OH NORWAY

Mike and I have a serious love-hate relationship with Norway. The cost of traveling here and the rotten weather have beaten us down and we can't wait to get to Denmark where hopefully it will be a bit more pleasant. I know we shouldn't judge a country by its weather but it's hard not to; it's been cold and rainy every day since the last post, mostly a constant rain throughout the entire day, though once in a while it stops for a few hours and if we're lucky the sun even peaks out from behind the clouds for a few minutes before the next rain shower begins.  We have become thankful for tunnels, which we once hated, simply because it means we get a break from the rain for a few minutes.  We've discovered that they make a great place to eat lunch; though they're not any warmer than the bitter temperatures outside and they're not very peaceful with traffic roaring past, at least we're out of the rain which has lately been our number one priority.  Everyone tells us that this has been an unusually cold and wet summer; how could we be so lucky to have chosen this year to cycle here?

The sun peaking through for a moment.

Mike having lunch in a tunnel.

Though we find ourselves cursing this place almost daily for one reason or another, wishing we were back home in a warm, comfortable house or dreaming of hot tropical beaches, which neither of us really enjoy, both of us agree that Norway has been one of the most impressive countries, in terms of scenery, that we've visited on this trip. The northern part of the country was spectacular with its dramatic and varying landscapes but the southern portion, from Trondheim south, has simply blown us away, even with the crummy weather. I can only imagine how great it would be if the sky was always blue.

Southern Norway is fjords and mountains, not little ocean inlets and rolling hills but giant fjords that can stretch inland for over 100 miles and mountains that explode straight up from the dark turquoise waters. They are not extremely high mountains, with their passes reaching only 3,000 – 5,000 feet, but the fact that they start from sea level gives them a vertical relief that is truly impressive. This terrain makes for difficult cycling as we spend 2-3 hours climbing from sea level, over a wet and foggy mountain pass, then it's a freezing yet exciting and fast 45-minute drop back down to the next fjord only to do it all again. With terrain like this, you find some insanely massive cliffs, some of the biggest in the world, and equally impressive roads that switchback right up the side of them, many of which we've thoroughly enjoyed riding. I can't imagine how much fun the engineers had who got to design these roads, as literally you come to a vertical wall and just when you think there's no way to get over it, you see the road cut steeply into the cliff's side thousands of feet above and the vehicles making their way up or down the mountain looking like ants in an ant farm. It seems impossible when you look up from the bottom of the mountain, but a few hours later we always arrive to the top. From there we stand on the edge of these cliffs looking down to the water where the enormous cruise and ferry boats look like miniature toys and it takes a minute before we realize those barely visible yellow lines in the water are actually dozens of kayakers taking in the amazing scenery from far below. It quickly became obvious to us why this region of the wold is so famous for base jumping. The sheer cliffs beg to be jumped from, inviting you to fly and if I had a parachute I'd probably jump too. We partly expected, or maybe just hoped, that we'd see a person go buzzing through the sky in a jump suit, but sadly we didn't. Maybe on our next trip to Norway.

The Trollstigen - one crazy road. 

 Looking down on a fjord...can you see the kayaks?

We descended down that switchback road in the distance...and then we had to climb right back up the other side. 

Once we descend from the mountain passes, we get to take in the scenery from another angle, which is equally beautiful. From high above waterfalls come crashing down from what seems like the clouds as their origins are frequently hidden in the fog; the brilliant white water a beautiful contrast to the charcoal gray and black streaked rocks over which they fall. Looking towards the ocean from the head of the fjords, the mountains begin as midnight blue with each successive one turning a lighter shade of blue until they eventually fade into the same depressing gray as the sky and altogether disappear from sight. Even through the fog and rain this place is beautiful.

One of many waterfalls.

The wet weather makes camping rather miserable so we've had some interesting housing experiences over the past 2 weeks. Once evening, after we had been warned multiple times that day that the following day was going to be horrendous rain, we decided we HAD to find shelter for the night just in case we had to hunger down for a day. We didn't have to search very long before we came across an old abandoned shed along the side of the highway. It appeared to be an old structure that was once used for drying firewood as there was scrap wood strewn throughout the place. The shed was far from waterproof with holes in the roof and no walls but there were plenty of supplies laying around, including wood, cinder blocks, bricks and scrap pieces of tarp, so we went to work creating ourselves a home. Once completed we had a solid floor to set our tent on, a fireplace, table, benches, a more or less waterproof roof and walls to block the wind and rain. Though we couldn't exactly stand up straight when we were inside, it was quite a cozy, yet sometimes smokey house and even though the storm didn't hit with quite the fury we expected, we opted to stay a day in our for just because we put so much effort into it and it was so cute.

