Total Distance Pedaled: 1045 km
1 Aug 2019:
I’m seated in a café in front of a large window, looking out onto a compact town square. Soft jazz plays on the speakers. A quintet: bass, keys, drums, trumpet and sax. I don’t know jazz well enough to recognize the piece or the players. The coffee is good and strong, and the cookie was sweet and crumbly. I am relaxed and happy.
The name of this town is Bodø, though it seems to be pronounced “Bo-dah”. At least, that’s my best crack at it. The Norwegian alphabet has 3 extra letters we don’t have in English: Ø, Æ, and Å. This brings the total letter count up to 29, and I’ve had to change the keyboard on my phone to suit. It makes finding things on Google Maps much easier when you’ve got the proper characters. For example, there is a town on Lofoten called Å. That’s it…that’s the whole name of the town…just Å. Sharp contrast to most Norwegian names which consist of 19 vowels with the occasional letter K tossed in for good measure.
When we last spoke, I was on a day off in Tromsø. Since then, I really couldn’t tell you where I’ve been, simply because I can’t pronounce the names of the places. Fortunately, I can let Google Maps do the talking for me.
The weather continues to be fantastic and the sun has been shining bright.
Cyclists have the best tan lines.
If you’d asked me last month what the beaches in arctic Norway were like, I would have laughed at you. I’d never imagined that this part of the world was home to some of the most amazing white sand beaches I’ve ever seen.
I pitched my tent on this particular beach one night. Although I spent the next morning cleaning sand out of my bicycle drivetrain, the experience was totally worth it.
The Norwegian obsession with tunnels is still evident in this part of the country, but they’re pretty skilled bridge builders too.
I’ve crossed about 6 of these bridges and they all follow the same form factor; long approaches with an almost comically large hump in the middle. They look like the kind of bridge I would have drawn with a crayon when I was 6 years old. The reason for the big hump is to allow clearance for the large ships that frequent these waters. I was treated to an up-close view of a cruise ship as I crossed over one bridge.
I could see directly down onto the topless sunbathing deck. It was horrible. Nothing but saggy old titties everywhere. The exact opposite of pornography. And that was just the men. All the women seemed to have the common sense to keep their tops on.
My route took me across the Lofoten Islands. I have mixed emotions about these islands. On one hand, they are absolutely beautiful.
The mountains, fjords and quaint fishing villages are simply stunning.
Unfortunately, like most of the beautiful places on earth, the tranquility has been carpet-bombed into oblivion by hoards of tourists. In my case, this was more than just an inconvenience; it turned into a serious safety issue. The roads on Lofoten are narrow, twisty, and full of blind crests. They were never designed to handle thousands of caravan driving tourists.
Picture it: You’ve got Mom and Dad in the front seat of a rented vehicle, slurping ice cream and fucking with the stereo. In the back you’ve got the kids, screaming and slapping each other around. Everyone is tired, grumpy, and can’t wait to get to the seaside cabin they’ve rented so they can finally relax. The roads are narrow and they try to pass the car in front of them, but when they come around the curve, all of a sudden, there’s a guy on a bicycle doing 9 km/h….SMASH!!!
In my case, it involved a car towing a caravan with somebody trying to pass, and an articulated lorry (tractor trailer) coming the other way ’round the curve. This was one of those moments in life where time slows way, way down. The few seconds this encounter lasted seemed to stretch like bubble gum. I heard and smelled the brakes bind up on the big truck. Behind me, I could hear the passing car gunning its engine. I instinctively headed for the ditch, not wanting any part of the automotive trash compactor that was about to unfold. Fortunately, for everyone involved, we all escaped injury. I credit the truck driver for being a switched on professional, in control of his/her vehicle.
Since I was still well north of the 66th parallel (with round-the-clock daylight), I briefly considered sleeping during the day and travelling at night. Or at the very least, having a midday siesta when the bulk of the tourists were on the move. However, once I got past the town of Svolvær and its ferry service back to the mainland, traffic seemed to calm down a bit.
Accommodations on this trip have been interesting. I’ve done more “wild camping” and less campgrounds than I had expected. The campgrounds here are small, privately owned type of deals, and really seem to cater to the folks driving RVs. If they do permit tents, it tends to be a casual afterthought, as in: “Give me your money. Now go find some grass somewhere and pitch your tent.”
I’m more than comfortable taking a “Purell Shower” at the end of the day, and digging myself a cat hole in the morning, so the campgrounds have held little appeal for me.
Pro Tip: If you are going to random camp in the bush, please, please, please, learn how to poop in the woods. Dig a proper hole and pack your paper out with you!
Besides, where would you rather sleep squatting on someone’s lawn between 2 caravans, or someplace like this?
Just prior to the town of Å, I said goodbye to Lofoten and jumped on a ferry boat, destination: Bodø. And that, my friends, brings us full circle. Back to the café with the jazz, coffee and cookies.
Thanks for checking in this week.
Hugs & Kisses,
Steve
2 Canucks in a Tent 