How much fun is a downhill trail going to be when you're already knee-deep in mud on the way up? I'm almost so weak by now that I want to just let myself fall into the mud. But that wouldn't be a good idea, because under the mud I can feel sharp-edged rubble digging through the soles of my shoes. We asked the locals for the right way. According to a serious rumour, the best trail in the entire region winds down from this mountain called Mefjellet. The locals knew immediately which descent was meant. The only thing they didn't mention was that running up to the summit would turn into such an ordeal.
But the description of the landscape was definitely not a lie. We are trudging through the south of Norway, more precisely through the Valldal region with its spectacular Sunnmore Alps. These mountains rise out of the Geiranger Fjord like a green skyline, densely packed and incredibly steep. Some peaks are 2000 metres high and are still covered in snow in July. Wedged between these giants, our mountain Mefjellet measures just 1100 metres. That's why we're not fighting our way through sparkling clean snow, but through slush. And we've been doing this for what feels like an eternity. We were able to cover a few metres in altitude by car at the foot of the mountain, but then a closed gate forced us to switch to our bikes. From there, we pressed on up a steep gravel track to an old village, where we calmed our pulse with a fantastic view.
But afterwards it was clear: now the bikes had to be shouldered. The hiking trail would have been a challenge even without ballast. At first, our soles only sought a foothold in sharp-edged scree, then the first mud puddles appeared and now we were wading through an exhausting combination of both. But as soon as we leave the tree line behind us, the mud becomes firmer. Tyre tracks are now visible in a kind of pizza dough. Proof that bikers have recently travelled down here. Yuck! But now icy gusts of wind are tugging at us. Shortly before the highest point, the Liahornet comes into view, its striking peak standing out sharply in the sky like a shark's dorsal fin. Another gust of wind tries to blow us over from the side. But this time it also throws a curtain of rain in our faces. I turn my head out of this frightening shower and discover the trail entrance we are looking for.
Less than 50 metres away, arrows point to the descent. We plunge into the trail as greedily as fat children into a chocolate pudding. Surprisingly, this trail is almost dry. The tyres grip the rich soil. A few bends, then I'm the first to drop over a rock step - adrenaline shoots through my veins into my brain's alarm system, which says: Out! Gone! That was the edge to nowhere ...! But the trail god means well with me. I hit the ground again, hard as nails. Looking back: the others were still able to slow down at the edge of the cliff. Looking ahead: the free fall into the fjord is waiting vertically in front of my feet. Phew, 900 metres in altitude! It takes a while for me to breathe the adrenalin out of my body and get my bones sorted. Then it's onwards: the trail soon changes from its high alpine region to a lush green forest of curved mountain birches.
You can read all about the Toppturssykkling in Norway (BIKE 12/2014) in the BIKE app (iTunes and Google Play) or download the issue from the DK-Shop reorder:
