COPSenhagen, Malmö Hospitality, and Chills in Poland

Day: 8, 9, and 10 Copenhagen, Denmark to Malmö, Sweden to Ystad, Sweden to Swinoujscie, Poland

Average Speed: 14.5 km/hour (9 mph) 

Distance Cycled in Last Three Days: 119 km (74 Miles) 

Distance Cycled Total: 883 km (548 Miles)

Mood: Sick... and tired

To be certain, it was my fault. 

On my way out of Copenhagen, a lady cycling in front of me stopped short to allow bus passengers to board. 

Leaving Copenhagen

I tried to hit my brakes. I really did. I just... missed. 

I rear-ended her quite hard, with my front tire firmly greeting her left leg. 

Now, I've made more than a few women angry in my day, but this-- wow. 

Whatever she was screaming, I'm sure it isn't covered on Day 1 of Rosetta Stone's course in Danish. 

Incensed. Furious. Fit to be tied. Irate. Downright pissed.

It's the kind of anger I usually reserve for twenty minutes into my period 3 class. 

I felt awful, but the only thing my apologies did was to let her know that she needed to continue her rant in English. 

Felicia Calls the Cops
Note: See Tire Stain- Left Leg

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," I repeated incessantly.

To which she replied "I DON'T GIVE SH*T! I DON'T GIVE SH*T! I DON'T GIVE SH*T!" just as incessantly. 

And although I thought it, this was no time for an English grammar lesson on the use of the indefinite article "a" between "give" and "sh*t."    

She started complaining of a headache, and dizziness, and pains in her neck, and decided to call the police. 

"Don't worry, it's not like your country. I don't want to sue you like everybody does in America. I just want your name on record because you are crazy."

Fair enough.

It was an awkward 40 minutes waiting for the police to arrive, and I attempted to humanize myself during my last minutes as a free man by making idle conversation. 

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Felicia," she responded, before launching into another lengthy admonition. 

"Where were you headed?" I asked.

"I am going to interview people who want a job at my company," she said, before condemning my entire existence on this earth for ten more minutes. 

I do feel sorry for the candidates who were looking for a position. I'm sure I didn't help them in any way. Collateral damage. 

Investigation 2017- Bicyclegate

I thought I had softened her up a bit, but when three police officers finally showed up at the crime scene, she made me seem like I was a member of the lesser-known Hell's Angels sect that creates mayhem one pedal at a time. 

"He was hysterical! He had been behind me, and I saw him jumping onto pedestrian curbs, and giving me mean looks because I was going too slow. Look at him, he is professional cyclist who wants to be in race!"

While I was flattered that someone would equate me to a professional cyclist, none of this was even remotely true. 

Didn't take long for "Run-In with Police" to get marked off!

To kick off the investigation, the officers looked for evidence of a collision. They looked at her bicycle for damage. There was none. They looked at my bicycle for damage. There was none. They looked at her clothes for damage. There was a huge tire mark on her left pant leg that Felicia hadn't seen yet. 

They chose to ignore it and not break the news to her. 

Two of the officers pulled me aside, where I thought for sure I was going to be cuffed. Instead, they offered their perspective:

"Look. This lady is a bit crazy. We are going to give her time to vent her anger. It's going to be okay. We're going to talk to you over here so that it looks like you're in trouble."

And that's what they did. One officer asked the Usual Questions, while another (literally) scribbled in a notepad. 

After about five minutes, we all reconvened, and Felicia offered one more, level-headed correction of my erratic behavior. 

Then, she shook my hand firmly and sincerely and wished me luck. 

Then, she pulled me in for a loving, long, tight embrace. 

I think that part shocked us all, but she saw that I was just as shaken (if not more so) than she was, and this tiny gesture made all the difference. 

Nonetheless, I was happy to continue on my way, still a free man. 

To be certain, it was my fault. I missed my brakes. But still...

Bye, Felicia. 

Oh, and I left my helmet at scene in my desperate hurry to leave, so... there's another mark on the card. 

Buying New Helmet. Ugh. 

