You're mad! That had been my mates' first reaction to my plan, but it wasn't until I was caught in a blizzard just south of the Arctic Circle that I began to question my own sanity. I was riding down a hairpin mountain pass, partially blind due to an iced visor, in freezing conditions on a ten year old CB250N Superdream. As I became colder I began to curse Lena, who had promised me the rain was going to stop (it turned to snow) and wished I was back in the warmth of the Arctic Circle Restaurant with her satisfying my every need (culinary, of course). I survived the experience, thanks to a liquid change in weather that made me feel all the more thankful for the improved conditions. Like little else, this was a land of great contrasts.
Perhaps I should explain. I have never been one for normal holidays, lying on the beach and getting pissed. Instead I have tried to visit places people rarely go to and get pissed. About two years ago I was feeling bored at work when my thoughts wandered on to holidays. What I needed was an adventure and motorcycling to the Arctic Circle seemed to fit the bill nicely.
Next came the problem of a motorcycle. At the time I was riding a Yamaha SR125. Although this is a very tough learner machine it wasn't really up to a trip of this scale. Months passed and it seemed that all the good stuff had been sold, until one Thursday I found a Y reg Superdream with less than 14000 miles on the clock.
A test ride proved that the engine was basically sound even if it'd been rebuilt and the cycle parts sprayed in light blue. I parted with 350 notes and picked the bike up the next evening. Riding home convinced me that I needed a fairing for the trip as I figured Norway was going to be a lot colder than the UK. A full fairing was acquired for fifty quid from the local breaker and went on without too much effort.
Unfortunately, I'm quite tall and it was rapidly apparent that instead of funnelling the air over my head, the Rickman fairing was attempting to funnel it through it. To sort this out I used plastic padding and GRP resin......after much hassle I'd packed out the fairing so that it was much steeper. Problem solved. Or so I thought until I came to paint it. The original idea was a dayglow yellow and white fairing, but the paint wouldn't take hold and I ended up using Ford brilliant yellow instead. Anyway, it seemed to do the trick as cagers didn't miss seeing me and most Norwegian Volvo drivers stayed clear, thinking I was a police bike!
The journey started with a ride to Manchester to spend the night with my sister and then on to Newcastle for the ferry to Bergen. Leaving work I set off in the wrong direction and after several miles noticed that I had no lights or indicators. I peered into the wiring loom in the fairing, but there were no loose wires. Checking the fuse box I found that two were blown - I had two spares but they fell apart!
Retracing my steps, I bought some in town and then headed for Oxford and the motorway. Following the delay, the bike ran fine until I reached the M6. There it decided I didn't really need indicators and promptly blew the flasher unit. I only discovered this the next morning when I called the recovery service as the bike wouldn't start. An hour and a half later I was on my way again after a jump start, with three hours to do 180 miles to Newcastle. Not a very encouraging start to the holiday and one that filled me full of trepidation.
I made it, just. I was twenty minutes late and I don't think the peds of Tynemouth were too impressed by my riding antics down their High Street after I became lost. The ship arrived in Bergen in pouring rain and this continued for the rest of the day. My first night was spent at Voss (a ski resort), this proved a very sobering experience as beer was £4.20 a pint in the clubs and bars. My clear head helped me next morning when I rode over my first mountain pass, covered with snow drifts on either side of the road, and saw a large turquoise lake that glinted in the sunshine. Rather different to the UK scenery and most inspiring.
The sun continued to shine all the way to the Polar Circle, the bike performed faultlessly. The roads were in generally good condition, clear of ice and snow. Speed wasn't high on these kind of roads, the Superdream well within its limit. Most of the time the fairing helped keep me warm and when the cold got into my bones I had the inspiration of the arctic landscape to warm my spirits.
The only problem was twitchy low speed steering due to the weight in the panniers or perhaps the massive mass of the fairing over the front wheel. Also an indicator was broken when we fell off on a gravel turn, the plastic emphasizing the top heavy feel of the Superdream.
Oh, I nearly forgot I ran out of petrol at the Arctic Circle. This I think was one of my greatest achievements of the trip, as it was the only time in 3000 miles that it happened. Partly it was my fault as I thought I had sufficient petrol to clear the Circle and mostly it was the Haynes manual which said I had three gallons. When in reality I had only two gallons or 60 miles less range than expected. Fortunately, I'd travelled up from Trondheim with Pete, a Danish biker who rode a Tenere, so I was able to drain some petrol from his vast tank. Besides, it was a good excuse to stay longer in the restaurant to chat up the waitress.
Pete and I continued to a small town called Melby. Where we separated on a steep mountain track that nearly threw me off the bike. I took the coward's way out and continued on the tarmac E6 and he stayed on the mountain track. At least that's what I thought. In reality, Pete came back to find me. This I only discovered later, when an Austrian couple on a BMW K75 we had met at the campsite the previous night, took me the 50 miles back to Fauske where they said Peter had had an accident.
Frustrated and none the wiser, I bid farewell to the Austrians and went to check in at the youth hostel. I was greeted by a broad friendly smile and fluent English. It turned out that the warden was the fire chief and his mate was the police chief, who had driven Pete's bike to the fire station for safe keeping and arranged a taxi to take him to hospital, as he'd escaped serious injury.
I decided to stick around for a couple of days, getting medicine and food for us both and generally looking around before it was time to head south to catch the ferry home. But not before I saw the midnight sun over the Saultstraumen - a small chasm in which all the water held in the fjord (it's over 100 miles long and 50 miles wide) flows out to sea, causing a maelstrom. An incredible sight, which must rank as the highlight of the whole trip.
By then the engine had a definite rattle and the tappets sounded as if they were about to break through the rocker cover, but it still trundled on with a half pint of oil every 150 miles and regular greasing of the chain. It rained, snowed and hailed whilst the midnight sun shone; I felt unstoppable as I rode south to Trondheim.
In Trondheim I was met by 2000 female athletes competing in a fun-run. Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but I felt that so many blonde bombshells dressed in cycle shorts and T-shirts was too good an opportunity to miss. My journey was delayed by several days as I enjoyed doing my bit for international relations.
Exhausted, I left town for the fjords again. On my way I successfully negotiated the highest pass in Norway over the Jotunheimen Glacier and the longest road tunnel near Flaim (12km). Until disaster nearly struck at Sognal, when a lorry forced me off the road into a ditch. Fortunately, I was going slowly at the time, so after swerving to avoid him I entered the ditch at about 5mph, with nothing but my pride damaged.
Finally, I entered Bergen, was greeted by hordes of American and German tourists. Who insisted on trying to throw themselves under the bike as I negotiated the cobbled streets of the one-way system. Things did improve, though, after I found the hostel and started exploring the city on foot. The quiet back streets were extremely pretty and the funicular railway gave wonderful panoramic views of the city from Mount Foyen.
The next morning was my last in Norway and was a bit of a haze as I had been trying the local brew and the nightlife. As I reluctantly boarded the ferry it started to rain, a fitting end to a holiday that had begun in rain but had otherwise been wonderful if not the easiest ride in the world. Due to the shared hardships, though, it was dead easy to make friends with fellow bikers en route. Saddened, I watched Norway slip away as the ferry began its long trip back home to Blighty, but certain that this was only the beginning of the travel madness, after I had given the bike a service and sorted out the bloody top end rattle.
P.Trevelyan