DAY 1: EDAM- BREMEN, Celebrations and Club Hits

I woke up quite late today. Yes, I was planning to do a trip of 10.000 km but I definitely wasn't in a hurry. Usually I just kind of slip away in the early hours of the morning, keen to get as many miles as possible between me and those neighbours I've so rudely awakened. But setting off for such a long haul this morning, I actually chose to leave at 11.00 am, which gave me ample time to give little Ava all the hugs she deserved and have a decent farewell coffee with Monica - well, it felt that way but we actually will be meeting up in Stockholm next week, we're sentimental that way.

Anyway, when I finally said goodbye and started on my way, there was some kind of celebration going on. It had nothing to do with me leaving (though perhaps the neighbours had some cause for celebration). It was to glorify something called 'Water Day', which is a yearly festival and it apparently involves everybody in Edam trying to sell old rubber boats and such. They're a funny lot and I still can't get used to their logic in life. Or lack thereof.

I left them to it and went my on my way. It was a lovely sunny day and the BMW was purring along nicely. So far so good. I rode over the Afsluitdijk (quite the marvel, definitely worth a visit) and ended up waiting for the boats to pass by at the lock on the far side. That's when a motorbike group pulled up, frantically waving at me. Always being enthusiastic about meeting fellow bikers, I frantically waved back, only to be met with a steely gaze. It turned out one of their biker buddies had fallen behind and they were trying to signal him back in. I was in the way. Well, at least their lost brother politely waved at me when he joined his crew.

That's not to say I had an unpleasant start of my journey. On the contrary, I've met quite a few nice people today who wished me all the best. One lady at the cash counter of a tank stop was particulary interested and ended up suggesting she'd come along if she could. Being almost 75, it would be a bucket list ride for her, she said. I don't doubt it.

In the end it has turned out to be a pleasant first day and I even had to some time left to relax at the lakeshore near the camp ground at Steller See, near Bremen. If only the camping disco would stop turning out the greatest club hits of 1997. But the German teens seem to love it...

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When I saddled up this morning, there was hardly a soul awake around me. Which afforded me some uninterrupted views of the dawn lake, as the sun rose over it. Nice way to have a breakfast. As I'd like to call my somewhat questionable imitation of a cup of coffee.

Once I was on the highway again, I realised i had quite a few extra kilometers to go to make it to the Danish city of Odense, as I had planned. I picked up my pace, only to be slowed down again by the first road works of the day. That would prove to be a theme for the first 250 km, as the German road supervisory board had a veritable cornucopia of delays laid out before me all the way up to the Danish border. Damn.

So it was slow going. I managed to have some fun though. The west passage of Hamburg is a beautiful thing, riding along the harbour with all the big container ships edging up on you. Later on, I made a brief stop at the town of Rendsburg, where the train track actually floats above the houses: see the pics below.

After that, the Danish border. Some fearsome looking border guards were on the lookout for some unnamed border threat, which turned out no to be me, as they waved me through. Somehow I felt lucky.

It surprised me how empty the Danish south turned out to be. Hardly a town in sight. And a definite change of mood. It felt ... simpler, for lack of a better word.

When I finally turned east to enter the island of Funen, the landscape became sowmewhat more populous. The bridge to Funen over the sea strait takes you up to a considerable height, which makes for a magnificent view. Highlight of the day, this is what riding a motorbike is for. Never mind the strong sidewinds that you get on top of the bridge, though I can imagine it's probably best not to take this route when the weather's bad.

And so I made it to Odense, a decent sized harbour city with not much to do, but likeable enough. I've made a little impression of it:*
https://youtu.be/4tH8G9t8TzA*

Odense's claim to fame is being the birthplace of Hans Christian Andersen, the fairytale writer. He only lived there until turning 14, after which he ran away to Kopenhagen to never return. So he doesn't seem to have had a particularly strong bond with the place, but in Odense they don't seem to mind, because they've dedicated almost every street corner to him. In my Youtube video you'll catch a nice mural of him.

Off to Sweden tomorrow, see you there!

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What a relief it was to finally enter Sweden. Not that Denmark was unpleasant, or that I had a bad ride. The opposite was true, in fact: I gave myself an easy day with a mere 200 km. And it was a joy to drive over the bridges that cross the seastraits of the Ostsee. Though it was a bit windy. Take a look at my action movie: https://youtu.be/HTvqPYllrdI

No, to reach the Swedish mainland proved to be a relief because I immediately got to visit two of the highlights up till now:

1. the great city of Malmo:
Now, that's a great city to relax in. Nice little city center with cobblestoned streets, lots of interesting architecture from all ages (google ' turning torso'), lovely parks and loads of people enjoying a nice, cool (though very expensive 9 euro) on Lilla Torg in the Monday afternoon sun. What's not to like? No wonder local hero Karl X Gustaf got a bit portly. Poor horse.

