Tag: Scotland

Norway Day 15: Moskenes – Brustranda Fjordcamping

Distance: 54.01 miles

Time: 5:45

Elevation Gain: 2,590 feet

Moskenes campsite looked like a veritable gold mine, and as I sat on the terrace at just gone 10 o’clock, sipping an £8.71 half litre of Nordland Pils, and watched another raft of potential clientele rushing up the hill from the ferry, it seemed like business was booming.

In the morning, I’d just been to the kitchen to clean my pans when I overheard a group of 4 men readying their bikes to leave. They sounded Scottish, and what’s more, one of them was also riding a British racing green Thorn bicycle, what were the chances?

Going over to say hello, I ascertained that they were from Glasgow, they’d been in Moskenes long enough to do some kayaking and a midnight sun hike, they were now setting off to Tromso by bike, and were flying back to Scotland a week on Monday. So the day after me.

Most of the site had emptied again by the time I left, and that seemed like no bad thing, as I was happy to share the road with as few campervans as possible. I felt like I might be looking to stop quite often.

On leaving the campsite, the views came quickly and often, and as I rounded a corner a cliff towered above me, and as I stopped to take a photo, I noticed a sinuous and almost completely unbroken line of people zig-zagging up the steep flank to the pinnacle of what must have been an incredible viewpoint, looking out over the fjord and the sea and the tiny village of Reine jutting out between the two.

Stopping at a viewpoint, near Reine, I was readying to take a photo when I was taken aback by a ‘hello Michael’ from behind me. It was Simon, and Margot, who I had shared the Atlantic tunnel bus to Kristiansund with a week ago. When I had last seen them, as they left the town, we commented that we might see each other in the Lofoten Islands – as I was skipping ahead to cycle to Bodø, and they were continuing to Trondheim, but then taking the train to Bodø – well that was quick!

It turned out that they had only just arrived off the ferry, at 10 o’clock the night before, quickly pitching their tent and nipping up Reinebringen – the midnight sun hike – on the trail I’d just seen from the road. They’d got the sunset shots alright, with a cloud inversion, it looked incredible.

They recommended that I should take a look around Reine, so I rolled down the hill, stopping off at a rather souped up version of the Extra supermarket with a fast food counter and cafe area.

Quickly polishing off Norway’s unofficial national dish, the humble hotdog, I carried on around, and across, Reinefjorden, with an incredible, majestic backdrop of towering peaks, cobalt blue waters, all punctuated by tiny red and white stilted homes, the colours of the Norwegian flag found everywhere I looked.

After an incredible series of open tunnels, I found a few scattered people on a clifftop staring out to sea. Slowing up to take a look, I caught sight of what they were watching, the black fin of an Orca circling out in the open waters.

The E10 cut a swathe across the island, all the way to Ramberg in the north, where I found the four Scots returning from a side road where they had deviated to climb a hill.

Almost as soon as I hit the north coast, the road turned south again around a large fjord, I felt fantastic, I was flying along and my legs felt great. But then I remembered, if you feel great on the bike, there’s only ever one explanation, there’s a tailwind, and that’s exactly what I found as battled along the other side of the fjord.

Reaching a gap between two islands, I saw the Nappstraumtunnelen plummet into the ground, promising 1.8 km of underwater fun. Luckily there was a raised walkway for pedestrians and bikes, but it was still a damp inhospitable place to be, and that was before the climb back out.

Reaching Leknes, I was intrigued to find that the local Remo 1000 supermarket had a separate Sunday opening entrance and that you weren’t allowed into a large part of the shop. Even more interestingly though, although customers weren’t allowed into most of the shop, it did seem that they had shop assistants who would go and find things for you from the unopened section.

Leaving town on the 815, there was a serious hill right out of the traps, but I was feeling comfortable on the climb, and then amused, on seeing a ‘cross country skiiers crossing’ sign.

I spoke to a couple of cyclists from Oslo at a bus stop, I was interested to hear that they were pushing on south to do the tunnel tonight, hoping that it would be quieter than waiting for morning.

I pressed on into the depths of Rolvsfjorden, and on passing Brustranda Fjordcamping at a 20 past 9, I called it a night.

You can probably see too many great views in one day, so I was ending the day with just one more at the campsite.

