HICKATHRIFT PRESS

What a momentous, unforgettable day. A mountain summit in a snow blizzard, scary tunnels, completed three whole GPX mapping files in a day and moved onto my fourth and we’re 3.2 days ahead of schedule. I was lucky enough to meet a wonderful couple who looked out for me, and through the kindness and generosity of so many, huge milestones were reached today.

A fresh coating of snow blanketed the mountains as I woke. The snow line had dropped. Locals keep saying this is such unusual weather for this time of year.

I left the b and b on superb cycling infrastructure, and reached a brand new tunnel just for cyclists. But as I emerged, I had to join the main road. It was scary. The lanes aren’t much wider than the car and Norwegians drive fast. They have roads in excellent condition and they have a long way to drive between destinations. I was sharing their lane and felt so vulnerable. I came to a couple of tunnels. Did I have to share their lane in here, too? I found a raised platform I could squeeze on but it was very narrow with a loaded bike and rock was jutting into the lane. It was difficult to keep Margaret balanced.

As I emerge from the tunnels, Margaret and I ride along without noticing much of the scenery. We’re concentrating on the vehicles. I hate main roads, but I do notice the curtain of mountains I cycled along yesterday. Today, the cloud layer is higher, and the mountains have doubled in size as they show the glory of their summits, and they have deep, deep snow on them.

We reach the end of the road, and after a quick coffee in a petrol station (only petrol stations are open on a Sunday) we turn up a deep valley. The temperature drops 5 degrees, and I feel a noticeable chill. The cars disappear into a tunnel; this is to be their road under the mountain. But Margaret and I are not allowed in there. We leave on a quiet road following a cascading river. A hooded crow dives down for some carrion, a dead, curled-up hedgehog on the road.

The road starts to climb. We’re not going under the mountain, we’re going over the top. Sheep graze with bells ringing around their neck. Snow has fallen to this level, and a van comes down with a couple of inches of snow on its screen. It has an air of Switzerland about it. We climb, legs winning over head.

We climb and we climb. The gradient on the Garmin getting redder and redder. We climb, the head starts to look around to keep itself entertained, not looking at the incline ahead. The legs keep on going. The snow is getting deeper, and the woodlands of Norway spruce in the snow make it feel like Christmas. The road ahead is dominated by a snow covered mountain in front, I can’t see away through. The head begins to complain. So we stop and take stock. The road is going to bend to the left. We keep going. Nearly at the top the Garmin shows a dark purple slope as we go around the corner. My knees are feeling slightly tight. Having worked with the physio all winter, I know it’s nothing to worry about, but after a couple of hours of the legs winning out, I let the brain make a sensible decision and decide to walk for a while. I hear the waterfalls and watch as the pine woodlands turn to scattered birch, and then as we get higher, there’s just snowy rock. My foot slips on ice.

There’s a no-through road sign for cars. My Excel sheet says ‘this route is ‘indefinitely temporarily’ closed due to rockfall’, but then it says ’Tunnel is reopened, we rode through it July 2025, and it’s great’. ‘ Pretty dark and bumpy road, but no cars. ‘Alternative route: None’. I hope the route is open. Having not seen a car for an hour, eight cars come down in convoy. That’s a good sign, but cars aren’t meant to use this route.

I keep walking. It starts snowing. It’s settling on Margaret and I. A wind whips up, and it becomes a blizzard. I’m glad of my winter mountaineering experience. At the very top of the mountain, we at last reach a dark hole in the rock, the tunnel, it’s clear. It’s full of rusty beer cans; many a party must have happened here years ago. I watch Margaret’s tyres, but we walk through on the dark.

On the other side the snow blizzard is continuing. Let’s get out of here as we quickly as we can. I wrap up. We slid down the hill, I’m aware Margaret’s rims are wet and covered in grit. Great for wearing out the brake pads. The cold is intense; it penetrates to the skin. As we reach the bottom, we rejoin the main road. I’m scared. A fjord ahead has a very dark cloud hanging over it with vertical lines stringing from the sky to the darkening water. That’s a big storm coming in. We eventually reach Eikefjord. There’s supposed to be a garage, it’ll be open on a Sunday and maybe I can get a hot drink and shelter from the storm. There’s a lot of very noisy cars revving past me. I reach the garage and there’s a classic car rally going on. Not like ours with sedate Morris Minors and 1920s Fords. Here, they are more interested in making the exhausts roar, the wheels spin and smoke to emerge from the back. I stand under a canopy waiting for the rain to pass. I chill. The crowd starts to disperse, but people are eating cake at the side of the garage. I go around to look. A lady comes over to me. I ask for a hot drink. She mournfully looks and says I’ve just thrown all the coffee away. Go down to my house 2 km along your route. My husband will drive and make sure you know where you’re going. So I sat in Mikael and Alisa’s house for two hours, warming up, drinking four cups of tea and eating bread and cheese. Whilst I’m there, I feel really emotional as the Just Funding page has just reached £5 under £2000. I’m so incredibly grateful to everyone, thank you. Without telling me, Mikael puts in £6 to make it up to £2001. That’s such a big milestone. Thank you to everyone who has contributed.

They have a cabin especially for cycle tourists, but it’s still too early in my day for me. I want to get to Floro. They say you can get a ferry from Floro to Maloy at 0640 tomorrow, or you can get one at 8pm tonight. I’m going for it. I reach a number of tunnels on this main road to the north, where cyclists have to share the lane with the cars. One of the tunnels is 2 km long. I’m not happy. I get to Floro, eat a tin of tuna and two hours later the ferry turns up. I was told it had left Bergen at 4pm. How did it do that? Well, it’s a speed boat, and it goes across the water at 50 mph. You couldn’t feel the waves. But now I arrive at Maloy and still don’t know where I’m going to stay. But by 10.50pm I’ve pitched my tent in a camp site with an insane view.

My tent is soaking from being put away wet 36 hours ago. It stinks. It going to be difficult to keep the sleeping bag dry tonight. As I sleep, it snows and I wake up in the morning with settled snow on my tent, but with a view to die for.