Text: Tom Oehler
Some travel plans don’t start with an insider tip about a particularly beautiful trail area, but with a sudden burst of sweat. At the start of summer, I was walking across a large car park. I was about a hundred metres from my campervan, but the heat was shimmering over the tarmac. I was already drenched in sweat halfway there. I opened the door, climbed into the car – which felt as though it had heated up to 80 degrees – and reached for the ignition key. A moment of silence, then a click, and the long-awaited cool air blew out of the vents. At last. That very evening, I sent a WhatsApp message to my trusty travelling mate Martin: “Fancy a trip to Fjord Norway?” His reply came straight away.
A plan was hatched: to travel with Martin in the camper van from Stavanger to Ålesund, and from there to carry on somehow with my wife Ines and daughter Greta. The main thing was to escape the heat for a few weeks and hit the reset button. As the van finally sets off northwards with me on board, a few doubts do creep into my mind: 2,000 kilometres – that’s quite a long way to Norway. And we haven’t really checked whether you’re even allowed to ride an e-MTB on Norway’s most famous trails. But the heat fades as we cover the kilometres on the motorway, and my anticipation grows. I’ve no idea what awaits us up there in the far north, but then I remember: that’s exactly what makes it so appealing!
Midnight magic on the Lysefjord
After the ferry and a few hours’ sleep in Kristiansand, I find myself at Stavanger Airport, surprisingly on time. Martin has cut the journey short by flying and is in high spirits. Contrary to expectations, the Norwegian sky is blue too. Nevertheless, we start off with a burger – always the foundation for great ideas for us. Although Martin had already been thinking about our first spot whilst on the plane.
We take the road towards Kjerag and soon find ourselves winding down a crazy, twisting road towards Lysebotn. Bends and tunnels carved into the heart of a rock face, with a view of the sea. Or rather, of one of the country’s longest fjords. But the view soon turns milky – and down below: rain. So off to the café we go, to order coffee and a cinnamon bun – Norway mode on. By evening, it’s getting lighter again and the sky is clearing. We wind our way back up the rock face to the start of the Kjerag hiking trail. It’s 8 pm as we unload the bikes from the rear rack. No wind, no rain, just that soft Norwegian summer light that won’t fade any time soon. It smells of damp rock. “Norwegian granite,” adds Martin, and I set off to ride a few test metres on it. Smooth, deep grey, scarred by the Ice Age, and surprisingly grippy despite the damp. Back home, I’d wondered whether you could even ride on it at all. Now I’d describe the riding experience as ‘magical’.
Before we set off, the obligatory quick check: is there a ‘no entry’ sign anywhere? Nothing. No sign prohibiting mountain biking. Just one against drones. Perfect. Helmet on, pads on, let’s go. I’d watched videos of this trail beforehand. In them, tourists were pulling themselves up the rock slabs using ropes. We come across exactly the same sort of walkers along the way. They pause briefly, holding onto their ropes, to give a friendly wave as I ride past them on my e-MTB. Small streams soon start babbling over the slickrocks. That makes things a bit more technical, but by no means unrideable. On the contrary: having to find the perfect line whilst using the motor with pinpoint precision is even more fun.
Even so, we won’t make it all the way to Kjeragbolten today. About two-thirds of the way there, we decide to turn back. Martin’s been pushing his bike for quite a while now. An e-MTB just isn’t suitable for everyone on this sort of terrain. On the way back, however, we spot an inconspicuous turn-off from the main track – little more than a path between two slabs of rock. Curious, we follow it and suddenly find ourselves standing on a cliff. Before us, the full extent of the Kjerag cliffs unfolds: rock face plunging hundreds of metres vertically into the depths. The wind tugs at our jackets. We can see waterfalls rushing wildly, but hear them crashing below only as a muffled sound. Probably one of those launch points for base jumpers. We’d seen pictures of them on the wall just hours earlier in the café in Lysebotn. A place that inspires awe. The adrenaline levels rise noticeably in our blood, even without any plans to jump.
A shortcut to Trolltunga
It’s almost midnight by the time we’re back at the van. The last rays of the sun paint the sky a fiery red; Norway bids farewell to the day with a spectacular display of light. We quickly stow away our kit, then drive a little further uphill onto a vast high plateau – the perfect spot. After dinner, Martin climbs into the roof tent, whilst I stretch out down in the camper. Absolute silence – marvellous. No alarm set, no plans in mind, just sleep now.
