Saturday 1st August 2015
I was feeling a little weary as I woke up this morning. I wasn't feeling grumpy. Just not really fully functioning. My sore throat was annoying me, too. I felt like the last few days of on-off rain was catching up with my immune system. I hadn't slept well either. The hotel across the carpark from us, was being used as accommodation by Polish work gangs who made lots of noise during the early hours, as they left for work. I sat on the edge of my bed, and tried to see if a strong black coffee would help. Mark and I discussed the last evenings events, and what the plan was for today while we had breakfast.
Mark was a bit pissed off with Stuart. When we arrived in Bergen, Mark and I had suggested that once we had found somewhere to stop for the night we could go and have a look round the city. Stuart and Alison had expressed an interest in going too, as it is very pretty down by the waterfront. It started to get late, and while I was finishing uploading all of the days videos and photos, Mark went to find out what the others were doing. For some reason we never did go into Bergen. Perhaps my apprehension about being somewhere I had deep regret for, meant I didn't push things.
Todays ride was possibly going to be another long one. But, there were a few ferries to take to break up the time in the saddle. The plan was to ride the smaller roads across to pick up the FV13 south. One of the things I had always wanted to include in this trip was a hike to the top of the Preikestolen, or Pulpit Rock as it is known in English. Mark wanted to do it too. Todays ride would take us to a nearby campsite, so that we could spend tomorrow morning on the hike.
So, with the day planned, we packed up and prepared to set off. Just as we were starting our bikes, Stuart asks me if we are going to have a look around the city before we head south. I glanced over at Mark to see him staring at Stuart. A stare that suggested that if he was within an arms length of him, Mark may tear one of Stuarts limbs off, and beat the rest of him with the bloody end of it! I bit my lip, and explained that Mark and I didn't have time in our schedule today, and thought we were all going last night. I suggested that he and Alison could go, and then catch us up later if they wished. But, they decided to tag along with Mark and I.
I would be leading our group today, as I had a bit of a planned route. As the others normally led the way, this would give them a bit of a break too. It was a bit overcast as we left Bergen on the E39. As Bergen is one of the wettest places in Europe, it was not suprising that ten minutes later it started to rain. I pulled over in a bus stop and put on my waterproofs as I wanted to stay dry if there was a chance of me catching a cold. I was already feeling a bit sniffly and had the pleasant sensation of sneezing while wearing a full face helmet a couple of times. Luckily they were dry sneezes!
The E39 took us through some smaller suburb villages, such as the sniggeringly funny named Softeland, before we got to the ferry dock at Halhjem. There was a long queue of vehicles waiting to catch the ferry to continue down to Stavanger. But, we were taking a ferry to Vage to pick up the 49 on the island of Tysesnoy. There was no one waiting for this ferry, so we rode up to the front. A large matrix noticeboard displayed the times for the Stavanger ferry but not our one. I knew that the ferries were fairly frequent though, and soon other vehicles started to join our queue though. This was a sure sign that a ferry was due.
It was a short ferry across to Tysnesoy. The route weaved in and out between little islands as the ferry crossed the Bjornafjord. The captain obviously knew the route well, as some of the gaps between the islands were pretty tight.
As we landed in Vage, the rain had all but stopped. Lots of brightly coloured houses lined the road out of the little harbor. They looked like holiday homes, or possibly homes of wealthy commuters with jobs in Bergen. Most of them had a fast boat moored and a Tesla parked up outside.
Once out of the village the traffic disappeared and the narrow road swept its way from village to village. Little sheltered inlets hiding groups of small boats and the occasional cottage being the only signs of habitation.
Soon we crossed a high bridge over a connection to Hardangerfjord back to the mainland. The 49 continued to deliver. Quaint little villages scattered along the shoreline, calm clear fjords, and narrow twisty well surfaced empty tarmac. It didn't matter that it wasn't hot and sunny. It was just a great place to ride.
At Gjermundshamn it was time to catch another ferry. The ferry was loading as we arrived, and a wet looking deckhand enthusiastically waved us aboard. A few cars were loaded on behind us in reverse, and we were away. Seeing as how we had only seen two cars since the last ferry, this ferry was quite full.
An attractive young ticket collector wandered over to take our money. We had a chat about the weather, and she explained that the ferry made a stop at an island called Varaldsoy half way. That was why some of the vehicles were on backwards. I impressed both Mark and myself by not embarrassing myself, or coming across as the world biggest pervert following yesterdays incident at Dragsvik!
As the ferry landed on the otherside in Lofallstrand we turned on to the 550 towards Odda. As we had boarded the ferry at the back there was a long line of tourist traffic and motorhomes in front of us. The 550 was pretty narrow as it skirted along the coast of the fjord, and it was difficult to pass. Eventually we got to the front, passing the last of the motorhomes while waiting at some traffic lights at the entrance to a narrow tunnel.
Exiting the other side of the tunnel we were hit by the sight and sound of Furubergfossen. The icy water roared over the cliff top, and under the road into the fjord. We pulled over in a parking bay to take photos, as all the traffic we had just passed streamed by giving us disapproving looks at our antics.
We got back on our way resigned to the fact that we would probably be stuck behind the traffic until we got to Odda. I settled in to a relaxing ride along the shore enjoying the scenery.
At the end of the fjord the road appeared to disappear around the corner. Thinking there might be a stunning hairpin infested road ahead, I had forgotten about the tunnel. A thirteen kilometre tunnel, which gently ached its way in a dead straight line all the way through the solid rock. The road climbed slowly for six kilometres, and then began to fall away for the remainder.
