Adventures of a Middle Aged Idiot: Crasher goes North: An easy day with no agenda

Monday 3rd August 2015

Mark and I both slept in until around 8am. It was nice and warm in our little hytte, so neither of us was rushing to get up. There was no hurry anyway. We had no real plans for today other than to stop for the night somewhere near to Langesund, as we had a ferry to catch tomorrow.

We were just going to have a day riding around and exploring the area. The weather was forecast as dry and sunny, so it all looked good. We had breakfast, loaded up our bikes and were ready to roll by 09:45. I had read that the roads over to Dalen were quite picturesque, so that was to be our first general heading.

We headed north from Rysstad on the FV9. The road started by twisting its way through pine forest, before skirting the shore of a few fjords. Some of these were perfectly calm and the surface of the water mirrored the image of the surrounding mountains. The road was fast and flowing, and with no traffic about we had it all to ourselves.

The little villages along the way all had buildings with the traditional turf thatched roofs. Many of these were modern and blended in nicely with the more traditional ones. A fast flowing river followed the road once we got to the village of Dale, with lots of small stepped waterfalls which redirected the river into smaller fjords and fishing lakes.

At Flateland we turned on to the 45 to Dalen. Due to the high passes along this route it is often closed in the bad weather. Today the signs indicated that it was open, which was just what we wanted to see.

Almost immediately the 45 began to climb quite steeply up the surrounding mountainside. The signs indicated a 7% gradient, but it seemed much steeper. I left my bike in 3rd gear for most of the next six kilometres until the road began to flatten off. A series of nasty 1st gear hairpins kept me on my toes. Here the road surface had been highly polished by the big trucks that use this route. A wide angle of approach was needed too, as the steep camber near the apex of these bends made them interesting.

We passed a couple of large logging trucks parked up half way down the hill. The stench of hot brake linings signified that the long descents were fun for them too. The trucks must of had powerful engines and low ratio gearboxes to be able to negotiate themselves and their cargo over this sort of terrain.

As the road neared the top of the steep climb, the forest began to thin out. The twisting bends ended and long straight stretches of tarmac chased the horizon. All the time, the road continued to assend towards the snow topped mountains in the far distance.

Several waterfalls roared away at the side of the road. The power of the water cascading over the rocks could be felt as well as heard as we passed by.

As we crossed into Telemark the scenery changed from the stubby forests into huge valleys littered with fjords. There were lots of hunting lodges tucked away all along the next thirty kilometres. They seemed to be for weekend use, so that the owners could escape their city lives and head out into the countryside for a while.

Sheep became a bit of a problem as we got nearer to Dalen. Big herds of them would be led down all over the road. Beeping our horns didn't have any effect at moving them on. They just didn't seem bothered. The only option was to carefully weave a path between the sheep, trying not to disturb them as we did so.

While the 45 might of been a nice road to ride, I wouldn't of rated it as highly as the reviews I had read. Perhaps the authors were fresh off the ferry from Denmark and had not experienced any of the countryside further north. I stopped to put my waterproof jacket on. Not because it was raining. I just wanted to protect myself from the cooler air. It was a little overcast, and the temperature was dropping quite quickly.

Just before Dalen, we turned on to the 38. This was a lot more fun. Bend after bend, up and down through valley after valley. The edges of our tyres got a real workout. We didn't see another car for nearly twenty kilometres.

The 38 led us to the small village of Skafsa. The vague road signs became a little confusing at some of the junctions, or had disappeared completely. We ended up taking the 355 south. This was not an issue though, as it was heading in a similar direction. It had felt quite fresh up on the higher passes this morning. Now the road was dropping down to the valley floor the temperature became a little more pleasant. The sun had also returned and was busy burning away the cloud cover.

I was running a little low on fuel by this point. My satnav told me that there was a couple of filling stations in the next small village of Moland. I carried on past the first one we came to as my satnav said there was a Shell station ( and we know what that normally means! ) at the other end of the village. Unfortunately, the Shell station was no longer there. It was now a Polaris dealership selling quad bikes and other exciting man-toys.

I had the latest mapping loaded into my Garmin before the trip. This was not the first time it had given me outdated information. Mark's TomTom however, was normally spot on with its directions and information.

So, having passed the only fuel station in the village, we turned around and headed back there. The filling station was at a Arctic-Cat man-toy dealership. It seemed that the men folk of Moland were spoilt for choice when it came to exciting machinery to propel themselves up into the surrounding mountains. As it was now almost 11:30, Mark and I agreed to take a break for coffee and a snack.

There was another stunning young lady serving in the shop. It must be something in the water. Or maybe the clean mountain air. Mark and I both had coffee and a hotdog. Mark chose the extravagant option of a bacon wrapped hotdog while I stuck with the traditional style. We took a seat by the window and watched the world go by.