2. my boarding house down the coast:
where I could relax my weary bones once more, enjoying a view of the Ostsee. The locals prefer to set up in a small beach cabin and to go skinny dipping near the harbour (yep, this is definitely Sweden). Let them, while I take a sip from another cup of uhrrr ... something, as I watch the sun slowly setting over the sea. I'm fine where I am.

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Today was a tough day. It turned a lot colder and it started to rain, which usually doesn't bother me much, but my old worn-out lungs didn't agree, so I spend my 300+ km to Kalmar huffing and puffing. Finally got things under control with a hot cup of coffee and my usual medicines. But this was a situation which I had hoped to avoid. Luckily, I've ended up in a very healthy place and I'm feeling much better. More about that place later.

So I arrived at Kalmar and took a look around. It's mainly known for its big castle (sadly no picture, but you can look it up). That big castle was put there for a reason. It turns out I've been riding the old Danish-Swedish border today. That region, called Skane or Scania (depends whom you ask, Dane or Swede) has been fought over for 500 years, until Denmark finally had to admit defeat in the 1800s. They're still a bit sour about that today, but the funny thing is: the new Oresund bridge (the one I rode on yesterday) between Copenhagen and Malmo is actually leading to a practical reunification, economically at least. Just don't call it that in Sweden (shh, ssh).

After visiting Kalmar (nice enough but quite provincial) I took another bridge, this time to the isle of Oland. Comfortably nudged between the mainland and the Ostsee, it's a land of strong traditions and history, quite separate from the Swedish mainstream. The isle used to house thousands of windmills (about 400 survive) and runestones. Makes for great walks through the countryside, highly recommended.

I wasn't visiting Oland for the history though, interesting as it is. I came to stay at the Linnee scientific research station, which doubles in the summer as a hostel. Oland has a unique natural environment, which differs from the Swedish and European mainland. This inspired the famous Swedish biologist Linnaeus (sounds familiar Amsterdammers?) to make some of his discoveries in the 18th century, and it still continues to attract scientists to this day. The research station provides them with the possibility to stay and work here. If that sounds romantic, it isn't really. The place is basically an army barracks, albeit one with personal amenities and a bookshop. And everybody is working like mad; the conference room is still filled late at night. But I'm happy to provide some funding for them to keep going. Let's hope they don't snore too loud.

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A good nights sleep does wonders and I felt a lot better this morning. While the botanists were busy tending their secret gardens, I saddled up the bike and left Station Linnee with a song and a whistle. The sun was shining and I made my way north, in the general direction of Stockholm.

Feeling lucky, I stopped over at a town called Oskarshamn for a coffee. And a cinnamon bun. Let me take a moment to wax lyrical about the Swedish cinnamon bun. Man, are they yummy. A perfect breakfast. Doctors should be giving them out as medicine.

After my medicinal treat(ment) I went for a short walk around the town centre. Oskarshamn boasts some prime examples of those picture perfect pastel coloured houses that dot Sweden's countryside. Lovely as a cinnamon bun.

Smaland, the region I'm currently traversing, is all-around pretty. It has all those beautiful lakes and forests that Sweden is known for. And the villages and small towns make for a relaxing visit.

But no stopping over for me anymore. I drove on to make it to Norkopping. It's still a Smaland town, but with a noticeably different feel. Dubbed 'Manchester of Sweden', it's an industrial town of the 19th century, with an impressive array of wool mills and textile factories, centered around the local river. Industrial acitivity ceased in the 1950s, but the buildings were revitalised in the last decades, with stunning results. Never saw such colourful factories. Check out the pics below.

I had a great afternoon there, but that almost came to an abrupt end when a car decided to cut me off at a crossing. Nearly fell over, but a forceful push with my right leg saved the day. My upper thigh muscles certainly earned their Schwarzenegger points today. Needless to say I was less than amused with the careless driver. For pokkert, as the Danes say (yes, I am definitely polishing up my language skills here).

So I speedily fled to my stuga. That's to say, my little Swedish hut that I've rented for the night. It's nicely situated at a lock on the Gota canal, which the Swedes are very proud of (the canal, that is).

While taking a much needed rest, I heard a commotion outside the stuga. I opened the door, to see a small car almost backing into my bike! Those damn cars, they've got it in for me today! As I sped to prevent disaster, I heard a polite 'ik houd ze wel tegen' next to me. And indeed, Dutchman Paul intervened to guide the car away.

Paul turned out to be one of the car's passengers. He and three other students from France and Scotland are on their way to Kiruna, to participate in a space technology masters program at the university and rocket launch facility. Yes, that's right, I bumped into another bunch of scientists again. Rocket scientists!

They definitely are a nicer lot than the botanists of Linnee station. They invited me to dinner and we shared a few good stories. Sweden was as new to them as to me, so we discussed possible itineraries and bear intensity maps (seems you can meet bears mainly near Kiruna university, which came as quite a shock). Well, they were good company. I wish them the very best.

