Shivering My Way Across Finland and Norway (July-August 2015)

October 22, 2015

The cycling half of my Nordic peregrinations began on July 20, 2015 when I tumbled off a very comfortable sleeper train from Helsinki to Rovaniemi.  Rovaniemi is the biggest city in Finnish Lappland and the end of the line for the passenger train.  I rode into town and waited for the tourist information office to open since I needed to figure out where to replace the camping gear that had just been stolen in Helsinki.  I also needed to make a police report of the theft in the hope (which ultimately proved futile) of getting my travel insurance to pay up.  The tourist info folks sent me around to several camping gear stores that had an absolutely underwhelming selection of tents, sleeping bags, sleeping mats and hiking backpacks.  I eventually decided to buy cheap stuff that would last for three weeks and then buy better gear when I got back to Canada.  It took me until about 2:30 to to deal with the very professional police and to buy what I needed, with the final bill coming to less than 220 euros for a functional but small backpack, a functional but very heavy tent, a heavy and not very warm sleeping bag and a fairly terrible sleeping mattress.  I was surprised at the lack of quality gear, given Rovaniemi’s reputation as the centre of outdoor adventure activities for Finnish Lappland. 

Sadly, all the shopping left me with not enough time to visit the official Santa Claus village, one of the biggest tourist attractions in town.  Rovaniemi is located right on the Arctic Circle, and has lots of reindeer around, so I guess it’s as good a spot as any for Santa to set up shop.  Leaving at 3 pm, I was happy that I had essentially 24 hours of daylight so that I could ride as late in the evening as I wanted.  That first day I rode steadily north and then west until 9 pm through recurrent drizzle and cold.  The scenery was gently undulating, with birch forests and stands of pine trees, neither of them terribly high, surrounding a series of small lakes.  It reminded me of the scenery around Thompson, Manitoba, where I once spent a month planting trees.  From time to time I came across reindeer beside the road, although I wasn’t fast enough to draw my camera before they bolted for the woods.  It was cold and bleak and hard to motivate myself to ride, and I had difficulty finding a good spot to put up my tent, finally finding a clearing in the woods after 84 km.

Nice river junction on day two, on the Swedish border

Reindeer

I slept solidly for 10 hours, as my body was a bit unused to cycling after a couple of weeks off the bike.  I awoke to even colder weather, with the maximum temperature for the day not getting above 11 degrees and little sunshine to warm me up.  I rolled 20 kilometres westward into the junction town of Pello before a futile 12-km round trip expedition to the police station to pick up a copy of my police report; the station wasn’t open that afternoon turning more due north along the river that forms the border between Finland and Sweden.  I kept rolling north through dreary weather until finally, around 4 pm, I found a beautiful spot overlooking the junction of two big rivers, the Tornealven and the Muoninjoki, and shivered my way through a picnic lunch.  The landscape reminded me a great deal of the Kaministiquia River outside Thunder Bay.  According to a fisherman I met there, this river provides some of the finest fly fishing in Finland, with 30 kg salmon, great trout and tasty Arctic char.  Sure enough, from this point north I saw a lot of fishermen in boats out on the water.  At the 120-km mark for the day, I contemplated camping in a roadside picnic area but was put off by the number of people who had used it as an outdoor latrine.  Instead I took a side road around a lake and found a secluded clearing in the forest to put up my tent, cook my pasta and fall asleep, tired and sore and cold.

July 22^nd, my third day on my slog through Finnish Lappland, was another 120 km day.  I awoke in the night to recurring heavy rain, and the morning was cold, wet and very grey.  It was a bleak 60 km to the city of Muonio, with my feet getting so cold in the biting headwind cutting through my sandals that I lost all feeling under my right foot.  It definitely wasn’t a fun day in the saddle, so when I found a roadside truck stop serving reindeer burger, I lingered indoors, reluctant to leave the warmth.  I set off again at 4 and was rewarded by the headwind shifting into a tailwind and the sun finally reappearing. 

Looking like a real bike vacation!

My pretty campsite at the end of day three

I suddenly loved the look of the landscape and made much better time and was in a much more positive mood.  I camped a bit earlier than I had planned when I found an absolutely idyllic camping spot about 13 km north of Palojoensuu on a bluff overlooking the border river, surrounded by pine trees and out of earshot of the road.  It was by far the prettiest spot I had seen since I left Rovaniemi, and I needed the positive vibes of camping there.  I had a stiff left knee and both my Achilles tendons were sore; the persistent cold didn’t help my muscles and tendons get warmed up.

