My Norwegian Cycling Adventure - Part 9

Day 12 - Fagernes to Honefoss 136.90km in 6hr 45min

I stuck my head out of the tent and discovered the weather was cloudier than it had been. I immediately checked the time! All was well as it wasn't silly o'clock. It was 8.20am and it was pleasant enough.

As I made breakfast I thought about home. I was on the home straight now and was missing Kelly and the kids a lot. Some of you probably think I've been a bit soppy during this adventure but there's a surprise. Thing is, we were newlyweds and were well and truly in that intense phase at the start of a new relationship. We were married only 15 days before I set out on this trip and I knew then that this would be my last adventure for quite some time. Upon my return it was time to hang up the adventurer hat and don the responsible married parent hat.

15 days after you got married? I hear you say. Well that's how it turned out. It wasn't planned that way. I'd been planning this trip for some time and then I met a girl; the girl I now call my wife 20 years later. My life had changed. She had two children aged only 1 and 3. We made a very happy family together. We both knew we had found our soulmates and we agreed I would get this adventure out of my system before settling down to get the kids through life with the best support they could get.

Then things changed on Valentines Day 1998. Kelly was rushed into hospital with terrible internal pain. That day I thought I was going to lose her and we found out later how close that had been to reality. She was saved with an emergency operation and the experience left me in no doubt about how much I loved this girl and that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

Very soon after I found myself on one knee asking for her hand in marriage. She accepted and we made our way to the registry office. We chose a date only a couple of months away on the 6th of May and the rest is history. We had plenty of discussion about the merits of the trip balanced against being newlyweds and ultimately neither of us wanted any regrets so we decided it was best to go do it and get it out of my system in readiness for the next stage of our settled lives.

So there I was, sitting in a field, all loved up.

The road leading to here had been pretty flat and I'd been hitting around 20kph average at the end of yesterday so I planned to get plenty of kilometres under my belt today as I wrote in my diary:

I set out today determined to be within easy reach of Oslo for tomorrow. The weather was fine if a little cloudy and the roads seemed to be flat on the whole. I decided that seven hours in the saddle and 140km travelled seemed a good target for me to be within easy reach of Oslo.

The weather and the scenery was becoming more familiar as the time passed. Green pastures and dairy farms dotted between more heavily populated areas. The road was kind. It appeared to be flat but I knew that I must have been gradually descending. I was clocking up the kilometres with ease.

I stopped for lunch at a picnic spot near a lake. A lovely traditional church stood nearby. I took the above snap and continued on my way.

Whilst the ride was lovely I had been spoiled with the majesty of the fjords and mountains and was left feeling a little underwhelmed as I noted:

After almost seven hours of fairly non-eventful and not particularly scenic cycling, my legs began to tire and the time came to look for camp. So with only a couple of kilometres to go to Honefoss and still on the E16 I came across a no cyclists sign and decided to call it a day and camp in the field adjacent to the motorway.

On the approach to Honefoss, the road got significantly larger and significantly busier until it turned into a motorway, inaccessible to cyclists. At least that's what the sign said. It was another one of those big red crossed circles with a bicycle and a pedestrian pictured. You didn't have to be you know who to work out what it meant.

I'd stopped at the sign to assess my situation and down to my left was a lovely field with a small wire fence around. There were thick bushes about 100m down the field that I thought would conceal me from view so once again I unloaded everything bit by bit and passed it all through the fence.

The area was well sheltered and well hidden so I got myself set up, stuck the stove on and got the map out. As I had only a national map, the detail wasn't very good for getting around larger, urban areas. I did notice that the upcoming section of road had a slightly different marking for the next couple of kilometres or so and assumed that this marked the no cycling areas. It was a guess, but it was all I had.

I reasoned that I may be able to get away with using the motorway section if I woke up in the early hours and used it when no-one was around. It was a gamble but when I looked at the map I seemingly had no choice. It was only a couple of kilometres anyway, I'd be through in no time. After the tunnel experiences, this stretch of motorway was just a minor inconvenience to me. I was happy and full of confidence. I wrote in my diary:

I planned on an early start tomorrow of around 4am so the couple of kilometres of no cycling territory should prove no problem as the road will be quiet at that time. So having set up and eaten a cheese and ham hoagie, it's time for some sleep.

Day 13 Honefoss to Oslo 144.85km in 9hrs 14min

Anyone familiar with Norway would look at the above statistics and wonder what the hell happened. Today was supposed to be a little stroll through the short 40km or so into Oslo. It didn't turn out to be that easy.

I awoke at 4am as planned, but I could hear the pitter patter of raindrops. This was the first rain I'd encountered since Bergen. Fortunately for me, cooking breakfast was not on the agenda. I wanted to be on that road as soon as possible and before any traffic started to arrive. I didn't fancy getting arrested by the traffic cops so close to the end of the journey.

