Racing across the Arctic

A dash across the Arctic Circle on a bicycle. This had been an ambition for a while. Do not ask how, why, where or when, but somehow, I got into my head that it would be a fun thing to do. Cross the European Arctic Circle, starting on the Norwegian / Russian border, dropping down into Finland and Sweden, and then curving back up to Tromsø and the Norwegian fjords.

No one was daft enough to do it with me so this would be a solo adventure with long days on the bike, big vistas and midnight sun to knit it all together. An epic trip but as it got closer and closer the “what if” started to creep in. Cue the inevitable 3AM sleepless night internet spiral:

The only bear I actually came across was Karhu the Finnish adventure bear

3AM brain: “Are there predators in Norway?”

Common sense: “No polar bears, but there are a handful brown bears…”

3AM brain: “Brown bears? You mean grizzlies?”

Common sense: “Well, technically, yes, but …”

3AM brain: “THERE ARE GRIZZLIES IN NORWAY.”

Common sense: “… only about 150 of them and they’re incredibly shy.”

3AM brain: “I’M GOING TO BE AFTERNOON TEA FOR A GRIZZLY.”

Common sense: “You’re not even going to see a grizzly. Go back to sleep.”

3AM brain: “Fuck going back to sleep. Time to panic. Better get googling every incident of a bear attack in the last decade.”

Common sense: “Try century, mate. No one’s been killed since 1906.”

3AM brain: “I don’t care. I’M NEXT.”

Thanks to Google for aiding my midnight overthinking.

When I eventually hit the ground in Norway, it was in Kirkenes, a small town on the Barents Sea about 15km from the Russian border. I had a couple of days to explore, put the bike together and get supplies – then it was time to roll.

Kirkenes is a fascinating place. What feels like it should be a tiny coastal outpost is a well-developed town that seems much larger than its 3 500 population would suggest. Much of the local industry revolves around shipping and ship maintenance including – until recent events – for Russian firms. When I visited, there had been no night since April; that would continue until mid-September. The flipside is that from end of November to the middle of January there is no daylight at all. It is hard to imagine how anything happens during those months.

The beach at the end of the world, and my first night's camping spot

After putting the bike together – and smoothing out a few brake issues with the help of some very friendly locals – I rolled out of Kirkenes and headed east, towards the border. The most easterly point of the journey (and 'official' start point) was Grense Jakobselv, a tiny headland on one side of the Jakobselva river that separates Norway from Russia that has a distinct ‘end of the world’ feel. There are three houses, a unexpectedly picturesque beach and a church: the King Oscar II Chapel. The first night’s camping on that border was a little surreal: being watched from the east by a Russian observation post at the same time as Prigozhin was marching on Moscow.

Yes, I bought a drone. Yes, it is awesome. Yes, I am basically still a big kid.

The following day, I packed up and headed south west, past Kirkenes and towards Finland. The further inwards you travel, the more the landscape changes, shifting from dramatic coastal cliffs and arctic tundra to massive expanses of pine forest. The next five days, through Finland and Sweden, crossed this never-ending pine forest. At first a long, straight road with nothing but trees either side is a novelty – and the lack of hills a blessing. Very quickly, however, that novelty wears off and is replaced by mind numbing monotony. It is only when you get above it that you get to fully appreciate the landscape.

Finland was easily the hardest leg of the trip: close to 600km over four days (plus a rest day in the middle) through the middle of nowhere. Add to that more insects than I have ever seen and you have all the ingredients for an emotional low point.

That low was more than matched by the emotional high of reaching Norway. Mountains emerge on the horizon, the roadside scenery explodes and the bugs start melting away. Within five kilometres of crossing the border, I was tucked in for a thirty kilometre descent down to the fjords that easily ranks as one of the best stretches of riding I have ever experienced. There cannot be more than a handful of places in the world where you can ride with the sea on one side and a snow covered ridgeline high above you on the other. Bangin’.

The final two days of riding in Norway were the best of all. The views, the sense of (almost) achievement and the prospect of a proper bed had me riding on clouds – even with a vicious headwind. Finally arriving in Tromsø was both an achievement and a shame.

Karhu met Holly, the world's coolest skipper, on his way to Jersey

I got there around a week early, just in time to catch a friend, Holly, before she set sail for Svalbard. (Yes, sailing to Svalbard. Yes, she is paid to do that. Yes, she has got the coolest job in the world. Yes, she is very modest about it. Yes, I am very, very jealous.)

Tromsø was where the wheels very nearly came off the whole thing (pun intended). Before I left Kirkenes, I had sent a bag full of normal clothes and other essentials ahead of me to Tromsø. The plan was to rendezvous with them at my hotel to: a) stop being a smelly b*****d; and b) fly home. Somehow, despite being on a bicycle, I had beaten the mighty Norwegian postal service in a race across Scandinavia that I did not even know I was participating in.

I had four days in Tromsø before my flight home. The first couple sans possessions were fine. Beers in the sun with Holly and a steady supply of cinnamon buns were a perfect way to while away the time. But eventually even I began to miss life’s little luxuries. Never before have I looked forward to a change of underpants so much.

Finally, the afternoon before I was due to depart, the parcel tracking sprang into life. All my worldly possessions had been spotted on a freight train about 150 miles southwest of Tromsø. By the following morning the bag was at a sorting office in Tromsø itself. After much begging, I was able to collect it just five hours before the flight home. That was more nerve-racking than any of the preceding adventures.

Two flights later and I was back in Heathrow and it was all a memory. And a couple of days after that back at Heathrow, en route to Jersey. The next few weeks are weddings and other summer shindigs before I get out to Chamonix for summer trails and UTMB watching. Already excited to be back in the mountains.