Tag: Thorn bike

Norway Day 19: Nøss – Mefjordvær

Distance: 60.3 miles

Time: 5:49

Elevation Gain: 4,751 feet

After arriving at the camping spot, beside the toilet with the exceptional view, I was accosted by an Italian cyclist as I pulled up at the side of the road. ‘Are you camping here?’ ‘We’ve got a great spot down this way’, he said.

The ‘we’ he referred to were the hardcore of the cycle touring fraternity, the Italian cyclist himself, and a Swiss rider who he had been riding with for the last couple of days. The Italian rider, had set off from Finland, travelled up to Nordkapp and was now working his way south again, but he was finding the food prices in Norway prohibitively expensive so planned to head back over into Sweden before continuing south back to Italy. His Swiss friend had started from Bodø, travelled north to Nordkapp, and was now on his way south, planning to travel all the way to Lisbon, he was worried about a sore knee, but had calculated that if he could keep pedalling 88 km a day, then he would be done by October, when he was due to start back at work.

My plans for the day were partly informed by the fact that the Belgian, Hans, had pointed out that the ferries from Andenes to the island of Senja – my next port of call – were infrequent, and didn’t start running until 8:45 in the morning. He’d been hoping to reach there for the early ferry, but as it was still 25 miles away for me, I decided that that was unrealistic, so I’d be aiming for the next one, at 1 PM, instead.

Just after setting off, I passed the Andøya Spaceport, before continuing past an idyllic beach on the way to Nordmela, where I stopped at the shop just as a pair of cyclists were leaving. I picked up some milk for my granola, and also a large bottle of water to refill my bottles for the day. The toilet block the night before had only had a warm water tap.

Further along the coast, I reached the beautiful beach at Stranda where it appeared that the wild camping areas almost intertwined with quaint Stave campsite, where it advertised a 38° hot pool, if only I’d been tempted to do another few miles the night before.

Rolling into Andenes, it was only 20 minutes until the ferry, but I made time to stop at the shop to pick up some lunch, as it would be a relatively long journey, and prices would be steep on the ferry.

Once onboard, I found a nice seat by the window, before realising that I was sitting just across from a French couple who had ridden past me at a layby the day before. Quite soon into the journey, they started to get quite animated and pointed out that there was a pod of 4 Orcas directly in front of us, amazing to see as they jumped, in sequence, in and out of the waves.

First impressions of Senja, were that it was an altogether hillier beast, and as I pedalled out of Grylleford and along the fjord, I was concerned that there didn’t appear to be any breaches in its steep sides. However, when I got a little closer, I saw that a bridge crossed the fjord up ahead, and led directly into a tunnel, and although the tunnel was a kilometre, uphill, I was confident that the climb would’ve been a lot worse if it wasn’t there.

After circumnavigating the large open fjord of Bergsfjorden, and having been waylaid briefly by a reindeer ambling along the road, the walls closed in around me again, and on this occasion, there was no tunnelled escape route.

The road climbed at an unrelenting gradient away from the fjord, and in the 20°C heat, with clegs drawing blood as I struggled on up the hill, the experience couldn’t have been much less pleasant. Half way up, one of the cyclists I’d seen earlier in the day, powered on past carrying a lot less luggage and stripped down to just his cycling bibs.

The road summited at a high lake before disappearing into a tunnel. Through the other side, the road dropped down to an impressive viewpoint walkway, and I stopped to soak in the views.

It was also time, before the rest of the descent, to finally tighten up my brakes, they had become borderline dysfunctional, but I’d been able to make do on the less undulating terrain of the last few days. This was a proper descent, though, and I didn’t want any mishaps at this late stage of the trip.

Having chalked up 50 miles, I reached the turn off to the campsite at Skaland, and was sorely tempted to call it a day, the heat and the insects were getting to me and I was very keen to have a shower.

But looking ahead, I could see that it was another 10 miles to Mefjordvær campsite, and I knew that if I was to make it there this evening, it would leave me with a more manageable final day to Tromsø, despite the fact that there were a couple of climbs shown on the onwards route.

