Peddling the Dirt
Day 5
Haagi – Sauvere

Rain bouncing off canvas is always a beautiful sound, but never a welcome sound. This morning we woke to rain. This was a lovely little test for us, we want to do more cycling together, so a wet start on our last day provided us with good practice for future adventures.

The rain stopped long enough for us to get up and dressed. Shortly after dressing, there was another sudden and very wet downpour. We gathered our open panniers, ran for shelter in the trees and waited it out. Then I wiped down our tent with my bandanna and made a cup of coffee. Just as we were finishing our coffee, it started spitting again, so panic-stricken we collapsed our tent and packed it while it was still mostly dry. We put everything else away, jumped on our bikes and headed out. By the time we had cycled the kilometre to the main road the sun was shining and the trees were glistening like an Oxford Street Christmas Eve.

We cycled five kilometres into Leisi. Leisi had a fantastic wee supermarket and a lovely closed cafe that had conveniently left out its outside seating. We sat in the sun, dried our stuff and relaxed into a slow breakfast of muesli and yoghurt. From here we cycled another five kilometres to Karja. Karja is the highest point on the island and is known for its beautiful cluster of windmills. The great news was they had a cafe that was open, the bad news was, the coffee was not good and we had to endure the noises of men repaving their balcony. After a quick cuppa we cycled on.

We were heading home and heading inland, this day was destined not to hold the beauty of our previous forested coastal days. We followed a 16km stretch of uneventful gravel road to the village of Eikla. Here we found a delightful small Protestant-looking church that had a bench and seats graciously parked on its front lawn. Thanks God for a perfect place for lunch and the start of sealed road.

We cycled on keen to finish our journey, but sad our cycling adventure was concluding. We cycled past the rather impressive church at Kirikuküla. The landscape was pretty average, churches and windmills had quickly become our highlights until I stumbled upon the petrol station at Aste. I am talking about the little Aste on the map that is just north of the big Aste. This petrol station was a fantastic relic from a bygone era, whose bygone era, I have no idea. The petrol pump was literally a hose and nozzle stuck into an upright hunk of pipe. In case of fire there was a fire-extinguisher bracket and a red bucket and spade in a wooden case hanging on a wall. Also hanging on the wall was a worn pair of leather gloves and a switch that was waterproofed by having a plastic bottle shoved over it. Aste petrol station was my favourite tourist site on the whole island.

After another seventeen kilometres of rambling gravel roads flanked by mostly barren agricultural land, we arrived relieved and tired back at our guest house. Somehow we had had a miscommunication with our hosts and by their understanding we were a day late, kindly they were getting ready to call the police, such is the care of Estonia’s island people.

It had been a few days since we had last showered, so after hanging our damp tent, I raced in and had a thorugh scrub, before settling in for an excellent evening meal with our host family.

Our final day was an uneventful 56.56 kms.

Maps

Introduction

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Kit

Peddling the Dirt
Day 4
Kooru forest – Haagi

After a really good sleep and a slightly late start, we peddled off. It really was a nasty and exposed road, but fortunately this time with little wind.

We lazily cycled east. It was a cool misty morn, with a gentle breeze meandering through jaded green and the fresh orange of autumn leaves. Perfect morning riding, there was nothing out there to disturb our cycling slumber. We cycled on to the bustling village of Mustjala. Mid-morning Mustjala was entertaining a platoon of peasants carrying buckets of mushrooms and wooden crates of a variety of locally grown produce. They seemed to be selling it to a well-dressed lady in a little fawn van. We stopped at the shop across the road and purchased breakfast yoghurt, water and sausages.

We didn’t quite feel comfortable in the village, so cycled out of town and past a merry bunch of school kids to a pretty-looking Russian church, where we ate our breakfast on their front lawn.

Taking the advice of a few people, we decided to cycle about 20 kms out of our way to Tagaranna. The scenery was the same as the rest of the island and the wind was behaving, so to pass the time we decided to play a game. The goal was to name all of Canada’s famous people that we could remember. This is a really good game to play whilst cycling, because when counting famous Canadians on your fingers, you never have to fear taking your second hand off the handlebars.

We were following signs in the direction of the Rotterdam cafe. Longing for a coffee, maybe some cake and an hour or so reading my book, I had picked up my speed and left Sharon in my wake. I was fair flying by the time I had got to the cafe. I knew it was closed about twenty metres before the building, however I dismounted, tried the door, sulked and looked disappointed just in case somebody cared. It is the Saaremaa way, come the end of August cafe doors slam tight shut right across the island. One needs to be pretty self-sufficient to endeavour cycling the island in September; fortunately we were.

The village itself was pretty enough, worth a drive, but perhaps not worth the cycle. We powered on towards the other side of the bay and Panga Pank.

