On the way, about 20 minutes into the nearly two-hour journey is Roskilde, and I will be getting off soon (we just pulled out of Hedehusene station). From there I get on the 600S bus that has a stop right at Risø. Frederiksborgvej, one of the main roads running through Roskilde, winds north of downtown along the fjord that butts up against the city's northern border. Risø sits on a small peninsula jutting out west from the eastern shore and the main entrance is 60 meters or so from the two-lane blacktop. So, it's quite nice to be dropped off at the bottom of the exit ramp and then a minute's worth of walking beneath the highway and onto the lab's property, and to work!
Here's my stop..."næste station, Roskilde!" Thank you charming Danish female recording voice.
Fog and mist are close on the land, a typical Danish morning. The heavy moisture will probably become a little lighter as day goes on, but the scant few peeks and wisps of blue sky come and go just long enough to notice and too short to cherish. The tether-tied radio tower (I assume that's what it is) a few hundred meters south of my office window is topless, its blunt triangular peak lost in the clinging weather. Outside is not quite what I would call cold, certainly not the harsh freshness of Rocky Mountain winter nights, but cool enough for jackets and hats, and to numb fingertips. The absence of wind in the insulating vapor is a welcome reprieve from the usually vigilant north-bound gusting.
I picked out one of the Risø public bikes and rolled off on a rust-tinged frame with a loose right pedal. The cycles are sturdy, but maintenance is not top priority among the many machines here, and even the Danish cannot make an invincible bike. But it serves just fine, though I wish they hadn't bolted this one's seat; I feel like one of those slouching, surly BMX riders, knees pumping nearly to my chest each revolution, and without a neighborhood skate park to show off my two-wheeled talent. Instead, I make use of static friction lean muscle to traverse the well-worn half kilometer roadway between the guardhouse and building 778, where I now sit at half past 9. The trip down that stretch of pitted pavement is a daily highlight for me, and I'll have to take pictures when the light's not so perfectly flat; maybe a sunny day will happen upon us soon? Trees (haven't figured what kind yet), old and tall trees, line either side, down its full length. Spaced a few meters, they form an airy wooden tunnel. The site is beautiful now and I wonder how much more stunning it will look in a few months. Nature's awesome.
Just south of the road is the fjord, petering out and ending in dozens of niches, coves, and ponds, grabbing every last bit of space it can, and coming within 10 meters of the trees. If you see pictures of fjords in books or online where they show inlet ocean channels surrounded by steep, rocky shores (I know I have), this isn't one of those fjords. Like the rest of Denmark, the landscape is mostly flat, rolling and jutting here and there a bit to show some spirit, but not much. As with every winter morning I've been here for, there's a layer of ice close to shore and it mixes in with the mud and grasses to look like a smooth beach in the soft gray light. Ducks and gulls strut and slide on its glassy surface, and I roll on by, to work and (a bit of) procrastination. By the latter, Dear Reader, this post is brought to you.
Tilbage arbejde (back to work)!!
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