Unsurprisingly, I got off to a slow start, rushing to get all of my equipment packed and out of the room by the midday check out time. Rolling down the hill to the large shopping centre down by the waterfront, I was optimistic that my bike seemed to be working quite well, and it felt quite comfortable after the last minute handlebar stem swap out.
Although the forecast was promising showers for the day, the hot weather of the last couple of days had made me regret only bringing merino wool baselayers as they could be a little warm in the sunshine, so I rushed back into Decathlon to pick up the lightest synthetic t-shirt I could find, and followed that up by hunting down the Unimarc supermarket to pick up some supplies and a lighter, for my stove.
Finally, setting off along the coastal cycle path at just after 2 o’clock, I was now officially pedalling along the Carretera Austral. Less than a mile later the main road climbed steeply over a bluff, and I continued along the coast to avoid it, being passed by a couple of cyclists going the other way, which gave me hope that this could be a passable route, a hope that soon evaporated when the road turned to dirt a few metres later, and even more so when I encountered a large puddle of standing water covering the entirety of the road.
Never keen to retrace my steps, I climbed tentatively around the edge and carried on my way, passing a large number of surprisingly docile dogs, one of which looked like it’d jumped out of its fur when I emerged at its side, and pedalled by. Finally, the shoe was on the other foot.
Eventually, I rejoined the main road, Highway 7, and as I stopped at a bus stop to have a snack, the pair of cyclists that I’d seen going the other way earlier on, cycled past, having presumably also encountered the large puddle on the dirt road, but taken evasive action. Shortly after I stopped for my first Empanada of the ride, similar to pasties, this one was of the chicken and cheese variety and was very pleasant.
Back on the road, I was soon hot on the heels of the cyclists from earlier, and I was gaining on them as I tackled the first climb of the route, one that proved tough in the warm sunshine, especially as I was still wearing my waterproof trousers after the earlier downpours.
Catching up with the pair as they stopped outside a shop, we quickly became introduced, they were a couple from Switzerland, Marlen and Pablo, although Pablo was originally from Argentina.
There was some debate as to whether any of us were planning on pushing on towards the Caleta La Arena ferry this evening, or whether we were hoping to find somewhere to camp sooner. Pedro had cycled this stretch in the opposite direction the year before so was hoping to stop at a campsite this side of the ferry, but in the end we missed it, so carried on up and over a couple of short hills to the ferry port, conveniently just as the ferry was arriving.
Disembarking at Caleta Puelche, it was only 4 km to what Google Maps showed – mysteriously – as ‘Camping y Glamping’, and our hearts sank when we arrived and it was deserted, but we made good use of Pablo’s native Spanish language skills to call the number in the window, and the host rushed along to make us feel at home.
In the end, we all decided that our tents could wait for another day, and the ‘glamping’ setup would do the trick, in this case, a large tent with bed, lights, and power. He also offered to make us burgers for dinner, so my stove could also remain happily ensconced within my panniers.
It has not escaped my attention that 2026 will signify a decade since I started writing this blog, and so, I thought it would be a good opportunity to mark the occasion by ticking a fairly significant cycle-touring challenge off my list: namely, the Carretera Austral, or ‘Southern Highway’.
The Carretera Austral is an 800 mile sliver of tarmac and gravel, that cuts through a sparsely populated, and geographically complex, portion of Chile’s Patagonian Lake District. Begun by General Pinochet in 1976, the route was only fully realised in 2000, and links a series of tiny – previously isolated – coastal communities between Puerto Montt in the north, and Villa O’Higgins in the south.
As Villa O’Higgins is a long way from an airport that offers regular commercially-available flights, there is the added complication that I will need to push on farther south, via a combination of ferries and hike-a-bike, to reach a remote Argentinian border post near the popular trekking hub of El Chaltén, before continuing southwards and ultimately crossing back into Chile, ending the trip in Puerto Natales, which, conveniently, offers the dual purpose of providing a means to onward flights, and also acting as the perfect launchpad for visiting one of my longest-serving bucket list destinations, Torres Del Paine National Park.
It would be something of an understatement to say that I am extremely excited about having the opportunity to undertake this adventure, one that I had been contemplating for many years, before seriously considering it for last winter. Then, when I spotted that Pierre – who I cycled with in Vietnam in 2020 – was attempting the route, I was determined to get – not only – some advice about the challenges he had encountered, but also an endorsement that I should do it too…
At around 6 o’clock, on the Friday evening, I hurried into the large XXL sports superstore, and sought out the bike department, asking the first member of staff I encountered if they happened to have any bike boxes available.
Having seen a collection of them on the shop floor, I was feeling optimistic, but it seemed that those boxes were already reserved for other cyclists, and the only one that appeared to be unaccounted for looked distinctly smaller. She could let me have that one, but it would cost me 250 Krone (£18.35).
