Middle of nowhere

Here's the latest development. My knees and ankles hurt. Geir's knees are better, but at times they hurt too. Both our asses are sore.
Luckily Geir's original ten day plan had today listed as a full rest day. If we cycle eight miles, Geir said, we'll have caught up with the progress we were supposed to have made and can take the rest of the day off, recuperating in a camping site somewhere. We picked the town of Jörn and cycled there.
Only to find it was a ghost town. A mile outside of town we started seeing boarded up houses, an abandoned hostel (that we later learned had been ruined by a fire just the year before) and other, equally disheartening sights. Think tumbleweed.
The local train stationed looked out of use as well, if it wasn't for the anachronistic digital timetable hanging amidst 70s fittings, and a very lonely-looking meeting point.
We asked everyone we met if they knew anywhere we could eat or spend the night, but got only shrugs in reply. I was urging for us to just continue, have a four hour rest and carry on as usual, but Geir wanted to make a final pass. That's when we saw a sign that hinted at food. It didn't look much like a restaurant but it was open so Geir went in. He came back out smiling. He'd fixed us dinner and a place to spend the night. We locked up our bikes and went in. It wasn't until I saw the other "patrons" that I realized what kind of place it was.
Geir had checked us into a care home, a pensioners estate. They had spare rooms to let and Geir seized the opportunity.
We've just had dinner with the other residents and are getting ready to have a shower in our spacious double room. I'm trying not to think about happened to the previous occupant to make it available.
You can't make this stuff up.