Day 1
95km | North Cape - Russenes
Tough day. I had trouble sleeping my first night out in the rugged wilderness of North Cape. I only managed a few hours, but when I woke, a reindeer and its cub were just outside the tent, grazing away. Despite the restless night, I appreciated the view.
After a quick breakfast of only granola balls, made by my aunt a few days earlier (very tasty, but as a standalone meal, not nearly filling enough), I started pedaling north to finally reach the starting point, also called the edge of the world.
As I arrived at the northernmost point in Europe, I felt like the journey could finally begin after such a difficult time just getting there. It was extremely windy, and I was the only person there until two chartered buses arrived, packed with tourists from all over the place. One guy, a cheerful Australian, walked up to me and asked where I was going. The bike, it turned out, was a great conversation starter, and I felt the eyes of many on me, wondering what the hell someone on a bicycle was doing up there. They had all arrived by ferry.
The Australian wanted a photo of me, and he wasn’t the only one. Other tourists also came up, asked about the trip, and looked in disbelief when I told them where I was heading. After an hour or so, I was cold and figured I’d better get moving if I wanted to cover some distance and hopefully escape the slapping wind.
As I had already biked to North Cape from Honningsvåg, I knew all too well the mountains that lay ahead. Despite only just starting the journey, I was already sick of the elevation. If the track was more than 5 degrees gradient, I had to push my bike by hand, so by the end of the day, I’d gotten a decent hike in as well, hauling my 40 kg bike.
As the hours passed, and as I grew colder and hungrier, my mood began to turn sour. After 45 km of riding, I reached the town where I had started the night before. I was relieved to be back in a small town because I needed to buy gas for my camp stove. Unfortunately, barely a single store was open, and those that were didn’t sell any. This meant half the food I’d brought was useless, and I’d been carrying far more kilos than I needed. In that moment, I was tempted to throw in the towel at once and book a flight to somewhere warm.
After deliberating with myself for an hour and getting some food in me at a local pizza place, I reluctantly walked back to my bike, parked outside in the biting cold. I stepped on, and against my own will, decided to carry on. One more pedal stroke.
I set up camp about 50 km later, right by the water. There are few things I dislike more than going to bed without feeling clean, so despite the sheets of ice still visible in the distant fjord, I stripped off and got in the water. I don’t consider myself a fan of cold water, but when you don’t feel like you have a choice, it’s sure a lot easier. It took around 45 minutes to heat up my feet again, but after I finally did, I passed out, tucked inside several layers of clothing and my sleeping bag.