Aware that there was such a high demand for bike boxes in Tromsø, that it had become a revenue stream in itself, I had thought that the shops might have made branded boxes available to sell, as I’d encountered in Vietnam, but these just appeared to be the boxes that new bikes arrived to the store in, and there wouldn’t be any more new bikes being built until after the weekend.
As I was concerned that the box I’d been offered was a bit small, the salesperson headed off to see if they had any others in storage, and I quickly took the opportunity to measure the box. It was definitely smaller than the one I’d had when I travelled to Norway in the first place, and it turned out that they didn’t have any other boxes hiding away in storage.
Perhaps all was not lost, however, as the girl suggested that there was another bike shop further around the retail park. So on finding my way over to Tromsø Ski and Sykkel, I rushed inside. The salesperson enquired as to whether I’d reserved one, before apologetically stating that they didn’t have any available.
I was regretting not taking the first box I’d been offered. It was Friday night and my flight wasn’t until Sunday afternoon, but the salesperson in XXL had already admitted that they would be unlikely to be building up bikes again until the Tuesday, so other boxes were unlikely to become available. I had read that Tromsø airport kept the boxes that cyclists brought their bikes in, so it was possible I could get one when I arrived at the airport, but was it worth the risk? I decided not, back to XXL I went.
Hoping that the salesperson hadn’t taken offence at me rejecting the box the first time, and that no one else had turned up to snaffle it, I headed back into the shop. Although it looked a little small, I said, I was sure I could make it work. But there was a potential spanner in the works, ‘could I take it with me’, I was asked, ‘as that would be best for them’.
With nothing else for it, I dragged the large empty cardboard box back outside and over to where I’d left my bike. One thing was for certain, my 1000+ mile ride down the length of Norway, from Bergen to Tromsø, had finished here, outside a shopping centre on the outskirts of the city.
I was in a quandary, if I dismantled the bike here, and put it in the box, I’d have a bike box, two panniers and my handlebar bag to get into town, so would probably need a a taxi, and an extra large one at that. Another issue with that was that I hadn’t booked a hotel yet, so I’d also need to decide where to stay before I booked the taxi.
An alternative plan, though, was to fold up the box, and manoeuvre that and my loaded bicycle over to the bus stances at the other side of the car park. I could then get a bus into the centre of town – which was only 6 km away – and then pick a hotel near to where I ended up, and based on if it had a suitable area to leave my bike chained up outside. The advantage to this plan was that most of the buses in Tromsø also serviced the airport, so if I was staying near a bus stop, I’d have a readymade budget option for getting to the airport on the Sunday.
Not far from the bus stop was the Home Hotel Aurora, and although it was right on the harbour, it had a fairly private car park located to the side and a bike rack at the front door. It looked like a perfect spot for leaving my bike for a few days. Having stood outside booking my stay online, I walked inside carrying my valuables: the handlebar bag and the folded cardboard box.
‘Michael’, the lady at reception asked before suggesting that if I wanted to leave my ‘carton’ by the desk, it was the last 15 minutes of the complimentary dinner service, so I could have dinner now, and then check in afterwards. I liked this place. I liked the meatballs, mash and vegetables they were offering for dinner, and I liked the sauna and rooftop hot tub with harbour views.
Later in the evening, I dawdled along the waterfront, eventually finding a nice looking beer terrace at the bar, Rorbua, so went inside. Eyes only watering slightly, from the £9.50 beer from Tromsø’s Mack brewery, I tried to forget the £7.30 entry charge entirely. One thing I definitely wouldn’t miss about Norway was the prices.
Absentmindedly heading back to the hotel, at after 1 am, I hadn’t realised that I had become a sitting duck to the many seabirds circling above the seafront. Their squealing and squawking had become a tedious soundtrack to my journey at all hours of the day and night, so I was paying little attention, when I felt a whoosh of air, and an impact on the top of my head. Making for the cover of a nearby awning, I started to pick my route more carefully back to the hotel.
On googling ‘divebombing birds in Tromsø’, I realised I should have known, and I’d come full circle, I’d finally been tracked down by my old arch nemesis from Iceland, the Arctic Tern. I really do dislike those birds.
Luckily, I managed to escape a repeat attack during the rest of my time in Tromsø, and indeed I had a very pleasant stay, visiting the Arctic Museum, the Arctic Cathedral, and taking the gondola up to a high viewpoint and cafe.
On arriving at the airport on the Sunday afternoon, I set about dismantling my bike, and it wasn’t long before a couple of cyclists – who I remembered seeing on a ferry – turned up and asked if I was arriving or departing, clearly looking to take my bike box off my hands.