There were a few locals coming and going while we tucked in to our snacks. The shop sold everything. It had car spares, tools, oil for every sort of application, chainsaws, clothing, toys, as well as the usual sweets and snacks you find in a filling station. There was also the Arctic-Cat showroom and spares. I took a look at the waterproof suits in case they had something I could use on my bike. The nearest they had was a one piece fur lined suit at £400. I had to pass. But, it did look warm and cosy. There was also a range of snowmobile helmets with heated visors to prevent misting. Why hasn't that technology transferred over to motorcycle ones? It seems only the top MotoGP riders get that luxury.

I followed the signs for the toilet, and was led through the workshop and to a building built on the back. I had a bit of a chat with the mechanic on the way back to the shop, who spoke very good English. He was servicing a huge snowmobile. I explained that I was a motorcycle technician, and could see the similarities in his work. I bet the road tests afterwards are a bit of fun!

Back in the shop there were now two stunning young ladies behind the counter. They were obviously sisters. Not twins, but very alike. I had a bit of a double take, as I didn't believe my eyes when I walked through the door. Mark spotted me, tutted and shook his head. Time to leave!

Outside where we had parked the bikes was a large community notice board. All kinds of things and events were advertised. I thought some self promotion wouldn't hurt, so I applied a few of my stickers. As we got on our way again I spotted a few classic cars at the back of the shop. An old Ford Anglia was nestled in amongst the huge tracked quad machines and snowmobiles. I can't imagine they sold that many of them over in Norway back in the sixties.

We continued on the 355 out of the village past the Polaris dealer and along the shoreline of Fyresvatn, a thirty kilometre long fjord.

The road began to climb again over the mountain surrounding the fjord, until we got to a view point at the top. I was thinking of stopping to take a few photos, when I saw Mark indicate and pull over so that he could do the same.

I knew what was coming. Mark had become addicted to taking panoramic photos of the views whenever we stopped. He discovered this feature on his IPhone when we were at the Lofoten Islands, and had been taking them ever since. Trying to keep out of his shot, I took some photos of him doing the `Panaramic Shuffle', as he slowly rotated on the spot. The quality of the photos taken with is IPhone was extremely good. I settled for a couple of shots with my standard Sony Cybershot point and shoot.

The road continued to follow the fjord as a ribbon of flowing tarmac clinging to the mountainside until we reached the 41 at Tjonnefoss.

The 41 was another great ride. Huge rocky mountains and pine forests lined the road all the way to Treungen. Here we found the road partially blocked as a crew of arborists were busy cleaning up a tree that had fallen into the road.

At Treungen we turned on to the 358 and the 38 to Prestestranda. This turned out to be an arrow straight, very undulating piece of road used by huge logging trucks. There was lots of harvested forest scars either side of the road. The 38 leading out of Prestestranda was better with a few nice bends thrown in to keep things interesting. It was now the middle of the day and the sun was blazing down. At a village called Straume we pulled over at a tourist information layby to take a quick break and stretch our legs.

After a look at my map we decided to head in the direction of Pors-grun on the 356. This was a fun bit of road to ride. Nice flowing corners through the forests with little fjords cropping up every now and then. Tiny little fishing huts all along the shoreline suggested that it was a popular pastime in these parts.

There were also some funny sounding village names along this stretch of road.

Pors-grun was a large industrial town either side of a wide river. A series of bridges carry us back and forth across the river until we reached the town centre. We parked up on the main semi-pedestrianised shopping street, so that we could go for a walk. As we got off our bikes a young man comes wandering over and starts talking to Mark. Or should I say staggers over. He is clearly intoxicated. Looking back at where he has come from, a group of his mates are all drinking beer in a little community garden area. After taking a picture of the bikes, he makes his way back to his mates.

Mark and I walk along the street, wondering if our bikes will still be there when we get back. There is the usual mix of shops you will find on any shopping street. Every clothes shop has sale signs on the windows. But, the only shops that appear to have any customers are second hand book shops. The town is pretty dead. There are a few people milling about. A couple of bars with gardens are beginning to fill up. Monday afternoon must be the time for sitting around in the sunshine and enjoying a drink. We settled for an icecream and a soft drink from a convenience store, and sat and enjoyed them in the main square.

We decided to try and look for a campsite when we got back to the bikes. Mark looked for some on his satnav. There were a couple nearby, but then nothing unless we head down to the south coast. Mark picks a local site in the neighboring town of Skien, and we decide to go and take a look.

The site turns out to be a small field on a hillside overlooking a fjord. It is already filling up fast with campervans full of young families. We decide to try somewhere else. Our search leads us to a site just up the road from the ferry port we sail from tomorrow.

The Fjellstad camping site is on a farm. Mark and I ride down to the lovely looking farm house where the friendly owner gives us a warm welcome. We can have a small hytte for 300NOK. We have a choice, but he says that hytte number two is popular with bikers as there is space to park right outside. Number two it is then!

We find the hytte at the top end of the site and settle in. There is a wooden picnic bench outside, so I sit in the sun and write up my trip diary. Mark goes on a supply run to the local supermarket at the end of the road. We spend the rest of the evening enjoying the sun, and sitting and chatting. Tomorrow we have to catch a ferry from Langesund to Hirtshals in Denmark, as we start our journeys home.