The highest road pass in Finland, outside Kilpisjarvi

July 23^rd was the best day of cycling I had in Finland.  I woke up after 9 pm and then dawdled over breakfast, as I had bought some delicious smoked fish from the tourist shop just down the road.  I fixed small things on the bike that needed adjusting, washed some laundry and finally set off at the fashionably late hour of 12:30.  I moved slowly for the first 20 km to a road junction, where I bought ice cream and cookies to fuel my body.  Then the wind shifted to a brisk tailwind and the skies cleared, and I began to fly along.  The next 60 km went by quickly as the trees thinned out and barren fells got closer to the road as I climbed steadily.  It was distinctly chilly at the top of the 550 metre high pass that separated me from Kilpisjarvi, and I dropped to the lakeshore in bitterly cold headwinds.  It took me forever to crawl the last 5 km to the campground with my legs feeling empty and heavy.  I had a sauna to warm up, cooked dinner and was in bed at 1 am, with the sky still pretty light.

Lovely flowers on the way up Saana Fell

Atop Saana Fell

I took the next day off from cycling, hoping to let my body and my motivation recharge.  Kilpisjarvi is the extreme northwest corner of Finland, and is a major tourist centre.  I paid 10 euros for a massive breakfast buffet (I made sure I got my money’s worth), lazed around using the campground’s wi-fi and reading as I waited for the morning’s fog to break.  Finally at 12:30 the sun came out and I hiked up Saana Fell (1100 m above sea level), one of the barren fells towering over the lake.  Finland doesn’t have the big peaks that Norway and Sweden have, so these are among the higher peaks in the country.  There were lots of hikers on the trail, and the scenery was wonderful, with expansive views to Sweden’s mountains to the south and to endless fells to the north.  The tree line was about 200 metres above the lake, so most of the hike was across treeless terrain.  The woods were full of birds that were hard to see and identify, although a passing birder told me that they were bramblings.  I strolled back down to the campsite, rode into town to buy groceries and change my euros into Norwegian kronor, then went back to the campsite to sauna, read and cook up a big meal of steak and veggies in the campground kitchen.

The view towards Sweden from Saana Fell

In the campground car park, Kilpisjarvi

Pointy peaks in northern Norway

My first Norwegian fjord

Lovely Norwegian scenery

July 25^th was my last day in Finland.  I cooked up a small mountain of pancakes in the kitchen while outside the weather continued cold, grey and bleak.  Eventually I could delay no longer and saddled up to climb over the low pass into Norway.  The scenery was pretty, although the tops of the fells were shrouded in clouds.  On the downhill to the Norwegian coast, I passed a series of very pretty waterfalls and the previously spindly birch trees got bigger and bigger.  I was on a newly paved road and I made good time despite the cold and the wet pavement.  I reached the shore of the fjord (Storfjorden), turned left, picked up a tailwind and raced along through very pretty scenery, with sunshine lighting up the waves on the fjord and the peaks of the mountains.  I stopped for a late lunch at a camper parking lot and had to shelter behind a camper to eat as the wind was gusting at about 80 km/h.  I climbed over a 90-metre-high pass between one fjord and the next, flew downhill and took an old sideroad along the shore looking for a good place to camp.  There were too many farms and summer cottages to camp along the shore, so eventually I turned inland along the main road and found a lovely spot to camp, well off the road in a mossy clearing.  I was glad that I had better weather and nicer scenery than I had had in Lappland.

On the way into Tromso

The next day was a great day for cycling and sightseeing.  I woke up at 7 (Norway is an hour behind Finland), left at 9 and was in the city of Tromso by 11:30.  Tromso is a big town (70,000 inhabitants) in an absolutely amazing setting, surrounded by mountains and fjords and beauty.  I rode across a high bridge with a very narrow bike and pedestrian shared lane that was almost impossible to navigate because of the number of elderly Italian cruise ship passengers clogging the lane.  I headed first to the Polar Museum where I learned about Amundssen and Nansen and other figures of the 19^th century and early 20^th century exploration of the Arctic, most of whom passed through Tromso.  I lazed outside in the sunshine, out of the wind, using their wi-fi and then bought some groceries. 