A light rain finally rouses us from our sleep. Over muesli and coffee in the car, we enjoy the soft patter, the diffused light and that typical Norwegian feeling: grey outside, cosy inside. Later, when it’s just a light drizzle, we manage to do a few stunt manoeuvres on the slickrock slabs outside. But only briefly. Then the real Norwegian weather catches up with us: the sky turns dark, the clouds hang almost over the car roof and the rain really sets in. So we quickly pack everything up, hang our wet clothes on the hooks, turn on the heating, and head further north. Destination? – the sat-nav asks. “Trolltunga,” Martin types in.
It’s said to be one of Norway’s most iconic rock formations. At the same time, however, it’s a place that looks more like a big city than the wilderness. According to the guidebook, during peak season you can end up waiting for over two hours just to take that famous photo on the rocky outcrop. Luckily, we’re travelling off-peak – late, in fact. And we park in the furthest car park. After all, we’ve got e-bikes, so the first 700 metres of elevation gain on tarmac are quickly covered. Then things get exciting: a well-trodden dirt track with a few short sections of slickrock takes over. In between, there are repeated steep steps where we have to shoulder our bikes. As we make our way uphill like this, an endless procession of walkers comes towards us – people from all over the world, exhausted, soaked to the skin, but all in good spirits. “Wow, on a bike?” We hear that a lot. The Norwegians’ positive openness is truly impressive.
When we reach the top, Trolltunga lies deserted before us. Well, almost. Just a few campers are pitching their tents. The mist hangs low, but keeps clearing briefly to reveal a view of the turquoise Ringedalsvatnet. This blend of silence, vastness and ever-changing light – it’s pure magic. Only the ‘Troll’s Tongue’ itself is a bit of a let-down. In Instagram photos, the rock looks much narrower and more exposed. In reality, though, you can easily ride round and round on it, do some relaxed wheelies and jump off the edge. A few of the campers are laughing and filming us as we do so. That’s Norway for you: open, respectful and a bit mad.
At around 11 pm we’re back at the car and check in at the campsite in Kinsarvik shortly afterwards – a shower is an absolute must today.
The largest glacier on the European mainland
The next morning, we hop along a root-strewn trail until we find ourselves standing in front of the Nykkjesøyfossen waterfall: a natural spectacle of spray, rocks and thunder. Then we carry on towards the Nigardsbreen glacier. After a five-hour winding drive through countless tunnels and an almost silent – because it’s electric – ferry crossing, we find ourselves at the turquoise-blue Lake Nigardsbrevatnet. Hanging over it is the glacier tongue – a tributary of the mighty Jostedalsbreen, the largest glacier in Norway and indeed in mainland Europe. Its ice tongue reaches up to 400 metres above sea level. Even from a distance, it looks like a sleeping giant of ice and stone, whose breath cools the air in a distinctly noticeable way.
We hadn’t reckoned on this when we were at home making plans for this spot. But never mind, we’ll go ahead with it. I haul the packraft out of the van, inflate it, strap the bikes onto it and start paddling. Above me the sky, ahead of me the glacier – surreal and still. A few small chunks of ice are floating in the water. On the other bank, I get out and hide the bikes between two rocks: Plan A for the next morning is all set.
Staying overnight at the glacier car park isn’t actually allowed – at least not in the traditional sense of camping, i.e. putting out an awning, setting up chairs, and so on. They really don’t like that here. But if you simply sleep in your van, you won’t run into any problems. So we stay and cook ourselves some pasta in the van, whilst outside the last rays of sunshine flit across the glacier. Right now, the place feels like the end of the world, yet at the same time like its most beautiful beginning. We’re sticking to our non-cyclical approach again, only this time we’re setting off early, whilst everyone else is still asleep.
It’s just after six; the air is crisp and the lake is as smooth as glass. We hike along the steep, rugged path around the lake. Seen up close, we might actually have been able to cycle along the path after all, but at least this way I didn’t have to carry the packraft for nothing. We lift our bikes out of their hiding place and cycle towards the foot of the glacier. The wind blowing towards us from the giant ice mass is now at freezer-cupboard temperatures. But we’re here for the endless expanses of slickrock, from which the Nigardsbreen has been retreating more and more in recent years. The grip on the ground – which hasn’t been ice-free for very long – is excellent, but only because it’s dry. A brief shower now and the tyres would just slip right out from under us.
As we stand right in front of the ice wall, we spot the tracks left by the glacier groups as they climbed. I can’t help but give it a go for a few metres on the frozen surface. For the first time on this trip, I feel the grip slipping away; it’s still rideable, but only with caution and careful control of the brake levers. At some point we have to turn back so as not to completely derail our plans for the day. The return journey, with its small drops, transitions and ramps made of natural stone, is great fun until the streams of tourists start to arrive. A group of 20 people in colourful jackets, kitted out with crampons and harnesses, led by Nepalese guides. Naturally, they’re a bit surprised when two mountain bikers suddenly come towards them. A Norwegian guide is already waiting at the car park for the members of his group. He spots our bikes, grins and asks, “How was it?” My broad grin is enough of an answer for him. His reaction: “I knew it!”
