When Tina announced she and Ana were going to visit friends in Germany at the
end of September, my initial thoughts were to take the opportunity and head off on
a bike trip. But where to go? I looked north initially. I would love to ride up
to the Arctic Circle and beyond. However, the
9 day limit combined with shortening cooler days saw me set a more realistic
target of Bergen
on the West Coast of Norway.
I calculated that it would still be approximately 1300 km, and via a mix
of dirt roads and mountain passes in potentially cold and wet conditions, it
was unlikely to be a walk in the park. This suited me fine, as I needed a bit
of a blow out before the winter set in, but neither did I want to stretch
myself too thin. I did, after all, want to actually make it!
The weeks leading up to take off date saw temperatures plummet to negatives
at night and single digit maximums (we are talking Celsius here) during the day
with a bitter wind chill factor. It was a bit of a shock after a stunning
summer to be honest and had us both a bit concerned about just how cold and
long winter was going to be… it was only the very start of autumn! Anyway,
there wasn’t much ado but to get on with it and ride the bike really.
Riding out of Stockholm I simply followed
the Sverigeleden –Sweden’s
National Bicycle Route.
It weaved its way throughout the northern suburbs and despite not having much
of map to guide me, it was well sign posted so I had no problem following its
intricacies… which were many. It was two hours of solid riding before it
actually directed me onto a road. It was a small country lane and with the main
motorway not too far away, the road weaved its way through small villages and
farms on virtually traffic free roads. It wasn’t too long before the bitingly
cold rain arrived. It felt and looked like it was going to snow, but it was
just the normal wet stuff that came. Sheltering behind a barn, I donned the
water proofs, warm gloves and booties and continued on my way north for the
rest of the afternoon. It was cold, but I stayed relatively dry in all the kit,
some of which was added to the collection of gear at the very last minute on
Tina’s insistence… of which now I was glad of. Most of it was never removed,
even when it wasn't raining, in the next 9 days of riding (apart from getting
into my sleeping bag at night).
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The Sverigeleden, which I followed across Sweden |
My packing had been a little haphazard and involved a sting of five
minute periods over the previous week. I guess I have done enough of these
trips to know what I need, and I wanted to go lightweight and fast. But the
cold weather had seen me rethink a bit at the last minute. A reasonably large
tent, warm sleeping bag and a lot more warm riding clothes had ballooned the selected
small panniers a little. But if the weather stayed as cold as it was (it did),
I would be wearing most of the gear most of the time anyway (I did), so I
didn’t actually need any storage room for it. In the end it was a
compromise between comfort and lightness (isn’t it always?) and I ended up with
a load somewhere between a fully loaded touring rig and a light weight Brevet
rider.
That evening I made camp in a small patch of forest to the west of Uppsala, with
approximately 100 km on the clock. It had been a late start and it was dark by
7 so I was simply pleased to be on my way with a few kilometres down. I
realised that I hadn’t actually pitched the tent I had with me for a couple of
years, and it took me a bit longer than I would have liked in the rain.
However, I got there eventually and snuggled up into my warm sleeping bag,
relished the simplicity of it all and enjoyed listening to the rains
pitter-patter on the tent fly as I dozed off for a good nights sleep.
The next two days saw the cold wet conditions continue and I followed
the Sverigeleden to Mora, all the time sticking to small country roads (often
with a dirt or gravel surface). The riding was pleasant (when it was dry) and I
wove my way through farm lands, woodlands, small rural settlements and
collections of summer houses. It was nice… but nothing to get too excited
about. I managed just under 200 km a day and when I arrived in Mora I was a
little bored with it all to be honest… as well as being a bit tired having put
500 km on the clock in two and half days. I was bored with the riding, the long
lonely days (and nights), the cold miserable weather and despite my good
progress, the realisation that I potentially didn’t have enough time to get to Bergen to get my flight
on time. I checked into a room at Mora, relished in a hot shower, had a good
feed and decided to sleep on it.
