While some of the biking is terrifying (narrow roads with cliffs and large fast moving semi trucks) some places have bike paths that stretch on for miles and miles. I keep expecting the views to be getting more boring as I get farther from the Lofoten Islands, but the mountains are even more grand as I go on. There are picnic tables that magically appear on the side of the road, usually about the time when my butt goes numb and it is the perfect excuse to stop.
After three days of gas station food, I finally found a grocery store and was thrilled to find beer for only $4 a bottle. A loaf of bread and a jar of nutella and lunch was served.
The main highway, the E6, connects with ferry crossings in some places. On one ferry another biker, Stijn (pronounced Stiene) came up and thrust his hand out introducing himself. Since we were going the same direction we decided to stay together. He was on holiday from university in the Netherlands, very cute, and very young. He was the first person I had talked to for more than a week and I was thrilled to have company.
We stopped at every lake we passed so he could fish and I could eat more nutella. My norwegian pronounciation had him practically falling off his bike and i would hear him repeating things i butchered and giggling as he biked along behind me. We had been biking for about the same amount of time and I asked if his butt was sore from days in the saddle. He looked at me and said, " no... I have no butt problems."
I felt like we were biking tbrough 10 yosemite valleys one after another. The mountains jutted up in broad sweeping slabs and shear cliffs. After a massive hill climb we camped at a lake high in the mountains. Stijn never caught a fish but he went swimming and I finally washed my hair. We gorged ourselves on wild blueberries, had a campfire, and stayed up till two in the morning.
The next day there were a lot of hills and I had to catch a train to Trondheim, so we hugged goodbye, wished each other a good safe trip, and I pushed on alone.
With my cold gone except for a stuffy nose, I found myself blowing snot rockets regularly. I was pretty good at them except when I was not. Like when the wind gusted and I managed to blow a dangler directly into my freshly washed hair. Or when I didn't have enough umph behind one and it slapped back across my check forcing me to jump off my bike and rub my face on the grass in disgust.
In an effort to pack more in, I decided to take the train from Fauske to Trondheim and save myself 800km of biking. Unfortunately this means I have to plan ahead. If you buy your train ticket at leat a day in advance it costs at least a quarter of the regular ticket price. I did make the train with a couple hours to spare. I didn't however find a place to shower. It is amazing how you can convince yourself that you don't smell that bad after having camped out for over a week only to realize that when you have to sit in close confines with other people on an overnight train, that you are in fact the smelly kid.
And in the morning I arrived in Trondheim.
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