Unfortunately for them, I was departing, and the XXL from which I’d got my box would be closed, but I did mention the fact that I’d read that they kept boxes in the airport. Not long afterwards, however, I saw them pedalling off again empty-handed, so perhaps that isn’t as surefire a method as I’d considered it would be.
Bike packed up, I was ready to go, and there were no other hurdles to stand in my way. I’d set off for Norway, with a hurriedly sketched out plan, and was pleased with what I’d achieved. I’d flown to Oslo, been to art galleries that I’d long been keen to visit, taken the beautifully scenic train journey over the mountains to Bergen, where I’d squeezed in Lovstien parkrun.
On starting my cycle tour, in Bergen, I’d had a few days of suspect weather, almost signalling the end for my beleaguered tent. I’d also struggled to get to grips with the timetables for the many ferries, and the frequency of the many hills.
In Florø, suddenly the weather started to improve, and I would never have believed that it was only set to get better. The irregular hours of the Atlantic Tunnel bus stopped me in my tracks just when I wanted to start making up some miles.
After skipping from Kristiansund to Trondheim, I missed a ferry and ended up taking a lengthy detour around the wrong side of the fjord, but kinder gradients and stunning mountain views were ahead, before I made for another ferry from Sandnessjøen.
The Lofoten Islands provided a quickfire highlights reel for the trip before the Vesterålen Islands and Senja merely added the cherry on top.
Ending the trip with a couple of days in Tromsø was a decision designed to give me an opportunity to find a bike packaging solution with a little extra time in case one wasn’t readily available. But on finding one immediately when I arrived into town, the pressure was off massively and I was able to have an enjoyable time sightseeing to end the trip.
In my three and a half week trip, I’d been amazed to have almost 3 weeks of warm sunshine, and when paired with Norway’s stunning scenery, the visual rewards had been high.
Having nipped in for a shower in the morning, I was relieved to find that no one was waiting around angrily outside when I emerged from the bathroom. When I queued to go back in later – to clean my teeth – I ended up speaking to a Finnish couple who were having a lovely first trip to Norway, I had been struck by how popular Norway appeared to be as a holiday destination for countries such as France, Germany, Poland, Sweden and Finland.
I had a simple plan for the day, and it was to arrive in Tromsø before 7 o’clock, as that appeared to be when the bike shops in a retail park out at the airport seemed to be open until, and from what I’d ascertained, they could offer the best opportunity for me to pick up a bike box in which to take my bike home.
But first, there was the small detail of the rest of the route, pedalling along the remainder of the island of Senja, taking the ferry to the island of Svaløya, crossing that, and finally crossing the bridge onto the island of Tromsøya, and reaching my ultimate destination of Tromsø.
It was another beautiful sunny day, and I was surrounded by majestic mountains all around as I pedalled back along the road to Senjahopen, where I stopped at the shop to stock up on supplies for the road ahead.
Carrying on along towards the end of the fjord, the sides started to steepen until the road was funnelled towards an open tunnel. The open tunnel, then, in turn, began to burrow into the rock, and I was about half way through, pedalling determinedly through the gloom, when I was surprised by two cyclists coming the other way.
At the end of the fjord, the road turned sharply inland, and I was pleased to have arrived at the first hill, I knew there was only one climb before the ferry, so better to just get it over with, I supposed. The gradient was steep, but I felt equal to it, and soon I was looking back impressed by how much altitude I’d gained, and how quickly.
Arriving at Botnhamn, it was an hour or so until the next ferry, and it seemed like there were an awful lot of people already waiting, on top of that, the ferry didn’t look particularly big.
After fish and chips from a food truck beside the port, I joined a legion of other cyclists in pushing our bikes aboard, for what would be my 20th and final ferry of the trip.
On reaching the other side, at the port of Brensholmen, I was last of all the cyclists to get underway, and my thoughts started to turn once more to those bike shops in Tromsø and the possibility of other cyclists aiming to procure a box that evening as well.
Luckily, there was a nice tailwind along the long narrow Sørfjorden and I started to pick off some of the other cyclists as I went.
Turning back again into the wind, I could sense that others would be struggling at least as much, and when I paused before the second and final hill of the day at Liafjell, I found that two of the riders I’d passed were riding hard not far behind, did they have boxes to collect too?
The final hill was tough, but I gave it a good go before I overheated and paused to rest for a moment. The road continued climbing gradually before a series of long straight downward pitches thrust me down the other side, and onto a major road at Henrikvik.
Shortly afterwards I passed a sign showing that it was only 20 km to Tromso, and shortly after that, a cycle path started alongside the road and I was delighted to take the more relaxed option for the last few miles.
Crossing the final bridge to Tromsøya, I found myself passing the end of the runway at Tromsø airport, and just across the other side was the retail park that could hold the answer as to whether my trip would have a successful conclusion or not…
PedalTheGlobeBlog 