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Autumn colours and cold looking lakes were a theme throughout the Swedish leg |
The next morning, my motivation was low. I wasn’t too sure whether I
could make it to Bergen
to get my flight on time, and even if I could, I wasn’t too sure if I could
be-bothered. I’ve been in this space many times before so I did what I did
before. Simply pack up, head on my way and see what happens. I removed the
pressure from myself of actually making it and decided it was easy enough to
turn around and head home if I had to, I at least had time for that. But as so
often happens, I hit the road, and despite the freezing morning, I actually
quite enjoyed it. Gone were the farms, the summer houses and the villages. It
was pure forest… for as far as the eye could see. This was the far west as far
as Sweden was concerned and
by the late afternoon I had pedalled my way into Norway with a smile on my face.
Sorry, Sweden,
but you just didn’t excite my riding passion on this trip.
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No problems with mosquitos in October - an advantage of travelling late in the season |
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Sunning myself in a rare moment in Sweden |
The road changed almost immediately. The slow rolling hills turned into
steeper longer passes and as the road headed up I was surprised to see men in
camouflage shouldering guns everywhere. It wasn’t the army, but hunters. They
were everywhere. Four-wheel drives were parked sporadically along the side of
the road and as the sun got low I spotted men, motionless at the side of
openings in the forest waiting for something to walk by. I got a little nervous
when it came to finding a place to pitch the tent, until I eventually found a
small river in which I couldn’t see the tell tale sign of a parked car by.
The next day looked like it would be a bit of navigational fun and
games. I didn’t have very detailed maps (in an effort to go lightweight and if
truth be known also due to lack of planning) and I’m too old-school for fancy
electronic navigational aids, but the map that I had only showed motorways and
lakes… two things not exactly synomonous with pleasant cycling.
I headed towards the centre of Hamar… just south of Lillehammer in which the Winter Olympics were
hosted in 1994 – no wonder it was cold! At the tourist information I asked for
my best options to beat the motorways and lakes and in no time at all, the
friendly staff had photocopied me a cycle map (which they had for sale), poured
me a refreshingly hot coffee, and had gone to the café next door and bought me
a large biscuit to go with it. Now that’s what I call service. And the
afternoon was ever the more pleasant for the encounter as I weaved my way
around the cyclist’s impediments on a network of cycle trails and small roads.
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Hamar Tourist Information. Couldn't give you advice on the tourist sites but they are a welcoming lot |
That night after I had climbed over my first real pass of the trip I
camped next to a lake on a disused railway line. Well at least I assumed the
overgrown weeds were indicative of its disused state, and later on a passerby
informed me that I was unlikely to have any overweight trains rumbling past me
during the night.
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Cold camping next to a dis-used railway line |
It was a cold start to the following morning. I dusted the ice off the
tent as best I could and was straight into a freezing descent which took me into
the small town of Bagn.
I only stopped to get water before climbing steeply out of the valley (and the
clouds) to a lovely dirt road that coasted through a stunted and autumn yellowed
pine forest. Down below and in the distance sat glimmering lakes and summer
houses. The low sun and chill in the air was an ever present reminder that
summer was long over.
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The constant low sun meant for long shadows throughout the day |
Down on the other side, I again descended into the clouds and into the
dew infested Eikvidvegen
River Valley.
I sought out a warm bakery in Gol to unthaw. I had actually passed through here
in my first few weeks living in Sweden
on my first work trip to Norway.
It had been late at night, but as the days were long it had still been
reasonably light and I had thought at the time it would be a beautiful place to
tour. The travelling was definitely living up to those expectations, and I was well
into the swing of things now, my dour mood in Sweden a thing of the past.
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Mountains... this must be Norway |
After Gol I headed due west again and picked up a very lumpy forestry
road on the south side of the valley in order to avoid the busy flat road on
the north side. It was far but the line of lease resistance, however the riding
was pleasant and peaceful. Until the hills started getting reasonably steep!
And then the road turned into a track, then a footpath! It was slow going on
the cyclocross (which wasn’t geared for off road riding with panniers) and I
was reduced to the odd push, but it spat me out at the right place – Geilo, in
time for a pizza at the ubiquitous Peppes Pizza.
