No Matter how Crazy you are... July 10

When I arrived in Lillehammer, it dawned on me, I had absolutely no idea where the hostel was and everything was closed. Some day, I might learn the prudence of planning, but it wouldn't be that day or the next. I briefly considered wandering in the vain hope of finding the hostel or maybe a sign to point me in the right direction, it was a small town after all. After what was a brief moment of insanity, I came back to my senses. I had written down the phone number of the hostel, just in case, so I decided to call them. Brilliant, no? Well, the fella on the other end of the line said the hostel was at the train station. I was at the train station. When I turned around 180 degrees, I found myself right in front of the hostel entrance. Sigh, what's a guy to do? It could have been worse, right?

As with the other hostels I have been to in small towns, this one was equally as boring. I guess young people tend to stick to the bigger cities that have the night life and larger attractions. Go figure.

My room mate, however, was an interesting man. He was on his annual motorcycle trip. Every year he spends 2-3 weeks riding through whatever Scandinavian route interests him. He usually camps, but the weather had been so atrocious, he decided to have a dry night in a hostel. He was an introverted man who seemed to prefer his own company, but he certainly had a lot to express. He had recently broken off his relationship with his girlfriend of a year and a half. It seems she cared more about her dog than she did for him. I think that would be enough for me to call off a relationship as well, I just know I could let that last a year and a half.

While he was away, it was up to her to deal with the apartment they had together. He seemed okay with letting her take care of all of their possessions and not having a place when he finished his trip. Well, he was a little concerned about having to look for a place in Stockholm, I guess housing there is difficult to find.

My favourite thing about this man though, is his hobby. Marathons. He liked to travel around, just to run marathons. Now I like running, but I guess this is a whole other level of addiction. He was still recovering from the marathon he ran the previous Saturday. With a cracked rib. In a few months, he would be traveling with some friends to do some extreme running in the mountains. I think that meant something like a hundred or more kilometres. To each his own, I guess.

In the morning, his parting words were, he was off to church to get right with God. It was raining again.