To be the first people on the first ferry out of Olderdalen means being at the dock at 06:30, which is generally an unpleasant hour to be up and out. We cannot complain; it is our choice. Our journey to the dock takes almost a minute and a half once we pack up and load up and saddle up. As promised, our host left fixings for our breakfast; we refused her offer to get up early and prepare our breakfast. She did right by us, though. All the fixings and trimmings for fried egg sandwiches, plus veggies and fruits, wait for us in the refrigerator. We quickly compile sandwiches to eat on the ferry, and coast down to the dock.
We share the early ferry with a pair of vehicles whose drivers nap during the thirty-five minute crossing to Lyngseidet and its 1740-era Kirke. Lyngseidet is the gateway to Kjosen, a narrow arm of Ullsfjorden. This is important to us, for it nearly bisects the steep rugged Lyngen Alps, providing a low passage across a peninsula dominated by mountains. As we ride along Kjosenveien steep slopes stand to our right, inland, and to our left, across the narrow water. Beyond, on both sides, the sharp peaks of the Lyngen Alps occasionally poke their snowy caps up and into view.
Rounding the coast, turning from westerly to northerly when we reach Ullfjorden, we spot a tiny ferry departing Breivikeidet on the far shore. Probably ours, we say, giving no further thought to it other than observing its slow passage across the water.
We come around another bend and see the dock in Svensby. The ferry is approaching, as are we. Looks like four or five kilometres to Svensby for us, less for the ferry. We say nothing, but slightly increase our speed. The road is relatively flat, but we do not want to jinx anything. Norway and its hills might be watching and listening, so we do not verbalize our question: could we make it in time for this ferry? Not a problem if we do not; the weather is great and we are ahead of where we expected to be, timewise. Sitting and waiting for the ferry to make another return would be of little consequence. Provided, of course, it makes regular runs and not only a single morning and afternoon run.
We begin cruising at a faster than normal speed. Vehicles begin streaming off the ferry. As long as they are leaving the ferry its departure is not imminent. We crank a little harder. Okay, now the vehicle-ferry parade reverses; they are loading. Two kilometres away. We watch anxiously and we pedal furiously. Still loading. One kilometre. The procession of vehicles is ending. Do they see us coming? We continue pedalling hard. It is a game now. Head the train off at the trestle; leap aboard the last wagon before the road crumbles. We speed around the corner and down the dock, zipping onto the ferry at the last moment. They waited the extra minute. We smile. They smile back, and nod.
At 06:30, waiting on the dock in Olderdalen, we had zero plans to catch the first ferry out of Svensby. After climbing the first short hill out of Lyngseidet we settled in for an early morning ride, anticipating a nice day of riding broken up by two ferry rides. After rolling onto the ferry in Svensby we look at each other, look at the time, and shake our heads. We have a 95km day to complete, but have finished one third before 09:00. Unbelievable.
We stand at the railing and watch the mountains recede behind and grow larger ahead. A mix of thoughts and feelings flood through us. In a few hours we will arrive in Tromsø. We are eager to bring this ride to a successful conclusion, while also sad to bring it to a conclusion.
We are not done yet, though. Still time for a surprise or two. A puncture. A broken chain. A whatever. Don’t count your chickens and all. After all, we still have not experienced our 50% likelihood of rain, for instance. Not complaining, mind you.
When the ferry reaches Breivikeidet we disembark first, as always, and stop by the side to wait for the motorized vehicles to roar off before hopping on Peppy and Mr Grey. We have a nice, at times speedy, ride, following Breivikelva towards Fagernes, surprised at the dearth of traffic. Garfjelltunnelen, then Storuratunnelen, intercept the road along the way. Our final mole-holes, both short, simple, and not rustic enough to attract any self-respecting trolls.
The Tromsø golf course is at Breivikeidet, a sign that we are nearing the Tromsø area, yet we are often riding side by side down the middle of the road, only occasionally bothered by vehicles. We are about two-thirds of the distance to Fagernes before a bolus of vehicles from behind signals that the ferry has crossed to and from Svensby and once again disembarked its load in Breivikeidet.
The vehicles zip past and we ride on, coming to E8 before we expect it. The highway bends west along Balsfjorden before turning north to Tromsø. The road is busy, as expected, and we tense up, hunker down, and hurry along to where we can duck off the main road to quiet parallel side roads. The first of these comes two-thirds of the way up what we think/hope is the last big climb of the trip, other than the Tromsø bridge, and it comes not a moment too soon. Riding up a steep twisting hill on a somewhat narrow road with an almost constant stream of traffic is not our idea of pleasure and fun. The first side road we take is unplanned; we stop for breath and look at our map to gain a sense of location, and distance remaining, and identify a local coastal lane which our map says rejoins the highway a few kilometres further along.
Our alternate route proves to be better than we hoped, and we untense. Too soon we are back to E8, but we are beyond the big hill so we are out of low gear and feeling steadier. We find a grove of trees for shade, and stop for brunch/snack. Another couple of km along, and we find a registered bicycle route which takes us off the main road and all the way to the Tromsø bridge, our last climb.
And, surprisingly, it feels like no climb at all. The high steep bridge turns into a small easy hill. Didn’t expect that, we say to each other. That was nothing.
Maybe. Or maybe we are not the same people who left Tromsø ten days before. Our bodies suggest something along those lines. Not sore, but tight. Stronger, for sure. Any aches are welcome; signs of good honest effort.
We soon arrive back where we started, at Amelie Hotell. The time is 13:00. Wow. Still half a day ahead of us…
The next day, before we disassemble Peppy and Mr Grey and consign them to the darkness and rough handling of the airlines, we take a valedictory tour, circumnavigating Tromsøya and finally seeing the northern end of the island. The 25km tour, a city spin, is a good, albeit short, transition back to the real world.
To conclude our fun we visit Mack’s Ølehallen for a celebratory brew, and begin preparing for a kayaking trip under the midnight sun. But that is another story…
mry writes 