The shed as we found it. 

The finished product. 

Cari inside the fort.

Four days later we had a roof over our heads once again. After a day in the rain we stopped at a house to ask for water before we set up camp. The person who lived there was an old man who didn't speak any English but as he was filling our bottles a big red van pulled up. A guy hopped out with a 6-pack of beer for the old man and we got to chatting with him. Within the first 2 minutes of meeting him, we were invited to stay at his house for the night. “It's a huge old house with only me and hired hand living there. There's plenty of space for you, you can have a hot shower and dry out. It's about 3 Km in the wrong direction, but you're more than welcome.” We couldn't believe our ears. We always dream of something like this happening on days like this and it took us about a half a moment to take him up on his offer.

Oddmand and his hired help, Sergej, were absolutely wonderful. We got hot showers, comfortable beds to sleep in, our clothes were able to dry overnight, they fed us, we enjoyed our first beers and ice creams in nearly a month and we got to try, for the first time in our lives, fresh milk straight from Oddmand's cows. I was more than a bit skeptical as I don't really like to drink plain milk but it turned out to be amazingly delicious to the point where I even suggested to Mike that we buy a cow someday. He quickly shot down my idea but perhaps I'll try again in a few years. Oddmand was delighted to take us on a tour of his old house and the smoke shed, tell stories about his family members who immigrated to America and settled in Minnesota, especially after he found out that's where I grew up, and teach us about his farm which was build by his Grandfather in the early 1800s. This was our first time staying at an old Norwegian homestead and the similarities between there and Minnesota were amazing. The way people talk, the style of homes, the way of life; it was obvious that much of the Midwest region of the U.S. was influenced by settlers who arrived from Scandinavia long ago; and I felt right at home.

Cari, Oddmand, Sergej and Mike

THE MIDNIGHT SUN

Once back on the mainland we continued to head north with one destination in mind; Nordkapp (The North Cape), which is the northernmost point in Europe to which you can drive without taking a ferry. We were fortunate to stay with Stig-Martin, a warmshowers host, for a couple of nights in Russeluft, one of only two hosts in all of northern Norway. It was a much-needed stop for all 3 of us having ridding 12 straight days without a rest day and equally as long without a proper shower. We were beyond filthy, exhausted, desperately needed to do laundry and a major bout of bike maintenance as none of our bikes were working well anymore. We got everything we needed and more – lots of bike touring talk, an amazingly welcoming host and a delicious BBQ with the whole family. We left Russeluft feeling clean and refreshed for the final 2-day push to Nordkapp which was anything but easy as the road was continuously climbing and descending, never flat, as we snaked our way around one fjord after another.

Ben, Benjamin, Kesia, Mike & Stig-Marting...BBQ'ing

There were many Sami souvenir shops along the way, the Sami people being the indigenous semi-nomadic reindeer herders of northern Scandinavia, selling furs, antlers and dried meat. The reindeer population drastically increased forcing us to slow down or pull over on many occasions. I'm positive that reindeer are the stupidest animals on the planet. Northern Norway has so few people, leaving millions of acres of open space for the animals to roam, yet the reindeer opt to graze, walk and relax on the highways instead and are far from frightened by people or vehicles. Unlike deer who freeze for a few seconds, hesitate but then eventually run off of the roads, when a reindeer is in the ditch and sees us coming, rather than running away it runs onto the road and proceeds to awkwardly gallop in a zig-zagging line down the road in front of us. Other times they simply stand there, usually in the most inopportune of places, like a bend in the road or the entrance to a tunnel. Cars crawl to within inches of them but still no amount of yelling, bell ringing, horn honking or whistling can get them to move. It's a wonder how there aren't hundreds of dead reindeer in the ditches but we have yet to see one.

A Sami souvenir stop along the highway. 

Reindeer blocking a tunnel.

