First days in Norway

After an uneventful two and a half hours flight we landed in Haugesund airport, in western Norway. I assembled my bike and rode out the airport building. The cold morning air and the slightly iced up road came as a shock. I was quite not yet prepared for this.As I rolled into town I stopped at a gas station to get my tires to proper pressure, got some money from the ATM, bought a map (16 €), had a breakfast (8 € for a coffee and a pasty).
The tourist info was closed for the weekend and Haugesund did not tempt me to stop for a night and explore the city, so I carried on cycling north towards Bergen, following the national cycling route No. 1.
The route was a constant up and down and twist and bends and quite some traffic. After a while the cycle route left the main road and I followed quieter country lanes towards the islands of Bomlo. After a 15 minutes wait the ferry appeared on the horizon as I chatted to a norwegian guy who took some interest in my bike. He told me wild camping would be OK all around Norway.
Bomlo is a very pretty island, lots of huge rocks and pine trees, scrubs with redberries of sorts make up a lovely scenery. I stopped to ask a beekeeper for some honey and waved my hand carelessly at some bees - HUGE error, the beasts attacked me right away, one got me on the cheek and another one right in the neck. I even had to pull out the stings. Quiet a fright so I decided to flee and cycled away fast. The beekeeper must have had a good laugh at my innocence towards the bees. So much to norwegian wildlife.
This night I camped in a small bay right beside the sea and had my first hot meal in Norway. I tried to light a fire but the wood was too wet and did not light properly. I soon gave up.The next day I continued riding on small back country roads that wound along the western norwegian islands. For the night I installed myself in the small waiting room of the last ferry
terminal before Bergen. I asked the maintenance guy if it was ok to sleep there and had to wait until the last ferry left to be able to lock the door. But before I could lie down on my sleeping mat the police arrived and inquiered what I would do there. Hearing that I am a tourist they wished me a Good Night and said they wouldn t disturb me any further.
In the morning I cooked breakfast by the sea and got ready for the last kilometers to Bergen where my friend Anna was waiting for me.

Leaving Scotland

My flight to Haugesund in south-western Norway is scheduled for 6.20 h in the morning so I decide to leave my Edinburgh hosts Hayley & Morgan in the late evening, cycle the last ten kilometers and have a short nap at the airport.
The day before the flight has been busy with preparations: buy a bag to fit all my panniers in, wash my stove and fuel bottle, do last-minute preps for the norwegian journey, update my blog - it is 1 o'clock in the morning when I finally feel prepared, leave the flat and ride at a leisurely pace for half an hour along a deserted highway towards Edinburgh airport.

Already there is a couple of people sleeping in the airport chairs and benches as best as they can, I roll out my mat and sleeping-bag and set my alarm-clock to 4 o'clock in the morning, sufficient time to get my bike and luggage prepared for the flight.

Ryanair charges me 30 pounds sterling (approx 35 €) for flying with a bike. The good thing: I do not have to box up my ride, just take off the pedals, turn the handlebar and deflate the tires a bit. Just pray that the bike arrives in one piece to Haugesund.

Before long I negotiate the check-in, hand in my bike to the oversized baggage counter, get my passport controlled, hand-luggage x-rayed and finally we board the plane and take off towards Norway. I plug in my MP3 player and five minutes later I am fast asleep.

Scotland - Impressions

Northern Scotland

I have arrived to the northern town of Thurso to cycle along the coast and through the Western Highlands back to Edinburgh. Leaving the train I have a flat and push my bike through the driving rain to look for a campsite just out of town.
The wind is really strong and I struggle to put up my tent on the wet ground while I can hear the waves trashing. It never stops raining this night and the winds rattles my little shelter with such force I can hardly sleep. The next morning I break down my camp in driving rain, the tent gets stashed soaked as it is. In town center I find a little bike shop, buy a new chamber for my front wheel and repair my flat. Meanwhile my bikes rear axle gets some new, rain proof grease, I have a pot of tea in the nearby coffe-shop. It is still raining.