Norway Day 14: Hopen Lake – Sandnessjøen

Distance: 70.73

Time: 5:31

Elevation Gain: 2039 feet

Keen to get moving on what was set to be the flattest part of the ride so far, Hugo and I set off at 9:45, taking it in turns to push the pace. We had a nice tailwind and it was overcast, perfect conditions to ensure that we could make it all the way to Sandnessjøen in time for me to make the next day’s ferry.

We pressed on past Berg, before finding ourselves labouring into the wind, as we reached the end of Skillbotnfjorden, turning northwest towards the small island of Brønnøy, before the route whisked us south again to the ferry port at Horn, after almost 32 miles, at an average speed of 13.1 mph, most definitely the quickest stint of the trip.

On arrival we found a couple of German cyclists making coffee at a picnic bench, whilst some distance off a pair of French cyclists were chatting to the inhabitants of a motorhome. Soon after, another cyclist arrived, I hoped there wouldn’t be a limit to the number of cyclists allowed onboard.

The German cyclists were both on their way to Tromso, from where one would carry on to Nordkapp alone, and the French cyclists were also on their way to Tromso, but, like me, were also considering taking a ferry to Bodø tomorrow, but from Nesna, 40 km after Sandnessjøen.

The next stage was merely a short hop, with us breezing through the 12 miles between Skjœret and Forvik with a short stop at the shop in Velvelstad, along with all the other cyclists, before rolling down the hill to the port.

From Tjotta it was 38 km to Sandnessjøen and it was still not 4 o’clock yet, so plenty of time to play with. The road followed the coastline, turning back for a long stretch into the wind, before climbing up onto a long plateau, from where the stunning vista of ‘De Syv Søstre’ (the Seven Sisters) became visible, and formed the backdrop for the rest of the day as we were blown past Sandnessjøen airport and down to the port.

I scouted out where the ferry would depart from the next day, and Hugo bought the one thing he felt he was missing by not originally setting off for a cycling trip, cycling shorts.

Hugo had found an interesting looking camping spot, 5 km away, so we followed the road up and down to the edge of the fjord, to a beautiful spot, beneath the 7 Sisters and on the edge of a fjord-side lake. There were some other cyclists around, including a couple, who, like Hugo, were from Grenoble. The next day, the women was heading back to France, but the man was carrying on to Nordkapp, a potential future cycling partner for Hugo?

The next day, I was up at 5, suddenly second guessing myself as to whether I’d left enough time to make it to the ferry, by 6:25, but the climb back to Sandnessjøen wasn’t as bad as I’d feared and I was at the ferry with plenty of time to spare, and took my place on board for a very pleasant 5 hour journey.

At Nesna, the French cyclists got on, broken by the extra 40 km that they’d undertaken the previous day. When they got to Bodø, they were planning a rest day before crossing to Lofoten tomorrow.

After a short walk across Bodø, and stock up on supplies for that night’s camp, I made the 13:30 ferry to Moskenes in the Lofoten Islands. And as I approached the end of the 3.5 hour ferry journey – which was inexplicably free for all of the many cyclists and pedestrians onboard – an outstanding landscape presented itself and I started to see what all the fuss was about.

Norway Day 12: Hjellbotn Lake – Kvistero Fjordcamping

Distance: 70.1 miles

Time: 6:28

Elevation Gain: 4457 feet

Now, I know that it might seem to some like I had damaged my tent earlier in the trip and just kept on going regardless, but that is in fact exactly what happened. Back when the poleset for the tent became broken, the weather was so unpredictable that I had anticipated trying to swap the tent with another one from home.

However, it was brought to my attention that the manufacturer offered support to users whose tents became damaged ‘on the trail’ so I entered into dialogue with them about sending me new poles to somewhere in Norway, however, as the best they could promise was that the poleset would arrive within 1-2 weeks, and my trip only had 2 weeks to go, this wasn’t really going to work. In the meantime, I’d wrapped the broken part in duct tape, and luckily the weather had changed considerably, being warm and sunny and with mainly light winds.

Unfortunately, the downside to it being warm and sunny in a land where the sun barely sets, is it had become remarkably bright and light in the tent in the morning, and this morning, I was up extra early. Firstly because of the sun, and secondly because I’d almost run out of water, and phone battery charge.

Making it along to the charming Joker store in Sprova, just after it opened at 8 am, I picked up a tasty roast beef baguette for breakfast, and crucially some water. On returning to buy a coffee, the proprietor offered me use of the closed cafe seating area, and that was fantastic, as it allowed me the opportunity to charge a vital navigation device, otherwise known as my phone.

