After several days of indecision I finally settled on a plan. It began with an overnight train to Trondheim, and finished with me riding triumphantly into Stockholm approximately two weeks later. Although I would have liked to see more of Norway’s stunning coastline, its fragmented nature means many tunnels and ferries to negotiate, and hence more careful route planning. All of this felt a bit complicated and daunting, so I opted for simplicity, and what I hoped was an easier route. Before darkness fell I was treated to the breathtaking beauty of the Bergen-Oslo train, which is considered one of the most spectacular train journeys in the world. Trapped behind glass, I felt somewhat envious of my Californian friends who were now riding this popular route through the mountains. While I missed the fresh air and leisurely pace, I still enjoyed views of deep gorges and towering waterfalls, tundra-like wilderness of the high alpine plateaus, and most impressively, the Hardangerjokulen glacier. However I remain unenlightened about the countryside north of Oslo, as I was lucky enough to drift off to sleep as we sped on through the night.
Awakening as the train slowly approached Trondheim, I had finally reached the most northerly point of my journey. At a latitude of 64 degrees North, the Arctic Circle was not that far away, and it seemed an incredible distance from where I started in Amsterdam.Many people told me how beautiful Trondheim is, but at 7 o’clock on a Saturday morning this lively university town was deathly quiet. So quiet in fact, that I changed into my riding gear in the middle of a city park without anyone noticing. I rode out of the city in the crisp morning air, slowly making my way up into the hills which form the spine of Norway. I only spoke to two Norwegians about my intended route to Stockholm. The first, a very warm and bubbly woman looked vaguely disappointed and said, ‘Oh, I think that would be rather boring, actually’. The second, a rather handsome chap I met on the train was also quick to respond ‘Ah, I did the same trip many years ago – it’s a nice ride!’ So it just goes to show that any advice should be taken with a healthy dose of skepticism and a large grain of salt! For the most part I gave up asking people about the road ahead, and adopted a more fatalistic approach – what will be, will be.
My last days in Norway were a mix of agricultural land with lots of sheep and dairy cows, red cottages with turf-covered roofs and lakes renowned for their abundant fish, set amongst pine-clad hills. Finally I passed into alpine country, barren and windswept, with scrubby vegetation and hollows supporting small forests of stunted trees. Mere hours before crossing the Swedish border, I startled a family of reindeer. They quickly scattered amongst the trees and I only caught a glimpse of the adults with their great antlers. Instead of dashing for cover, the little one ran ahead of me, bouncing his little white tail. I couldn’t help but laugh at its ungainly gait – it seemed to be all legs as it clip-clopped up the road. Finally it had the sense to run and hide in the woods, at once escaping my watchful gaze. I was overjoyed at this brief encounter and it made up for what was otherwise a cold, wet and miserable day.
There were many cold, wet days to follow and I soon became thoroughly sodden and simultaneously damp in spirits. Everything started to smell, my sleeping bag was rapidly going mouldy, and I packed my tent up in the rain for days on end. After a particularly gruelling day in the woods,
I was pleasantly surprised to find a lovely lakeside campsite. In the late afternoon light the lake looked like velvet, with the early Autumn colours reflecting beautifully in its waters. I was looking forward to a hot shower with relish, so you can imagine the disappointment when I put my one and only coin in the slot and nothing happened. My reaction was complete hysteria, and I bawled my eyes out for several long minutes. It’s amazing how much little things can upset you when you’re tired, cold, and hungry. My saviours that evening were a friendly German family who shared a huge tub of delicious fresh blueberries with me. Their young son must be one of the most affectionate children I’ve ever met. As way of introduction he gave me a big hug and walked his fluffy wolf all over me. At maybe six years old I was impressed that this warmth and affection had not yet been stamped out of him, and only wish that I could be so kind and loving toward complete strangers. 
I finally emerged from the woods and their seemingly endless monotony, to arrive the following evening in Mora, on the shores of Lake Siljan. This small town plays host to Sweden’s largest and most beloved national sporting event – the Vasaloppet - a 90km cross-country ski race which attracts more than 40,000 participants each year. Not far from here there is an amazing concert venue called Dalhalla. An abandoned limestone quarry that’s been converted into a stage, it forms a wonderful ‘natural’ amphitheatre, with a jewel-like turquoise lake at its centre. On a magically clear evening I watched a performance of Verdi’s Aida beneath the stars. The acoustics are unbelievable and the costumes and choreography were beautiful to watch. Unfortunately I’d had a really long day on the bike and kept falling asleep during the final act.
The last two weeks of riding were really tough. It rained every single day between Trondheim and Stockholm and I struggled to maintain enthusiasm. My moods oscillated between utter frustration and despair, and an immense sense of excitement about approaching the end of my journey. All I could think about was reaching Stockholm and putting my bike aside for a while. But with only one day to go, I became hugely nostalgic and wanted to savour every last moment. I even went for an early morning ride so I could linger over breakfast in the grounds of a beautiful castle. Suddenly I realised I was going to miss this way of life. The daily rhythms of life on the road had become so familiar over the past two and a half months. What would I do with myself now? And more importantly, how often do you get to eat breakfast in the shadow of a 16th century castle?
After 11 weeks of riding and 4400km under my belt I rode into Stockholm with a big grin on my face. Once the initial euphoria wore off I realised that finishing something so hard and mentally tiring is another challenge in itself. And now, more than two weeks later I'm still trying to deal with the anti-climax. I’ve had a wonderful time staying with friends in Stockholm, Amsterdam and London, enjoying dinner parties, movies, orienteering, kayaking and long walks. Not only that, but equally enjoying all those ‘normal’ day-to-day activities such as shopping, cleaning, cooking and laundry. But I must admit to feeling a little lost, and surprisingly exhausted. I need another purpose, a new goal. I’m not sure yet what it’ll be, but my journey over the past three months has given me the confidence to embark upon the next adventure, knowing that I can achieve whatever I set my heart upon.
