Bike Tales : Pedalers in Paradise : Finland A foodie rolls through a brief, bright season

Imagine the following scenario for bicycling in a foreign land:

A room-temperature climate with pollution-free air. Beautiful, rustic villages and splendidly designed cities, each one with its own network of bike lanes. Smoothly graded highways, snaking their way through a jumble of lakes and forests. No traffic.

If you are thinking of the Netherlands or France, two countries where cycling is a favorite mode of transport, think again. The description above refers to Finland, a seldom-explored land where conditions for cycle touring border on perfection. The one catch to all this is a short season, the 10 weeks of summer when this normally somber country comes to life. You’d better be ready.

My tour, which I undertook alone, took me to Savo and Keski-Suomi, provinces in Finland’s eastern and central region. These are two ofFinland’s hillier provinces, where ramshackle cottages and pristine lake fronts make indelible post cards for the eye.

I know Finland well, having lived there and studied its tongue-twisting language, but these were places I had never before visited. I must not have known what I was missing.

I actually hopped on my bike in Savonlinna, a town many consider Finland’s most beautiful. Savonlinna is the northern terminus of Saimaa, Finland’s largest inland waterway, and is totally surrounded by water.

When in Savonlinna, don’t miss Retretti, an art museum housed in a labyrinth of man-made caves. The city is also home to an internationally famous opera festival every July, so book early if that’s when you plan to be there.

One bright Sunday morning last August, I psyched myself up for the 80-kilometer (approximately 50 miles) journey to Varkaus, my first stop. Before I left, I did some carbohydrate loading with lortsy , a flat pie that looks something like a hot water bottle. Lortsy can be purchased warm at any of the outdoor stalls in the town’s central marketplace, and contains fruit or meat fillings. Omena lortsy tastes like an applesauce-filled doughnut.

Next I found a couple of good road maps for the areas I planned to cycle in, in this case GT No. 6 and No. 8, published by Karttakeskus. These maps are indispensable for off-road adventures, like mushroom hunting or exploring. They are also painstakingly detailed, down to cow paths on local farms. Confident with my maps, off I went.

Just outside Savonlinna, the road, Finland’s E80, passes acres of alfalfa fields and verdant grass. Red farmhouses that recall southern Vermont sit atop carefully cultivated hills. Few drivers pass, roaring by in the opposite lanes as they do. But you may see teen-age boys and girls on roller skis, training for cross-country events to be held in the winter. They move silently, almost effortlessly as they pass.

If you’re lucky, as I was, the sky will be a brilliant blue. I pedaled in a languid cadence, stopping occasionally at the side of a lake to refresh myself. I reached Varkaus in mid-afternoon.

After dinner with some old friends, I took a long sauna, punctuated by several dips in a swimming pool. A proper sauna is a part of any visit to Finland, and nearly every hotel has one. After a long day of touring, there is no better way to relax and revive weary muscles. Just remember to reserve the sauna room in advance, as the Finns do. The next day I set off for Kuopio, a university town 50 miles away on a beautiful lake called Kallavesi. Boat travel from Savonlinna to Kuopio along Finland’s Heinavesi waterway, thanks to daily steamers in the summer, is an option while touring. It’s permissible to bring the bike aboard, then relax in the bar with an ice-cold vodka. I didn’t, of course.

The trip to Kuopio is relatively quiet. Along the road, about 18 miles from Varkaus, there is a beautiful village called Leppavirta, with a stone cathedral and a large roadside shop in which to buy pottery and souvenirs. There is also a beautiful lake with a swimming beach just down the hill from town.

Kuopio itself is a craggy isthmus, home to Finland’s largest Orthodox church, St. Nicholas, and a wonderful harbor with an evening market featuring live jazz in a circus tent. At this market try lenkki , a fat, char-broiled sausage that Finns love to eat with cold beer.

I put up for the night at a camping site called Rauhalahti (“peaceful shores”), approximately six miles south of the city of Rauhalahti, which has an international standard hotel, riding stables, indoor tennis and a fine beach. If you want to hang up your cleats for the day, a No. 6 bus will get you downtown in about half an hour.

The next day I steeled myself for a long ride. I had booked a room in Ruuppo at the Hotel Ruupponsaari, a lake-front hotel more than 100 miles away. I honestly didn’t know if I could make it, but was certainly game to try.

Luckily, I was blessed with another brilliant, cloudless day, one of Finland’s best of the summer. I headed west, on trunk road 551, a roller-coaster back road graded with dirt for nearly 10 miles in the direction I was heading. I muttered to myself almost continually as I cranked my way up a series of steep hills.

If this is what it’s going to be like today, I thought, I’ll never make it.

Then, magically, the road began to flatten out and a newly paved surface appeared. Just before the village of Karttula, I saw a sign reading “Seppanen--omapomintia vaatu,” and immediately decided on a detour. In English, the sign reads “Seppanen’s raspberry patch--pick your own.” Now what cyclist could resist that?

But although the raspberries, among the sweetest and juiciest I’ve ever tasted, restored my energy, I realized I was dragging. Ten more miles down the road I stopped for lunch in Tervo, at a lakeside restaurant called Sinisentien Gasthaus (Blue Road Inn).

The restaurant, an old wooden house with a patio facing a narrow lake, only serves one dish each day. That day it was a good one-- lohi kiusaus , a salmon casserole with creamed, shredded potatoes. After lunch, I headed north on road 552.

The day droned on. Whenever I was tired, I’d take a rest by one of the endless number of lakes I would pass. Few things are more soothing than a Finnish lake in summer. The wildflowers are in bloom, the smell of fir and pine intoxicating, and the gently rippling water almost hypnotic.

I finally reached the Ruupponsaari 12 hours after I had left Kuopio, about 7 in the evening. There was little to do except go to bed. The next morning I had a professional massage, something many Finnish hotels offer. My masseur, a man named Seppo, worked out the knots in my muscles like a French baker kneading dough. I doubt if I could have gone another mile without him.

The next day I took a 62-mile jaunt down the E4, Finland’s main highway, to Jyvaskyla. I don’t recommend this because, despite traffic that is light by European standards, this is still a major highway. The upside is that the ride is beautiful.

Just north of Jyvaskyla, I stopped by Keski-Suomen Ilmamuseo, a hangar filled mostly with German planes from World War II. I spent that night in a youth hostel called Laajari, on the outskirts of town.

Youth hostels in Finland, incidentally, are often as well-appointed as small hotels. Rooms are usually double occupancy, clean and modern. They are exceptional values, sauna included, with communal bath facilities. You make your own bed.

My last cycling day was also the shortest: a 44-mile trip to Joutsa. The air was fresh and cool along the road, the hills long and my legs almost defiantly sore. I had decided to splurge and stay in a place called Joutsenlampi, a magnificent hotel belonging to the Rantasipi chain.

Joutsenlampi is a main building flanked by a maze of small cottages. The cottages are ideal for a family of four, with stunning Finnish furniture and fully equipped kitchens.

After a splendid dinner of muikku , bony Finnish whitefish in a peppery stew, burbot with creamed morels and a dessert of fresh pear with caramel sauce, I retired to my cottage to relax.

About 10 p.m. I saw it--a giant orange shadow cast over the surface of the lake. I threw on my shorts and rushed down to the shore for a snapshot.

By the time I got there, the supernal glow had all but vanished. Next morning, I packed up the bike and flew back to Helsinki.