The day we arrived to Nordkapp turned out to be quite a monstrous ride. It began with a series of tunnels, the first being relatively short, but dark and drippy once the reindeer moved out of the way and allowed us to enter. The 3^rd and 4^th were not noteworthy at all but the 2^nd was by far the most intense tunnel any of us have ever been in. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad in a car but it was 6.87 KM long and steeply dropped to 212 meters below the ocean's surface. (For those who only think in miles and feet, the tunnel was 4.27 miles long and 695.5 feet deep). The ride down was fast and exciting at a 9% grade which allowed us to move at high enough speeds to ride in the traffic lane. Climbing out the other side was a different story, however. The grade increased to 10% which, on a loaded touring bike is really difficult. Often at grades this steep we have to switchback our way up the long hills, but we were confined to a 2-foot wide slab of asphalt where if you swerved to one side you ended up in wet mud and if you swerved to the other side you ended up going off a curb into traffic. It took major concentration to keep the bike on the little bike path at such slow speeds and we've never been more relieved to see the light at the end of the tunnel as we were after that particular one.

After the under-sea tunnel we met a Danish guy, Martin, who was also heading to Nordkapp so we invited him to join us. We arrived to the town of Honningsvag to buy groceries for the next few days as there's nothing available at Nordkapp, fill up water and find camp for the night. It was late and we were tired but we were less than 20 miles away from our destination which made it difficult to call it quits for the day. The group was a little indecisive on whether to stop or keep going so the executive decision was made to press on. It may have ended up being the most difficult 20 miles of our entire European bike tour. Little did we know when we set out that it was going to be 20 miles of mostly climbing in an absurdly dense fog that left us soaking wet and icy cold.

We arrived to Nordkapp at midnight on the dot, 4 grueling hours after we left Honningsvag, all of us completely bonked, eyes wind burnt, starving and shaking from the cold. The weather forecast for that night showed it as being our best bet at seeing the midnight sun but instead we couldn't see 10 feet ahead of us and were completely miserable. Moreover, we were greeted with a sign 500 meters before Nordkapp stating that there was a $50 per person entrance fee to walk out to the infamous globe. To ride all that way and then be told to fork over $200 between the 4 of us was outrageous. We turned back 200 meters, set up camp outside the toll booth as quickly as possible, chowed down some dinner and passed out before any of could enjoy the celebratory beers we lugged up the mountain for the occasion.

It was supposed to be sunny when we arrived!

We awoke the next afternoon to thick fog, just as it had been the night before, though by the time we'd eaten breakfast it was beginning to thin. We took this as our opportunity to disappear into the fog and sneak around the toll boot. There were no fences and no one checking tickets which made it amazingly easy to walk right into the visitor's center and out to the globe. Martin had purchased a mini bottle of champagne which he so gratefully shared and the 4 of us toasted our accomplishment and snapped what could potentially have been a $200 picture for free.

Ben, Martin & Mike using the fog to sneak around the toll booth. 

Martin, Cari, Mike & Ben celebrating with a glass of champagne. 

Cari & Mike at the globe.

From Nordkapp we were all heading separate directions; Ben back home to France as this was the end of his trip, Martin to Russia and me and Mike attempting to hitchhike about 750 miles south to the city of Mo i Rana which was where we entered Norway a few weeks ago in hopes that we wouldn't have to backtrack this busy section of highway that we had already ridden. We packed up our gear and stood just outside the toll booths thinking that surely one of the hundreds of camper vans in the parking lot would gladly pick us up. We stood there for 4 hours, watched thousands of people in cars and buses arrive, but only about 5 campers departed, none of which showed any interest in having us join them. We were completely baffled as to why no one was leaving. It was still foggy so the chances of seeing the midnight sun was slim to none and besides, yesterday was the day with a promising forecast. Maybe there was something everyone else knew that we didn't.

Suddenly, at 8pm, the sky began to clear, a patch of blue sky was growing right above us, the fog grew thin and wispy and revealed beautiful cliffs dropping a sheer 1000 feet down to the Arctic Ocean. Though we had technically caught the midnight sun quite a while ago, we had yet to see it as it had been cloudy every night. Perhaps it was good no one picked us up; maybe we were going to get lucky, if only the fog would completely burn off and stay away for 4 more hours. Cars were pouring into the parking lot keeping the toll collectors occupied so we not-so-discreetly rolled our bikes right on in to the tent area hoping to go unnoticed. Once again it worked so we set up camp and proceeded to choose our spot on the cliffs to watch the sun make its slow, angled descent towards the sea. As the hours passed the fog disappeared, the sun transitioned from white to yellow to deep orange until it ever so lightly kissed the northern horizon at midnight and then began its beautiful early morning ascent into the northeastern sky.

The fog beginning to lift. 

 8 pm.

9 pm.

10 pm. 

11 pm. 