Tomorrow I'll finally reach Stockholm and meet up with Mo and Ava. Can't wait!

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Thanks for the beautiful pictures & trip rapport!

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Surfy

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About Overlanding, Travelogues, Equipment
Trans-Africa over the west coast

There was no getting around it: I had to make a lot of miles (or kilometers) today. The Hoga Kusten is such a beautiful place to leave behind, but there was still a lot of space between me and the true North. So I headed back out on the E4 and off to Umea and Pitea.

400 km to go, which maybe doesn't sound like a lot, but I wasn't that enthusiastic about it. There's a north wind coming in from the Gulf of Bothnia and it has been getting noticeably colder, we're down to 10 C now. Maybe it's to do with the change of season. Autumn has definitely taken hold, rain and high winds are becoming a nuisance.

Anyway, I'd put on my cold weather and rain gear, so the first 200 km to Umea were done in reasonable comfort, even though there were a few formidable rain showers. When I made it to Umea, I took an extended lunch break. Not that Umea is much to speak of. The Swedish towns on the coast seem to lose their sparkle north of Stockholm. They're practical towns mostly and not that nice to look at.

And off it was for the second part of the ride. The next 100 km's proved to be quite arduous, because of slow traffic (the highway has turned into a B-route now) and extensive roadworks. The roadworks were interesting. Instead of the diverting you to another part of the road or another road even, they just took the road away. That's right, 50+ km's of dirt and gravel in the cold rain. I was very glad I had switched to a BMW GS earlier this year. The GS handled the muddy gravel with relative ease and it performed perfectly. It might also have helped that I put on some decent tires before the trip. Got quite dirty though.

After that, it was plain sailing to Pitea, though a long haul. On these long rides, in between being pounded by wind, rain and heavy terrain, I like to keep myself busy by stacking up the 'mental jukebox'. I love music and there are always some songs playing in my mind. On those long rides these can amount to a complete songbook, road-themed and all. To illustrate, I have made a Spotify playlist of today's mental jukebox, check it out at your own peril at:
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5f...ive-share-menu

For now, after finally reaching Pitea, I've ended up at motel 'Big Bug'. Well, it's not really called that, but let's say I've got my suspicions. On trips like these, the budget is spread thin, so beggars can't be choosers. It's a long way from the idyllic vistas of the High Coast. Oh well, let's hope for the best. At least they have some form of breakfast, I've been told....

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I woke up at 5.30 because something was biting my heel. Yes, biting my heel. To cut a long story short, motel Big Bug got to me. Don't know what kind of bug it was. But I did understand its message: get the hell out of Dodge. Which I did, with due haste and motivation.

So I got an early start. That turned out to be a blessing in disguise. After fixing some kind of breakfast (don't ask, don't tell), I went on my way and finally left the Bothnian coast to ride up to Laponia. The road to the land of the Sami (known also as the Laps) cuts through long swathes of forest and is considered by some to be somewhat dull, but not by me. The surroundings steadily develop into a more northern landscape; lower trees, iceblue lakes, dark mountains, rockfields, moss and lichen instead of grass. It's captivating.

About 100 km's inland I ran into a great lake. I heard a thundering noise above the motorcycle's roar. It turned out to be coming from the Storforsen Falls about 3 km's upwards. I've seen some impressive waterfalls, but the sheer power of this one is something else. It looks like a tsunami coming over the mountain. The rickety woodbridge that led to the ridge next to it felt quite feeble. Luckily Storforsen decided to let me live.
Take a look for yourself at:
https://youtu.be/qXJClnnNHdg

After that definite highlight I went on to join the Inlandsvagen, the main road that crosses Sweden south to north. Basically a B-road, it's mainly used by the huge logging trucks that carry timber to the ports down south. It's not that busy and you can stop and park on the road for a while without anybody passing you by. Which I did almost instantly, because a small herd of wild rendeer decided to cross the road. What a wonderful sight. The big male stared me down while the others crossed over. No worries mate (as Australia has taught me), just passing by.

And then on to Jokkmokk, the Laponian market town. But before that, I made a short stop to mark ... passing the Arctic Circle! I know, it's just a line on a map, but for me personally it was a special moment. I mean, how much more northern can you get? That is, until Nordkapp of course.

While I quietly celebrated this milestone over a cup of hot coffee in Jokkmokk's only coffee house, I realized I'd reached another milestone as well: 3000 km since I started out from Edam. Almost halfway then, give or take a few thousand km's. I instantly decided to give myself the rest of the day off. The bike can wait.

I spent the afternoon visiting the Sami culture centre and museum: www.ajtte.com.
The Sami are unique in the sense that they have lived in northern Scandinavia since the end of last ice age, some 10.000 years ago. So their tradition has been continuous, even though it has been under pressure from christianization and nationalism.

