Woke up here on Saturday thinking the weather is far too nice to waste the day indoors. Girlie wants to go shopping with Mom today, I feel a solo motorcycle adventure coming on. Spent the morning drinking black coffee poring over my Veikart Norge and the Lonely Planet guide… Hmmmm. No problem to make it from here to Jotundheimen National Park and back for dinner if I don’t **** around too much.
At least the plan is set and it’s noon by the time I pull on my gear and take off. After all this time riding with the girlfriend on the back it’s nice to have the extra acceleration, and it’s nice to be able to just get on the pegs for speedbumps again, letting the bike bounce up and riding straight over them at 45mph…
Ride up the boring E6 for a while then turn off after Lillehammer into the scenic route, onto the Rv255 going into Gausdal. Stop at Helvete (Norwegian for “hell”) for coffee, thinking the bike feels a bit squishy. Vow to check tire pressure. Don’t notice the bug on my forehead until looking at the pictures later. Yes, bug, get out of the way when the crazy German mofo comes your way ready to swat you with his Teutonic skull!
Also, that explains while the girl behind the counter I was prattering away with was acting a bit strangely. Ahem. Of course she was too polite to point out the dead bug on my forehead. She probably though: just another crazy biker.
Ride the 255 to the end, rejoin the E6 for a while and get the tire pressures dialed in. Go north for a while before turning off west on the 257, then back onto the Rv51 heading north. Familiar territory here, great sweeping turns with no nasty surprises, and I manage a brisk pace. Bike feels great now, just right. Follow some crazy Norwegian car down the descent towards the lake at the end of Rv51. He thinks he can shake me but I’m just keeping up at about 140. Good fun.
Stop in Lom for a sandwich at around 4pm, refuel and chat with a busload of German pensioners over a ciggie outside. One lady tells me she used to go tour with her husband on a motorcycle. Then one day they came off over a dog that ran into their path and for the last 14 years or so they’ve been taking the bus. Take a second thinking about how lame that is – I’ve flown over a car before and I just picked off the scabs, rebuilt the bike and got back in the wind. How lame it is to live with yourself after not getting on after something like that. How do you live with yourself? Not to break through that psychological barrier and just calling it a day? Living in the knowledge you are too chicken-**** to do something because something went wrong once and now you’re scared? That’s a dimension of lameness I can’t even imagine.
Saddle up again and head down the Rv55 and the real fun begins. It snakes along a river for a few fast kilometres and after shooting past some cars we climb up into the mountains. Before long I find myself pulling over to take pictures of glaciers.
**** my pants for a second when a police car comes the other way and I’m doing something close to 130. Briefly remember that poor German tourist who got clocked at 150 on a bike and spent a month in jail for it. Look in the mirror waiting for him to turn around. He doesn’t. Good.
Pass a broken down car and ask them if they need any help. They say no, help is already on the way, they just talked to the police. I say yeah, I know just the one you are talking about. Think about what a hell of a place to break down this is. 1300 metres (4000 feet) above sea level, single digit temperatures and nothing around for 10 kilometres in any direction.
Eventually after much ooing and aahing at the views I come to the junction with the Sognefjellet Toll Road. The hotel by the roadside is littered with tents and there are students running around everywhere probably on school camp-out. There’s some car display with a canopee next to the hotel. What heresy to have this rampant commercialism up here. This place is a magical place, a sacred place, and this just completely devalues it. It’s a bit like opening a Starbucks espresso counter in the back of a cathedral.
Up the toll road I go now, leaving all of this behind. The road is dry and in great shape, but there’s no guardrails or arrows usually warning you of sharp turns. Even the hairpin bends come unannounced and unprotected. Before long I reach the apex and a stunning view of Galdhoppigen, Norway’s highest mountain, and the valley below come into view.
At the top there’s a 25kr toll to pay to a rather disgruntled employee who seems like he’d rather not be having to deal with this mad looking fool on his crappy old motorcycle. The road down the other side is much worse than the one going up, making me think I wouldn’t have paid if I would have come the other way. The hairpin bends leading down the last few km’s to Ardal make up for it though, and for the first time I feel like I’m finally getting the hang of this thing. See, hairpins are screwy. Especially going down. To just let go of the brake, drop the bike and hang yourself off the side assuring yourself everything will fall into place takes faith. Bit by bit, hairpin by hairpin I’m getting better at getting my faith up and a few wobbly moments aside I’m having a lot of fun. You should scare the **** out of yourself at least once a day, push the boundaries a bit. I’m still a long way off on brushing down the serpentines with the knee down (after all this is very different from the urban warfare style of riding I am used to), but slowly I’m getting the necessary reflexes and techniques for mountain riding going.
Barely in the valley I find myself going up the mountain on the other side following Rv53, affording a splendid birds-eye view of the town below and a terrifying new feature of Norwegian road engineering: The hairpin bend followed by a short tunnel through the second half of the bend. This is announced by a “sharp turn” sign with a “tunnel” sign right below it. The actual structure is pretty tricky to master: You go into a very tight turn and all of a sudden: booya, darkness, and disorientation. Despite not being able to see **** all while your pupils try to expand, you need to keep the turn going and avoid smashing into the humid rock face in front of you, or losing it on the mossy wet road surface. Then aim for the light at the end of the tunnel, accelerate and repeat the maneuver at the end of the straight the other way round.
After a few repetitions of this 53 finally leads out into the open road towards Tyinkryssen, and the average speed increases with the vistas. At some point I just stop, smoke and take in the view for 15 minutes or so. What a panorama and how lucky the people are to live out here, in these little wooden huts with grass growing on the roof. I love the juxtaposition: small house, big mountain.
Sadly the time has come for me to scream eastwards, leaving all this gigantic scenery behind, if I am to make dinner. I rejoin the E16 (the Bergen-Oslo road) and fit it a lot more pleasant than I thought it would be, being an E-road and all. The last of the evening sun is illuminating the rock faces of the hills across the water and I can’t stop myself from stopping and gasping… again.
The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful… apart from nearly nailing some sheep playing in the road after dark. Made it home at around 21:30, enjoyed a stellar steak dinner (a real treat around here given the equally stellar price of beef), and fell into bed, tired, sore, accomplished and full of great views and and great thrills. 9.5 hours, 400 miles, not a bad day out riding. Hopefully I’ll have a few more of these before winter sets in and I’ll have to look into a pair of studded tires…
(For regular updates on my adventures and clickable full-size images, visit http://itsthemechanic.livejournal.com)
