We savour our night of rest in Honninsvåg, knowing our next day will be rather more challenging: 105km, including Nordkapp Tunnel and its 215metres drop below Porsangerfjorden.
Riding in tunnels is interesting, to say the least. Cold in all seasons. Approaching vehicles sound like speeding freight trains, becoming louder as they draw closer, until the sounds are almost deafening. On the descent, with a 10% grade, it is possible to keep up with traffic, if you dare. Good brakes are essential to avoid going over 55km/hour, which is the fastest we are willing to go on a bicycle. Fortunately Peppy and Mr Grey have good brakes, which get a real workout during the trip (as do their low gears; every day we go from sea to height to sea, some days more than once.)
One of us often rides faster down hills than our partner wishes for us to ride. We earned it. We am going to take full advantage of our uphill sweat and toil when we come to the downhill stretches. Gravity is both a friend and an enemy when you are on a bicycle.
Fortunately, traffic is not a big concern. More German motorcyclists than anything. You find German tourists everywhere. German and Dutch. Curious, adventurous, alive-to-the-world people.
Most of our day’s ride, from Honningsvåg to Olderfjord, is along the peaceful Porsangerfjorden, with many “Norway flat” ups and downs along the way (there is rarely such a thing as flat land in Norway). We start by pedalling through two shorter tunnels: Honningsvågtunnelen and Sarnestunnelen, both of which are non-events, before we confront our nemesis, Nordkapptunneln. Nordkapptunneln is 7.5km long, with 10-11% grade down and back up to the mainland. Loads of fun on loaded bicycles.
Fortunately, we slay the giant tunnel without difficulty. Morning energy is a great thing. We celebrate our small victory; we had been apprehensive/fearful of that particular stretch of the trip. Easy-peasy, in the end. Relatively so, at any rate. Time and distance do that. They obscure the raw effort, the sanity-questioning moments. They change mountains to molehills, struggles to mere bumps along the way. Tunnels to mere portals.
After Nordkapptunneln the next two tunnels of the day are relatively straightforward, although not without adventure. Sortviktunnelen is short and sweet, easily completed and forgotten; the other, Skarvbergettunnelen is a bit more hairy, in addition to its dramatic location. Along the road to Skarvbergettunnelen the land drops immediately, and sharply, to the fjord on one side, with sheer walls on the other side; a slice taken from a mountain to push a road through. As we approach the tunnel we see a sharp high cliff plunging straight down to the fjord, with a little mousehole near the bottom into which the road disappears.
For reasons known only to them a pair of reindeer decide to take a stroll along the road leading to Skarvbergettunnelen ahead of us. Not well thought-out, we are afraid. They have no escape plan, no way out. We continue slowly pedalling forward and they continue slowly trotting ahead of us. Herding panicky reindeer is a lot like herding cats. They trot along with their peculiar gait, veering left when they look over their left shoulder, veering right when they look over their right shoulder, moving along rather unpredictably. Although they are rather docile, they do carry impressive looking antlers, with which we are not eager to tangle. We give them plenty of space. With a drop on the sea side and a wall on the land side, they have no place to go except forward or back. And going back is not an option; there be wheeled monsters behind. Forward they go. They veer back and forth like pinballs for a kilometre or more, not providing us an opportunity to pass so as to relieve their panic.
Eventually the cliff steps back several metres from the road, our friends bolt for the wider spot, and we quickly pedal by. Everyone is relieved by the happy ending. We pedal uphill to the entrance and swiftly conquer our last tunnel of the day, lights ablaze in the narrow and dimly lit passage.
Norwegians are part mole, we think. They build tunnels to avoid going over a hill, drill through mountains to shorten the route by a handful of kilometres, or connect to an island with 40 inhabitants. They seem to build tunnels and bridges for the sheer joy of it. Because they can. Some, such as Skarvbergettunnelen, are spectacular in setting; some are spectacular in execution, such as Nordkapptunneln. Some seem more like troll havens. Narrow, dank, dark, pot-holed passages chiseled through rock.
Were we to wake one morning as trolls, we would look closely at one or two tunnels we have seen in the past as potentially suitable for our lair. Fixer-uppers, but with a little effort they could be a tidy enough trollhjem, albeit rather on the chilly and rustic side. Bonus feature: awesome views. Alas, we are not a troldfolk, so we are fated to live upon, rather than within, the surface of the land.
The most magnificent tunnel we have seen, from a head-scratching ‘will you look at that’ point of view, connects Tromsø airport, on the west side of Tromsøya, with Tromsø city centre on the east side, penetrating the hills between. Tromsøya tunnel has several roundabouts within the mountain, connecting different entrances to the main tunnel, plus an underground parking area. It is a veritable underground road grid. Troll heaven, indeed.
All of this is fascinating, of course, but a distraction from our story.
We exit Skarvbergettunnelen, absorb the views, and continue to crank along. The Norway coast is like a hand of outstretched fingers. Trace a path along the side of your fingers, down one side, up the other. In and out. In where a fjord invades the land, out along the opposite shore of the fjord. Four km of cycling to go 1km further south. Repeat. Repeat again. The story of many days.
And soon enough, after 105 km and 8 hours (must stop for pictures, lunch, lunch two with reindeer accompaniment, snack, snack two, etc.), we roll into Olderfjord and a well-earned rest.
Three days down, eight to go…
mry writes 