Much of that continuity seems to be owed not only too the fact that the Sami homeland is considered to cold to permanently settle (or should I say colonise). It also comes down to the Sami being the main suppliers of the fur mantles that European elites have been wearing since the Middle Ages. Actually, the fur trade made them quite rich for a while, which accounts for the silver jewelry that the Sami are known for. But of course the Swedish king wanted a piece of the action as well, so he started to tax the Sami heavily. In the meanwhile, Christian missionaries came in and took away the shamanistic family drums that were considered (extremely) sacred by the Sami. Recently the Swedish government officially said sorry for all this. But after 400 years it all sounds a bit shallow. The Sami cultural centre was funded by the European Union, by the way.

Yes, that was quite a long story, I know. It's the historian in me. I promise tomorrow it's back to roadtrippin'. And you'll meet the 'technician' in me, because it seems my new windshield has finally arrived, somewhere 150 km's up north!

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I took off somewhat later today. The hotel in Jokkmokk was nice and I had no reason to hurry. It was mostly wilderness ahead, 200 km of it on the Inlandsvagen. Or so I thought.

The hotel staff sent me off with a happy 'hej hej hej'. Which was more than I could ask for, because usually the Swedes have been less than forthcoming in regards to casual conversation. Communication seems to be strictly prohibited, especially with - dare I say it - strangers. I have offered about two dozen goodmorning's and goodday's now that haven't been returned. I won't give up though. You've got to stay polite.

Back on the road, I made my way to Gallivare. The Inlandsvagen didn't really have anything special to show on that stretch, but still the Lapponian landscape is mesmerizing. Those endless treescapes and mountains. I felt some trepidation though as well, because it was getting noticeably colder. We were down to 6C. You can feel the winter coming in. The clouds looked particularly ominous, like those that you get just before snowfall. But the forecasts are perennially positive that snow won't be coming in until the second half of September. Let's hope so.

When I reached Gallivare, the clouds had taken on a more healthy colour. Which was just as well, as I had a job to do. Remember the cracked windscreen? Well, I had a replacement sent ahead to Gallivare, to pick up at the local post office. The post office turned out to be a tiny counter in a huge COOP supermarket. So I ended up replacing the windshield in the supermarkter carpark. That proved a bit of a challenge, fitting all the nuts and bolts in while cars were swinging in and out of the parking lots around me. One car actually came close to hitting me, while I was busy sorting the toolcase. I asked the driver if he had seen me, and he simply replied 'yes, but I did not hit you'. Well, good to know.

With the new windshield fitted, I rode on to Kiruna province. It's mining country here, mainly iron ore. Along the road (which ultimately leads to Narvik, the Norwegian port where the iron ore is shipped) there are several huge mining installations. They are very well guarded by walls and fences, so you don't get to see much. Other 'highlights' are power stations and dams. It didn't appeal to me much, but the Swedish and Finnish tourists seem to like them.

The Sami have a story about the first human. In the beginning there were the God-Father and the God-Mother. They were allegiant to the Sun, that had created the world. The God-Father decided one day that he wanted to create as well, and so he created the Soul. Then he brought the Soul to the Sun, and he drove the Soul through the sunbeams. And so the Soul was brought to shine. Then the God-Father gave the Soul to the God-Mother, and she blew life into the Soul. After that, the God-Mother fashioned a Body for the Soul to live in. And finally the first human was born. And the God-Father and the God-Mother put this child in nature, to truly learn to live.
I don't know why, but that was on my mind riding to Kiruna.

I arrived at my camping place late in the afternoon. Camp Alta near Kiruna is basically a winter camp, where you can can ride a dogsled through the snow and such. They'd opened up already for the season and I was able to stay in one of their Sami-styled huts, based on the design of the lavvu, the tent that the nomadic Sami tribes use. It turned out to be the best accomodation I've had, nice, warm and very comfortable. They have a piece of wool cloth hanging from the door, keeping the cold out. Works a charm.

Camp Alta is situated next to a beautiful lake, and I made the most of sitting there and just enjoying the view. The stars are huge here. No northern lights yet though. But I hope to catch them in the next few days, when I'm heading up to Narvik and Tromso.

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After a very comfortable night in my very comfortable Sami-style hut, I loaded up the bike to make my way to Kiruna and the Scandic Mountains. The weather was a bit rough and the temperature down to a measly 4C, but the forecast promised better times up the road.