After I finished it was five o’clock and dusk. I headed west with haste
in search of somewhere to pitch the tent. However despite the beautiful forest
and lakes surrounding the road, the whole area was overrun with holiday homes
of some sort. I ended riding until it was practically dark and hastily pitched
my tent in a car park at the start of the famed Rallarvegen – a popular cycle
route I was planning on riding as soon as awoke in the morning. I had made good
time across Norway.
The kilometres were down a little from the long days in Sweden due to Norway’s lumpy nature but the
150-170 km a day had put me in good stead. That and the realisation that
somehow I had forgotten I was flying home on Monday, not Sunday as I had
originally thought, meant I had an extra day up my sleeve. It was a nice
feeling going to sleep with the knowledge that I now had time up my sleeve. And
with probably the most scenic part of the journey to come the following day,
the timing was impeccable.
The Rallarvegen (The Navvy Road) was built between 1902 to 1904 for
construction access to build the Bergensbanen railway
connecting Oslo and Bergen. It is now a popular bicycle route and
when the snow melts every July, up to 20,000 cyclists ride the 80 km Rallarvegen
(which is closed to cars). The route, which is totally above the tree line
offers spectacular views to the surrounding alpine landscape. I couldn’t wait
to ride it. Therefore my only complaint would have to be that it was too damn
short!
I knew I had time, so I tried to take it slow. There was no sign of the
20,000 cyclists… it was October, they had been and gone. The road weaved itself
across the valley floor, the alpine vegetation was a deep yellow, the sky a
light blue and the cyclist (me) was happy. The trail passed through the small
town of Finse…
a strange Alpine outpost where the railway stopped. It seemed its sole purpose
was a very large bicycle renting outfit for 2 months of the year. From there on,
it was just the odd historic working mans hut, railway outpost, miles of
avalanche protection for the railway line, my squiggly road, and me. I stopped
at the highest point of the trip (1343 m) and left before I froze to the spot.
I tried to take it slow, honestly I did, but the riding was spectacular and it
was colder when I stopped. So I plodded on.
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Stunning riding and scenery on the Rallavegen |
Eventually the trail branched. There was an option to plummet down the
road to the fjord at Flam, or an option to up head up to the railway station at
Myrdal. Either way was a dead end for a cyclist. From Flam, you went by either
boat or a 20 km road tunnel, from Myrdal a short rail tunnel took you through
to the valley on the other side of the mountain. I chose the train. I waited
out the biting wind for four hours for the five minute journey, and 30 minutes
later I had pitched the tent on a lake shore.
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The descent to Flam |
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Final camp of the trip |
The next day the clouds had descended and rain was on its way again. I
spent the morning descending and arrived in the town of Voss and was checked into the local hostel by
10 am just before the rain arrived. I had just had five days of spectacular
weather when it had mattered most, so I relished a lazy day eating and reading
in Voss before the final push to Bergen.
The final push was a bit longer than expected due to a road closure and
long detour. But despite the rain, I loved riding in the fjords. The rain meant
that waterfalls thundered everywhere and as the lumpy road weaved its way
around the coast line I enjoyed the final burst into the city I last rode into in 1995… where did
all that time go? Despite taking a few days to get into the rhythm of things,
it had been a great trip from the heart of the Baltic to the North
Sea. The landscapes had been very varied, from the rolling
countryside of Sweden, the
mountainous heart of Norway
and ending in the steep fjords of the coast. Each part of the trip had had its
challenges, some more enjoyable than others, but looking back in reflection,
they had all combined to make it an enjoyable and challenging trip. With winter
fast approaching, I feel it will put me in a good mind set for the dark cold
months ahead.
By the time I reached the city limits it was dark. I had a day to spare
before my flight so sought out a roof over my head to explore the city from.
When Analisa and I had ridden into Bergen
all those years ago, we had stayed at a weird sort of campground. I distinctly
remember pitching the tent on the top of the roof of a group of cabins. I
followed the first signpost I saw to a campground that would be handy to the
airport for my flight in a few days time. The signs directed me down a side
street and I arrived at a sort of ‘weird campground’. In my tired, soaked state
I looked past the entrance and could not believe what I saw. It was the same
place I had stayed 18 years earlier. And no, I did not pitch my tent on top of
one of the cabins, I rented one of the cabins instead!