On the Atlantic Road I had found a place to camp on a small mound. Surrounded only by weeds and grass, there was no shelter from the sun, which woke me up at noon - earlier than I would’ve liked.
The plan was to stay in the area for two or three days, relaxing and taking pictures. After breakfast and general morning laziness, I went for a cup of tea in a nearby cafe. Or tried to. Inside two construction guys were tearing open a metal plated wall with a circular saw, with the purpose of installing a new fireplace. The noise was hellish, so I aborted the mission. Instead I found a picnic table elsewhere for lunch.
The weather forecast suspected nothing but grey clouds in my near future, so I changed my thoughts of spending another night there. Good photos would be unavailable in those conditions, so may as well keep cycling. I don’t know where all the time went, considering I hadn’t done anything all day, but it was late afternoon or early evening when I hit the road.
On the bike there was a nagging feeling of something being wrong. I felt low on energy. I mentally rounded up the usual suspects: too little food the previous day, not enough sleep the previous night, too much sunshine in the morning, or insufficient rest days lately? Perhaps any or all of them. I decided to go extra slowly and listen to any further messages from my body. After the first 20km it started raining, so I ducked into a store for an hour to recharge batteries and eat ice cream.
By the evening I felt better and found my stride, cycling south towards Molde. Except soon enough, when it was already dark, I somehow got sidetracked off the main road without noticing. Only after several kilometres came the realisation that I’d been headed in the wrong direction. The road I was on added another 30km compared to the direct path. But I’d already started, so I resigned to the detour. Frankly it didn’t really make sense to take a scenic route, because there were no views beyond whatever was within the radius of my headlamp. On the other hand, turning back always seems demoralising, senseless - almost inhuman.
I’ve never listened to anything on headphones while cycling. It always seemed better to actually experience my surroundings. But on this particular occasion I felt that a podcast in one ear was warranted. The rest of the night was spent pedalling with the help of Revisionist History, by Malcolm Gladwell. In case you’re not familiar, he’s an excellent storyteller who always finds a fascinating angle to almost any topic. Highly recommended.
In Molde I came across another surprise. What I had assumed to be a bridge towards Røvika actually turned out to be another tunnel where cyclists weren’t welcome. Oops. Sometimes I wish I spent a little time planning my route ahead, instead of just glancing at Google Maps haphazardly. The alternative was a 45km road all around Fannefjord. Having already cycled so many extra kilometres, I wasn’t eager for a second detour on the same day.
The bus was an option again, but it was the night or early morning, so they weren’t running yet. I was tired and not in the mood for.. anything, really. Most of all I didn’t want to stay in Molde, which was a much bigger city than I had anticipated to see in this area.
Camping and making decisions only after sleeping would’ve been the best choice, but finding a campsite that close to a city isn’t always easy. Especially if you’re planning on sleeping until 4pm and have to deal with daytime traffic. There was a camping ground nearby, but those typically want you out by noon. Paying for a piece of lawn is bad enough, but I draw the line at also setting my alarm to wake up early for it. That would be ridiculous.
I just wanted out of the city. So instead of waiting for the tunnel bus, I called a taxi. On the other side morning was beginning to arrive and I felt exhausted. Soon enough I found a small spruce forest to sleep in.
All in all, this was a rather forgettable day with zero photos taken - all the photos here are previously unused frames from elsewhere in the trip. Since the blog is updated every three days, I could easily just leave out the less interesting parts from these posts (ie. all of the above). But I just wanted to show that some days are not so special - even when living your dream.
4/10 stars - and even that's only thanks to ice cream and Malcolm Gladwell.