Island dreams near Ålesund
The journey to Ålesund is our final, long leg of the trip by car and, at the same time, a drive through the very heart of Norway. Tunnels with roundabouts, bridges, fjords, the play of light. The landscape is constantly changing, and we can hardly get enough of it. In the evening, we roll into the town, park right by the sea and set off on our bikes for a quick sightseeing tour. The sun is low in the sky, casting a golden glow. We’re waiting for my friend Thomas, who lives in Ålesund. A trials legend. He doesn’t have much time, but of course he has the perfect tip for us: Godøya.
For this island trip, we pass through four undersea tunnels the next morning and then cross a bridge onto the island. Our destination: the summit of Storhornet. The first 200 metres of ascent turn out to be unrideable: wet, steep steps carved from natural stone. I curse briefly, then carry my bike. Why on earth did I have to ask a bike trial rider for a tour tip?! At the top, a plateau opens up with a lake; mist and sunshine alternate. The view is breathtaking: Ålesund lies below us, with fjords, white beaches and glistening sea water beyond. And Thomas was right about the descent too: it’s technical and step-like – just my sort of thing. A fitting end to our trip together, which we celebrate in style that evening with Thomas over some sushi. Tomorrow I’ll drop Martin off at the airport and wait for my family to arrive. Then part two of our Norway trip can begin.
What will remain of this trip
I set off to escape the heat and ended up in Norway. This journey was more than just a cycling trip. It was a reminder of just how free you can feel when you simply set off. Incidentally, Martin had barely boarded the plane when the weather changed: The sun came out and with it a Norwegian ‘heatwave’. Three weeks of 30 degrees, sun, beach and surfing. A heatwave in Norway isn’t a reason to flee, but a gift. Thank you, Norway. I’ll be back. That’s for sure.
What you need to know
As well as the scenic highlights, visitors to Norway are also amazed by the architecture, a seamlessly functioning digital world – and, of course, the high prices.
Getting here
By car, either on a ferry (usually from Hirtshals, Denmark) or overland via Sweden (bridge links). Flights usually arrive in Stavanger or Bergen, followed by a journey in a hire car (campervan).
Best time to visit:
The peak summer season runs from June to August. The weather is at its most stable then and the days are long. Anyone visiting in the off-season (May or September) should expect cooler temperatures, but will enjoy fewer tourists, particularly at the popular attractions.
Weather & Clothing
The weather is very changeable; sudden changes are common. Rainwear and dressing in layers are essential. Please note: The rocky surface (granite) usually becomes extremely slippery when wet.
Currency & Costs
The local currency is the Norwegian krone (NOK); 100 kroner is currently worth around 9 euros. Cashless payments are the norm throughout the country – as they are everywhere in Scandinavia. The cost of food and services is high. Cooking for yourself in your camper van can save you a fair bit on your travel budget.
Right of Public Access
Spending the night in the great outdoors is generally permitted in Scandinavian countries. However, there are restrictions here too:
- No camping on private land (only with the landowner’s permission)
- A minimum distance of 150 metres from the nearest inhabited house must be maintained.
- A maximum of two nights in one place without permission
- No camping in nature reserves
- Leave No Trace: The campsite must be left clean.
- The right of public access applies only to walkers, cyclists and other outdoor sports enthusiasts with tents. Motorhome travellers, on the other hand, must comply with the relevant parking regulations.
Infrastructure
Norway has excellent mobile phone coverage. You can get a signal even in the most remote areas. A word of warning to motorists: Speed limits should be taken seriously everywhere, as heavy fines are imposed: exceeding the speed limit by just 10 km/h in built-up areas costs 325 euros, whilst running a red light will set you back 570 euros. And as for drink-driving: zero tolerance!
Tolls
It sounds strange, but it’s actually true: on Norwegian motorways, tolls are charged where a section or a bridge needs to be renovated. As soon as the necessary work has been financed by the toll revenue collected, no further charges are levied at that location. Fixed-rate toll roads exist only in towns and cities. Payment is processed automatically via a toll box (AutoPASS) in the car. If you don’t have a box, your journey is still recorded digitally and you’ll be asked to pay after three days, for example at a petrol station. If you don’t pay, you’ll face heavy fines here too.
Info
Further information on entry requirements, accommodation, tours and customs regulations: visitnorway.de