The sun through the globe. 

The midnight sun. 

1 am...and then the clouds moved in.

ARCTIC CIRCLE

We arrived to Norway a few days ago and were welcomed into the country with freezing cold wind and rain, but at least there were no gnats. Thankfully the bad weather only lasted for a day and we've been fortunate to enjoy several days of clear blue, though chilly, skies.

As expected, there are many similarities between Norway and Sweden. Once again, everyone we've met speaks perfect English, which makes communication pleasantly easy. We've discovered that “Every Man's Right” is a law found throughout Scandinavia, so just as in Sweden, we will enjoy our freedom to camp anywhere without being hassled. Much to Mike's delight, Norway has just as an extensive gummy selection at every supermarket as we found in Sweden. However, our decision to purchase them came to an abrupt end after our first grocery shopping experience. When we were in Portugal and Spain, everyone we met warned us that France was going to break our bank. When we arrived in France we were pleased at our ability to stay within our budget quite easily but were then warned that the prices in Switzerland were outrageous. Once again, we cruised through Switzerland and though we noticed a difference, were satisfied when we were again able to keep our daily costs down. When we were in Germany and told people we were heading up to Sweden, their eyes got big and they replied, “Oh, it's REALLY expensive there.” Thinking it couldn't be much worse than Switzerland we were surprised that it actually could be worse, yet somehow managed to stay right at the upper end of our budget.

Well, we've finally found the country that will, just as we were told, send us into bankruptcy. Our desire to spend the next month cycling the length of Norway might be wishful thinking now that we've learned that 2 gummy worms cost about $1, a can of beans runs about $5, and a dozen eggs, a loaf of bread or a pack of the cheapest “meat” (a.k.a. 6 hotdogs) will set you back $10. Everything, not only food, is ridiculously expensive and we're finding it nearly impossible to live within the budget we've maintained for over a year of travel, wondering if we'll have to resort to eating solely plain white rice and muesli.

I'm not sure how people can afford to travel here but Norway is swarming with tourists in camper vans, cruising around at over $10 per gallon! Prior to arriving in Scandinavia we always believed RV'ing was an American passtime but we've concluded that Norway takes the gold medal by a long shot. We see more RVs in a single day in Norway than we saw on our entire ride across the U.S. I'm not sure if it's because there really are that many more campers here or if it only seems that way as there are so few road options, forcing everyone onto the same route.

Aside from the busy roads and the fact that we go through buyer's remorse for splurging on a can of beer, Norway has been amazing. This is a crazy section of the world, a long and narrow country of rivers, lakes, jagged mountainous coastlines, fjords and islands. The rivers are no longer the dark brown color of root beer that they were in Sweden, but rather a clear, icy blue through which we can see perfectly the multicolored rocks on the bottom of the river some 15 feet below. There are waterfalls everywhere, shimmering in the endless sunlight like enormous ribbons of tinsel hanging from the mountain sides, as the last remaining evidence of the harsh winters of the North melt away. In a few short weeks all of the snow patches will be gone, the waterfalls will cease and the bright magenta fireweed that grows along the roadways will indicate that Summer's end is near and the cold is about to return.

Fireweed

We have just passed the Arctic Circle, a place where neither of us ever imagined we'd be cycling. Located above treeline along Highway E6, the landscape was very moon-like; rocky and barren. There was a small gift shop, a cafe, several small monuments and hundreds of cairns erected all along the infamous latitudinal line. We enjoyed a brisk, but blue-skied lunch, pulled out our maps to figure out where we'd be able to find supermarkets between there and Bodo, where we'd be catching a ferry to the Lofoten Islands and then continued to ride North.

At the Arctic Circle.

Our second day in Norway was a sad day for me. My trusty water bottle with the “King of the Mountain” jersey design from the Tour de France (red polka-dots) that has been traveling with me from the start, saw its last ride. It had been sick for a long time with cracks all along its side, leaking water and forcing me to squeeze gingerly so as not to completely split it open every time I took a drink. There are very few (as in no) bike shops up here so we couldn't just go and buy a new one, but as luck would have it, suddenly a bright pink water bottle appeared on the side of the road. I know, you all think it's disgusting to pick something up off the side of the road and use it but we do it all the time and it hasn't killed us yet. A little scrub followed by a boiling water rinse and I was good to go. So meet my new piece of gear, Emily, as the faded blue marker on her side indicates. Long may she ride.

Good-bye old bottle. 

 Hello new bottle.