Saturday 25th July 2015
I was woken in the night by an unnerving sound. An eerie midnight howl of some strange Nordic creature lurking outside in the dense woodland. The kind of sound that inspires folk tales from long ago.
Then I heard Mark whisper " Can you hear that? ". He was hearing it too. It was real. But, it wasn't outside in the woods. No, it was right here in the hytte with us!
Mark and I had the giggles. Finn seemed to have been possessed by the spirit of Chewbaka. His snoring was the type of sound I had not heard before. I was beginning to understand what Mark had been on about a few days earlier. Eventually, tired out from the fits of laughter Mark and I drifted back off to sleep.
We discussed the nights events with Finn over breakfast. He will affectionately be known by us as "The Bear" from now on!
We got packed up, and were ready to go by around eight. We were heading to the Lofoten Islands today. It was going to be an easier day today, as we had ridden further than planned yesterday. But, first Mark wanted to see about some maintenance to his bike.
Mark had shipped his bike to Pisa in Italy, ridden to Greece, and then ridden all the way to Norway. The drive chain had suffered, and was showing signs of wear. Mark was having to lube and adjust it every day to keep it running smoothly. He had loaded a few possible local suppliers of a new chain into his satnav. So, we set off into the city to try and find him a new chain.
Mark lead us through an excellently engineered tunnel over to the industrial northern part of the city. We find one of the shops on his list. It is closed, and doesn't open on Saturdays. We try a couple more possibilities. But, it is the same story. Nothing seems to open on a Saturday.
We make our way back towards the city centre passing a few boat and trailer dealers, but no motorcycle ones.
We also pass this place a few times. Is Mark trying to tell us something?
Unable to find anywhere that might possibly sell a chain, we park up in the motorcycle bays in city's main square. Next to us is the Italian registered Yamaha Super Tenere that was staying at hytte 3 at Nordkapp Camping.
We have a walk about in the city centre. I am still uneasy about leaving my things with my bike, as the locals do. So, I take my helmet with me.
Nothing is open until 11am. We can't even get a coffee. This seems to be a common trend throughout Norway. Opening late, and closing late. We get back on the bikes and head out of the city along the E8. We pass a few car dealers on the way out of the city. One is a multi-storey affair. It sold car and motorcycle spares on the ground floor, cars on floors two and three, and boats and snowmobiles on the top floor. And, it was closed.
The E8 followed the Bals fjord all the way to the end. Here we picked up the E6 towards Andselv.
The E6 was empty which was just as well. There was a series of sections with barriers down the middle. This prevented any overtaking. When we did encounter any slower moving traffic we had to sit behind it, until an overtaking lane appeared. At least the scenery was good. Although the true scale of the surrounding mountains was masked slightly by the low cloud.
We stopped for coffee and fuel at Heia. It was a Statoil, so the women were 8.5 out of 10. We spotted the two German riders from yesterday, who waved as they rode passed. Finn mentioned that there was a tourist ferry from Lenvik to the Lofoten Islands which he might like to take. It sounded like an good idea, so we told him to take the lead and we would follow him.
Somehow we missed the turn and didn't realise until we were a few kilometres passed the turn. We made a group decision to carry on as we were, as the roads were good and the scenery was not bad either.
The sun came out and the cloud began to lift just before noon, revealing quite how big the valleys were around us. The motorhomes were also in abundance. But, these were quickly dispatched by a quick tug on the reins of our mighty steeds. It was noticeable how well mannered the drivers were. They would signal us passed, and slow up on the straights to make a gap big enough for the three of us to overtake together. You don't get that sort of driving on the A12 back home!
Turning onto the E10 at Bjervik revealed that someone had stolen the top surface of the road. No warning signs, or men in high-viz. Just 5kms of planed road surface. This was quite interesting to ride over, and had my bike doing an Elvis like shimmy for its duration. Uh huh. Thank you very much!
Around mid-afternoon we arrived at the bridge over to the Lofoten Islands. Greg had suggested staying at a campsite by the bridge in his original route plan. But, there was no sign of it. Literally. Campsites in Scandinavia tended to be well advertised at the roadside, even the very small ones. We all checked our satnavs, I checked my maps, and Mark looked for it on his phone. It wasn't there. Or, if it was we couldn't find it.
There were lots of other campsites listed though, being a popular tourist route. So, following Finn we headed for one near the town of Harstad.
There wasn't that much to do on site. The showers were clean and hot, so I took full advantage. We sat on the porch of our hytte for a while watching the world go by. There was a small island just offshore that was a breeding ground for hundreds of small seabirds. Everytime something, or someone went near the island they would all start to attack what ever it was, making an absolute racket while doing so. They were trying to protect their young.
It was at Harstad where we first met a mature couple in a campervan, from Kendal. They parked up near our hytte, and we gained much amusement from watching the husband trying to pass his electrical hook-up cable under his van. It took him a few attempts to throw the cable through. I think we all felt like cheering when he finally managed it.
We all said hello as he came round to plug it in. He recognized Mark's accent ( he's from Whitehaven ), and we had a chat with him about our travels. They were taking a similar route to us over the next couple of days.
Mr and Mrs Kendal Mint Cake, as Mark would now refer to them as, set up their campervan. Mrs Kendal Mint Cake then produced a vast amount of laundry, and hung it up to dry. This puzzled the three of us, as there were only the two of them!
I went for a bit of an explore along the shore. The water was crystal clear. It was certainly more inviting that the brown stuff you find at South End, back at home. But, the temperature was ice cold. I stuck my hand in to see how cold it was and instantly regretted it. No skinny dipping tonight then!
I wandered back to the hytte when we discussed what to do for our evening meal. We all had plenty of food with us so we walked over to the kitchen.
One good thing about the campsites in Scandinavia, is that they nearly all have a communal kitchen block. This is normally heated, with tables and chairs for sitting and eating, and a selection of hot plates or ovens. It means you don't have to bother bringing camping stoves with you, as you can cook a meal like you would do at home.
We settled in at one of the tables and all cooked something to eat. There was a young couple already eating, and we had a nice chat with them before they went back to their tent. Then, Mrs Kendal Mint Cake walks in with a selection of pots and pans. She places one of the larger pans containing a stew on to a hotplate. She then starts peeling some potatoes, and chops them into another smaller pan.
A few minutes later she turned towards us. " Is this thing ever going to get hot?", she asked. " They do take a while to warm up", I said. " Everything happens a little slower over here. It is the Norwegian way!"
" No it's not! My Grandfather was Norwegian!", she barked back in a menopausal way. She then turned round and tended to her stew. Mark looked at me with pursed lips, wagging his finger in a " told you so!" kind of way. Someone needs to chill the f#ck out! I thought to myself.
An awkward silence filled the room. Finn, Mark and I chatted about tomorrows plans while we finished our food. We then retired to our hytte for the night, hoping "The Bear" hadn't followed us from Tromso.
Here is part 9 of my vlog:
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