Another World: Near Farlun to Boddbo - Lookin For John Fairweather - CycleBlaze

August 30, 2013

Another World: Near Farlun to Boddbo

Shortly after nine I was on the road heading for a place called Hedemora; though, I wasn't planning going that far, instead I intended to turn off left on a small road indicated in the Michelin map by two close parallel lines to a circle Langshytten, and follow the small roads; so, avoiding the day before's momotomy. A few kilometres on when I reached the crossroads where I would turn, there was a green "SverigeLeden" cycle-sign on the corner pointing left, and then a few hundred metres further at a tee-junction, another green cycle-sign pointing right. Having picked up the cycle-route, today I could relax and follow the green cycle-signs and not worry about traffic.

Traffic. There wasn't any. I cycled in the middle of the narrow meandering road between low bramble hedgerows because in the next half hour, I only met one car and a tractor and trailer stacked with boxes of potatoes. I could look to the side, the forest having receded to the hilltops below which were golden fields of standing crop, or stubble, or a brown cultivated stripe where a tractor was busy in a cloud of dust sowing barley.

Soon there was a wide river on the right, visible through a continuous stand of deciduous trees. And I'd only one concern, would I be passing through a place big enough to have a shop to buy something for lunch. But shortly, I reached a village with a small supermarket on the left. I bought a baguette and pepperoni salami. I try to avoid such highly processed produces when not touring, but when hungry after riding a bike all morning, I find salami in baguette satisfying.

Coming back out from the shop, I continued along the village street, pass the school with a cackle of children in the playground, then to a corner with a bridge over the river and a big white church on the opposite corner. Then saw the green cycle-sign point straight on along the river.

I wasn't happy a little later when, the green sign pointed off along a road away from the river and into woodland where the tarmac came to an end and the road went uphill. Though the surface was smooth with few bumps and soon I crested the hill and was rolling downhill and shortly, reached the place on the sign back at the turning, Kloster, and learned the value of the detour.

In Kloster, I read on the interpretation board, "from the seventeenth century onwards, the making of gunpower was a profitable sideline to iron. The works wasn't without its dangers though as a spark could cause an explosion, and the main mill was blown-up and destroyed in such an accident in 1757. But the mill was gradually rebuit and the need for gunpower for mining and construction became more important in the nineteen century. The mill eventually closed in 1871 when less dangerous explosives had been introduced."

Further along at the village which was little more than a scattering of oxide red houses in the forest, was the old iron forge which had been powered by a great water-wheel. This mill was significant as it was were the inventer Gustaf de Laval in the late nineteen century worked on his experiments and inventions. He came up with a phototype for what was to become the separator: a machine for separating cream from milk. The Separator would be used on farms all over the world. In Kloster he drew the first scretches for a steam-turbine, a source of energy more efficent than the steam-engine of the day. His inventions laid the foundations for a global company, AB Separators, later, Alfa Laval.

There was a nice place with two picnic tables by the old forge, where I lunched. The day I thought had turned out well, nice meandering country road, history and even the weather looked optimistic with the sun now breaking through the grey sky. And there was the humming: the man wheeling the child in a push-chair out to the road, then turn and wheel back while humming, I can only think his way of lolling the child to sleep.

The day continued well. I didn't have much of an idea where I was, as all the small places I passed throught were too small to appear on my fifteen kilometre to the centi-metre map. But at a point I passed a sign "Valkommen till Vastmanlands Lan", I was entering another provence which was in the direction I wished to go.

It began raining by the end of the day, though only a light drizzle. The wheels hissed along in the wet on a road with almost continuous farms and houses for a while; every bend would reveal yet another house; until, I came to a stretch of forest, and shortly a turn-off along a little used forest track on which, I cycle nearly a kilometre from the road before finding a place to camp on a bed of spongy moss.

I wondered what this small house was used for.
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A place where old things are liked.
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The river
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The old forge: the ruin near side contained the water-wheel.
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The time was twenty past four on the church clock as I passed.
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A corner
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Oats
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Today's ride: 93 km (58 miles)
Total: 5,322 km (3,305 miles)

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