I first rode up to Kiruna, or should I say the Kirunas. Because there are actually two towns. The old Kiruna used to be a small countryside village, up until iron ore was discovered in the mountain next to it. Lots of iron ore. That drew in the state mining company, LKAB, which began to, well, basically decimate the mountain, and a few others around it as well. After extensive tunneling under Kiruna town, the very ground on which the old town sat became unstable. So the town's people and LKAB jointly decided that the town should be moved. That process is wel on its way now, with the old town boarded up and new big apartment blocks being built about 5 kilometers further on. LKAB pays for it all and also put up a small remembrance park on a ridge to commemorate the old town centre. It overlooks the mining operation, which is much larger than Kiruna itself.
I rode around town to take a few pics. I had a funny feeling I was being watched. Can't be sure, of course.

On to the mountains. The road follows the train track which is being used to transport the iron ore to the Norwegian port of Narvik. It was a prime target for the Germans in the second world war, because they needed to secure both the iron ore and the railway for their war effort. There were few major battles here, but nothing remains of that. Instead, the road to the mountain town of Abisko brings nothing but loveliness. The Scandic mountains are quite old and not that tall, though the tallest are covered in snow year-round. In between them are wide valleys, with many lakes in all shades of blue. It made for a wonderful ride, with fantastic views around every corner. The weather had cleared up as well and life couldn't be better.
I made some home movies along the way, check them out at:
https://youtu.be/IeEcghpXtDY

I reached Abisko by lunchtime. The town had nothing to offer except petrol, so I decided to have my lunch al fresco near the closest lake. Sounds idyllic, right? Well, the Scandic mountains are beautiful but wild. So when I followed a small path to the lakeshore and arrived at my intended destination, it didn't exactly turn out to be the paradise I had envisioned. All around, spread out over a large area, were bones. Big, burly bones in all varieties. Which had been recently chewed upon. Clearly this was something else's favorite lunch spot as well. And I didn't particularly want to meet it. So I hastily made my way back to the bike and rode off. After all, this is bear country. No worries, I would eat my lunch elsewhere, where I was less likely to become lunch myself.

After I finally had lunch (no bears present), I went on my way to the Swedish-Norwegian border. The road continued to flow through this wonderful landscape, as I passed Kebnakhaize, the tallest mountain in Sweden. As I rode into Norway, the landscape slightly changed. Rocky outcrops and huge stones mainly, less wide open spaces. And lots of cottages. The Norwegians clearly like to go up and stay here.

I did as well. My hostel was right here up on the mountain, overlooking the valley to Narvik. When I arrived I cooked a simple meal, which I shared with the guy from Switzerland who had also just arrived. He told me he was on his way to the coast. He didn't much care for mountains, but he was very much looking forward to seeing the ocean. Well, of course.

Tomorrow I'll be riding along the Atlantic myself, making my way to Tromso. Getting more northern every day ....

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When I took off from my mountain hostel, I was instantly treated to a fabulous view over the Narvik Fjord, a stunning valley where the Scandic mountains meet the Atlantic Ocean. Once down to sealevel, I started to follow the E6 road northwards and the magnificent views just kept coming. The E6, which leads all the way to Kirkenes and the Russian border, is famed for its beautiful surroundings and rightly so. For a biker, it's heaven.

A slightly cold heaven though. The temperatures vary between 5 and 11 C, depending how much the sun can pierce through the seemingly eternal clouddeck. When you're lucky you get a few minutes of direct sunshine and a sudden lift of the spirits. If not, you're stuck with grey clouds, and sometimes rain and mist. In any case, a wild and wonderful landscape of mountains and fjords is always guaranteed, and the ocean nicely colours up the scene.

So at the town of Bardufoss (not much to look at) I decided to try my luck and head westways to Senja island. Senja, like the more famous Lofoten islands to the south, is relatively undeveloped and has some decent wilderness left, in addition to stunning scenery. It made for a long day's ride (10 hours in the saddle) but it surely didn't disappoint. The route to the island boasted the best motorcycling road I've ever seen, magnificent curve after curve with uncomparable views of the mountains, fjords and sea. And Senja itself had that beautiful rugged wildness. A true highlight of this trip.

It's a shame that this highlight was followed by a definite lowpoint. After a tough long ride, I ended up in the middle of nowhere 40 km's from Tromso and the 'hotel' I'd booked turned out to be a delapidated builders shack next to an abandoned stone quarry. To be fair, it was inexpensive. But some places are just not meant to be used as a hotel, and this certainly was such a place. I won't be going into details, let's just simply call it was it was: a rip-off.

Early next morning I rode off to Tromso for a decent coffee and breakfast. Tromso is the biggest town in the Arctic circle, with a busy harbour, the worlds northernmost university and a nice lively center. All in all a good place to stay, so I decided to stick around for a few days and got myself a small apartment. I've travelled over 4000 km's now, so time for a rest.

I visited the Polar Museum, which hosts exhibitions about polar expeditions and discoveries. Because it's situated at the Ice Sea, Tromso has been the starting point of many such journeys. Roald Amundsen, first human to reach the magnetic North Pole and the South Pole and one of the great polar explorers, had his port of call here. So did Fridtjof Nansen, another polar pioneer. I'm actually staying next to the dock where they used to start their expeditions.

