Distance: 51.7 miles

Time: 4:50

Elevation Gain: 1767 feet

Perhaps Hammerstad Campsite wasn’t the best in terms of facilities, the toilet block was tiny and tagged onto the end of one of the camping cabins, and if there was a kitchen area, I still never found it. But the view was spectacular and I enjoyed sitting out as the midnight sun set, watching clouds roll across the mountains. It was the first night of the trip that I can remember seeing the moon.

The wind strengthened overnight, and it was gusting quite strongly by the morning, and definitely in a direction that would hinder my onwards travel.

Rolling along the Austnesfjorden, I stopped to take a few pictures when a trio of riders whizzed by. They sounded Polish from the snatch of conversation I heard, and were riding strongly in formation, so I thought it likely that I might not see them again.

But, up ahead, there was a hill and the woman at the back of the group started to drop back, so they slowed up, and my tempo took me past them on the ascent. Shortly afterwards I stopped at a view point to take some more photos and assumed that the group would pass me again. But they stopped too, and when I turned off to follow the 30 mile ‘scenic route’ to Fiskebøl, I looked back and saw that they’d carried straight on along the main road. Maybe I’d see them again down the road.

After a few more miles of ploughing away, into the wind, in a degree of frustration, I stopped to have something to eat. Almost immediately after setting off again, a Swedish rider called Hans pulled alongside me, and asked if it was ok to chat. He had set off from Sweden and ridden to Trondheim. He’d then ridden from Trondheim and was also on his way to the Vesterålen Islands, but was then cutting off to Narvik. At some point during all of this, he was stopping in at his brother’s, and potentially some other relatives as well.

Once or twice he remarked about how fast I was riding, and that he could go this fast because he was on an 8 kg road bike, and clearly had a lot less equipment. Certainly my bike weighed 11.5 kg, as for the rest of my equipment, I couldn’t possibly say.

After 10 miles of riding together, and now having forgotten to notice whether there was a headwind or not, we rounded a corner, and the view was spectacular. Spectacular enough that I had to stop to take a picture. Saying as much to Hans, he said, ok see you, and he was off!

Further along the road, having stopped to take another photograph, a girl hiking, called out, ‘this might sound strange, but would you like me to take your picture for you with this lovely view’? It didn’t sound strange at all, and I instantly offered to return the favour. She was off to hike some of the nearby peaks for a few days, looking up at them, I wouldn’t even know where to start.

Into the next fjord, and I’d stopped for yet another photo opportunity when 4 of the group of 6 that I’d seen swimming the day before flew past. Soon afterwards the road turned around the end of the fjord and suddenly the wind was in their face, and as the road started to ramp up, the group began to slow and I pulled alongside. ‘Hi again’ said the guy at the back, ‘are you going for the ferry too’. Yes, I said, do you happen to know when the next one is? ‘In 50 minutes time, and it’s 13 km away’, came the response. Suddenly, I saw what the rush was about.

We kept chatting at the back of the group, they were a group of 3 friends from university, and their respective plus ones, who all now lived in Oslo, and were doing the trip from Bodø to Tromsø together. Eventually the strong gusting wind started to push the group back, so I felt duty bound to take a stint on the front, battling on over the last few hills towards the ferry terminal. And there was Hans to greet me, ‘you caught up’, he said.

Arriving into the small port town of Melbu, in the Vesterålen Islands, there was a steady stream of cyclists popping into the supermarket for supplies, and when I finally got back underway, I had to decide whether to take the long road or the short road to Stokmarknes.

In the end, I decided on the long road, and 15 miles later I rolled under the arch of the impressive looking Hurtigurten Museum building, an exhibit dedicated to Norway’s coastal cruise ferry, which began in 1893, and runs daily, back and forward between Bergen and Kirkenes near the Russian border.