The Ice Cathedral in Tromso, looking like Sydney Opera House

As I ate lunch in a small park, I had to fight off the depredations of big seagulls who were utterly fearless in their attempts to eat my sandwich.  The climb out of town was steep and led across the island to another steep bridge leading to the large island of Langoya.  The light on the water and on the snowy peaks was magical, and I climbed steeply over lovely interior moorland down to Kattfjord, eyeing up some juicy-looking ski touring possibilities.  I cruised along the fjord, through my first road tunnel (the bane of Norwegian cycling touring!) to Bremshomen ferry dock, where I had to wait only 15 minutes for a boat to the next big island, Senja, where I found a great spot to camp beside a stream. 

Typical interisland bridge, Norway

Typical tiny fishing village

Beautiful scenery on the outside coast of Senja

The next day’s riding didn’t start until after 12:00, as it poured rain from 3 am until then.  I stayed in my tent reading and eating breakfast, and then had a bit of time pressure to make the 7 pm ferry on the other side of Senja.  The riding was through brilliant scenery all day, with dramatic granite sea cliffs, picturesque fishing villages, wild moorland and a series of intimidating road tunnels.

Another ferry ride

Wild Norwegian scenery

The view from Andenes campground

Campground views, Andenes

The gale force winds were mostly at my back, although at times I had to crawl through headwinds to get into tunnels.  My face was painfully windburnt by the end of the day.  I had a brief lunch stop of peanut butter on rye bread, then kept riding.  I took a brand new tunnel and equally new bridge to the ferry port at Gryllefjord; the bridge was resonating in the wind with an eerie, echoing “song” that alarmed me as I rode over it.  I made it to the ferry with 40 minutes to spare, bought groceries and scarfed down food as I waited.  I met my first-ever Chinese bicycle tourists outside China, a couple on some neat folding bikes with a good pannier system.  We communicated in my terrible Chinese, as they spoke essentially no English.  I was impressed by their fearlessness in setting off with essentially no ability to communicate with people.  The ferry crossing was beautiful, with striking light on the shore, on distant mountains and on the rolling sea.  On the other side, in the city of Andenes, I broke down and stayed in a commercial campground so that I could enjoy the perfect location on the outer shore of the island.  It was a very pretty spot on grass-covered sand dunes, looking out to the open North Sea.

Midnight sun over Norway

More late-night light

I had hoped to make an earlier-than-usual getaway the next morning, but instead I was awakened by torrential rain in the night.  I woke up at a decent hour but instead of rushing off on the bicycle, I went for a swim in the chilly ocean, shaved, trued my back wheel, had a leisurely breakfast and finally rolled off at 11:30.  All day long as I rode along the outer coast of the island of Andoya, headwinds slowed my progress to a crawl.  I listened to podcasts, hoping to get some sort of mental inspiration, but the scenery faded from the sculpted peaks of the past few days to humdrum undulations.  After 30 km of battling the wind, I had lunch on a windy white sand beach that apparently is an up and coming surfing spot.  Nobody was out in the howling gale that day, but it was still pretty.  There were more and more people living on the land as I headed south, but almost no surface water to be had, a complete contrast to the gushing waterfalls of a few days previously.  When I got to the town of Sortland, I still couldn’t for the life of me find a place to camp wild.  I pushed on and on, through densely packed farms, and finally, 10 km south of Sortland, where the busy road went over a small hill, I found an abandoned field and camped in the long grass, tired and jaded after 118 km that had been tougher than they should have been.

Surfing beach on Andoya

July 30^th was a better day of cycling.  I was up and on the road in less than 90 minutes (about an hour less than usual) and raced into Stokmarnes with a brisk tailwind at 20 km/h.  I had a hot dog, checked e-mail, went to the post office to mail postcards, did some shopping and was out of town again before noon.  I made great time to the ferry terminal at Malbu, but missed a ferry by 20 minutes and had over an hour to wait for the next one.  This was my penultimate ferry, crossing to the Lofoten Islands, about which I had heard so much.  As I waited, munching sandwiches, I talked to a Norwegian family (mom, dad and two teenage kids) on a two-week cycling trip, and to Joris, a Dutch motorcyclist.  The ferry ride to the Lofoten islands was quick, and as the islands approached, I could see a number of appealingly pointy peaks rising up.  I disembarked in Fiskebol and rode through very pretty, wild scenery, with expanses of bare granite, little inlets and steep peaks still streaked with last winter’s snow. 

Lofoten scenery

The capital city, Svolvaer, left me cold, a functional expanse of concrete buildings with a surprising number of African migrants on the streets.  I pushed on through suburbia, looking in vain for a place to camp.  For an island out in the North Atlantic above the Arctic Circle, Lofoten is surprisingly densely populated!  I finally pitched my tent in a commercial campground in Kabelvag, cooked up a slap-up meal in their fancy kitchen and slept for a long time, listening to rain come down on the tent.