My next stop was the Apple store in Malmö, Sweden. There are three such stores in all of Scandanavia, and this one just happened to be on my way. 

The repair was fully covered under warranty (if they ever amend their policy to exclude damage due to being transported via bicycle, I assure you it's my fault. I had the same problem in Utah last year), and it involved pretty much replacing every part of my computer. Problem was it would take two days. 

No matter. There's worse places to be stuck than Malmö. 

It's a town that is old-fashioned and reminiscent of a quintessential European town:

Quintessential Square in a Quintessential Town

And modern and unique with creative architecture:

"The Turning Torso"

Beautiful and well-kept parks abound in Malmö, and I pitched a tent in the midst of some oak trees, where I thought I'd be hidden from view. 

Camping laws in Scandanavia are very lax. You can pretty much camp anywhere (including on someone's private property (!)) without breaking any laws, but when a woman approached me while I was setting up my tent I got nervous once again. I wasn't in the mood for more police visits. 

Shhh! No one will see me here!

CHEERS FOR THE BEER!
CHRISTINE THOMPSON!

It turns out Helena saw me making camp from her apartment while she and her daughter ate dinner, and curiosity got the better of her. She simply wanted to introduce herself and see if I needed anything. After a bit of conversation, she promised coffee and breakfast at 8 AM the following morning. 

The 104 degree fever that I currently have started that night. A fitful sleep interrupted by bizarre dreams of me being deported from Poland and cold sweats resulted in my drowsiness when Helena came to greet me (right on time!) and ask me up to her apartment.

Helena- my "Neighbor for the Night"

It was hard to ignore the headache and focus on Helena's kindness, which I am so grateful for, but I managed. Residents of Malmö do take a lot of pride in their town, even though it is widely regarded by right-wing conservative groups as an example to why immigration should be stopped. Helena explained that those types of groups skew data to further their agenda and put needless scars on a wonderful town.

True Pride: Bartender's Tattoo of "Turning Torso"

By the time my computer was ready for pickup at 2 PM, I was full on sick. 

Throbbing headache, the chills, sore throat, fever, and constant vomiting. 

Pedaling 70 km of relatively flat land to reach my next destination would not normally be a big deal... but doing it while sick like this? Torture. 

I had to stop every 5 km or so and rest with my head between my legs. I took naps in town squares. I vomited some more. And a trip that should've taken me 3 hours took 8 instead. I barely made it to my 10:30 ferry departure to Poland.

Route to Ferry

Definitely NOT a cruise ship. Don't be jealous.

And once on the ferry, I curled up on the floor behind some passenger seats and slept. For the entire 8 hour trip. 

This is the kind of sick where it takes too much energy to turn to the other side in order to find comfort. The kind of sick that makes you question whether it's really important for you to get up and go to the bathroom, or if you can just hold it. The kind of sick where solving a crossword or blogging is out of the question. 

When the ferry docked in Swinoujscie, Poland the next morning, I immediately found a cheap hotel and stumbled my way there, delirious and defeated. 

Never too sick to take an awful pic of my hospital room!

I don't know what happened to that day. I spent the entirety of it in bed, except for a quick hospital visit about 7 PM when things were still on the decline. 

There was a brief discrepancy over health insurance as the receptionist noted I'd have to pay out of pocket for the visit. 100 Polish zloty. 25 bucks. 

The doctor gave me a shot in the ass and a scrip and sent me on my way. They never did charge me for the visit. Perhaps I'll get a bill in the mail at home. Good luck getting me to pay that one. 

It's really hard to believe that it's Thursday when Wednesday ceased to exist. I'm on the mend, but staying here at least one more night.

There's nothing fun or even remotely enjoyable about cycling while sick, and I can't shake the chills.

Week 2 has been slow going- I doubt I'm going to make my original goal of Prague by the 18th. But hey, now that I'm a professional cyclist, who knows? Anything's possible!

P.S.

Your Daily Dose of "Awwwww!"

Yes, the audience was abuzz with the question "Where are the parents?"