At midday, all my chores in Thurso are done and I start cycling along the coast towards Tongue. The rain is pelting down with force and a gail is blowing. I have to struggle to keep me on my bike when the wind comes sideways. I have some near misses with car coming my way. I am scared and very impressed by the conditions up here in the North.

In three hours I manage to cycle 15 kms. At the little village of Reay I call it a day and take refuge in a cosy Bed & Breakfast. The owners Jene and Derek are really lovely people, we have a long conversation and Derek offers to take me along the coast in his car and shows me the local church just opposite their house where he preaches as a lay preacher from time to time.

The next morning it is still raining but fortunately the wind has ceased and after a full scottish breakfast including a fantastic black pudding I am off towards Tongue.
The route is a constant up and down and often I can see dramatic cliffs, amazing beaches and tiny lighthouses towering on some rocks over the trashing waves, far off to the north, the Orkney Islands are visible as a distant, light blue shadow. Next stop - Shetland Islands and than the Arctic.

Near Tongue I stop to greet an old man next to a small camper van. John Corbett is photographer in his late sixties and he spends his time roaming Scotland to take fotos of the wildlife and scenery. In his youth he did a lot of bicycle touring and meanwhile I am getting colder and colder standing around in my light cycling clothes, he tells me all about his travels around Norway and his solo bicycle tour around Iceland in 1962 (!!).
He knows the area around Tongue very well and the youth hostel being closed for winter, along with one of his postcards he gives me some recomendations where to put up my wee tent.
After a quite night in an abandoned campsite near the Kyle of Tongue I have spectacular views on the surrounding mountains and the seaside. I find Johns camper van parked alongside the route and we have a little chat. The guy really does like to talk.

I tackle the road climbing up to 212 meters above sea level and looking to my left I find Ben Hope, the northernmost Munro.
Munros are the scottish mountains higher than 3.000 feet (approx 900 meters), there are about 250 of them all around Scotland and lately it became a popular past-time for hillwalkers to go "Munro-bagging". Those who climb all the summits are called 'compleaters'.

Dropping down towards the steel blue waters of Loch Hope I scare a troop of pheasants and grouses that had walk along the route moments before. The route starts to climb again and before long I can see the dramatic Loch Eriboll before me. It is 21 miles around the Loch and to the sleepy little town of Durness. Once more I find the Youth Hostel closed and decide to stay in a private hostel (14 pounds/night) and get my dinner in the local SPAR shop.

Just opposite Durness lies the secluded Cap Wrath, once you cross the straight by boat, it's a 15kms walk up to the lighthouse. Unfortunately the ferry stopped operating for this season and there area is shut down because the british Ministry of Defence is so kind to use it as bombing site and military training field during autumn and spring.

As a testimony I see a crashed military truck beside the road, it crashed into a small bridge leading towards the Cape and has not been removed yet, the bridge was closed for heavy traffic during days and delivery vans had to take a 100 miles detour to reach Durness.

Did I mention that it was raining again ? AND there was a hefty headwind on top of it. Just in case I felt to good this morning. In fact it rains so much that a guy in a delivery van stops to offer me a lift. I decline and he shakes his head as to say "these crazy tourists enjoy cycling in this weather".
Once I reach Laxford Bridge I head inland and for the first time in three days enjoy wind that pushes me along Loch Stack and Loch More (both spetacular) towards Lairg. As it is getting dark I camp a couple of miles outside town and find the campsites used books section very helpfull indeed. I leave one of my books behind and choose to "borrow" Reinhold Messners "Solo Nanga Parbat", a gripping account of his solo ascent that hooks me instantly.

From Lairg its all the way down hill to Rogart Station where a specially nice Hostel set up in old train sleeper car awaits me. Ploughing through a pile of good books I stay two nights, in company of a couple from Northern Ireland and a funny guy from Yorkshire whos accent I can hardly understand.

Entering the county of Ross-shire I meet a girl riding to opposite direction towards John O Groats on a fundraising "End-to-End" bicycle ride. We exchange some pleasantries and stare at each others bikes and split up before getting miserable from standing in the cold.

