Danish hostels are not cheap, but the breakfast was just what I needed: a big buffet of fruit, cold cuts, fresh bread, yoghurt, salad, coffee and juices. A cold cut above the average English hostel, I must say, although something this hostel has in common with its British counterparts is that it’s on top of a hill.
Anyway, Nigel’s bike was playing up, so while he negotiated with a local bike shop – to whom Bromptons were not familiar territory – I wandered round the town, admiring the lakeside castle, and snagging a coffee in a local sports centre.
An hour later things were still not resolved, so I set off by myself along Route 6, the Esbjerg–Copenhagen cycle path, certain in the knowledge that Nigel soon would catch me up.
For a few miles it was surprisingly bad, along a busy main road. It reminded me of the old joke. (‘I stopped and burst into tears. A bloke passing by said, Surely it’s not that bad? I said, I’m not crying because it’s bad, I’m crying because it’s made me homesick.’)
Normal service (that is, very good segregated cycle paths with priority at junctions) soon resumed though. We crossed the old bridge on to the island of Funen, and snacked in the sun with a view of the new, bigger, road bridge.
Denmark likes picnics: there seem to be tables in pleasant spots everywhere, always with a litter bin handy, and usually bike parking. As opposed to Britain, which gives you a bench commemorating someone who loved this view before the trees grew up to block it, nowhere to lean the bike, and a fly-tipped mattress with a pile of beer cans.
It was all easy, pleasant riding, with lots of good paths, quiet roads, and chirpy birds. Nigel had a puncture a few miles outside Odense, our target for the day, so I struck on along the excellent railpath into the town from the west.
As I approached the town it got busier and busier with Denmark’s cycling citizens going about their day: zillions of town trundlers, shoppers, bike commuters, and parents doing the school run on cargo bikes.
I felt quite at home, as I often do in Denmark. Except I can’t because of Brexit. Bah.
Odense is a handsome and pleasant town. We enjoyed an evening strolling round the old town. Notable here is the Carl Nielsen museum, celebrating Denmark’s most famous composer. We’re both fans of his energetic, often quirky, symphonies. Carl was quite the progressive Dane; he shared child-rearing with his sculptor wife, and encouraged her career – rather unusual for the early 1900s.
Nielsen also had a good sense of humour, enjoyed being in the pub with his mates, and penned a pop song called Jens the Road Mender which became a massive and enduring hit in Denmark. Only here could a classical composer write a ditty about a bloke who repairs potholes and see it become a sort of national anthem. Couldn’t happen in England, obviously. Nobody repairs potholes.
Buoyed by the thought of creatives who can embrace both high and popular art, and by Odense’s recent installation of a tram network, we stocked up on supermarket beer and snacks and returned to our clean, comfy city-centre guesthouse.
Miles today: 51
Miles from Blåvand: 129