The Polar Museum also hosts an exhibition about the Dutch seafarers, who first started exploring Spitsbergen (Svalbard) and the North Passage over Russia in the 17th century. They have several items here from the 'Behouden Huis', the makeshift camp on Nova Zembla where Dutch explorer Willem Barentsz and his crew survived the polar winter. They actually show the pair of dice with which the crew kept themselves busy during those long winter nights. They also show a mummy of a Dutch whale hunter from Svalbard. He probably died of scurvy (scheurbuik) due to lack of vitamin C. I admit it was a bit of shock to see him displayed there, but the Norwegians are not the sentimental type. In the next room they have a display which shows you exactly how they used to kill baby seals by hand.

My passtime for the next day was somewhat more sedate. I took a tour on the Ice Sea (no, no ice yet) on the ship Capella. We were out on the coastline and did some wildlife spotting and fishing. Of course I didn't catch anything. But one of the Chinese tourists did, after which the boatman directly started gutting the fish. This was at the behest of a Chinese guy who liked to see the entrails. Quite a bloody affair, which drove some of the other passengers back to their cabins. Luckily, this all happened AFTER I had my fish soup. Which was wonderful, by the way (the soup that is). Very fresh.
We also tried to go after some whales, but in a way I'm glad we didn't find any...

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When I looked out of my window this morning, it was raining. Heavily. Not great news, because I had a long day's ride ahead. 420 km to Alta, which would provide a springboard for a jump to Nordkapp on wednesday.

The forecast was bad, so I put on every single shirt, jumper and piece of rain gear I had with me. I was going to do this. Surely I had fully prepared.

So I took off. But the situation on the road turned out to be tricky. The rain made for muddy, slippery roads, especially in the mountains. The temperature had dropped near freezing point. I had to keep focused on making progress, while being pounded by icy rain and wind. The road seemed to deserted, except for a few trucks hastily making their way to the south.

The north coast of Norway is notorious for its unpredictable weather. It killed Roald Amundsen, the great polar explorer. In 1928 he was called up for a rescue mission, to save an Italian explorer who had run into problems while trying to cross the North Pole by airship. Amundsen and his crew took off from Tromso in an airplane, only to run into a storm system above the Barentsz Sea themselves. They were never heard of again. It seems their airplane got damaged by high winds, managed to land on the water but eventually sank to the bottom, taking its crew with it.

Let's say I was somewhat relieved that, for me, the weather was more merciful than the forecast had predicted. After a few hours of being catapulted through the murky haze, the winds let off and the rain turned into drizzle. By the time I passed the Lyngenfjord, there was enough visibility to make out the glaciers on the mountains at the other side (spectacular). Final salvation came in the form of a few hot cups of coffee at the Pa Taket Kafe in Storslett.

The second half of the ride went along without incident. By far the most interesting thing about it was the gradual change in scenery, from mountain vistas into a tundra landscape. I'd entered the Finnmark plateau, the most northern part of Scandinavia.

The trees have grown quite small now. I wonder if they will completely disappear when I ride on to Nordkapp pensinsula tomorrow. Well, at least the weather forecast is good.

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I was up early today. Not only because I had a long ride to the North Cape (Nordkapp), but also because I wanted to make a special visit before I left Alta. Among historians and archaeologists, Alta is well known for its prehistoric sites.

When the last Ice Age ended 10.000 years ago, Scandinavia was uninhabited because it had been covered by a kilometers thick ice sheet. As the ice receded, seafarers from the south began to explore the Norwegian coast. It seems they found the Alta shoreline especially attractive, even though they had to travel very far up north to find it. They settled there, started hunting reindeer and began to carve the rocks on the coastline with intricate figures. These figures first reflected their surroundings (images of reindeer, bears, wolves and people hunting them), but soon they also started to carve abstract figures. Nobody knows exactly what these mean. Maybe they had spiritual significance. What we do know, is that other people, who had followed the landbridge over Finland, began to visit Alta as well, and started to cooperate with the seafarers. These probably were the ancestors of the Sami. Alta became a place of gathering, trade and celebration. This went on for 5000 years (!).
The rock carvings they left behind are most definitely worth a visit. Took a look at the pictures below. From a historical perspective, you can actually see them developing from cave art to something not too dissimilar from early Egyptian hieroglyphs (though no relation). Can't think of any other prehistoric site in Europe with such a timescale, except perhaps Stonehenge.

Anyway, after a few hours at Alta I had to turn my attention to the goal of the day, which was to reach Nordkapp. I rode off and almost as soon I'd left Alta behind me, I was in deep tundra. The trees now definitely started disappearing and within half an hour I rode into a wide open wasteland of red and blue-green. First I passed the town of Skaidi and then I reached the eastern coastline of the peninsula, which I kept following to the north. This coastline has a strange atmosphere. The black layered rock seems to be very old and worn down, and pieces have broken off as if half the peninsula has fallen into the sea (which probably has been the case over time, but it looks as if it happened yesterday). It truly feels like the end of the continent.

