, Sweden – Week 2

Most nights I camped by lakes or rivers, some days the water was so still that the clouds reflected perfectly on the surface — almost looking fake. What kept me going were two things waiting at the end — a long-overdue reunion with an old friend in Skellefteå, and a pizza from the city so infamous it has been called one of the worst pizzas in the world by international magazines.

The landscape slowly began to shift the further north I went. Fields still stretched across much of the countryside, but tundra started blending with the dominating pine and birch forests. The air had cooled; a t-shirt was no longer enough. Music and podcasts kept my mind company on the road, and washing myself and rinsing clothes in those quiet waters became a small daily luxury. Cold water was usually the last thing I looked forward to, but during bikepacking it became a treat in itself.

Riding on the Highway & The Landowner

My first target was Skuleskogen National Park. Just reaching it took a full day of cycling. I managed to stay on smaller roads almost the entire way until I was getting closer to the Högakustenbron — a well-known bridge in the north. There, the safety net disappeared. I was forced onto the highway, trucks and buses roaring past at 110 km/h barely a meter from my handlebars. One wrong move would have meant disaster. Thankfully, it didn’t last for that long time.

The following day came with an hour-long grind uphill to the park’s entrance — only for me to realize that its trails weren’t meant for bikes at all. Narrow wooden planks stretched across swamps, and with the weight of my bike, one slip would have sent me straight into the mud. Frustrated, I had no choice but to turn back.

The descent at least offered a reward — and on the way I met a local woman fetching her newspaper. I asked if she could recommend any roads to Örnsköldsvik, since Google Maps suggested either cutting through the National Park or riding on the highway. After the previous day’s nerve-wracking stretch on the highway, I wasn’t eager to end up there again. She pointed me toward older inland roads, which I ended up taking instead — longer, messier roads, but much safer.

Later that day, I met a landowner who had once owned the land that became the park. He told me the theory of how to eat surströmming — Sweden’s notorious fermented herring. Misunderstood, he said. Wrapped in flatbread with butter, potatoes, red onion, dill, crème fraîche, and tomato, the stench that would normally make you gag transforms into complicated layers of flavor, balancing out the rottenness.

The same evening I found the perfect beach to wash myself and my clothes. Just getting into the water felt like a small triumph.

Bad Roads and Hailstorm in the Pines

Choosing smaller roads meant being safer, but they were longer than the main roads and slowed me down, making the journey more time-consuming. Muddy paths, twists, bumps, and obstacles turned every kilometer into a small challenge.

Until then, I had been spared really bad weather. One afternoon in the pines, the sky opened. Heavy rain mixed with hail pounded down so hard that there was no point on continuing cycling. I stopped to look for shelter under the trees, but every tree I saw was a pine, which offered very little shelter.

Thankfully, my rain gear held, and everything stayed dry — a small but meaningful victory.

Umeå and the Sleepless Geese

Reaching Umeå, I found a perfect camping spot by the river. While taking in the view, I noticed flocks of geese arriving in waves, as if summoned to a meeting by some invisible leader. I bathed in the cold river, which instantly wiped away the fatigue from cycling, and I enjoyed watching and listening to the geese interact with each other. There were probably a hundred of them.

But when night came, luck turned. The geese threw a party that lasted until morning, their quacking drilling through my earplugs and keeping me wide awake.

In the morning I was tired, but by now I was used to short nights. I began the two-day ride toward Skellefteå.

Arriving in Skellefteå

Arriving in Skellefteå was incredibly welcoming. I met a friend I hadn’t seen in a long time and was able to crash at their place for two nights, giving me my first real day of rest. I was greeted with a legendary pizza, infamous for being one of the worst in the world. The Carlskrove — a calzone packed with a hamburger, fries, and cheese — is the kind of creation that would see you exiled from Italy for culinary crimes. And yet, after days of surviving on pasta and hotdogs, this godforsaken creation was sinfully, droolingly delicious. A solid 10 out of 10… for the time being.

Reflections on week 2

By the second week, I had covered roughly the same distance as in the first — about 440 kilometers. My body had begun to adjust: the long days of cycling felt more natural, and nights spent outdoors, washing and bathing in rivers or lakes, were becoming less about survival and more about finding a rhythm. Still, the break in Skellefteå was a real boost: I could wash my clothes properly, take a long warm shower, and finally sleep well. Both my body and mind had been craving it.

Continue Reading

The next week was focused on reaching the starting point of the hike: Nikkaluokta. Along the way, I crashed my drone into a tree — no arial footage of the hike after that. But cycling beside reindeer lifted my spirits, and among them I spotted something extraordinary: an albino reindeer. It felt like the universe was balancing the scales of luck. I also began to notice some of the quirky habits of the northerners.

Solo Bikepacking 1,500 km to Kebnekaise, Sweden – Week 3