Trollstigen to Bud
Riding Norway's famous mountain route
Leaving the crowds in Geirangerfjord behind I decided to crack on with tackling this challenging road (“One of the 24 Most Dangerous Roads in the World”). I knew Ralph would be waiting in Andalsnes already. On the way to Eidsdalen where there was a fjord to cross I passed a long section where the mountainside is being bored out for a high level tunnel to ease the traffic burden. The Norwegian appetite for burrowing seems insatiable.
There was an ominously long queue of traffic waiting for the short ferry ride to Linge. The usual practice is for motorbikes to go to the head of the queue so the ferrymen can tuck us out of the way into a corner. I jauntily wafted past cars, campervans and the odd coach only to be met with a stern rebuke by a very grumpy man in grubby hi-viz.
“English - You must go to the back of the queue”.
“Won’t you let me through to the front like all the other bikers”.
“Go back”.
He was in charge and I was a mere supplicant, albeit a very pissed off one. The (non) alternative was a 200 mile ride. I discovered that of the three ferries that usually ply this crossing only one was operational - a rare example of Norwegian imperfection.
By this stage the queue was a good kilometre back. I went out of sight round the bend and re-inserted myself behind a coach and waited. Eventually the line of vehicles wound its way forward but with no sign of any system I wasn’t confident of getting on a ferry soon. I texted Ralph.
“I’m trying to seek my inner calm. The ferry left. I’m still in the line. there’s zero organisation. I’ve just talked to a Norwegian family who’ve been waiting 3 ½ hours”
“Zen needed”, came the reply.
I knew it was bad when the locals, obviously used to this, started getting out fishing rods and dangling them in the water by the quay. When Mr Grumpy wasn’t looking I moved the bike surreptitiously a little further forward in the holding pen. I’d already been there for two hours. I decided I was going to make a break for it when the next one arrived. Fortunately, another biker had the same idea and in tandem we shot up the ramp almost as soon as the last car exited. I was back on the road, although it was a fjord.
By now I’d given up any idea of stopping at the Trollstigen viewpoint. I’d seen the videos of the iconic road but riding it is a different proposition. It has 11 very tight hairpin bends and drops 800 metres down to the valley. If you’re a motorcycle rider you may appreciate that this poses some interesting questions that won’t occur to a driver. Should a car go too fast into a corner it may skid or crash through the wall and its occupants are likely to go down a precipitous drop to an almost certain death. Should it be driven too slowly then at worst the driver risks being honked at by an impatient follower. For a biker, however, the first scenario is the same, with rather less delay in the fatal consequences as we have less protection. In the second scenario, we equally run the modest risk of being abused from the rear, so to speak. In addition, however, we have two not four wheels. To circumnavigate safely a tight bend that is simultaneously ascending or descending (i.e. all of Trollstigen’s) the rider must balance brake, clutch and throttle such that the speed and lean angle are perfectly matched to the vector of the bend. Too slowly for us means dropping it mid-bend. This brings not only a surfeit of honking but also damage, likely injury and a great deal of embarrassment. We have, as bikers, therefore, a vested interest in getting it absolutely right.
From Linge it was a climb back up into the mist and snow before arriving at the point of no return. The road is narrow with only jagged rocks forming a roadside barrier. All the time you’re aware of the mountains looming above. I went through the snow gates and past the 10% incline sign and the road narrowed yet further.
“Out of the saddle to stand on the pegs, have a good look through the first turn, no traffic, take it wide, accelerate out straight on; at the end a huge waterfall spewing under the road. We’ll meet this one several times. The bends get progressively tighter and the exits narrower. Across a small bridge over the waterfall, a car waits on the other side, I overtake to give myself space. A left-hander then quickly a right-hander. Ears pop. I’m flowing with the road, balance and speed just right. It’s easier downhill, some say. The barrier is concrete now but at knee height, ideal for launching over and out. Some water on the road but no snow or ice. What a prospect that would be. The road only opened for the season a few weeks ago. And then, the Trollstigen, road of a thousand videos (plus the one I’ve just filmed), a legend of the biking world, a name to be ticked off, suddenly it’s done. Yes, there are still a few twisties to navigate but it’s flatter and wider and a bit of an anti-climax. I pull in to take a selfie by the enormous troll biker-girl monument at the cafe. There’s a squadron of BMW GS’s doing the same. I’ve out-trolled the Trollstigen. We all have.”
It was only a short distance to Andalsnes. Ralph had been there since noon, parked up by the Norse Visitor Centre. It was 4 ½ hours later when I rocked up, exhilarated, feeling slightly guilty that he’d not had the same thrill as I’d had. Over a coffee and lunch of a Japp Bar and some Salt Skumm liquorice sweets we swapped war stories.
“And then on the second hard right-hander I almost got my knee down..”
“The library is quite small”.
“I could have biffed the bloke when he told me to go back”.
“It’s £93 to go up the cable car, so I didn’t”.
We had a long way yet to go to our overnight in Bud and at least one more ferry to rely on. It was time to saddle up, switch on the comms and to sally forth.