It could have been just an ordinary thursday. In front of the computer screen, perhaps even making half decent work, perhaps wasting time procrastinating. Fearing the latter and well aware that the former could wait until the weekend I chose the third alternative, to tie on the running shoes and leave the house. Eidsvågsfjellet—directly translated, … Continue reading To spend a thursday
I seem to want to see more of this, and this, even if I will have to wait for it, and even this. And less of my computer screen. At least the hours spent on looking up information I don’t need, useless arguments and the likes. So, time to get to it then. To choose … Continue reading More or less
Last winter was nice. Cold, lots of snow, compared to the average year when there is practically none. Tough on the legs though, but last winter I had no plans to run 50km each week. Just went out when I felt like it. Sometimes even with skis on, but that’s another story. Spring came and … Continue reading Motivation, I mean the lack of one
Given how I practically didn’t swing my leg over a bicycle during the year that’s coming to an end it’s best to start planning the next one. And put the plans somewhere potentially public, if it were to put a tiny amount of pressure on whatever it is that gets to decide if it’s a … Continue reading Connecting service roads
I can’t help but smile a bit about it, a little, but I never meant to run. Now it’s what keeps me in shape. And not just physically, far from it. Although the trails are just ground—mud and rocks and dirt and gravel and whatnot—under my feet, I attribute all sorts of magical qualities to them. Continue reading Two thousand and..
An alternative title here could be Bergen–Voss: The Bicycle Super Highway. Actually—no, it couldn’t. But I have had the pleasure of experiencing the route twice now. The second time stopping occasionally along the way to ask myself what the bloody h..* I was doing, how I was too old for this and other fine clichés. … Continue reading Aus der Reihe: Not a bike lane
My youngest daughters’ grandfather used to call them mountain–birches, which is what he grew up calling them in south Norway. Birches that don’t grow so much upwards but in more or less all directions. In my old country they’re just birches and when I used to live there they didn’t grow on mountains. None that I … Continue reading Love the smell of birch in the evening