We decided to take a short-cut down a very minor road, which quickly descended into a farm track and worse still, into cobblestones. Upon entering this road we rode past a typical looking farm house, complete with washing on the line, a well and an old woman bent over harvesting something like beets from her garden. Moments later we were greeted by the barking of a dog. His bark sounded an angry warning to us, but his tail wagged a friendly welcome. I stopped, had a chat, stroked his head and cycled off. The mischievous mutt started following us, we cycled faster, but the dog could keep up. After about a kilometre and knowing that we were about to hit a major road, I stopped, picked up some stones, threw them at the dog and told him to go home in both Lithuanian and English. The crestfallen poor dog didn’t seem to understand, however eventually got the message.

We stopped for lunch at a bus-shelter at an intersection called Küdema. It was a horrible place, Sharon’s gears were playing up and needed to be mended, I lost a screw in the process and ended up patching things up with duct-tape. Grrr.

We were a little surprised to find an open shop in Võhma, so I stopped and bought an energy-giving Coke, just because I could. From here we cycled on to Panga Pank.

Panga Pank is basically a twenty-one metre cliff. The cliff didn’t interest my Kiwi soul so much, but I did like the nice mowed grass fields, the seats, views and wide open spaces. It was well worth the visit. I did note that it was set up for tourists, so perhaps in season it could be quite busy.

Our next stop was at Pahapilli, where we bumped into a random German selling mustard out of a tent. He was giving free tastings and it was very good. After a casual chat we were back on the road, a few Euro lighter and few kilograms heavier. We cycled under low late afternoon sun across a rather whimsical agricultural landscape.

We were quite tired and knew we were getting close to our camping spot. I stopped in Metsküla to take a photo of a cute Russian church with a leaning steeple. Again I was greeted by a barking dog, but this time it was accompanied by a friendly wee lassie who was keen to practise her English on me. It was a nice interlude near the end of a long tiring day.

We turned north at Haagi and followed our map to the marked camp-site. We found one, again, with table, fireplace and fire-wood, but it was a little too close to the road. So whilst Sharon changed, I cycled into the bush in search of another, which I duly found, but it did not have fire-wood. With great joy upon returning for Sharon, I loaded up my bike with fire-wood and cycled the final stretch of our 76.72km day.

Our evening wound down with the sound of rippling waves and a crackling fire cooking sausages waiting to be devoured with yummy chilli Mustjala Mustard.

Maps

Introduction

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Kit

Peddling the Dirt
Day 3
Karala – Kooru forest

We slept in a really comfortable bed listening to a background ensemble of thunder, rain, banging roofing iron and yet more wind. We had no milk for our breakfast so opted to endure a breakfast of more freeze-dried potato. Being unsure of the quality of water and knowing that there was a shop 14kms down the road, we did not fill up our water bottles.

It was a lovely cool morning with a slight tail wind. We cruised along gravel roads as sun silhouetted through the pines. Our first stop was a shop and breakfast in the lovely little town of Kihelkonna. Sharon dashed into the shop whilst I chatted with mingling drunks and pumped up our tires. We sat across the road from the shop on benches with a picnic table. Here Sharon produced her booty of pastries, yoghurt and beer. She had totally forgotten to get water, it was promising to be a good day. Needless to say, I made a second trip across the road and graced the shop with the sound of my cleats padding their concrete floor.

We cycled north through a cute forest along a minor winding gravel road, amidst the sounds of barking dogs, misty brooks and the wind in the trees. After a long 6km, we hit the main road. Perhaps at this point I should point out that one of the great things about an autumn cycle ride on Saaremaa is that there is absolutely no one there, like almost no cars at all. We cycled forever along a wide and slightly uphill road, flanked by yet more gorgeous bus shelters and swaying pines. It was so beautiful it was almost boring.

At the end of this 6km straight, we turned the corner to be overtaken by a roaring Russian registered Citroen. It was the most exciting thing that happened all day. We continued around the corner into Veere and stopped at a closed wine-bar for lunch. This was an exciting meal for us, because it signified our last meal of beans and tortillas.

The wine bar was in front of a wharf and a port authorities building, I saw this as a chance to bug someone for a photo opp. I walked in a door marked ‘passport control’, raised my voice and yelled ‘hello’ into the silence. The silence never responded, I tried a second time, was a little more culturally sensitive and yelled ‘tere’. The silence rustled and eventually walked into sight, wiping sleep from his eyes and smelling of alcohol. I smiled, held up my camera and said ‘photo, photo please’. He bemusingly obliged.