Luckily, the final stretch was easier than I’d hoped, with a couple of lengthy tunnels giving me some respite from the sun. The 2.2 km Geitskartunnelen, almost like a theme park ride, as it meandered around in a dark subterranean world of patchy lighting and dripping water, before opening out into impressive Medfjorden, the cliffs gleaming silver in the evening light.

On arrival at the campsite, I was a little concerned that there was only one washroom for all the campers, but by this stage I was definitely in need of a shower, so a shower I would have, and after two days of cycling and a night‘s wild camping, for a few minutes, it was bliss, until a disgruntled camper started banging angrily on the door. Some people really should take a holiday.

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.

Day 6: Heidenau – Bremen

Distance: 54.39 miles

Time: 4:51:34

Average Speed: 11.2 mph

Elevation Gain: 616 feet

Arriving at the Ferienzentrum Heidenau campsite, I had a familiar issue to other days, the reception was closed and there was a number to call for late check ins. What was the code again, +45? I gave it a ring. No such number, I tried again, then a third time for luck, before remembering that I was in a different country now, the code for Germany was +49.

The site was charming, and although the man on the phone hadn’t really explained where I was to camp – just telling me to take the second turn on the right – I knew it when I saw it, the quaint duck pond, surrounded by trees and where a smattering of other tents were already set up.

Retracing my steps, the following morning, I continued by turning down some quiet country lanes, navigation aided by a couple of cyclists in the distance. eventually reaching Sittensen, where I hoped to stop at the supermarket to buy supplies, before quickly pressing on. My plan appeared to have been foiled when I passed a large Edeka superstore on the way in. It only appeared to be open from Montag to Samstag, and this was a Sonntag. It was the same story at both Aldi and Lidl, was I still in the 21st century I wondered? The answer was yes, and all the shops in Germany were closed on a Sunday.

Plans scuppered, I resigned myself to having to visit ‘Soul Kitchen’ for a Black Angus burger and sweet potato fries, it tasted pretty good, but I still wasn’t happy about it.

Much later than expected, I headed out of town, in the direction of Gross Meckelsen, the route winding its way between the fields. Open stretches into the wind were a chore and I was frustrated at how slowly the miles were ticking by, soon reverting to counting in kilometres instead.

Like Sittensen, the pedestrianised centre of the large town of Zeven was like a ghost town, and I noted that the roads were much quieter than they had been for the rest of the week, too.

I started aiming for the village after next as a ploy to keep myself on the bike a little longer between stops, from Kirchtimke, I skipped Westertimke and kept on rolling to Tarmstedt, where I paused briefly before turning onto Bremer Landstrasse, on the final approach to Bremen.

On reaching the city limits at Lilienthal, I briefly followed a tram into town, before the route skirted north around a large pond on the outskirts and down a busy mono-blocked cycle path, towards the old town.

Skirting around the inside of the city walls, I past the Kunsthalle Bremen art gallery and crossed the Weser river onto a large river island, or Werder (from where the local football team get their name) to reach the Reisemobil Stellplatz campground. The reception was closed, and the windows of the building featured a barrage of information, in German, that even my trusty translate app could not make head nor tail of.

With the time ticking beyond half past 7 at night, I didn’t have a lot of time to spare, so quickly phoned the next nearest campsite, HanseCamping Bremen, some 5 miles away, and back in the direction I’d just come, to see if I could stay there. Ja, was the quick reply, but you’ll need to get here by 8.

Spinning the pedals as fast as my legs would allow, I ploughed back through the centre of the Bremen old town, before ending up on a different route out of town, through a forest on a rough gravel track – the affect on my tyres, not something I’d be worrying about right now.

Almost taken by surprise, I arrived at the site by the back door, rushing into the reception at 19:56, I couldn’t believe I’d managed the 5 mile route in under 23 minutes. At best the proprietor looked bemused, what was all the fuss about?

Still to have dinner, I tried the restaurant at the door of the campsite, but they had stopped serving, so I cycled back to Landhaus Kushiel, a pleasantly situated restaurant – with beer terrace overlooking the canal – that I had passed on the way in several hours ago, but although its opening hours were until 11, it was already closed, at 9 o’clock.

