The Norway coastal route remains as breathtaking as it is challenging. Its tidy villages and picture-perfect fjords must be earned with sweat, cycling over constant steep gradients that remind me of a past trip to Cornwall. The profile of Norway Cycle Route 1 seems designed for bikepackers with light luggage or, even better, those who can afford a support van to carry everything they need, allowing them to cycle light, on carbon fiber or titanium bikes. I am neither. Hauling everything but the kitchen sink, involves the odd bouts of weakness when I question the meaning of life. For the rest of it, there is joy and gratitude for being able to see and spend time in these places. As if the unyielding lack of flat terrain (how I miss Holland) wasn't hard enough, most days I also have to cope with strong winds. When favorable, they're barely noticed, but when they push against my face, they seem merciless. These are some of my excuses for making such slow progress toward Stavanger.
I am full of admiration when I read reports of cyclists venturing into Siberia or the North Cape in winter; they are usually a few decades younger, and certainly much more masochistic than I am. The older I get, the more I find myself in the comfortable category of fair-weather cyclists. At my age, I'm not out to break any records or perform feats of incredible bravery. What matters most, for this effort to make sense, is finding joy in the journey. While I have the great advantage of being able to avoid the worst weather by seeking shelter before it rains, I'm also aware that time is ticking. I have to be mindful of the unpredictable nature of Scandinavia’s "summers" and, to stick to my original plan, a bus transfer will be necessary. Between Oslo and Stockholm, I will cheat a little. I’ll lose the purity of a human-powered form of travel and indulge in the luxury of a seventeen-hour bus ride that will take me to the start of the second half of this adventure.
You are a sharp reader, and well-versed in geography, if you’re wondering why a bus would take so long to reach Stockholm. For reasons beyond me, the bus company first wants to take me to the city of Malmö, on the opposite side of the country; from there I will transfer to a different service that will eventually bring me to the Swedish capital. For the inconvenience, I got a great bargain. From Stockholm, I will briefly venture into Finland and the Baltic States before heading south, determined to be back in Italy before winter sets in!
Along the way, I met Evert, a retired Dutch cyclist who spends six months a year on the saddle, rambling around European countries. On his sixty-fourth birthday, he decided he'd had enough of unassisted cycling and treated himself to a very expensive electric bike. His main challenge now was keeping the batteries charged while spending most nights at campsites. He had become extremely skilled at this, never paying a single penny for electricity. As soon as he arrived at a campsite, he quickly found the best spot near a power unit, which I assumed was meant exclusively for those traveling with large campervans and paying accordingly. The power column was soon cluttered with dangling cables, charging the large bike batteries and a host of other gadgets he carried.
“Nobody ever notices!” said Evert when I asked about it.
“Just never say you need electricity or they’ll charge you dear for it!”
To access these charging units, special adaptors are often needed, but Evert was well-prepared, carrying a full assortment to ensure he could effortlessly tackle hills the next day. He was a true traveler, and we exchanged information and tips along the way. His curiosity was piqued by the lanyard around my neck, securely attached to my phone.
“I use it all the time for pictures and to figure out my way.”
“The last thing I need is to smash it…” I told him.
“Good idea!” he said, approving of it.
“Last year I crashed mine a few weeks into a trip.” He said throwing his phone on the wood decking to show me exactly what had happened!
“Don’t break another one just to show me…!” I begged him.
Evert laughed and told me he'd replaced his old phone with a military-grade one that, despite weighing like a small brick, was practically indestructible. To prove his point, he casually tossed it again, letting it drop to the ground without a care. He mentioned having a grandchild, so I asked him about his wife.
“We are not together anymore...” he answered, “She could not cycle.”
Given his experience and thrifty ways, I thought I should ask some advice on how to make ends meet in these expensive Scandinavian countries. However, his response was rather disappointing; he was on a Dutch pension.
“Oh, I don’t budget at all!” he said.
“If I want something I get it!”
“They pay me almost two thousand euros each month for doing nothing.” he told me, before setting off for dinner at the camping restaurant. He returned satisfied, while I was stuffing myself with yet another load of pasta with pesto, and told me that the lobster was excellent!
I reached Eidsfjorden and the tong twister little port of Singersvollstranda early one morning. Fishermen had just left a plastic container full of crabs by the small dock. That is something admirable that I see daily. In these Nordic countries, trust is at the base of everything. Farmers leave their goods for sale unattended, knowing that they will be paid. People who want to purchase anything help themselves and make a bank transfer. Sadly, not something that would make much business sense in my own country!
The imprisoned crabs were floating attached to a long rope. Locals trickled in pulling up the cage from the water and helped themselves at their peril! Two girls opened the little slot and confidently put their hands in pulling out crab after crab while the claws tried to grab them!
“They won’t let go if they catch you!” one of them told me.
“Do you get a discounted price for the risk you are taking?” I asked her.
“They are ten krona each!” she answered excitedly.
A Scandinavian bargain. I briefly considered getting some before reality set in and reminded me it would likely end with bloody fingers and a trip to the local accident and emergency. Besides, I’ve never been good with seafood or fish in general; I wouldn’t know how to cook it or eat it! Maybe I could keep a crab as a pet and use it as an extra anti-theft measure for my bike when I stopped to buy groceries.