Author Archives: Alistair Todd

Day 25 Egersund, Norway, originally uploaded by Big Al!.

I wake to the sound of heavy rain. Breakfast is an MOD ration pack which I eat sitting outside under the eaves of the lodge. A duck and a squirrel join me to eat and watch the rain. I don’t know what they’re having. I video the squirrel until it stops scampering and becomes still. Just as I stop recording, it performs a leap worthy of an Olympic gymnastics gold, nailing the landing. Breakfast complete I set off, in heavy rain. Bike, gear and I am completely soaked within a few miles, but there’s no other option. It’s wet enough to cause the hitherto note-perfect BMW to miss the occasional beat. Bullet cameras mist up and the controls go haywire, but the cameras wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway. I can barely see the road, which makes mountain hairpin bends a touch tricky. I’m still faster than the hopeless Norwegians, and feeling confident on the bike, heated clothing working its magic. I can sense that the view is probably spectacular, but can’t see any of it. It’s mid-morning so I pull in at a roadside cafe for a break. The cafe is closed, but fortunately I made a flask of coffee earlier, and the cafe’s wi-fi is still on so I can check the weather forecast. It still says sunny and dry at my intended camping spot, so I resist the urge to book a hostel or hotel, suit up, and head out into the heavy rain again. Lunchtime, it’s still raining, it’s still cold, I still can’t see a thing, so I stop in Evje and seek out the cheapest looking roadside greasy spoon. A burger and a coffee still sets me back nearly a tenner, but a bit of hot food makes me feel a lot better and ready to head out into the rain again. Although it’s wet and misty, the roads I’ve picked are sensational. I’ve barely gone in a straight line all day, it’s just one bend after another, biking heaven. Forests, mountains, fjords, great sheer walls of rock disappearing vertically into the mist. Up one long climb I pass two cycle tourers, painfully slogging their way up the hill, towing one-man tents, looking so wet and bedraggled it almost makes me feel guilty to be warm and dry and under power. Almost, but I’m too busy enjoying the road, even when the occasional idiot driver or road-blocking motorhome tries to spoil it. I ride through the rain, little point stopping. Shortly before Flekkefjord, where I’d planned to stop, the sun breaks through and suddenly the road is dry and I can see the view. I pass the camp site I’d planned on, and it looks spectacular, perched on the edge of a lake hanging beneath massive cliffs, but conditions are the best they’ve been all day, and I’m enjoying the ride, so I carry on. The coastal route to Egersund is magnificent. Pure biking exhilaration and a glorious spectacle of nature at it’s best. The landscape looks pre-historic, crossed with martian. I half expect to see dinosaurs. I pick a few scenic picnic spots, and I’m reminded of making scrambled eggs by a mountain river in Tajikistan, or cooking noodles by a lake in Siberia. At the top of a superb road up the side of a fjord, cutting through the mountain, I discover a monument to the first act of war on Norwegian territory during the second world war, when the Royal Navy attacked a German ship holding British POWs, which had tried to escape by holing up on Norwegian territory. Onwards, and to a camp site which, though not as nice as the one originally targeted, turns out to be just fine. I only have one MOD ration pack left, and I’m saving it, so I prepare the classic bike travel dish known as pasta slop. Ingredients, on this occasion, pasta and a tin of sardines in tomato sauce. Trust me, it’s delicious, especially after a day of nearly drowning. In Mongolia you’re limited to pasta slop or noodle slop by lack of ingredients. In Norway it’s because even one packet of dry pasta or instant noodles costs a month’s salary. The clouds return, the temperature drops, and I retire to the tent to finalise plans for tomorrow, thankful I elected to buy a warmer sleeping bag for this trip.

Day 24 A view of 1/6th of Norway from Gausta mountain, originally uploaded by Big Al!.