I carried all of my gear the 100m or so back to the fence and went back for Hannibal. I lifted him over, slid my gear through and reloaded on the hard shoulder. I hadn't seen any vehicles pass up to now so felt in good spirits as I joined the motorway.

After a few kilometres, the road seemed to me to be exactly the same as where I got on. It looked like a motorway and a few cars passed by. Thankfully they didn't exercise the use of their horns in disapproval. A little while later came a junction and as the E16 road which I had been following for days seemed to turn into something more like a busy British motorway, I took the opportunity to jump on to the smaller no 35 road which would get me to Oslo the long way round, avoiding the motorway.

By now it was teeming down with rain and my feet were cold and soaking wet. I had the Bergen tested waterproof jacket and waterproof trousers but had not considered waterproof shoes. My feet squelched inside my trainers with every turn of the pedal. As I rode along I started to look for somewhere to dry up and grab some lunch. What would I find? A lovely cafe? A Macdonalds even? No....I found a large, rusty pipe sitting in a field by the side of the road. It was just lying there waiting for me to get inside and set up the stove.

I managed to get Hannibal down to the pipe without unloading him and I pushed him inside. I couldn't stand up inside the pipe but I could move around while crouching down a bit. I got the stove on and pretty soon it was warm and toasty inside the pipe. I rigged up my washing line along the length of the inside and hung my wet gear over the stove while I cooked some porridge. I wanted to have a look what it looked like from the outside so I quickly dashed back to the road to see a long rusty pipe with steam coming from both ends. I can't imagine what anyone passing must have thought was happening in there.

I quickly dashed back into the pipe and carefully hung my trainers by the laces over the stove. I wanted to dry them as much as possible without setting fire to them so I experimented a little until I reached the best dry height. You might be thinking 'What's the point of drying them when you're only going to go back out in the teeming rain to get them soaked again.' Thing is...I had a plan.

I had acquired two plastic bags on the trip as I'd picked up a few bits and bobs along the way. I congratulated myself for saving them and admired my new overshoes. With a belly full of porridge and hot chocolate I got dressed into my now lovely, warm, dry clothes and donned the overshoes. I was warm, I was happy, I was content and I was ready to make my way further on towards Oslo.

The road took me across a bridge at one stage and through small towns and villages until I eventually hit the dreaded red sign again. It was the middle of the day now and the traffic was busy so I had to turn back. I found another road and the same thing happened. Once again I came across the big red sign so I turned back again. I lost count of how many times I had to turn back and try a different road. Every road I took seemed to eventually bring me on to the motorway. It was still raining hard, but my spirits were not dampened. Nor for that matter were my feet.

The national map I had just didn't have the detail I required at this point so I had a brainwave. I reasoned that I would keep an eye on the sky and follow the planes to the airport. I'd seen a few flying fairly low and they would give me the general direction.

Eventually I came to the end of a road and the airport was right there in front of me. The only problem was that I was obviously at the back of the airport looking through the wire fence that surrounded it. The inaccessible main road also ran across the back of it and I could see no way across the road and no way into the airport.

I rode along the rear until the road turned away and I found myself in the suburbs of Oslo. I had no idea where I was and was glad that I had the planes as a reference point. Eventually I came to the end of a road and once again could see the rear of the airport. I realised, however, that I was stood at the exact same corner that I'd stood at before when I first saw the airport. 

For the first time I got out my compass. I looked at it and wondered if there should be a bubble in it. I guessed that there should be and the bubble should be held near the centre to ensure the compass was flat. I had no idea what I was doing. I looked at it and realised that I could make the needle point in any direction as I turned around. I then wondered what use any of this information would be to me as I could see the airport across the bloody road. I put the compass away.

Once again I set off down the road and I found myself on the same roads once more. I took a few different roads until eventually I came out around a corner and could see the airport right there in front of me. I was standing on the same corner once again. A few people were standing at a bus stop nearby and I thought I recognised one or two from the previous trip to this corner. They all seemed to be looking at me without looking at me if you know what I mean. Certainly no-one came forward to offer any kind of assistance and assuming that none of them would speak English and not wanting to embarass anyone I set off and once again tried to find my way to the airport entrance.

It was on the fourth time of asking that I saw a little pedestrian sign between two houses. I dismounted and pushed Hannibal down the narrow passage until it came out at a bridge that crossed the main road. Finally I had found a way in. I had to get Hannibal down a couple of flights of steps at the other side but this proved no problem and a short while later I was pushing the bike through the entrance door of the airport. I wrote in my diary:

Every road I went down turned into a motorway as it neared Oslo and I had to turn back. Eventually after 9 hours in the saddle, a 40km journey had turned into a 140km journey and I found the airport.

