Fresh Scandinavian air filled my lungs. Small morphing clouds dotted the sky. Ahead sat an endless summer night of light and i had no plans other than to let the fates steer me. Despite the early hour, the Sun had been up much longer than i had. It was the morning of the Summer Solstice, and i was headed as far North as i could go. i took the Metro to its furthest reaches out of Stockholm, to a village north of the city, and marched to a freeway onramp.
Regardless of the years i'd put on the road, or the continents i'd crossed, a few feelings always arose before a new adventure. Without fail, internal dread and doubt pepper the days leading up to a trip. At times its hard not to succumb to everyone else's perceptions, and fears around hitchhiking. It's difficult not to question my decisions, and methods- even with tens of thousands of kilometres under my belt, and an uncountable amount of good experiences. The feelings fall fast as i approach whatever corner i'm about to throw my thumb from. Those steps drown in exhilaration and exultation. The first cars that pass are sent off with silly, grateful waves for even considering the preposterous idea of scooping up a stranger for a ride. The microinteractions with drivers as they sail by can be such a joy, so much can be expressed and experienced in a second of eye contact. The power of a thumb and smile is as hilarious as it is dumbfounding. It's inconceivable how far the two can take you. There will always be a ride. Something always works.
Hints of aspen perfumed the morning air. My mind ran with fantasies of what that evening could have in store. There was potential to make it past the Arctic Circle, a fascinating feat. Perhaps i'd end up in Umea, a university town home to some of my favourite punk bands. Or whatever Solstice celebrations i may find myself invited to by a driver. There were no plans, no wrong answers.
i had heard that the Swedes weren't the easiest to catch rides with, but the weather was comfortable, and with no destinations, and no timeframe to adhere to, i was content. The first lift came after an hour or so. Not fast, not bad. i joined a young architect, we rode together a few hundred k before he left me at a rest area with a restaurant, and gas station.
i seized the opportunity to use the station's Wi-Fi and checked my messages. Low and behold, i finally had a response from a good friend of mine from back home in Vancouver, Canada that i knew was also in Europe. He was on tour working as a tech for a rock band and i was hoping our paths would cross at some point in our journeys. Turns out that he would be in Oslo the following day, and invited me to stay with him at his hotel if i could make it.
It was great news, but left me at a bit of a crossroads. Had i only found out before i left that morning i would have made my way directly to Norway from Stockholm. My options were to turn around, or continue and shift to a quieter highway and border crossing. Under normal conditions it would be difficult to make it in time after moving off of a major freeway, but because of the Solstice, i had pure daylight from an unsetting Sun on my side. i rolled the dice, and continued my way Northward.
A kind old man scooped me up. We spoke of cabins, the woods, and our countries shared reverence for nature. Like many, his words were painted in nostalgia, and a longing for simpler, easier times. After a few hours his exit came and our conversation cut short. The next kind soul was fast to arrive. His greetings were quick, disjointed, and the few English words he knew were textured with a heavy accent.
A crescent and star ornament hung from his rearview mirror and gave a few clues of my driver. i tossed him a friendly "asslam o alikum," the Muslim greeting of peace on chance.
The young man's eyes went wide with shock, "You're Muslim??"
With a sad smile, i shook my head no and explained that while i wasn't, many of my friends were, and that i had been fortunate enough to spend time in the Middle East. He confessed that he had been nervous of my reaction to him when he picked me up, that i might have been afraid of him because of his culture. i assured him that i had nothing but gratitude and joy to join him, and we began a long conversation of Islam, prejudice, and harrows of his own personal history seeking asylum in Sweden.
While the Sun never fully sets in some parts of the country, it did spend a little time below the trees- much to my new friend's relief. At the moment of the drop he found somewhere safe for us to pull over as fast as he could. Parked, he explained that we were in the midst of Ramadan, and he was eager to break his fast. Already a gruelling practice, it was much more difficult in Northern longitudes with the late fall of the Sun. i sat and enjoyed a cool evening breeze and the shade of the sky while he prayed. He rose and invited me to join him. The food was delicious. Our roadside picnic included stewed vegetables, lentils, and flatbreads.
We finished dining and returned to the car. He took me up to the appropriate exit to take me Westward to Norway and we said our goodbyes, wishing each other ease on the rest of our journeys.
Drivers on the next highway were sparse, but the road was gorgeous. It weaved through mountains, passed lakes, and rich forests. A short ride after midnight brought me to another service station. Despite the hour there was still plenty of light, simply a lack of people. i sat upon my bag and read. Pages turned, and hours passed. While hope was dwindling, my excitement, and the light kept me energized.
Some time after two in the morning i was fixing to set up camp and get a little shut-eye when a small red car pulled up. A father and his teenage daughter were heading to Trondheim, Norway and invited me to join them. The two radiated kindness and were as bubbly as they were friendly. The tired teen was thrilled to let me jump up front and keep her father entertained for the drive while she got some sleep in the back. Crossing the border was as unremarkable as passing a sign. Speed limits and highway markers became hypnotic as the hours crept, and my eyelids started to fall. With my seatbelt as a pillow i began to slip in and out of sleep.
i remember waking as we passed through a small town, a giant green board welcomed us to Hell. The surreal sign took me aback and my driver shared a laugh at my surprise. At first i thought it was a joke, but recalled old memes of the sign covered in icicles, Hell frozen over, when i was a teenager. We were half an hour outside of Trondheim, the father graciously gave me a quick driving tour of the town before setting me off at a roundabout that connected to the E6 towards Oslo.
