In hindsight, the mechanical hiccup was a mixed blessing. The forced stop gave me time to recover from a sore throat and cough that had lingered most of the week. Once again, a bus helped me bridge the gap between the reality of the terrain and what I had imagined would be feasible on a bike. The additional week it took to fix it gave me a further excuse to bypass Latvia and Lithuania—two countries where cycling didn’t seem ideal. Most reports I had read, and the few people I spoke to, all agreed: the roads were scarce and dangerous, with fast-moving lorries and little room for bicycles. Those who had enjoyed cycling there recommended dirt tracks through forests, which might have been pleasant in summer but held no appeal for me as autumn crept in. Poland, on the other hand, seemed promising with its varied landscapes and historic cities. The country also offered a few dedicated cycling routes like the Green Velo, which skirts the northern border before reaching the Baltic and connects a series of charming towns and cities. As long as I could regain the joy in the ride, the direction didn’t really matter and it seemed like the most promising option.
The bus dropped me off in Suwałki, where I finally resumed cycling on a drab, colourless day. Here, one could sense the tension of a war being waged just beyond these borders. Too many ordinary people were clad in camouflage trousers and military jackets, as if such attire could offer protection if the situation got out of hand. At a crossroads, while waiting for the light to change, I noticed someone had taken things even further—his car was painted in the same army patterns, its roof concealed beneath a haphazard layer of leaves and branches. The Russian enclave of Kaliningrad was just a few kilometers north of the cycleway, and I reminded myself to never turn right!
I still had some doubts about the bike, which had been repaired but not fully tested. Those concerns quickly faded. The bike was flawless; if anything needed fixing, it was my waning motivation. It was a dull start through monotonous neighborhoods of uniformed apartment blocks and warehouses, but soon I was back in the peace of the countryside. It took Poland just one day to lift my spirits. It offered me a week of sunshine and crisp temperatures, perfect for cycling. It felt like a fresh start, and once again, I was eager to see what each day might bring. Despite the drop in temperature, unlike in Scandinavia, I could afford rooms to spend the night—a welcome break after a summer largely spent camping. I missed the freedom of pitching a tent wherever I found myself, but there was a comforting trade-off: bed sheets, warm duvets, and fluffy towels—simple joys so easily taken for granted.
Of all the countries I had visited so far, Poland was the first where I really wished I could speak the local language. English is not as pervasive as in Scandinavia. Not being able to exchange even a few words with strangers often led to a shrug or a laugh, before having to rely on the helpful but awkward task of typing phrases into a phone screen, hoping they would be properly translated. I had chosen this route on a whim, and Poland surprised me daily with its rural landscapes and the quiet elegance of its towns and cities. Lidzbark Warmiński and Frombork were among the most charming, before I reached Gdansk, renowned as one of the country’s most attractive destinations. Its stately houses and churches spoke of a rich past, but Gdansk also played a pivotal role in shaping Poland’s future. It was in the shipyards here that the trade union movement sparked a non-violent revolution against the oppression of a Soviet-backed government, which had stifled the freedom and hopes of an entire nation. ‘Solidarność’, meaning solidarity, was the slogan that eventually grew into a political movement, granting freedom and transforming the fate of the country. Today, a beautifully curated museum tells this story, standing as one of the city’s most compelling highlights.
I left Gdansk and began following a well-developed network of cycleways that led me back to the coast, along the sandy beaches at Sopot. The same Baltic Sea that had appeared rather gloomy on the day I departed from Tallinn was now transformed before my eyes; it sparkled with life and light. I was grateful I hadn’t given up and was still cycling. On an autumn day, a stroke of luck, perhaps a gift, gave me one last taste of summer.