It was only mid-afternoon, but it was time to start looking for a camp-site, so we cycled another 12km before following our map up a narrow very rough gravel road, then right on cue the wind started howling. After about 5km of rough and sometimes very exposed road, we entered a forest and gave up, never finding our camp-site. We pushed our bikes through a beautiful trenched battle-site glade until we found a sheltered spot on a very rocky beach. Resting our backs upon a tree, we tugged the ring-tab off our breakfast beers.

As Sharon was mentioning to me that she had asked God for a camp-site with a table, I butted in and said ‘what is that?’ About 50 metres up the beach was what looked like a table and the camping place we had been seeking. The site was fantastic; free, with a wind shelter, toilet, fireplace, fire-wood and of course a table and benches. Bizarrely the only thing missing was a place to pitch our tent. Ended up squeezing into a spot between some trees. The ground was all stones and rocks and we could not get our tent pegs in. I managed to tie our guy ropes to trees or attach the guys to bungy cords wrapped around boulders. It was not ideal for a windy spot.

After a short day of 46.45km, we spent our cool evening being drawn into another peaceful camp-fire.

Maps

Introduction

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Kit

Peddling the Dirt
Day 2
Sääre – Karala

After a comfortable night’s sleep dreaming with the murky sea’s lapping wavelets, we rose and breakfasted to the sound of wind in the trees. Our first stop was a massive 2kms down the road at the Sõrve Lighthouse. We cradled down right at the seashore in effort to avoid the howling wind, broke out the stove and and made our morning cup of coffee. Apparently the lighthouse is the tallest in the Baltic. For some strange reason most of it is painted black, one can only presume that they do not want it to be seen in the evening sky. We stopped, humoured the gaggle of hopeful souvenir-sellers, used the free toilets, cleaned our teeth and purchased a couple of postcards.

From here we tackled the wind in a northerly direction through yet more massacre sites, until we stumbled upon a beach near Ohessaare that was totally plastered with cairns. It was odd, kind of like a bus-load of drunk Scottish teenagers had stopped and did what rural drunk Scots seem to do, and built cairns. It was both oddly charming and quintessentially weird.

Our fellow guest and random film-maker had told us that in the village of Ohessaare there was a cafe with good coffee and cake. We followed the signs until we came to this delightful little windblown cafe snuggled up alongside a gorgeous little windmill. We sat out of the wind whiling down the time reading. We asked the lady who served us where she thought we should camp, she quickly got on the phone, resulting in the instructions of ‘ride to Karala; when you enter the village, on the left-hand side of the road is a large yellow house, the keys will be in the door, there is a room waiting for you upstairs’. We were thankful, however it was still 50kms up the road and a bit further than we had planned on cycling. As an afterthought, I asked where the next shop was the answer was, there was none. Oh dear, we needed water.

We kept cycling, battling the wind from all directions. The sky was cumulusly blue and grey, the landscape green and undulating and the birdsong delightfully refreshing. Then with no warning, just as we thought it not possible, the wind picked up battering us ferociously from the side. We hit damp gravel road and our stomachs decided to start wincing for food. We dowsed on, searching the blue lines on our map for non existent creeks. Worn and ragged, we spied an infant lighthouse and figured it was as good a spot as any to shelter from the wind and cook lunch. I gave the site a sorte and found a delightful looking and almost-clean puddle, it looked a perfect source for a cuppa tea. Billy boiled, tea-ed and fed, we set off past another battle site and Highland cattle.

I had seen the westward turn coming on the map and I knew we would only have to ride about 3kms on in that direction. It meant turning head on into the energy-sapping wind. Sharon is goal-focused and performing anything less than her maximum is just heart-wrenching for her. I kept advising her to get into a low gear and to sit back, relax and enjoy the wind, but I am afraid watching birds fly backwards is just darn right demoralising. We managed to keep upright on the bikes until we turned north again, then there right on the corner was a soft grassy patch in front of a farmer’s gate shrouded in yummy blackberrys. A perfect stop for a rest and sip of rationed water.

Dreaming of beautiful bus-stops and fresh springs, we pushed on to a predestined intersection. The plan was for Sharon to rest here and look after my faithful Ortlieb panniers, whilst I rode onto the shop at Lüdmanda. The crossroad bus-stop was a tired, exposed bench in front of a motocross track. There was nowhere for Sharon to shelter. I raced on, to discover that the shop and our chances of food, water and more importantly, beer, had closed about ten minutes before I got there. Bugger!

I cycled back to Sharon. We ate the last of yesterday’s bread, turned once again into the wind, onto a gravel road and cycled the remaining 7kms into Karala. Sure enough, as we entered the tiny pretty village, there was the large yellow community centre, with the key in the door. We called the lady from the cafe and thanked her, she let the caretaker know that we had arrived and the caretaker herself arrived shortly after. We had no language in common, but managed to communicate the essentials, leave a donation in the ceramic chicken and, yes, we were allowed to take a beer from the fridge.

