I followed the turquoise-coloured river Otta southeast. During the day I rode on hilly small roads on the quiet side of the river, and at night I sometimes switched to pedaling on the speedier E6 when there was no traffic. There was about a week of Norway left before I'd the border into Sweden.

Most of the way was farmland and habitation, and the camera rarely came out of the bag. At least at night the world can look more interesting. I saw auroras in the horizon again. Although the light pollution ruined almost all photo attempts, it was nice to cycle under the green lights in the Norwegian farmlands. Later one of my campsites had a great view of the lights of Lillehammer:

You can see the 1994 Winter Olympics ski jump tower to the left.
Where there was no light pollution, they were blocked by trees.

Between Hamar and Elverum I was camping in a forest behind a rest stop. I had arrived very late in the cover of darkness, as was often the case. Highway 3 had been pleasant to cycle at night, but the afternoon showed a very different side to it. The traffic was absolutely crazy. I can’t remember ever cycling with so many cars. It was Friday at 3pm, so the rush was caused by everyone from Oslo and other cities heading towards the country for the weekend.

The road was narrow and both lanes were full, so there weren’t safe places to pass me. I had to cycle in short bursts. First a few hundred meters of frantic pedalling, then quickly getting off the road when my mirror showed a dangerous amount of cars behind. When I eventually made it to the beginning of a bicycle lane, it was on the other side of the road. It took me 15 minutes of waiting for enough of a gap to cross the damn road! If this is a taste of what’s to come in Germany and the rest of Europe, I really need to start planning my routes more carefully.

River Otta really was this turquoise.

One morning began with a surprise when two teenage girls on horses rode past my campsite. That doesn’t happen often. And before they’d even disappeared from view, my mind started to wander. What would it be like to do a trip on a horse, like in the old days? Maybe one day I should take a break from cycling and ride a horse around Kazakhstan. Or Mongolia.

For some reason thoughts like these always arise automatically. Even though I know nothing about Kazakhstan or Mongolia. Or horses for that matter. I wonder if there’s some gene that is responsible for this kind of adventure mentality that tries to take everything towards the extremes? I can barely heard the word 'boat' without immediately thinking about sailing around the world.

There must be some kind of source for this mindset. Whatever gene or gut bacteria causes such ideas, I have it.

I forget where this was, but it's the opening frame of a sunset time-lapse.
 

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