I made it over the water to Sweden on the ferry from Helinsor to Helinsborg (I think I have that the right way round) after having a look around Denmark’s modern art and architecture gallery Louisiana. Its Scandinavian and Nordic buildings prepared me for moving over into a subtly different country.

On the boat was a wiry old German riding a GS100 which he said had taken him from the northern most tip of Norway to the very south of Sicily with over 100,000 k on the clock. He said he was attached to it and I can see why. He admired my rather newer and more shiny bike but I suddenly felt a bit ashamed of all the gizmos attached in the face of his highly appropriate workhorse. He said that he wasn’t strong enough any more to pick his bike up if he were to drop it. He was a real sweetie, off to stay with a friend in a cottage somewhere in Sweden. I don’t spend a lot of time with motorcyclists but these moments are gems.

The campsite I chose is just over the road from the sea and while the sun is still shining it is beautiful but there are some heavy clouds and they say tomorrow it will rain. My entry here did not get off to a good start. The helpful young guy opened the barrier to let me in but it is not set up for motorcycles and came crashing down on the back of my bike knocking me and the bike into an extremely solid and unfortunately placed metal signboard, sending me flying and bending the bar at the front of the bike that the windscreen is screwed to. A couple of Swedes came over and helped me, asking me if I was OK. They were joined by a few parsnips and a potato (sorry I couldn’t resist that terrible joke…). It was very sweet and offering to lend me tools to fix it. After putting up the tent I got my trusty tool kit out and tried to straighten things up but to no avail. It should get me through the next few days. Luckily nothing more expensive was damaged. Someone staying here told me that the same thing nearly happened to a woman on a motorcycle yesterday but she just made it through.

This campsite has great wifi – which is some solace. It started raining that night and rained with possibly only a couple of short breaks for the whole next day and most of the next night. I felt forced to stay put and pay for an extra day. Despite not liking the site much (when will I learn to avoid these places that are crammed full of retired people in big white caravans and mobile homes?) I spent the day reading Hisham Matar’s Anatomy of a Disappearance in the kitchen, the only warm place around. I must say the weather, the event with the barrier and the demographic of the site (not to mention an upset stomach) meant that my morale drained through my boots.