NORDKAPP
Nordkapp, northern Norway - most definately the end of the road.
There’s always something alluring about the idea of following the road to its end. And the Nordkapp is unmistakably the end of the road. Only, on this occasion, we’re starting at the end and working back - almost a journey in reverse - because we’ve taken advantage of a service that delivers our bikes to the northern town of Alta, deep beyond the Arctic Circle, and we’ve hopped on a flight going via the capital Oslo to get there. After breakfast the following day, we go down to the Hotel Scandic’s underground garage to collect our bikes and riding equipment. So far, so very easy. Except all Paul’s riding kit is missing, and for the following thirty minutes we fear it might still be on the truck, and by now far down the road on its way back to England. There’s a collective sigh of relief when his jacket, boots and helmet are discovered mysteriously stashed in a dark corner of the garage.
Leaving Alta, we’re soon into remote country, but after Skaidi comes an upsurge in traffic. Even in late June there are plenty of pilgrims chasing the road to the midnight sun. The six kilometre Nordkapp tunnel brings us to Mageroya Island, and the last few kilometres before we reach North Cape undulate and twist past a series of small lakes. And then we’re there, ogling beyond the cliffs, Svalbard lost some distance to the north of us, and most certainly way too far to swim. Standing here, I have to admit feeling a bit of a cheat. Normally, the end of the road is a moment of deep contemplation - the joys and hardships of a long journey regurgitated in the mind - except to get here we’ve only ridden a few hours, covering a distance of some 260 kilometres. We’ve hardly earned the booze and excellent dinner at restaurant Nor in Honninsgvarg, a small fishing community with a couple of departing cruise ships, but what the hell … we tuck in all the same.
Retracing our route to Alta, we continue to our overnight stay in Sarkjosen. Past mountains and through tunnels, besides the sea and the fjords, the scenery is stunning. Except, they just don’t do good roadside cafes up here, so lunch is a carton of limp chips from a service station, washed down with a thin coffee. After Sarkjosen comes Tromso, a vibrant city with some good bars and the excellent Scarven Kro restaurant. The next day we take the 862 and catch the Hillesoy ferry. On the quay we meet a Norwegian biker from Hammerfest who’s taking his BMW 1200 for a service in Bodo, the only facility in the area, a round-trip journey of some 1,000 kms! It seems owning a bike out here is a serious commitment - as is snowmobiling. Our new friend tells us that they race them on water here, and it’s not unusual to find them outfitted with a Yamaha R1 engine, capable of 380 bhp and an acceleration of 0 - 100 kph in 3 seconds. After the ferry we continue to Gryllfjord to catch our next ferry, a one and a half hour steam to Andenes, on Vesteralen Island. From here it’s a one hour ride to Stortland and the excellent Scandic Hotel. By late afternoon the temperature is hammering on 31 C. Up in the hotel room, I emerge from my biking gear like a joint of boil-in-the-bag ham … rather puce and feeling excessively cooked.
A break along the way. Kafjorddalen on the EO6.
In this heat, and among these scatterings of green, conical mountains, in places Vesteralen reminds me of Thailand. We journey south through the Lofotens and a much increased volume of tourists. Camper vans are particularly in evidence, with swelling queues for the ferries. Approaching Moskenes, we pass through Reine, a quaint settlement of red houses standing over water, which has whipped the tourists and their cameras into a particular frenzy. The ferry is a three and a half hour crossing to Bodo, where we crash-out at an Air B&B for the next three days to free ourselves from the menace of Covid. Purging the virus from our systems with some good home cooking, topped up with a flow of paracetamol, beer and a very good bottle of Trimbach Riesling, works a treat.
Rejuvenated and refuelled, we get back on the road, crossing the Arctic Circle at Stodi, and blatting on down for our overnight stay at Mosjoen.
Beside a fjord on the road to Tromso.
Fru Haugans Hotel, in Mosjoen, is an old establishment that lives up to its tagline of being - “A good night’s sleep since 1794”. It’s a quirky, comfortable hotel with a good restaurant, if somewhat pricey on the pocket. But, hey! its been a long ride today (by our standards, at least) and so we consider we’ve earned it.
The next day we make it to the famous battleground of Stiklestad, where the revered King Olav Haraldsson was killed in the year 1030, during an epic battle of parried swords, thrusting spears and flailing warhammers. A place of rolling hills and woodland, like the site of most battlefields, I discover it to be all very calm and rather splendid. The next day we don full wet weather gear for our 320 km ride down to Molde. The route is dull compared to how spoiled we’ve been in the last week, for here we are in more open, predominantly agricultural country and a far cry from the rugged north. We overnight in a city centre hotel before taking the ferry on a 30 minute crossing to Vestnes. Today is a stunning ride up the Trollstigen, followed by a second impressive climb culminating with views over the Geiramgerfjord. But it’s a cold 150 km journey and when we happen by the 1,000 metre altitude Grotli hotel in such miserable weather, there’s absolutely no questioning where we’re to stay for the night. Styled on a ski lodge, (Grotli is a ski station in winter) they say the atmosphere in this 120 year old hotel is embedded in its timber walls. It soon proves the ideal place to recover from the rigours of the day.
A break at Stodi. It’s obligatory to stop at the tourist centre for that “I’ve crossed the Arctic Circle” sticker.
The Trollstigen weaves through the glacial Isterdalen Valley, rising up from sea-level through a series of hairpin bends to an altitude of 850 metres. But man, it was cold at the top. As soon as I removed the helmet my ears froze off.
Photo opportunity at Djupvasshytta (1.000 m altitude). We’re experiencing the full range of riding conditions today. Next stop: the Grotli Hotel … perfect!
For the next three days we continue south, beginning with route 15 from Grotli and then turning right on to the fabulous route 51, bringing us out at Fragernes. Turning right at Leira and then continuing along route 7, we circumnavigate the mountain plateau of Hardangervidda, before turning south on route 9 to the ferry at Kristiansand, and the end of our Norway leg. Our ride through Norway has taken us 14 days (including our forced sojourn in Bodo) and we’ve covered a distance of 3,200km. From Kristiansand we shall cross to Hirshals in northern Denmark, taking the motorway down to Hamburg and then through Holland to Europoort, a further distance of some 1,200 kms.
Norway has proved to be everything I’d ever heard - wonderful motorcycling country, amongst really exceptional scenery. I’m not quite sure what took me so long to go there!
