Coast of Norway – Eurovelo 1

“When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.”

~ John Muir

After following the Eurovelo 1 route along the coast of Norway for nearly two months, I decided to quietly leave the country from Bergen while I was still madly in love with her majestic beauty and grace. With heavy rain starting to be more consistent, it was becoming more obvious that the honeymoon stage of my ride was coming to an end. I didn’t want my unflinching adoration for Norway to be dampened in anyway, so I simply jumped on a ferry and left while the dreamy days of pedaling south still made my heart go boom, boom, boom.

There is so much to love about Norway: people, natural beauty, safety, those gorgeous knitted sweaters, waffles, ferry rides and, from all reports, the egalitarian way the country is run. On the flip side, Norway is not without its challenges. There are some things as a tourist and bike traveler that make it a bit tricky at times to navigate like tunnels, cost of food and accommodation, endless hills and mountains, and the ever looming cloud of rain. Thankfully, I was able to take a deep breath, put my head down and ride through those challenges. The bigger road blocks were my own self-limiting beliefs. As soon as I was able to get my head around those boundaries, I felt the world get slightly bigger.

TUNNELS:

As soon as I rode through the Honningsvåg Tunnel, the mother of all tunnels (see last blog post), I thought I had slayed the tunnel dragon and all was behind me. Not so! There were so many more tunnel monsters to confront after that. There was the tunnel where I thought I would die from the fumes, the tunnel with only one lane and cars coming and going in both directions, the dripping wet tunnel with slippery cracked asphalt and, horrors of all horrors, the three kilometer pitch black tunnel where my headlight burnt out, and I had to navigate using my nearly dead cell phone. I learned to sing through the tunnels – I made up ridiculous songs to take my mind off the fact that I was trapped underground in a space I couldn’t escape with what sounded like a train coming to mow me down from behind or straight on. I met a biker from Slovenia along my route. He said what all bikers are no doubt thinking. “No matter how many tunnels you go through, they just never get easy.” On the other hand, there are some tunnels that have spectacular parallel bike paths outside the tunnel and, occasionally, there is a bus connection through tunnels where bikes are not allowed.

GEAR: I have to laugh because I never brought all the spiffy gear I raved about in the first post on this trip. I left the tarp, People’s Poncho, and chair at home. In the final analysis, I’m really glad I did. I’m not the kind of girl who puts up a tarp. I’m too lazy to figure that all out at the end of a long day. I’d much rather just find a shelter and go sit under it. Glad I realized that about myself before I hauled that thing around with me. Same with the chair. I just sit on the ground or find a log, rock or bench to rest on. Yes, those chairs can come in handy, but my butt is used to hardship. Why get all soft and bourgeoisie now? Before I left Seattle, my friend Matt suggested that the poncho would act as a sail in a rain/wind storm. At first, I couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing. At the end of the day, I left it behind thanks to his wise counsel (does anyone need a brand new fluorescent poncho?).

On the flip side, I had a major gear malfunction this year. My brand-new MSR Hubba Hubba tent from 2020 (but only used on one trip due to covid) failed me on many occasions. The poles are all one single piece that click together with a bungee running inside the poles to keep it all together. The point at which the poles connect – or rather snap together – broke down. My French friend, Matteo, who I visited on a side trip in northern Sweden, performed surgery on the pole to create a work-around by taking off the end and inserting a metal piece to hold the poles together. Further on down the road, an owner of a campsite found another metal piece for another work around. I bought super glue and glued the other poles as they broke. This often happened at the end of the day when I was tired and had very little bandwidth to deal with this tedious work. It was the only thing on this trip that would bring me to my knees in tears.

On the up side, while we’re still on my tent, I learned how to reverse engineer the putting up of my tent to keep it dry inside while it rained outside. It went something like this…first lay down the footprint and peg it down, then build up the fly and then going inside (sheltered from the rain) and attach the tent, and finally throw bedding inside the tent to set up while dry and cozy. Maybe everyone already does this? Maybe I’m just late to the party, but for me it was revolutionary. It was a game changer in terms of stress. I hate being wet at night. That said, I learned from my new Norwegian friend, Bjørn, that that’s basically how good Scandinavian tents are built to be put up. Hmmm, definitely didn’t get that memo when researching what tent to buy. Next time!

Lofoten Islands

At the top of my list for spectacular scenery (or a close second) were the Lofoten Islands, along with the Vesterålen archipelago and Senja Island. Choosing my favorite would be like asking a parent which is their favorite child – you simply can’t do it.

Senja Island is the second largest island after Svalbard. You can reach it by ferry from Tromsø. I rode mostly along the sea following the natural curves of the fjords. Small red cabins dot the landscape and fishing boats, both anchored near the shore and trolling along the coast, are part of the daily scenery . Senja Island is quiet compared to the Lofoten Islands and has a slow, enjoy the moment, no rush vibe. Every red house I spotted, I found myself thinking, “I could live there, or there, or even there.”