Finally, after a 5 mile round trip, I found an Italian, Bellini im Tresor, at the far side of the large University campus, they were still serving, and when they did, it was worth the wait. I had tagliatelle with beef and girolle mushrooms in a truffle sauce, all washed down with a pleasant, citrusy, half litre of Alster beer. I was relieved to finally get my fuelling started for tomorrow.

Day 5: Hamburg – Heidenau

Distance: 31.31 miles

Time: 3:31:08

Average Speed: 8.9 mph

Elevation Gain: 940 feet

The hotel in Hamburg was showing the late match of Portugal vs France on the big screen, so I had a few glasses of bier vom fass, oblivious to the fact that the match was happening just a few miles away.

Awakening the next morning, I was readying myself to cycle the 3 miles across town to run my first international Parkrun, at Alstervorland park, then at 3 minutes to 9, I suddenly remembered that Parkruns in Germany started at 9, not half past, like back home in Scotland. I had been remembering, until I wasn’t. It was probably for the best I thought, I could definitely use the extra sleep, but, knowing that some of my more bloodthirsty readers would be disappointed in me for giving up so easily, I readied to go anyway, at least to see the course.

Arriving at the course, they’d already begun tidying the signs for the opening part of the course away, so even if I had wanted to attempt it, I wouldn’t know where to start. Unless… I opened the route map on the Parkrun website on my phone, and started to piece together the route from what I’d seen, then thought I may as well give it a go! 26 minutes later I’d managed to stumble my way around the course, ending up with a little too much distance, but my attempt at the Parkrun course was close enough to register as an ‘Alstervorland Parkrun’ segment attempt on Strava. It would have been a nice run too, flat on firm gravel paths, and beside a lovely lake.

Back on the road, it was becoming clear that Hamburg was more a city of industry than culture, as I passed through a world of concrete and iron, and billowing chimneys. The cycle path, while serving its main purpose of keeping me off the road well, was causing me some irritation as it meandered around the pavement, then across to the opposite pavement, then onto the road and back again.

Stopping at a busy flea market by the canal, I hoped to get some lunch before leaving the city confines. When the only option was a Nutella crepe, I kept on moving, before stopping for a pizza just off the main road in the bustling suburb of Harburg.

As I began to push on, the route started to take liberties, the path throwing up a short spell of gravel through the trees, maybe a forewarning of what was to come, namely the road out of Sottorf leading into the Buchenwälder im Rosengarten Forest where the road started to climb up a rough stony track, this would be lovely, I thought, if I wasn’t on a loaded bike with road tyres.

Keen to avoid the inevitable spate of punctures, I briefly considered turning back and finding another way, before opting to get off and walk, and hoping that soon the surface would change. Fortunately, on reaching the top of the climb, half a mile later, I was delighted when the route turned left onto a chunky concrete road.

Relieved at finally rejoining the main road once more, I enjoyed the smooth surface, and the shade of the trees, until the cover ended, when I was left ploughing on into the full force of the gusting 30 mile an hour winds, and a fierce sun.

Clouding over, as I reached Hollenstedt, I made for the supermarket just as the rain began, and as I consumed a tub of fresh raspberries in front of the store, a lady pulled up on a very fancy-looking Reise and Muller E-bike, and although I had no barometer at all for what was regarded as a good bike in Germany, I was pretty sure this would be high on the list.

When the lady reappeared from the shop, she gestured that it was good that the rain had stopped, and she was right, I should probably be on my way.

Taking the road to the tiny villlage of Ochtmannsbruch, the road had run out before I was out the other side, first turning to rough old cobble stones, before they in turn gave way to loose stones on a sandy base.

All these factors having added up, the race to not run a Parkrun, then running it anyway, the days of ploughing on into these stiff prevailing winds, the lack of sleep, the heat of the sun, and now being bounced around on these infernal surfaces of varying quality, meant I was undoubtedly in need of a rest. So, having passed through the small town of Heidenau, and on seeing a sign to a nearby campsite, with tent camping round a pretty duck pond, and a Greek restaurant on site, I knew it was time to stop.