I leave Oslo thoroughly bored of cities in general and Oslo in particular. It’s wet (normal), but I don’t mind because the roads are scenic, even if there is always a caravan spoiling the view, and the bike is running flawlessly. I really have to concentrate to avoid disaster while navigating, managing the bike on wet roads, enjoyjing the view, and avoiding the useless motorists. There aren’t many cars, but the ones coming towards me have no idea what "collision course" means. It’s much harder for a biker than a driver on wet mountain hairpin bends, but it’s the cars causing conflict and me avoiding it. The cars going my way are really slow. If formula one was a competition to find the slowest driver, every world champion ever would have been Norwegian. From Oslo, I climb steadily through mountainous forests, being reminded of parts of Canada, Siberia, the Pamir mountains, Germany. It’s a mix of everywhere. Then it becomes distinctly Norwegian as the road turns to reveal a classic fjord scene, steep sided, narrow, rugged. I arrive at Gausta mountain and ride the cable train to the top. It starts by going half a mile into the core of the mountain before climbing at 45 degrees for almost a mile, still inside the rock. It cost a million pounds and was built to allow NATO to build a radio tower on the summit. Oddly they decided not to finish the 100 feet from the top of the train ride to the radio tower, so you have to clamber over loose rocks. At the top there’s a cafe, of sorts, and I have a delicious freshly made waffle and a coffee while I enjoy the view. On a clear day, from the top of "Norway’s most beautiful mountain", you can see one sixth of Norway and part of Denmark. On a day like today, I can see one sixth of my hand if I hold it right in front of my face, and part of my feet if I really stare. So, with nothing to see I take the train back down and jump back on the bike for a quick ride to a nearby waterfall, once thought to be the world’s highest and apparently "quite impressive". It isn’t. It’s barely a waterfall because most of the water now falls through the pipework of a hydroelectric power station. Never mind. Back to the hostel I booked yesterday when I looked at the weather forecast, which said rain. It’s not as wet as it’s been all day, when I arrive at a hostel that’s really quite nice, composed of alpine style wooden chalets with turf roofs, and a view of the mountain, still shrouded in cloud. It will do quite nicely.

Day 23 Still Oslo, originally uploaded by Big Al!.

Still wet. A bit boring. Top tip for Oslo? Don’t. Spent most of the day planning what’s next. Interesting chat with a chef from Florida who’d had a serious brain injury after falling down the stairs. Ate some elk. The usual.

Day 22 Oslo, originally uploaded by Big Al!.

This is a famous painting. Most people don’t realise that it depicts a tourist discovering what things cost in Oslo.

Day 21 Oslo, Norway, originally uploaded by Big Al!.

The harbour was buzzing late into the night as the locals make the most of almost 24 hours of daylight, but it’s deserted and still, as is the water, when I surface for breakfast. Breakfast is in the Snackkan cafe, which must make all it’s money during summer and be dead through winter. The Swedes like to have a boiled egg, sliced, on rye bread or a cracker, sometimes with a dressing that’s like mayo but not. It’s delicious, especially when the eggs are warm and the bread is freshly baked, and even more delicious accompanied by fresh coffee, fresh juice, in such a tranquil setting. Reluctantly, only when so full I fear another bite will cause an explosion, I load the bike and set out onto the Swedish back roads. I follow the coast of what is either the Baltic sea or the Oslo fjord, I’m not sure which, and it is sensational. Empty of traffic, great weather, long flowing bends, and scenery that starts to get much more hilly (not quite mountainous, but working in that direction), and the bike fits in well. It’s fast enough for me to enjoy the ride, but not so fast I feel in danger, stable and dependable enough to enjoy the turns, but not so sporty that I feel the need to get knee down on every bend. I pull in at Fjallbacka, a small harbour town that is so picturesque in the sun it defies my descriptive abilities, and makes me want to sell everything and buy a yacht. Sitting on the water’s edge at the marina, I enjoy a cappuccino and watch the locals and tourists enjoying the water, before heading back out onto the brilliant roads, heading for Norway. Disappointingly, there’s no sign for a "welcome to Norway" photo op, and I only realise I’ve crossed the border when I notice that the white line down the middle of the road has changed from white to yellow, the signs advertising accommodation change from "rum" to "rom", and a glance at the map confirms my suspicions. The road, like all border roads everywhere, needs work, at least by local standards, and the terrain is a bit scruffy, for a while, but then it climbs up through a pine forest and twists along the side of the water, giving a taste of what’s to come in Norway. I’d rather be riding through that forest, across that field, and over that mountain than looking at it from the tarmac, rather be setting up camp in that idyllic pasture by the lake than the municipal site, but this isn’t Mongolia, it’s Europe (although, wild camping is allowed in Norway, so I’m eagerly anticipating reaching the northern wilderness). One of the pleasures (usually) of travelling by bike, is that because you’re out in the open, you smell things. I remember the smell of wild flowers and herbs as I rode through them in Mongolia, tracking across the plains. Now, I get that strong pre-storm smell of ozone, and just as I’m thinking I’ve been in heaven all day on these roads, the heavens open and I’m brought back to reality. I instruct the gps to stop faffing about on back roads and make haste to Oslo. The rain is little more than a shower now, so I head out to acquaint myself with the town, where I have two more days before I head for the coast, then north all the way to Nordkapp, the northern-most point of mainland Europe, then Finland, and the Baltic states. But for now, welcome to Oslo!