From Gryllefjord, I took the nearly two hour ferry to Andenes on the island of Andøya in the Vesterålen Archipelago. The Vesterålen Islands are not to be missed. They are the kindler, gentler, quieter version of the Lofoten Islands. Here I spent several days camping near the sea or wherever my heart desired. There was very little traffic and endless coastline to explore.

The Lofoten Islands are sublime. Around every corner you find steep, tall mountains diving down into the salty, turquoise sea. Quaint fishing villages with wooden racks to dry freshly caught cod (torsk) sit along the shore and make your nose twitch as you ride by. Luckily, I was very fortunate to have mostly sunny days the entire time I was in these island chains. I was reminded of this one day when I stopped at the grocery store near the town of Stamsund. The cashier said, “You know you’re really lucky to be here this year. In the last two years, it rained three weeks straight.” I gasped and told him I was grateful to be reminded of my good fortune. Because it was dry, I was able to blissfully free camp along a bay, or beside the ocean, or high on a cliff overlooking the sea all twelve days in the islands. Each night I pinched myself as I breathed in the salty air and watched the sun go down just over the nearest mountain.

Detour to Trollstigen

The decision to detour off the coastal route and head east inland toward Trollstigen Road and Geiranger Fjord was not easy (although it now feels like a no-brainer). One very rainy morning, I found myself sitting at a table and chairs in the grocery store in the small town of Vik with three other bikers from Germany waiting out the rain. We were all traveling separately, but converged at this table to stay dry while coming up with a plan for the day. As we talked, one of the guys asked me about my route south. He said I should really head over to Trollstigen Road and the Geiranger Fjord. I knew little about this area and, in fact, was told it wasn’t advisable (by a guy in a RV). I sort of wrote it off before even investigating the possibility due to other people’s reports, but now, this young lad on a bikepacking setup was telling me I should do it. I tucked the information away and continued along the coast until I reached Kristiansund. There I stayed with Rigmor at her airbnb. She casually asked me if I were going to ride the Trollstigen Road. I looked at her wide-eyed and said that I was taking a rest day at her house precisely because I was at a crossroads were I had to figure that out. I was hesitant because I was afraid. Afraid of what, I’m not sure, just afraid of the unknown. Trollstingen felt like another dragon that would need to be slayed. It wouldn’t yield easily. I would have to battle the beast, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. The coast was hilly but was easy to navigate, and I felt comfortable there. This whole business of a new route was stressing me out. In one moment, I definitely was NOT going to ride that bloody mountain pass 2,795 ft straight up from sea level, navigating eleven hairpin turns. Then, five minutes later I’d say to myself, “Of course you are Denise that’s why you’re here.” And so it was back and forth, tossing and turning for about four nights. Finally, I was sitting with Rigmor enjoying a cup of coffee only minutes before leaving her house to continue along the low anxiety, known, “safe,” coastal road when she said, “It would be a real shame if you left Norway without experiencing Trollstigen Road.” And so, in that moment, the deal was sealed. At the 12th hour, I pivoted and set sail for uncharted territory. I felt like a Viking setting out to explore a new route across the sea. It was terrifying but exhilarating. I was scared to death but more alive than ever. I was committed and would not be deterred.

And so it was…I rode with a sense of duty for the first time. A funny thing happened on this trip. I started at my goal. The first day of riding, I rode up to Nordkapp. There I was at the place I’d always dreamed of and imagined I’d be one day, but it was anti-climatic. The only thing I had to overcome to get there was a long-ass plane ride. After day one, it was all downhill so to speak. Now I could relax and enjoy the ride without that sense of focus, determination and urgency that I’ve experienced with every other ride or goal I’ve ever attempted to accomplish. So now, my decision to tackle this route that lifted up from the sea following steep mountainsides and towering waterfalls felt epic. Excitement overtook fear, and I was overcome with a sense of mission that I hadn’t really experienced on this trip until this unscheduled detour. At the end of three days, battling the inner beast of doubt and fear of the unknown proved more profound that any physical goal. I was proud of myself for expanding my personal limits, for pushing on just a little further than I thought possible. I could almost feel my tolerance for uncertainty expand in my body. This is the gift of growth I will carry with me long after the burn of my thighs is over.

Photo Gallery: Pictures of random places I slept along the way.

And so, with that sense of accomplishment, I sailed out of Norway for calmer waters. My ride continued on warmer, flatter shores in Denmark and Sweden. You will hear about those new adventures in my next blog post. Until then, ask yourself what you’d like to do but are afraid to try. See if you can take one small step in that direction and feel your skin stretch as you become bigger than you thought possible. It can be no other way!

With love,

Denise

Disclaimer: Why are there so many awkward spaces in the blog post? Why are the photos so small in the gallery? Why are some of the photos blurry? I asked those same questions to tech support (which took about 2 hours). Well, I guess those are just mysteries of the universe that will never be explained. I decided to post this very visually unappealing blog post anyway. As they say, “Don’t judge a book, or rather blog, by its cover.