Life in the city and countryside of Oulu can be challenging. Nature lover Antje Neumann meets masses of snow, a helpful dog, a tricky car, and fights an epic saga against the elements.
Snowfall in Syöte, 150km from Oulu, makes cycling home a challenge
Snow is wonderful, without a doubt. It decorates Christmas trees, shows off fairy lights, slides off skis and feels kind of crunchy on snow-shoes. But when a ton of it descends during a short period of time on countryside with fewer roads than the city of Oulu in a fog, joy isn’t the only distraction the white stuff provides. Here in Syöte, 150 km east of Oulu, where I’m a nature guide, I bike to work–a journey to work of about four kilometres. A husky, Ujo, runs beside me or even pulls me. Better than pilates and a lot more atmospheric.
Today the snow has been powdering down all day, from the dim 9 am on the fields to the crisp darkness of the early evening. Cycling to the cabin I rent while I’m working here proves exhausting, but Ujo pulls and I trample the pedals, so we make normal speed. In Finland, you buy tyres with spikes. When I first saw them many years ago, I had a good laugh. Winter tyres for pedal bikes?Of course for seven months of icy, snowy streets, they’re perfect.
On this occasion the last five hundred metres to the cabin proves too much for even the magic of studded rubber. The small forest path hasn’t been cleared during the day, and on a snow saddle about 10 cm deep, the bike slides from one side to another. Unable to stay on, I jump off and Ujo and I push the bike uphill. A covering of heavy, wet, -2 degrees drift stretches as far as I can see. Branches of birches have become so heavy with snow, they almost touch the road; we circle them to avoid getting it on our necks and back.
In the cabin, I boil a cup of tea, and plan tomorrow’s route. I’ll leave early in the morning for a meeting in the Oulanka visitor centre, a 140 km drive from Syöte, but if it continues like this, who will clear the 500m forest road?
Ujo the husky in his husky house
When I say road, I really mean a 20cm deep snowdrift. A four wheel car with huge tyres would do 20cm, no problem. But my old banger with small wheels won’t necessarily start at all, let alone plough through the miniature Andes towards the end of the lane. It has, I quote, ‘some sort of electrical fault quite normal for old cars.’ One mechanic, ideas failing him, even sprayed some cables to make them waterproof. This didn’t fix the problem.
In the city you take a bus. In Syöte, public transport is limited, and a 140 km taxi drive is too expensive. Since the only remedy is to dig the car out, jam a charger on the battery, grab a shovel, and attack the parking lot, I get to it. Ujo, not understanding, prefers not to accompany me but retreats to the warmth of his dog house.
I clear as much of the forest as my muscles allow: 50m to a junction to a neighbouring cottage. My neighbour, I reason, rushing to work early next morning, will somehow manage to plough through and track out the last 450m. Holding this thought, tired from shovelling snow, I fall asleep quickly.
In the morning, though everything is still white and flakes are tumbling down like some mad circus, at a glance through the window I see the forest road is cleared. It seems some farmer from the neighbourhood, busy with his tractor, has pushed the snow to the sites of the road. Perfect!Now I just have to shovel the snow he’s pushed in front of my car and get the thing started.
Getting the car to start can be a real contest
I take the cables away, try the engine. It revs on at first try; I kick the accelerator. Moving backwards proves problematic: I can only see white behind me, with no idea where it is deep and where cleared. Twice, I get into deep snow and the engine stalls.I start it again, drive forwards, drive backwards, then, elated with sudden momentum, punch the thing through the last snow, onto the forest byway, and straight into the snow on the opposite side.
This has not helped. In the powder puff scree, as high as a wall, my wheels go round and round but nothing else moves. Ujo, who as usual tries to sleep as soon as he gets into a car, gives me a strange look.
I dig out the rear wheel. The car should be able to move now, but won’t, obviously disinclined. In the end I dig into the sand on the sandy edge of the road. The wheels grip and the journey starts–though slowly, like a bishop winding up a sermon, as some time has passed since the snowplough has cleared the road and there is a lot of loose snow on the road. In the countryside, busy roads have a much higher priority than smaller side roads, which get a lot less use.
In time, I make it to Taivalkoski, onto the Kuusomo road, where driving conditions improve greatly. I arrive at the meeting an hour late, though not without an excuse.
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