After a good days cycle I reach Dingwall and decide to take to train into Inverness, stay a night and fetch another train that takes me to Aviemore a busy little town at the foot of the Cairngorms Mountains National Parc.
I enjoy a day of off-road riding and border the Cairngorms on the western edge, through the Glenlivet estate, some nice up- and downhill riding along lonesome single-track roads brings me to Braermar, just 10 miles from Balmoral Castle, scottish residence of the royal family.

After two nights in the Youth Hostel in Braemar I cycle towards beautiful Glenshee valley that takes me towards Perth and to the train headed for Edinburgh, Haymarket station.

Today I packed my bags and made last minute preparations for the scandinavian leg of my journey, saturday morning Ryanair Flight nr. FR6671 will take me to Haugesund in Norway.

Cycling in England & Wales - Impressions

Brittany

As I write these lines I am sitting in the kitchen of Hayleys & Morgans place in the scottish capital Edinburgh, trying to remember all the little stories, great people and funny coincidences that happend to me on my way trough Brittany.

Hugues place in Nantes was just to comfortable and so I stayed a couple of nights more than intended but his flatmates managed to "activly motivated" me out of the house and into the saddle eventually.
Riding out of to cycle the beautiful Canal from Nantes to Brest I met Matthew from London.

He was obviously going the same way - on a shiny new SURLY CrossCheck- bicycle.
We took our time to stare at each others bikes for a couple of kilometers and chat our way to the next beergarden where we had some light refreshments. Matthew had taken a couple of days off from his family holiday, was travelling very light and riding much faster than I did, but curiously we met again and again for the next couple of days during the nearly 400km long ride and came to not only share the route but also the same hostel, a room in a french B&B, a couple of meals, several apperitives and loads of laughs on our way towards Brest.
Towards the end of our common ride he invited me to stay with his family in the house of "beau-pere" near Brest and I accepted willingly. After a hearty dinner, a good nights sleep and a huge breakfast, Matthew finally rode with me to the next village from where I cycled towards Plabenec where I was expected by Catherine whom I had met on the Camino de Santiago in June.

Once again I was received like the "lost son" by people I had never seen in my life,I was given a room, a bed, was watered and fed with delicious foodstuff and aperitives. During the next three days, Catherine took me to a Gaelic festival, treated me to a boat ride including picnic on a beach of tiny but pitoresque island of Batz, we visited the open-air music festival Fete-du-bruit in Landenau and the Brest aquarium.
Arriving late from visiting Brest, Catherines father willingly loaded me, my bike and the rest of my equipment into his van and drove me the last 40 kms north to the waiting ferry that would take me to Plymouth.



I had crossed France from south to north and the country had kept its best for last, the ride through Brittany, its people and hospitality and the calm alongside the Canal.

As I settled into my seat on the ferry that would take me to country number four on my ride around the globe, I checked my luggage and found a "good-bye" letter from Catherine - all the family members had signed a postcard for me wishing good luck for my further trip.

Bonjour la France !

Welcome to France, the home of Baguette, Pain au Chocolat, Pernod, green fields, lovely blonde girls, Bordeux, the Loire River, hundreds of Chateuxs, Fromage, Crepes, Mont St Michel, Cidre and a couple of Velos.

Shortly after leaving Irun I finally cross into France with high expectations and looking forward to discover country number three on my way around the world and so I cycle along the coast through the area known as Les Landes de Gascone, unfortunately the school holidays have started recently and the roads and campsites fill with cars and campervans, people eager to reach the pre-booked campsites along the coast.

To my surprise, the roads are not very wide (especially in the villages) and the cars often have to que behind me and wait to overtake.

There is lots of cycling tracks criss-crossing the french south-west but I get soon bored of the straight routes and the pine-tree forests to my left and right - all day long. A couple of times I nearly fall asleep because the ride along this seemingly neverchanging landscape has become quite monotonous.

