To Hell and a bit

Questions. So many questions. Parent, sibling, pal, child, workmate: no matter what the role there seems to be so many questions that you just want a holiday from the queries. But you can’t. Especially if you spend many hours a day for 5 days in a row inside a helmet! So here’s an easy one. Does your God help you? Or maybe he just deals with the big issues and leaves you to your own devices on a day to day basis! Or maybe you have not found one yet, or mislaid Him.
Ponder that while you Blog. In the meantime it turns out mine has a sense of humour.

Unfortunately the weather was following the forecast and it was raining as we had breakfast. No amount of positive vibes was making any difference. It was important that today was dry. Of all days. Today was the day we were travelling the Atlantic Road. We had diverted a considerable way from our originally planned route in order to take in this stretch of tarmac. In a last ditch effort of a desperate man B even suggested that I have a word with ‘your Man’ for assistance. And so I did. On the basis that we just wanted to experience the Atlantic Road in dry conditions.

Made no immediate difference. For the first time since the journey began we put on wet gear. Gingerly we made our way through the wet cobbled streets of Ǻlesund, through the early morning traffic and then onto the open road, peering through visors obscured with dorps that would not clear at slow speed. Motor biking in the wet is not much fun. Is not any fun. And this was a pity too because once again the scenery was changing and we were passing through some wooded countryside. And then the rain turned to drizzle. And the drizzle gave way to dark clouds. And steam began to rise from the road. And we took off the wet gear. And before we got to the first ferry of the day it was dry. YES! Believe! Or put it down to chance or whatever you do, but we were back in business. Even the Redsox were doing well, but more of them later.

We reached Molde and turned off the E39 onto Route 64, and the eight kilometre stretch of the Atlantic road which, because of its sharp turns and wild nature ranks first on The Guardian's list of the world's best road trips. According the Guardian "The Atlantic Road zigzags across 12 low bridges that jut out over the sea, linking the islands between Molde (famous for its annual Jazz festival in July) and Kristiansund in the western fjords. The Hustadvika is an infamous stretch of ocean and when in storm it's fantastically dramatic. In calmer weather you might spot whales and seals." There are eight


bridges on the Atlantic Road, and there is no doubt that the our stretch in Averøy is well worth a detour. We wanted to see it in good conditions but many tourists, presumably in cars, choose to visit it during the autumn to experience the raging storms that pound the road. The construction workers had to contend with 12 hurricanes during construction before the road opened in 1989. We enjoyed it!




Our stop was to be Kristiansund but we got there in the early afternoon and decided to press on.

Another ferry (third that day? Novelty has worn off.) brought us to Halsa and then agricultural country. Not too much traffic ... only a tractor in front of me as I lead B and another car along the road. Tractor indicated right. And slowed. Fair enough he was turning, road was clear, I accelerated, and overtook him. He turned to look at me as I came alongside. I wondered why the strangled look. Definitely no cars coming.

Just that duck.

Oh no.

Duck .......... and a series of tiny ducklings strung out along the road.

Crossing the road.

Quick recalculation.

Dawning realisation.

Tractor was not turning in.

He was slowing to allow the ducks to cross.

Boy, is this bike manoeuvrable or what? Managed to get past the tractor and in behind the last of the ducklings. No casualties. B followed. He's sure there were no casualties.

The car?

Not so manoeuvrable.

Less ducklings.

Now of course we were well clear of the Atlantic Road. Even got to our intended destination for the day in the dry. We pressed on. HaHa. Only asked for it to be dry for the Atlantic Road. Turn the rain back on! We pulled into a very convenient roadside shelter to envelop ourselves in wet gear once more. And on it would stay. The rain lashed down.

For the next 130 kilometres it lashed down. We had our sights set on Trondheim. It is Norway’s third largest city and promised lots of interesting sights. We stuck at it and were very glad when finally it hove into sight. Perfect. The Thon hotel was easily accessible from the main road. Spot on. In I went to the first hotel we had not prebooked at least a day beforehand. Even took off the fluorescent wet gear so as to look semi respectable. Made no difference. No room. Ah, go on - just one, for one night. No sense of humour. You don’t understand, sir (now I knew there was trouble - too much respect there). No room in this hotel, or in our sister hotel or, for that matter, in any hotel in the greater Trondheim area. Big conference. Back out. Back into wet gear. The rain lashed down. We moved on.

The next bit of excitement was when we entered the next tunnel. No hassle anticipated. One advantage of wet weather was that I was not wearing sunglasses! But the system beat me. This time the tunnel was warm. Don’t know where the warm air was coming from but I knew where it was going. Or at least what it was doing. Visor and glasses misted up IMMEDIATELY. Totally! Zero visibility. Grabbed at the visor and yanked it up. Usually allows in air and clears the glasses. Not today. Forgot M’s exhortation that there be ‘No Panic’. Slowed right down but was nervous of the traffic behind. There was traffic behind, right? Just a guess. No idea how far away the wall is either. Slowly the mist lifted and I was in the clear. Don’t want that again!

Reached Stav and its Motell. No luck there either but we got directions to an airport 25 kilometres further on where there were two big hotels. Back out. Still in wet gear. The rain lashed down. We moved on.

HaHa. The airport was in Hell. I waited outside the Rica hotel while B tried his luck. B has a way of doing that. I waited in confident expectation. After a wee while I figured: he has not been sent back so there is hope. The rain lashed down. After a wee while more I figured: he should have been back so there is less hope. Oh ye of little faith. Even in Hell B can get results! The receptionist told him that all hotels for 100 kilometres around Trondheim were booked solid but because he was (the most charming man she had ever met/ devilishly handsome/ Irish/ a drowned rat/too old to be out late on a bike - take your pick) she would ring around local establishments to see if she could help. A good angel in Hell. True to her word she booked us into the Selbusjøen Hotell & Gestegård – similar to the ‘Hidden Ireland’ type, family run, old estate hotels. It was only 30 kilometres in a SE direction. Back out. Still in wet gear. The rain lashed down. We moved on.

The road from Hell was not at all bad. In fact it was an enjoyable run in wooded countryside to the hotel. And the reception was as friendly as we could have hoped for. They even put together a meal for us. Cauliflower soup, fish or chicken for main course then a traditional dessert of rice pudding with a raspberry sauce – Lovely.


Another 410 kilometres done and we were in heaven!


And as we finished our meal the rain stopped.

There endeth the lesson.

HaHa!