On to Gavle

I rolled the bike to a standstill among down at heels apartments. This is where satnav says I should be for the hostel. I stand up in the saddle, lift my right leg extended to 90%, bend at the knee, heel to backside, lift higher and rotate. Wedged in between tank bag and luggage behind me on the pillion, this is how I dismount. The Lebanese guy comes over with an easy smile of greeting, taking in the bike and registration plate as he comes. From England? Yes I reply meeting his smile with tired eyes. Too long in the saddle. The miles are long at Sweden's 55 mile an hour speed limit. You are a strong man! he told me. I replied that I didn't feel strong. I am, he assured me. The bike and the journey testify. Ill except that with pride and caution.

I thought I had saved my credit card when I snatched it from the petrol cyborg 2 days ago. My provider has blocked it, so 50% of my financial back up is beyond use. I have an Indian call centre to talk to I guess. I'm learning to be independent and mobile. We are used to having a home and an familiar environment. That which doesn't kill me, makes me stronger!

Its Sunday. I'm taking another break to sight see Gavle old town and sort my shit out before the road gets more difficult. I need to be flexible and clever.

Thanks to Andreas from Germany for help with comms, and good company.