The next morning it was pouring rain so I had breakfast in my tent and lay there sipping tea and reading until 1:30 when the rain finally let up.  I got up, made myself lunch and rolled out at the ridiculously late hour of 3:30. I still managed to ride 46 km under leaden, cold skies along roads surprisingly choked with traffic.  I was relieved to make it across the inter-island bridge onto Vestvagoy and turn off onto a back road to lose the vehicular traffic.  It looked pretty (although cold) as I gazed back over the water towards the fishing village of Henningsvaer, alone on its long peninsula.  I was glad to see more open space and a wilder shoreline, but it just got colder and colder as I rode along, so I was relieved to find another commercial campground at Kongsjorda, ate a lot of pasta and a nice piece of chocolate cake for dessert.  I was pretty chilled, and my cheap sleeping bag didn’t do a great job of warming me up in the night.  I woke up with a distinctly stiff lower back.

Headed toward Moskenes

Inland lake near Moskenes

The next day was the last day of July, and the last real day of cycling of the trip.  I set off by 10:20, surprised not to wake up to rain, and rode 15 km to the town of Leknes.  I bought groceries, ten sheltered on a church porch to wait out another rain squall and eat some peanut butter sandwiches.  When the rain stopped, I rode on towards the western end of the Lofoten archipelago, and the traffic finally began to lessen a bit.  I rode through a long, dark interisland tunnel, then over another bridge after a spectacularly scenic ride along a pretty fjord.  I pushed along the inland coast of the island, along old roads around the new road tunnels, under steep granite cliffs.  I rode through the intricate harbour shared by Ramnoy, Kvalvik and Reine and, by 6:30 I was setting up my tent in my favourite campground of the trip at Moskenes, a huge expanse of grass and hills with lots of secluded spots to camp.  I feasted on smoked salmon (bought in Kvalvik) and rehydrated some fish soup, talked to Terri on Viber and then retired to my tent, cold and tired.  I was getting tired of never being warm, and my back was getting stiffer by the day.

Harbour in A

I had one day off the bike in Moskenes the next day.  I replaced my worn-out bike chain, rode to A (the absolute end of the road for the Lofoten islands) past racks of drying cod heads (Lofoten’s economy runs on dried cod—stokfisk—and has done so for centuries; the fish heads are apparently shipped to Nigeria to be turned into pungent fish sauce) to the renowned stokfisk museum, which was unexpectedly closed.  I biked back, noticing that my gear cable housing had split and broken, making it impossible to shift gears accurately; I didn’t have any spare cable housing, so I was going to need to find a bike shop in Bodo.

Fish heads drying in A, ready to be sent to Nigeria

The next morning I was in line for the ferry by 7 am.  It took almost 4 hours to get to Bodo, a modern city even bigger than Tromso.  I got off the ferry in (inevitably) drizzle, and headed to the airport to find out the rules for bringing bicycles on the flight.  I stayed there for a while, enjoying the warmth and dryness, listening to a live jazz band and using the free airport wi-fi.  Eventually I couldn’t put it off any longer, got onto my bike and rode out through the drizzle to the municipal campground.  I put up my tent, chatted to some Swiss university students who were carving soapstone statues out in the rain, ate sandwiches and then got to bed early for a long, rain-disturbed night.

August 3^rd began with yet more rain.  It was the coldest, rainiest summer in Finland since 1962, and apparently Norway had had a similarly miserable summer.  My back, tired of being cold and tired of sleeping on a cheap, cold mattress, was even more sore than it had been, and now my left hip and thigh were distinctly sore, making cycling a miserable experience.  As it turned out, it was the start of two and a half months of piriformis syndrome, a sciatica-like condition that blighted my life and made it hard to walk or cycle or do any sort of exercise.  Only now, after going to a really top-notch physiotherapist, am I finally improving, just in time for my upcoming trip to Antarctica and South America.  I went to the local bike shop to get my gear cable housing fixed and to get a bike box for the flight, then went to the expensive hotel that I had treated myself to for the last night.  I packed up the bike, went out for a kebab at a take-out joint run by an Iranian guy, and then got to bed early, sad that my bike trip was over but glad to be escaping from a solid month of cold, rain and grey skies.

I flew out the next morning, August 4^th, to Geneva, glad to have had 10 days of cycling, happy to have seen the spectacular coastal scenery of Norway and ready for the next stage of my farewell tour of Europe.