We said goodbye around six in the morning and i was exhausted. i'd left my friends apartment in Stockholm over twenty four hours prior, and had made a journey of around 800 km. Without a second thought i trekked into a small wooded area beside the road, rolled out my yoga mat, climbed in my sleeping bag and passed out for a few hours.
With my eyes closed, memories of the posters i'd hung in my teenage bedroom came to mind. The Beatles, Nirvana, Metallica, Bob Marley, but specifically, a flag of Ozzy Osbourne. The picture nagged at me. It was an iconic image of Ozzy on the side of a highway, with a small cardboard sign, hitchhiking to Hell. At seventeen that poster ignited my imagination until i was drowning in nostalgia for the decades i'd been born after. Of course, i understood the joke of the "Prince of Darkness's" destination. That wasn't lost on me, but there was something about rockers from that era, and 70s hitchhiking culture that absolutely fascinated me.
The picture represented a freedom my soul longed for. It was a memory that fuelled me, one i'd often return to after i started hitchhiking around the world. There was something so astounding, so synchronistic about actually having hitchhiked to Hell myself. Especially on such an auspicious, and significant day as the Summer Solstice. It felt as if my metaphorical stars had aligned with the very real shift above. My hilarious, in some ways, fated life.
After a few hours of shut eye, i rose, brushed my teeth and continued my journey Southward. The Norwegians were an absolute joy to ride with. Great conversationalists, we spoke of everything ranging from philosophy, politics, societal criticisms, and great perspectives on rock and roll. There is an archetype amongst the people that would pick me up on my hitching adventures that i lovingly refer to as Metal Guy. Metal Guy drives fast and, of course, has his music set to deafening levels. On my journey Southward i was picked by Metal Guy on two separate occasions. It was a blast. Rocking out to national metal bands, grabbing coffees, playing air guitar to Led Zeppelin at ear splitting volumes. Miles flew by.
When i started nearing Oslo later that afternoon i asked one of the drivers if they could find a map to my friend's hotel on their phone. i was gobsmacked to discover that the hotel i was seeking was a further hundred and twenty kilometres from the city, at a small lake district beside the border of Sweden. The driver laughed and told me that at least i'd be going somewhere beautiful and made sure to drop me off at a decent place to continue my trek.
The rest of my journey was under a gorgeous golden sky. Time moved quick and the rides were fast. Before i knew it i arrived at an extravagant hotel and found my friend. While we'd grown up in different parts of the city we'd known each other since high-school, connected through music. In our early twenties not only did we continue to play shows together but he also got me an incredible job with him at his father's record store.
Our reunion was electric. Big hugs for an old friend. He was quick to settle me in his hotel room, and share his excitement for our buffet breakfast the following morning. We moved down to a local bar one of the promoters had recommended. There we met up with the band's guitar tech, and swapped stories of the road over pints. It wasn't long before we were joined by various members of the band, including the manager, who i was shocked to run into.
The friendly face was a man named Pete Stahl, we'd met five years prior in Santiago, Chile while was hitching on a different adventure. i was astounded to meet him then, sure that the name had to be a coincidence. That he couldn't be the Pete Stahl. Singer of the legendary DC hardcore band Scream (Dave Grohl of Nirvana and Foo Fighters first band), and Goatsnake. Low and behold it was. At the time he was managing my friend's South American tour, and now by pure coincidence, he was heading this European jaunt.
It was a bizarre collision of lifetimes. Two separate trips, two friends, Ben and Pete, met in two different countries. The band graciously invited me to their show the following day. They were playing inside an old castle, now a historic fortress at a huge metal festival. i accepted immediately, we had a few more drinks and went off to crash for the night.
The next morning was full of more surprises. Our evening crew reconvened over a magnificent spread of breakfast. Towards the end of our meal we were joined by the lead singer as well as their social media manager. We shook hands and immediately she began a playful interrogation of how we knew one another. i couldn't wrap my head around what she was asking me. She lifted her phone and showed me that we had been friends on social media for over a decade. After a few minutes of flipping through her photos i suddenly remembered meeting her at a house party over ten years prior, while i was living in London.
It hadn't been a great party, more than a little stale. She had appeared suddenly from the toilets in a full corpse paint, popularized by Norwegian Black Metal bands in the 90s, and a black cape. She began parading around the party, tossing her cape about and hissing at the square attendees. i thought she was hilarious and immediately hit it off with her and her boyfriend. Between her hisses, i discovered she hosted a metal radio show, and we'd exchanged details but never managed to meet up until, oddly enough we both were in Norway headed to the same festival.
The Solstice's synchronicities were far from over. As i was thrown on the bus with the band and the crew (one of which i'd find out later shared a birth date with me), they asked how excited i was to see Sabbath that night.
"Sabbath?" i croaked in utter disbelief.
Black Sabbath were headlining the festival as part of their farewell tour, it would be their last show ever in Norway. The bus rolled through gates into the festival's backstage area, ensnaring me in an astounding Cosmic Wink. i had hitchhiked to Hell, of course i would be seeing the Prince of Darkness himself. I watched one of my teenage heroes, Ozzy Osbourne, beside three friends that i had met on three different continents, during three of the most exciting chapters of my life. The show was incredible, the day even better. The Universe works in mysterious ways. The more you play, follow your heart, and trust, the more it gives.
Life is wild. Turn it up.
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Want to hear more? There's more to tell! Backstage at the festival, shooting hoops with rock bands, getting drunk with Black Sabbath's road crew, being thrown on a tour bus and waking up in Denmark... it may be some time before those stories are put to page, but you can hear all about the festival and the bands on:
i wuz there: 2016 Episode 10!
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Thanks for reading! Enjoy the Show!
-Mr. Write
PS: Here’s a little Sabbath to send you off