Another beautiful Norway morning greets us. Fortified by breakfast, with smuggled fixings for lunch stowed in our bags, we set out on the road not taken two days prior, the one toward Alta. After our thoroughly enjoyable ride to Hammerfest (ed: Huh?) we are eager for a fresh start from Skaidi. E6, the other road, the route to somewhere, heads south, uphill from the start. We pedal into the day, fresh and strong.
Along the road out of Skaidi, heading to Alta 90+km away, while puffing up the steady incline, we spy the lone cyclist with whom we exchanged fraternal waves in Skaidi two days earlier. He is doing his early morning yoga in a stand of mountain birch, where he set his tent thanks to the foresight of allemannsrett (“everyman’s right”). We pedal by, not wishing to interrupt, with smiles on our faces. What could be more perfect?
The road goes uphill, more uphill, yet more uphill. The day is sunny, warm, and windy. At 383moh on Sennalandet headwinds are a mixed blessing. They cool our overheated brows while simultaneously forcing us to work harder to overcome their push, thus increasing our body heat. Vicious cycle.
On this day we have no fjords to bridge, tunnel, or pedal several kilometres around to reach an opposite shore visible a few hundred metres away for the whole of the circuit. The day’s route is simply up and over, from Repparfjord to Altafjord. Open land, littered with bumpy brown-green hills sprawling in all directions. Brown peaks poke up, pushing the road hither and yon. Rivers rush by in swales on one side, then the other. We stop frequently, allowing the good/evil wind to carry off a bit of the heat and dampness from our bodies, wishing for a spot of shade.
Norway, and northern Europe, are not immune to the death spiral we are inflicting on our one and only planet. We prepared for summer arctic conditions, layers at the ready, but found Mediterranean-style weather. We planned for teen-level temperatures; we found mid- to upper 20s instead. Sunscreen and water are our friends; we are grateful for our merino wool tops, which have the unenviable task of soaking up all the water we pour down our throats when it exudes from our pores while not taking on a pungency even the wide open Arctic landscape would not tolerate.
The road from Skaidi to Alta is the longest stretch of our trip away from the sea, part of the traverse from east coast to west coast, from Porsangerfjorden to Altafjord. The first half of the day is steadily uphill, following Repparsfjordelva’s flow in reverse, towards its source, accompanied by heat and/or wind. At times all three, up, hot, and blowing, combine for maximum pleasure. We wonder, and quickly dismiss, questions of sanity/insanity. We are enjoying ourselves, overheated or no. Perhaps the very definition of insanity. If so, we are happy to be so crazy.
Ah, and what goes up must come down. We reach the once-distant side of Sennalandet and find sweeping, sometimes steep, downhill runs, interrupted by a couple of the inevitable climbs dictated by Norway’s geography. They vindicate the country for the work it has inflicted on us for hours on end. Long glorious cooling scenic runs, many thrilling minutes at a stretch. Ah, Norway. All is forgiven. You are spectacular.
We race a little green Triumph, its top down, a jaunty cap firmly planted on the driver’s bald head, down one steep twisting stretch. He eventually tires of the game and disappears around a curve when Mr Grey and I slow to wait for Peppy and my partner. Perhaps we embarrass him, two skinny tires and a crazy man keeping pace with his toy. He smiles, though. We think he enjoys our brief encounter as much as I do.
Finally, following Stokkdalselva down, we find trees, flowers, a place to stop off the road. We consume snack number three (or is it four?) while resting on the shady riverbank. Our recent overheated are-we-there-yet pedalling is history. Forgiven and forgotten; part of the adventure we so willing undertake, and so eagerly embrace. It is amazing what a spot of shade and a granola bar do for the body and spirit. And ahead, more downhill. Most excellent.
We soon return to the sea, cruising down to and along Altafjord to Alta. The town is big; over 20,000 inhabitants. Large enough to have several bicycle paths and routes. We choose one which circles away from the fjord but is a km or so shorter. The bums are aching, and we are eager to get off the saddles so everything can recuperate, to be ready for another day of fun.
Showers, feet up, rest, before a stroll to the grocer for food stocks for the day ahead. Fresh seafood satisfies our bellies, and we retire to our bed for another softly lit Arctic night.
mry writes 