Then Nordkapp itself. It's basically a barren rock in the wind. Which makes it tough to navigate, especially higher up. Because of it being the northernmost point in Europe that you can reach by road, it attracts thousands of visitors. But the summer crowds have gone, and when I finally arrived there I only encountered a few elderly German ladies, who were nice enough to take my picture at the Earth monument next to the cliff. The view over the Ice Sea is beautiful (no, still no ice but who cares, with all the stunning blue and white hues on the horizon). I could tell you about the return trip that I had to make to the petrol station, or my refusal to pay 31 euros to park my bike. But I won't, because it doesn't really matter. I made it! 4500 kilometers to reach the point where I can only go south again. Hurray!

So here I'm sitting here in cabin 7 of Basecamp North Cape, trying to keep warm as the cape winds blast down my door. I don't care. I feel proud.

PS. Bikers used to have their picture taken with their bike at the Nordkapp monument. But the local authorities do not allow your bike up there anymore. That didn't sit well with me, I worked hard to get here, dammit! So this morning I got up at 5am, rode passed the closed gate and got myself that picture. A German biker came riding up there as well and we congratulated each other. Freedom!

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After my little stunt at the monument (read yesterday's report), I drank my victory coffee, had my victory breadrolls and rode off on my victory bike. Within a few hundred meters though, I was brought back with my feet firmly upon this earth. The entire Nordkapp was shrouded in mist. Moreover, the high road was wet as a whistle and extremely slippery. The back wheel of the bike started started sliding left and right, as I tried to make my way down. At one point, on a steep descent, the bike nearly fell over. Thank God the traction control self-corrected. Needless to say, I proceeded further down with extreme caution and was very happy to leave Nordkapp behind me.

A little more about the motorcycle I'm riding. It's a somewhat older BMW R1200 GS. Of course it's one of BMW's most popular models, but that's not why I bought it. I prefer the aircooled version from before 2013; less weight and less hassle, but still with a decent ABS and ESA system. I fitted it with Anakee Adventure tires and some extra protection for the engine, fumbled around with the gear ratio and put some extra lights on (quite essential in these parts). Took a FuelFriend with me for some extra petrol. I kept the standard Vario cases, they are more sturdy than given credit for. Up till now, I'm pretty happy with it all.

OK, enough with the bike commercial. How was I faring after Nordkapp? Pretty well actually. The weather soon improved. The road to Oldenfjord and Lakselv follows the coastline and gradually the sun came out over the Porfangerfjord, to stunning effect. I saw a whale playing in the sunshine, jumping over the waves again and again. The whale was black and quite big, about 10 metres. Could have been a blue whale, or a 'potvis', as we call them in Dutch. Wonderful sight.
I didn't get to film the whale, but I made a short video of the bay, take a look here: https://youtu.be/nMXOem-6jJY

After a few coffee and petrol breaks I left the peninsula behind me and rode into the Finnmarksvidda, 'the Finnmark emptiness'. Well, it's empty of people, but certainly not of trees! Millions of them as far as the eye can see. The Ruska, the Lapponian autumn, is in full swing now. So the birch forests shine with red, yellow and brown's. It's as beautiful as the arctic sea's different kinds of blue.

Close to Karasjok, I decided to take the bike off the road one last time to take a picture of the tree-sea. But as I took a turn, I hit a spot of soft sand. No chance to steer clear off it anymore. The bike slipped and fell over, and I was launched into the green. Luckily I escaped without any harm, thanks to my protective suit and helmet. The bike seemed ok as well. But how to get it up again? It weighs about 320 kg's. I stopped some passing cars, and the people were very helpful. But the bike was in an awkward position, so it took 4 people, me included, to get it up again. I thanked them from the bottom of my heart. In the end, the bike started without any problem and I was able to ride off as if nothing happened.

When I got to my cabin in Karasjok, I was glad to have a rest and finish the day. But the day had one last surprise in store for me. When I came out of the kitchen with my freshly cooked meal, I was greeted by waves of green in the sky. Northern lights! I yelled out like a four-year old in the toy shop. I enjoyed the spectacle for as long as possible.

The Sami in Karasjok seemed to do as well. Karasjok is the Sami capital and most of the people here are of Sami descent. When the northern lights started to show, they started huge bonfires in the town centre and I could hear the drums beating. It looked and sounded great, but I was too exhausted from this long day to join them. It was magical though, and when the northern lights returned later that evening, I couldn't resist to have one last look.

