Since arriving in Denmark I've been under no illusions that I'm travelling well out of season. I made excellent progress after disembarking from the ferry, getting to within a few hundred metres of that night's intended camp. Unfortunately, that short distance involved an 'on demand' ferry which couldn't be demanded after 17.50. I'd arrived at 18.20. I had a vexing problem: the last restaurant I passed was 30 miles back, the last campsite and garage about 20. I backtracked a bit, taking other roads, managed to buy some bread and cheese and a drink, then looked for a campsite. I knocked on a door, half hoping to me invited to camp in a field, but was pointed to a hotel a few miles away. This hotel turned out to be a bar only, but they told of another a few miles further. It was by now dark, and the on-off rain turned torrential with the side wind attempting to take control of the bike. I found a hotel, not sure if it was the one that was meant, but I was able to start drying my stuff out.
The next day I'd clocked up 15 miles before I'd reached the point from which I should have started the day. After a second ferry I stopped at a hotel in Hals, drying out my gear once again. As I ate that evening's pizza, Iwatched foliage outside being blown horizontal.
The next night was spent in Skagen, on the spur of north east Denmark and reached by a great cycle path through pine forest and dunes. By now it was clear that most hotels are deserted, they just display a number to ring. Saves paying for staff. They still charge full price. Eventually I found one with staff. The price now seemed like a bargain. Skagen is a picturesque town that was colonised by artists and writers in the late 19th century. I went to the brewpub (which closed at 7pm) and wandered among the yellow-painted houses. After breakfast I rode a couple of miles further to the northernmost point of Denmark and ascended the lighthouse. I then rode back out through the dunes to follow Route 1 along the west coast of Jutland. Denmark must have just about the best cycle path system in the world. There are paved paths everywhere, nearly all roads have a cycle lane and even the gravel stretches are perfectly rideable, not like the rubbish gravel in Norway. This is proper gravel.
That night I camped, but the English pub nearby was closed, so I got some bread and cheese from the shop, dined in my tent and retired to bed at 7.30.
The next day was dry too, the first back-to-back dry days since Germany-Holland-Belgium. I got pastries for breakfast, rode past a couple of towns early on, then went 40-odd miles without a shop or garage. I'm glad I wasn't hungry.
As everywhere on the coast was deserted, I dropped off the route to camp in the town of Thisted that night. Next day I rejoined Route 1 and set of down a causeway separating a fjord from the sea. The wind was 45 degrees from head on. There was a break in the causeway after 5 miles for a very short ferry ride nefore the causeway continued for a similar distance.
About halfway to the ferry a downpour came, lashing me from front left. Then about three quarters of the way a vehicle approach that I recognised as having overtaken me 15 minutes earlier. This could only mean one tbing. Sure enough, it stopped and the occupants informed me the ferry was out of service, with no reason given.
I raced off the causeway, the other side of me now exposed to the rain, but I had the consolation of witnessing a flock of starlings doing their swarming thing. I headed around the fjord but was now so thoroughly wet I badly needed a room, and luckily found one in a town a few miles on.
In the morning I continued on my new inland route and was joined for a few miles by a local cyclist. I t was raining again, but half an hour after we went in separate direction he pulled up in his car and gave me an old pair of overshoes, which helped my feet stay drier for longer. His car had a Norwich City sticker.
I rode on to Ringkobing uplifted by his generosity.
Today from Ringkobing I resumed the coastal route which incuded a 25 mile causeway. I was only a few miles from the end when a deluge struck, along with gale force wind. It was seriously arduous getting to the end of that causeway, and I had a further 40 miles ride to Esbjerg. Yet again, I eschewed camping in favour of a hotel. I'm hoping to get over the border into Germany tomorrow, but even worse weather is predicted, so I may be in Denmark for another night yet.
Apologies for typos and lack of photos - I had to type this on my phone.