I tootled up to the BA desk with Hannibal and two plastic bags on my feet and booked a seat on the next available flight to Manchester which was at 8am the following morning. As you can probably imagine, after all I'd been through, the prospect of waiting in the airport until the following morning was almost like being booked into a hotel to me. I checked with the BA desk that the airport did indeed stay open through the night and was a little surprised to hear that it would close in a few hours until early the following morning. I needed to find somewhere to stay for the night.

I didn't hold out much hope of finding a camping spot near the airport but decided to have a little look around outside just to be sure before I spent a crazy amount of money that I didn't have on a hotel. So I exited the airport with my tickets knowing I would be walking back through these doors at 6am the following morning.

Just across the road from the airport was the Harbour. I crossed the road to take a look. The rain was easing off now and it looked beautiful. Boats of all kinds were dotted about in front of me as I walked along the harbour wall. I looked over the wall and there was a drop of slightly less than two metres down to some rocks and bushes. I carried on along hoping to find a break in the rocks where I may be able to pop the tent up undetected.

It wasn't long before I found the spot. A break in the rocks about two metres wide sitting in front of a bush. I figured I could drop the gear down and camp there for the night sheltered from sight by the wall on one side and the bush from the other. I quickly got everything down there, got myself set up for the night and wrote for a while. I noted:

As it turned out, I saved my longest day for the last. At the moment I am camped literally across the road from the airport in the harbour on a little grassy outcrop in some rocks. Very comfortable it is too when you're this tired. Having just eaten 3 bananas, a packet of biscuits, half a loaf and a tin of mackerel fillets in tomato sauce, washed down with a cup of hot chocolate I shall endeavour to sleep whilst listening to the planes take off over my head. I have nine and a half hours till I awake so maybe I'll read for a while if I can stay awake.

And that was my last diary entry. Very soon after and probably before the planes had stopped taking off, I fell asleep with my alarm set for 5am.

Day 14 - Oslo to Wigan (many kilometres in no time at all)

The alarm did it's thing and I popped my head out to see a dry and grey morning. I was buzzing to get home back to my family and quickly started packing up my gear. It soon became apparent that I would have to have a wildie right here and pretty much right now. 'What's a wildie?' I hear some of you ask. You know....a loo with a view, a fresh air lavatory; call it what you want, but I needed to go badly. Having done the deed I realised that in my desperation I'd forgotten to grab my loo roll. Instead I had to use my trusty bandana that was within reach. It's probably still there in that bush. A homage, a tribute to a wonderful adventure and an experience that I will never forget. Especially now I've logged it all on here for everyone to enjoy.

I checked in at the desk with Hannibal and I was directed to the special luggage area where all of my gear and Hannibal would be taken away from me until Manchester. A man asked me a few questions and I had to hand over my gas canisters for the stove. I had taken two with me but hadn't even finished using the first one. I also had to let the tyres down because they can explode on a plane, like the canisters.

Someone had to sit next to me on the plane and I felt sorry for him. You have never seen someone look as out of place in your life. The flight was to London where I would connect with a flight to Manchester. The plane was full of very smart businessmen all off to the big city and there was I, stinking and dirty, dishevelled and minging, sitting in the middle of them all. Something else made me stand out on that plane as well; I was the only one smiling.

When I came through the exit door at Manchester airport and saw Kelly and my father in law waiting for me. We hugged and  I noticed that Kelly was looking at me as though I'd had some sort of accident. I wasn't exactly dressed to kill (at least I'd removed the plastic bags from my feet by now) and I'd lost some weight. In fact I had deliberately put on a few extra pounds for this trip. I normally weigh nine and a half stone but had gone up to over ten stone before setting off. When I weighed myself upon return, however, I was only eight and a half stone.

It took me a few weeks to put the weight back on again and I was as fit as I'd ever been. I received plenty of compliments from my wife for my 'buns of steel' that had appeared over the course of the adventure.

I didn't cycle much at all for a long time after that. In fact it was to be another 14 years before my next cycle adventure but that's another story.

Writing this blog has been such a rewarding experience. I've spent the last 10 days dragging back the old memories of some of the best times of my life. It has been an absolute pleasure to write (lots of it was written sitting in the sun in the garden) and from the feedback I've received so far it seems that some of you would like to read more. This adventure story has also been acknowledged by @curie and others for which I am grateful. All of this serves to provide further motivation and some reward for the hours needed to write this. With all of these things in mind I do intend to write about the other adventures I've been on over the years. So watch this space for the next adventure blog to come your way.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story.

I shall be back very soon with the next adventure.

Until then may all your hills be down

Love and warmth

STEEMONKEY🐒