There are no thieves in Norway, yet, the kind campground manager informed me as he gave me the key to a cabin and told me it would be fine to leave my bike on the covered porch outside. So far he’s been right. Even the gulls aren’t thieves here. I leave my food out and walk away for a few minutes and they don’t even eye it.
One of the reasons I chose to ride in Norway was because I wanted to remember how to trust again. I get paranoid in San Francisco because anything will be stolen if you leave it for more than a few minutes. I never leave my bike unattended for fear it’ll be nicked; I would never think to leave my purse with wallet and passport in it on a picnic table while I run into the market to refill my water bottle. In Norway that is normal. I’m not trying to tempt fate but it is refreshing to not live in fear that everything I have will disappear if I let my guard down for a moment.
Living on your bike you just have the essentials (and even these are not essential in the grand scheme of life). I know I could strip my gear down to even less than I have but right now I use everything that I am carrying on a near daily basis. My right rear pannier has my shelter and sleeping gear, arguably the most important gear that I have in the cold, wet, and unpredictable weather of Norway. The left rear has dry clothes and rain gear. The front left has enough food to last me a few days but I stock up every day or so anyways, keeping the non-perishables as a backup just in case I don’t make it to town one day. The front right has my luxury goods: a very cheap old laptop, my journal, a nalgene bottle that I fill with juice, my camera. My frame bag holds my tools and sunscreen. I don’t want to lose any of these things and not worrying about losing them frees so much of my mind that I am able to focus on more important issues like what I’m doing with my life and what I should eat for lunch.
I received an email from one of the Warmshowers cyclists that I hosted last summer. She was traveling on her own from Victoria, BC to the Mexican border. She was about my age and very friendly and we got along quite well. She had only been gone a day so I was worried she had left something at my place. She sent me what turned out to be the second most upsetting email I got that whole summer (the first was so much worse but up until July 30 this one had me quite upset). Her bike and her gear had been stolen while camping at the beach campground in Half Moon Bay, just south of San Francisco. All she had left was what she had in her tent with her and her sleeping gear. It gutted me. When living off your bike it seems like the bike is your life. Without it you lose your purpose, your home, your one steadfast companion. I know she found a new bike and finished her tour but I’m not sure how she dealt with the psychological aftermath. I hope to never find out.
I have a system for where everything goes and I try to never put anything down on the ground for fear that I’ll miss it when repacking. Sometimes the glucose starved brain doesn’t follow directions. On the handful of occasions when I’ve lost something (my fanny pack left of the side of the road, my phone left in the bagging area of the grocery store) someone has chased after me to tell me I had lost it and make sure I got it back. Norway may be quiet but when it needs to get your attention it does.
There are days when I wish I had another set of warm clothes but this is a pretty simple life. I look back on my first bike tour, San Francisco to San Diego in November 2013. I faced similar nighttime temperatures as I do here yet somehow I managed to survive with far less gear than I have now. I don’t remember what I carried but I know that it fit comfortably into two panniers with my sleeping mat and tent lashed to the rack. Even my minimalism has experienced lifestyle creep.
The first day of that trip, from the sunny office in the SoMa neighborhood of San Francisco to the foggy windy beach town of Half Moon Bay, was possibly the coldest of my life. Every time I ride or drive from the city towards Half Moon Bay I remember how cold I got on that ride. It still surprises me when I realize how close Half Moon Bay is to San Francisco. That day felt like an eternity. I keep trying to find the Subway where I stopped to warm up and change into warmer clothes. The woman working who gave me milk and cookies along with my sandwich at no additional charge is a saint. It’s the little things in life that we remember.
When I arrived in Norway I had my packraft and my stove with me. The idea behind both was that I could use my packraft once I got to the inland lakes and I could use my stove to cook dinner, expanding my self catering options. Between jet lag and low blood sugar I was anxious. I needed to do something to take control of my environment and shipping home the stuff that wasn’t immediately required seemed like the easiest thing to do. I sent all the cooking and paddling gear I had back to California and life has been much easier since.
I experience this same sensation at home and I need to remember this lesson. Sometimes there is just too much stuff in the house. I have a habit of collecting and not getting rid of anything but it is easy to see how this adds to my stress. It isn’t as simple as decluttering; it is ensuring that everything has a purpose. Since I started putting this trip together almost 18 months ago I have slowly been decluttering my house and my life. Living simply on my bike is a welcome reminder that I have so much farther to go in that pursuit and a reminder that the rewards are worth the effort.
