So, I had just crossed over the Norwegian-Swedish Border near the town of Tarnaby. It had rained for much of the day, but after a few hours of mostly dry weather I had mostly dried myself. At about 7:00 I pulled off the road by this shallow but fairly good sized lake. There was a picnic bench near the edge of the water, so I pulled out my Norwegian fruit Muesli (the only food in the whole country that wasn't double what its equivalent would have been in the US) and milk and ate my dinner. I know pretty fancy. In any event I had just finished my dinner, washed my plate, and was about to leave when this horrible sounding Station Wagon pulled off the road and onto the lake shore next to me. It sounded like the muffler had a hole in it and I also quickly observed that the left rear tire was flat. This old Audi had been through a lot. Once stopped, an old man jumped out of the car and began mumbling to himself. It took him a few seconds to notice me, but when he started looking over the car, with me I pointing to the flat rear wheel, he seemed to suddenly realize what was going on. I asked if I could help him change the tire, knowing full well that hand gestures would probably communicate my offer better than speaking (Being in nowhere northern Sweden, with a guy looking like he was well into his 70s, I thought it was a safe bet English would not work). I thought he could probably change the tire on his own but respecting my elders the way I do, and thinking that me exerting myself was favorable to the off chance of him keeling over from a heart attack and necessitate me trying to resuscitate him, I offered without hesitation. Now I don't want to make any judgements or assumptions but this guy seemed a little odd. The whole back of his car was full of plastic bags full of who knows what. Probably 30-40 supermarket sized bags full of stuff. There were so many bags I had to hold up the tailgate (the hydraulic springs were shot) and hold up the station wagon's floor so he could get to the spare tire. The floor was so heavy from all the bags that I had to hold it up with both hands, which ,meant I had to use my head to hold the lift gate up, which meant I hand no appendage available to swipe away all of the mosquitoes that were biting my neck and face.
After dude got the tire, tire Iron, and jack out, I went to work on loosening the lug nuts. He started jacking up the car. The tire change was easy, no problem. After we were done he started smiling and thanking me (I think) and we shook hands and hugged. He told me his name and told him mine, when I said I was from California he was like "Ah Cali-for-nia, Amer-ican!". I said goodbye and started to go, but he vehemently insisted I stay. He motioned for me to follow him back to the car, where I again had to hold open the tailgate while he rummaged through some bags. After a couple of minutes he pulled out a length of yellow cord and some old hand carved knives on an old belt. He cut the cord to a specific length and then fashioned it into a lasso. I had no idea what he was doing, but then all of a sudden he took a few steps back, swung the lasso around his head and in a very fluid motion flung the cord at me, snaring me in the Lasso. I thought what the fuck is this guy doing lassoing me like I was some stray horse run off from the heard. After a few moments I realized that this was part of his work. I could tell from his explanation that he had been a fisherman or some sort of Swedish cowboy. He then untied me, wrapped up the cord and put it around my shoulder. I realized It was a gift of appreciation. Before we finally parted ways he wrote down his name and address (I hope it is a full mailing address) and told me to write him (I'll see if it works).
I now have a lasso on my trip, which could come in handy if I run into any stray cows in the Ukraine. Maybe I can practice on my motorcycle.
