Lofoten: The Games Begin
A bad decision. It turned out this was one of the worst days to decide to up the distance. 13m/s (30mph) headwinds, 30kg of kit, and cycling in 3 season hiking boots doesn’t make a cycling success story. After struggling along for about an hour, I hit Leknes, the next major town en-route. This hour had left me feeling burnt-out, dejected and pretty overwhelmed by the challenge ahead. I had totally underestimated just how much effort this trip would take and I started questioning whether I’d actually make it at all. I left my electronics to charge in a supermarket, then spent a couple of hours wandering around town, having a long think and pep-talk with myself.
Long distance adventures and endurance events were something that, pre-pandemic, I was fairly used to and had become somewhat normal. But in the 18 months since I’d last attempted something like this, I’d landed myself a comfy office job and apartment, rather than the previous state of unemployment and van-living. It seemed somewhere along the way I had lost a lot of the headspace that made these adventures possible. I tried bribing myself with some overpriced, calorific food and delayed my departure for as long as possible. But eventually I ran out of excuses and got back in the saddle: I opted to try hit Svolvær – another 70km – that same night.
What followed was a lot of beautiful scenery, a lot of pedaling and trying to keep an open mind: slowly the kms were ticking down. Lofoten has incredible scenery, and it’s easy to get lost in your head as you pedal in and out of vast fjords, around sheer cliff faces and stunning beaches. I was slowly rediscovering the mindset that carried me through this type of adventure: break it down into small chunks, just keep moving, and don’t think about the bigger challenge ahead. “There is only one way to eat an elephant: a bite at a time”
Eventually I hit Svolvær and the feeling was one of immense relief. I had finally put a sizeable chunk of distance behind me and finally felt that the cycle was underway – the odds were falling back into my favour. Meeting up with a couple of friends who were also on holiday in the area, we grabbed some food by the beach. I pondered trying to do one last push for the night. After some food by the beach and a quick goodbye, I opted for a final leg of cycling: I knew of a cyclist shelter which would take me around 2hrs to reach. Setting off at 11:30pm would see me there before 2am and avoid another soggy night in my bivvy. The wind had eased, the sun was still up, and it was all the motivation I needed. Time to go.
And this was where the problems really started. Beginning with a mild twinge in my knee, and slowly growing as I kept pedalling. By the time the pain became worryingly bad, I had only about 10km left to go, but bending my leg gave sharp pains shooting up my thigh. I felt that swapping out to trainers instead of clunky boots would help, but tiredness was setting in and I just wanted this section to be over, without any more faff of hunting in my bags. By the time I found the bike shelter, it was around 2am, and I was well and truly done for the day. A big 130km day finished, which felt great. Knee felt terrible. A mixed success. I opted to have a relaxed start the following day, then see how things were looking.
Waking up in the bike shelter I knew straight away my knee was bad, it hurt to walk, never mind cycle. After scaring off a shy Norwegian who was also staying in the hut with the offer of coffee, I debated staying an extra day just to let things heal a little. In the end I basked in the last of the sun as the rain clouds rolled in. I got things packed, and opted to try to cycle slowly to the ferry, and take things one little piece at a time. Worst case I’d have to hobble back to the hut to stay for a few days, and abandon the trip completely. But one step at a time: cycle, ferry, and see.
Things were bad, even with trainers, but I found a way of getting in a flow of pedaling gently for 10km, then stopping for a few minutes to stretch my leg. Repeating this a few times got me to Fiskebøl, and the end of the Lofoten archipelago. I now had to decide: to stay and try to recover, or to get across the water and keep doing little chunks and hope things didn’t get any worse. Plan B would get harder once I was across the water, with fewer transport links as I pedalled further into the Norwegian wilderness. While debating options, the ferry arrived and I limped aboard. For better or worse, backing down in the middle of a challenge is something I’ve always found difficult.
Up next – Part 2: Vesterålen
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