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In 320 BC Pythias the Elder, Greek geographer and historian, wrote about a land in the far north, beyond the reaches of civilization. He had heard from travellers that the people there were fishermen and hunters of deer, and that they were capable of withstanding extreme cold and darkness, as the sun did not shine there for 6 months in each year. He was not sure what it was called but named it the furthest away land in the sea. Or as the Romans would translate it, Ultima Thule.

Since Roman times there has been speculation which land Pythias meant to describe. Some said Shetland, others Iceland. In the Middle Ages Ultima Thule was generally believed to be the north of Scandinavia, specifically the Varanger peninsula to the far east. Priests returning from missionary work there said it was an unholy place, a gateway to hell. In the 17th century the authorities executed 91 men and women on Varanger, claiming they were servants of the devil and witches. A fortress was built in Vardo, on the eastern edge of Varanger, not only as a defence against Russian incursions, but also to keep the peace locally.

So, as I set off from Karasjok to make my way to Varanger, I wasn't really sure what to expect. Having been to Nordkapp, which is itself a pretty inhospitable place, was I to be treated to an even more ungodly wasteland?

Well, here I am, in my cosy and warm apartment in Vadso town, listening to smooth jazz from my digital media station. It's quite comfortable here. Which is just as well, as it's been a busy three days. Ultima Thule may not have the best climate, but there's a lot to see and do. That's why I decided to stick around for a few days. A man has got to relax between all those holiday excursions.

Riding up from Karasjok, it first didn't all seem that promising. I travelled through dense forest to the east, along the Tana river. Beautiful autumn colours, but very isolated. And there was danger of hitting stray wildlife. Cor, a Dutchman I met in Karasjok, who has been living in Norway for 20 years, told me this is the time the reindeer come down from the mountains on the coast to return for the winter grazing inland. They wander over the roads, because the tar is warmer, and this causes many accidents. Indeed, I saw a lot of reindeer on the way. As I'd seen them on Noordkaap as well, I knew you had to pass slowly and carefully. Thankfully, that worked out nicely.

When I finally reached Varanger, I was pleasantly surprised. It's a quiet place, where the Barentsz Sea gently nips the coast and sheep and reindeer calmly wander around. Yes, it's somewhat cold and there are few trees, but it does not have the high winds and barren rockfaces of Nordkapp, at least not until the most outward cliffs at Vardo. Not many people live in Varanger, so I suspect its probably difficult to make a decent income here. Nonetheless, Varanger has a quality that I would describe as, for lack of a better word, peaceful.

After a good night's rest, I thought to try my luck and head out to the most eastern frontier post at the border with Russia. I headed to Grense Jakobselv, a small hamlet at the Barentsz Sea, which acts as a reminder to Russia that this is where the buck stops. To emphasize that, the Norwegians have put up a little chapel and a big NATO base. After a coffee stopover at Kirkenes (what an ugly town, but thank God for Cafe Visit), I followed the road to Murmansk, up to the point where you are persuaded not to enter Russia, but to go left into the bushbush. Then I had another 40 km's to ride, over one of the worst roads in recent memory. Those military vehicles sure know how to mess up a road surface. The GS handled it nicely though, as it did the last 10 km's of offroading, when the road literally turned into mud. Oh joy.

I ended up looking over the sea with a nice warm cup of coffee in my hands from an admiring German camper (he had also ridden motorcycles, so he knew, he said). After I had thanked him, I proceeded to do what I had promised myself a year ago when I thougt up this trip: I went down to the waterfront and washed my boots in the Barentsz Sea. A Norwegian soldier came up to me and said: What do you think, is the water warm enough? I said: It's not too bad. Him: I hope so, because they told us to get in there this afternoon. Me: Well, I wouldn't stay in too long. Him: I'll be sure to tell them that. And we had a good laugh.

The next day I went to visit the town of Vardo. I took just about an hour to get there, so I had a very relaxed ride along the Varanger coastline. It's mainly tundra and small (really small) villages, and it was raining, but still I had a good time. It was such a moment when you realize you have really gotten some travelling done, as you cast your eye over a land that's definitely nothing like home.

Vardo itself is a place which few people would prefer to hang around at for long. Quite a few people have to though, because there is a substantial 'radar installation' here, otherwise known as a spy station, pertinently pointed towards Russia. The other main reason to visit Vardo is the earlier mentioned island fortress. That may sound imposing, but it's actually quite a modest affair, with a small barracks and a munition warehouse that looks like a chapel. Hmm, wasn't there a 'chapel' at the Jakobselv borderpost as well? Funny lot, those Norwegian soldiers.

Well, as I sit here by the fire smoking a pipe (figuratively speaking), I must conclude: Ultima Thule has gotten a bad rep. Maybe Pythias had a hearing problem. Or maybe it's those pesky Russians.
I for one wouldn't mind staying a few days more. But I have a ferry to catch in Helsinki on Friday. So it's back on the road tomorrow.

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