Deposited just before the town of Odda, the sky became full of steaming chimney stacks. Located at the end of a stunning fjord, surrounded by mountains, and the gateway to the Folgefonna National Park, Odda is a iron smelting town. It was getting toward lunchtime, but I decided not to stop here and push on a little further to somewhere prettier.
Climbing out of Odda the E13 became a stunning ride. More mirror like fjords lined the road, before thinning to become a raging white water river fed by frequent powerful waterfalls.
The road was constantly climbing all the time. And, once past the tree line, huge dark, snow topped mountains came into view. A series of tunnels blasted their way through the mountains, as the scenery became more rugged with each passing minute.
The last tunnel just before Hordalia was amazing, winding its way down through the mountain in a complete 360 degree corkscrew.
An epic view waited for us at the other end of the mountain. Huge snow topped mountains in the distance and a twisty hairpin, riders dream of a road lay out before us. During a nice left hand bend, my low fuel warning light came on. According to my satnav, the next fuel station was in Roldal just up the road. So we headed in that direction alongside another beautiful fjord.
As we pulled in to the Shell filling station, little did I know that today my supermodel staffing theory would be proved beyond doubt. Mark had filled up, and been in to pay. He came wandering over, and asked if I thought we should stop for lunch. I was starving, so agreed it was a good idea. As I walked towards the shop to go and pay for my fuel, I heard Mark call out. "Oh, by the way. The future Mrs. Crasher is behind the counter!"
Barry White was warming up as I walked through the door. And there, just as Mark had promised was the Holy Grail of female perfection. With her blond pony tail being gently blown by the air conditioning, and Barry now at full blast, her dark blue eyes pulled me towards the counter like tractor beams. The future Mrs. Crasher was called Saara. She was the stunning. Smiling a smile that would remove a mans trousers at fifty paces, I was suddenly feeling very warm. Summoning up all of the manliness I could muster I paid for my fuel and ordered some lunch.
Enjoying his new favorite spectator sport, Mark was trying not to let the tears of laughter water down his coffee. The future Mrs. Crasher called me over to collect my food. "Be careful it is very hot". She held out a paper bag in each hand. " You certainly are!", I thought to myself. I took a stool in the seating area, and ate my lunch, trying not to stare every time the future Mrs. Crasher came into view. Stuart and Alison were now in on Mark's joke, and were giving me stick too.
Before I could think of a way to kidnap her and take her home, it was time to get back on the bikes and get going again.
I had originally planned to take the 520 snow road from here. But, due to the changeable weather I decided it would be better to stay below the clouds and stick to the main roads. As it turned out the E13 was not much wider than a single lane for the next twenty kilometres, and was completely empty of traffic.
The road began with the usual twisting route along the fjords. The views were amazing. I was having to concentrate doubly hard on the road, and not about what I had just left behind.
The E13 eventually turned into a proper marked carriageway. The stunning views were broken up by tunnel which appeared every few kilometres. Some of these tunnels were quite unpleasant. Gloomy and unlit they needed a good degree of caution. There were some quite nasty potholes in the road in some of them.
All along the next few kilometres, there were little cultivated fields at the side of the road. These seemed to be any piece of available flat land, no matter where it was. Some were right on the waters edge.
The rain began to fall once more, and became heavy in places. I was setting a steady pace, but Stuart was still struggling with his badly worn tyres and dropping back. Just before Sand the E13 branched off left. I was beginning to have had enough of the rain. I wasn't enjoying the ride this afternoon anymore.
At Knutsvik we were halted as we needed to catch a ferry across the Josenfjord to Nesvik. The ticket collector instructed Mark and I to go straight to the front of the large queue of waiting vehicles. Mark and I took shelter from the rain under the canopy of small shop on the dockside. " Are we trying to lose Stuart?", Mark asked with a knowing smile. " Well I am not riding any slower, I'm getting soaked. If he can't keep up even at this pace because his tyres are shot, then I am sorry that is his problem". Mark agreed with me. It was one of the problems of riding in a group. We were both visually checking Stuarts tyres every time we stopped. They were nearly bald. In fact some areas of the tread were bald.
Then we heard a familiar v-twin rumble. Stuart and Alison had arrived. Stuart admitted that he was really struggling in the rain. Alison looked like I felt. She had had enough today too. I noticed a waiting room next to the shop and went inside. I was heated, and lovely and warm inside. I stood looking at the others through the window. It took a while, but Alison suddenly twigged I was inside. And, with that we were all ensconced in the waiting room, out of the rain.
The ferry arrived and we all headed for the cafeteria for a warming cup of coffee. We all agreed to find somewhere to stop for the night, when the ferry docked on the other side. At the first junction we came to, a campsite was sign posted. We pulled in to a motel complex and campsite. Mark and Alison went to find out if they had any hytte for rent. After a bit of confusion, the owner was eventually found. He was an old man, who wouldn't let us pay him until we were all settled in. Mark and I took one hytte, and Stuart and Alison were next door. Our hytte quickly resembled a Chinese laundry, with wet clothes hanging from every available space.
The site was a bit run down but it was warm and dry in the hytte which was all I was interested in. As the rain was easing off, I walked to the local supermarket for some supplies and treated myself to a can of fruity cider. The rain continued on and off for the rest of the evening. Tomorrow is supposed to be better. I hope so. If it rains it will mean that Mark and I will have to cancel our hike up to the Preiskestolen.
Here is part 16 of my vlog:
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