We were a little tired, but all in all it was a good 72.84km day. We were much further on than we had expected and were looking forward to a much shorter day three.

Maps

Introduction

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Kit

Peddling the Dirt
Day 1
Sauvere – Sääre

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Our chosen start/finish line for this adventure was the Peetri Tourist Farm guest house in the tiny village of Sauvere. Heavily-laden with five days of food and five litres of water, we set off along a wide smooth gravel road, turned south along the main road, rode a couple of kilometres and stopped for our first photo. Saaremaa is scattered with many lovely, still and silent historical windmills.

Within minutes of returning to our still-supple saddles, we were off them again, taking refuge inside one of Saaremaa’s many immaculate bus shelters hiding from a light downpour.

Within twenty kilometres we were entering the capital city of Kuressaare. We stopped at the post office to buy a map and slowly rode through the town looking for a cafe. Before we knew it we were out the other side, a U-turn was necessary for a second ride-by. Kuressaare is a beautiful quaint bink-and-you-miss-it old town consisting mainly of a slow winding road flanked with cafes suitable for tourists but not for us. We settled for a small terrace down a minor cobbled alley outside the Saarte Sahver health food shop. They gave us good service, free internet and good plunger coffee. We ducked inside to avoid another shower and then returned to the terrace to finish our coffee.

Castles; if you have seen one, you have seen them all and I am a little sick of them. We almost cycled past Kuressaare’s humble castle, I did enjoy cycling over its lovely draw-bridge through the wall right up to its iron gates and paywall. Keen to keep our money for further coffee, we meandered a little before exiting via the southern door.

Upon exiting, Sharon, my wife and cohort in the adventure, a little unsteady with new panniers, was forced to do a slow dance with a dreaming pedestrian. As she veered left to avoid him he would walk left, then when she veered right, he would walk right. It was all very humorous and became very clear that this strange little man was teasing my wobbling wife. As we rode past his comfortably embarrassed wife, she let out a little apology in perfect New Zealand English. We kept cycling.

We continued south along a collection of immaculate cycle paths and quiet excellent roads. Hunger drove us through the sand-dunes to the beach somewhere near Järve, where we found a peaceful table and benches set amongst dancing marram grass and sulking clouds. Before leaving on this trip I had purchased a second bike-stand and here in the soft sand, was very thankful that careful parking and two stands together allowed my trusty Lithuanian Panther to stay upright. We broke out my battered Trangia stove, a can of beans, tortillas, salsa and cheese and feasted. I was still hungry at the end so topped up with some perfectly disgusting and adequate instant mashed potatoes.

We continued to cycle south, stopping at Salme to buy some food for supper and opting not to get water until the next shop.

Supper was spent at Massa, flanked in lowland forestry in a bus-shelter conveniently equipped with a picnic table. Tuna sandwiches in the twilight.

Our goal was to cycle an average of fifty kilometres a day, however I had read on Warren and Esther’s blog that there was a good camp-site somewhere down south near the lighthouse. We never found it, ending up sleeping beside a bunker on the side of the road near Sääre. Some kind person had even left a fire pit stacked with firewood. We finished our 76.98 km day resting in the glow of a setting sun, rising camp-fire flames and the dim glow of a local lighthouse.

Maps

Introduction

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Kit

Introduction

For me, Saaremaa was a hidden, windy Baltic gem. I totally enjoyed our relaxing 326km five day cycle around the island.

Mr Google was a bit reluctant to give out much information about this north-western Estonian island, consequently I am very grateful for the help of Andres Tatter and his local knowledge. I also learnt much from ‘The Sportswool Diaries‘, a tour cycling blog by Esther Tacke and Warren Sanders. And thanks also for the literary encouragement of cycling authors, Mark Beaumont and Anne Mustoe.

I am also thankful for the advice from our host at our farmstay and to fellow guests who happened to be members of a random Estonian film crew who among other things fed me excellent smoked fish plus beer. Also thanks for not waking us up, when you rose at 5am.

Because our cycle trip was a holiday and studying history, culture and language is just too close to work, I totally neglected to do so. Consequently I cannot offer you any factual historical or geographical information on the area that you cannot already find in a two minute on-line search.

However I can tell you that we drove north-east from Klaipėda, Lithuania, around Riga, Latvia, got lost travelling through Pärnu, Estonia, and arrived at the ferry from the mainland to Saaremaa at dusk.

After a peaceful night and a fantastic cooked breakfast we set out on the road. I am not sure what time we left, but it was probably somewhere between nine and ten am.

Please do continue reading.

Maps

Introduction

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Kit