I stay in a couple of pilgrims hostals and private accomodations (thank you to Famille Lamothe!), do some wild camping and spend the night of the 14th of july (the french national holiday) in a small village campsite, enjoy the fireworks and try to speak french to the locals.

Bordeaux seems to be a nice and rich city with its stone buildings, bars and brasseries and intense student (night)life. A single night in the local youth hostal sets me back 20 € (incl. breakfast) , so I ride on through the winecountry of the Girdonde, along vineyards and past impressive Chateauxs, towards LaRochelle (where I am expected by Warmshowers host ean-Jacques) always tempted by the signs offering winetastings and good food.

Jean-Jaques and his wife welcome me like an old friend, feed me like a king and take me on a ride to La Rochelle harbour on their recumbent bikes. In the beginning I am really tense and can´t find my equilibrium on the strange machine but after 10 minutes I relax my shoulders and roll easily dow the street. It feels like cycling while sitting on a sofa. And you are the centre of attention wherever you go, people turning their heads, making comments, laughing. I am quite sure I will change to a recumbent bicycle soon...

Once in Tours I stay in the pilgrims hostel of St Martins basilica, chat with the nuns, visit the saints tomb and roam the historic city centre with its ancient little houses and small alleys right besides the Loire river. Leaing the city to cycle along the Loire to Nantes I have my first (altough harmless) accident. Somehow I fall sideways off my bike and the plastic hose of my front break rips. For the next 300 kms I cycle with one brake only, fortunately the Loire cycle paths are mostly flat and I do not have to use my break much.

Towards Irun

In Oviedos pilgrims hostel I met several interesting people, one of them Horst, a goodhearted bavarian guy from in his fifties. He traveled all the way from Malaga to Oviedo, mostly walking or hitchhiking (including a solo walk across the Sierra Nevada in early spring!).
Altough he is equipped with good boots, a new backpack and all the other quality gear, he likes to travel the cheap way, sleep in parks (he was attacked three times while in Spain) and saving money where ever he can, but he loves to sit in cafés and spend his money on coffee and the occasional beer.
When he runs out of money, he returns to Germany, gets a job and work for half a year or so before getting fed up with german weather and nine-to-five job and taking off again.
Together we spend the night of San Juan watching the huge bonfire on the cathedral square, having a couple of Sidras and exchanging stories of our travels and our respective plans for the future. For my benefit Horst tells me about a couple of things how to save money on the road, like having lunch for 50 Cents, and so on. Good luck Horst!

After leaving lovely Oviedo I cycle towards Ariondas to rent a Kayak and cruising down the famous river Sella along spectacular scenery towards Ribadesella.

Back on my bike (crossing into Cantabria my cycle computer shows now over the 4.000 kms ) I take the costal route towards Bilbao where I am expected to meet with Leire, an old friend from my times as trainee at BOSCH, and her family and friends. They give me a hearty welcome, take me along to Barbecues and dinner parties and treat me just great.
I feel at home and once again it is hard to leave my friends and head for Irun. Gracias Leire and Jenny ! And I definitely have to come back to northern Spain to explore Galicia and Asturias and cycle the Picos de Europa, which I had seen from far away only.

From Astorga to Oviedo

After two weeks in Astorga I was ready to go on and took public transport to Lugo (Ok, this is cheating, but I REALLY did not feel to climb the Cruz de Ferro and O Cebreiro AGAIN -it would have been the second time in three weeks- so I invested the money in a bus ticket, packed my bike and hopped on the bus) and started cycling the Camino Primitivo that runs from Palas del Rey in Galicia to Asturias capital city, Oviedo.
Soon I found out that cycling in Asturias is great but tough on your legs, entering Asturias from the west it is a steady up and down along steep mountain ranges and the most direct way between remote villages is often a short downhill followed by a long uphill, or so it seemed. After two week sitting at a desk in Astorga my legs felt like jelly, furthermore I had a slight cold and could hardly breathe. So I suffered my way trough to lovely Oviedo and most of the days ended in a tiny pilgrims hostel with only 30-40 kms cycled (which felt like I did 120 kms).