This stretch of the route was along Highway 17, and it was a great road for riding, with pleasant rolling hills and light traffic, on a perfect day.

Just before Bangsund, the road continued through a tunnel, but the bike route took a short detour along the edge of a stunning lake.

On reaching the small town, I made for the YX petrol station, stocking up on carbs and protein in the shape of their bacon cheeseburger meal, and giving my phone as much opportunity to charge as I could.

Soon I was crossing the bridge into Namsos, where I stopped for groceries – as I knew that it would be a while until the next resupply point – and at Burger King for a milkshake, and to allow my Garmin watch to charge.

My route led me through a pleasant suburb, with the road starting to climb steeply, before I took a wrong turn down a side street. As I climbed back up to the route, I saw a cyclist pedal by strongly, he was wearing a backpack and had a few other things hanging from his rear rack. He pulled away from me on the climb, but at the top he slowed to recover a little, and I caught up, just as a cycle path started beside the road, allowing us a little freedom to chat as we pedalled along.

He introduced himself as Hugo, French, from Grenoble. He had started walking on a pilgrimage route from Sweden to Trondheim, but he had hurt his foot and ended up resting up for a week in a campsite. Deciding to change tack completely, he had got the train to Trondheim, bought a bike and a few other accessories, and would now be cycling to Nordkapp, before returning to France via a combination of train and bike, and after a stop to see a friend in Bergen.

Quickly it became apparent that we were both contemplating staying at the same campsite that night, about 30 miles away, just after the next ferry, so we carried on riding together.

Soon after, at Hellsøya, we continued over a stunning sequence of bridges across the Blikkenfjorden, linking a couple of tiny islands with the mainland.

Then, climbing up a punishingly steep hill, we fast approached a cyclist up ahead, stopping to talk once we’d made it to the top. She was German and on her way to meet a friend in the Lofoten Islands for some climbing. That would explain the huge hiking rucksack she had strapped above her panniers, on top of the rack.

Flatter terrain was ahead, and Hugo and I chipped away at the miles, with the 9 km wide Folda fjord to our left hand side. Eventually, the road led to the island of Lund, and the ferry to Hofles, and with 4 minutes to spare we’d made it to the 18:30 ferry.

Off the ferry, we pedalled the easy kilometre to Kvistero Fjordcamping, and as I worked out my mileage for the day, some 70 miles, it transpired that Hugo’s was almost exactly the same, and that he’d been camped in a tent I’d seen near where I’d pitched camp the previous evening.

Norway Day 10: Trondheim (twinned with Dunfermline) – Levanger

Distance: 61.81 miles

Time: 7:12

Elevation Gain: 4297 feet

After checking out of the hotel, I looked up the ferry times for the short hop between Trondheim and the start of the next stage of the trip. The next ferry to Vanvikan was leaving shortly – at half past 12 – and the next one after that wasn’t until 3PM.

Deciding that a little sightseeing around Trondheim was a non-negotiable, I decided on the later boat.

But then I got carried away, and one two many photographs of the historic Viking capital and its grand medieval cathedral later, and I was rushing to make the 3 o’clock ferry, and I missed it.

Not being able to face waiting about for the next one, I quickly searched for a route out of Trondheim, without using the ferry, which would need to stick to the south side of the fjord.

Everything was going well – with the route on a cycle path neighbouring the E6 dual carriageway – when all of a sudden, the route started to turn, and it was clear that while the E6 hugged the fjord on this side of the mountains, the cycle route would be going around the other side, on a 30 mile dogleg.

Initially, the road climbed, and I suffered in the bright sunshine, but eventually the road plateaued and dropped into a wide valley, vividly colourful fields spread out in front of me, and I started to believe this route had been a good idea.

But then, I turned north, climbing for a short distance, before turning again on to a back road, that was barely a dirt track, rising past a farmhouse and into a densely packed forest of firs, the way deteriorating into a rocky and rugged forest trail.

For 12 miles, the road undulated through the forest, my panniers rattling, and my road tyres pinging stones out from under them.

As the light in the sky started to dwindle, I passed a pair of stunning lakes, and I began to fear that I would end the day here, high in the wilderness, but with frazzled nerve and furrowed brow, I finally made it through, and no punctures had shown their hand at this early stage.

Delighted to be on smooth black tarmac once more, even more so as it dropped satisfyingly slowly back towards the level of the fjord, and soon I was rolling into Levanger campsite at just gone midnight. The self-service booking machine didn’t work, but I could deal with payment tomorrow.