Expedition Reaches the Polar Ocean

I cross the border into Norway. There is a sign that says you are crossing the national border. It does not tell you that you are in Norway. I guess they figure if you've come this far you should have a pretty good idea which country you are in. The road is littered with squashed remains of dead rodents. I'm not totally sure but I think they are lemmings.

The vegetation has given way to scrubby birch, moss and heather. The northernmost part of Finland was hilly, almost mountainous. While the Finns will not admit to mountains in their country, the Norwegians can boast of some pretty high peaks. My navigation task is to avoid these, though I must cross a headland pass to reach the Arctic Ocean.

At the village of Skipaguerra, I turn west on the E6. The Tana River fades away as I slowly grind my way up the mountain range which separates me from my goal. The road winds relentlessly up into the moors. At last the road levels out at a lake. I can see no more higher hills. And then I descend, rounding a bend at mid-morning, I catch a glimpse of water. Is it another lake? A river? Or, is it the sea? I can't tell. I coast another mile and pull off the road. I find my binoculars, then study the map. This is no doubt left. The water I see is the westernmost arm of Varangerfjord, which connects to the Barents Sea. I have made it! I get back on the bike and coast for miles down to the village of Varangerbotn. This is the time for a celebration. Unfortunately, one of the many disadvantages of traveling solo is that you do not have a companion to celebrate with. At the very moment when I want to proclaim to the world my accomplishment, I find only cawing seagulls and a gas station. In the gas station, I buy a muffin and a cup of coffee. This is my reward for having survived almost two thousand miles of hills, pounding rain, muddy roads and sometimes unbearable solitude. Then I remember I have no money. Norway is not a member of the European Monetary Union. They still use the Kroner of which I have not a single one.

"Uhhh," I stammer to the clerk. "Do you accept credit cards."

They do. I'm grateful. I tell the young woman clerking that I just biked from Helsinki, via the Aland Islands, on a folding bike. She seems singularly unimpressed with this accomplishment. In fact, it sounds almost too unbelievable. I might as well have told her I had come from Mars and that my spaceship was parked in back.

The road to Vadso, the E75, hugs Varangerfjord. Still not satisfied that my achievement has been properly registered. I stop the bike at a pull-off, clamber down the rock embankment and dip my hands into the Barents Sea. Further on down at another pull-off I climb back down to the water, hoping to find a place to eat lunch. I find a nice flat rock and begin nibbling away at my usual fare - a hard-boiled egg, cheese and salami. I soon take notice of the large bones nearby. I see ribs, backbones and the feet of some large creature. It's not a whale or a sea creature, but appears to be the remains of a cow. The bones have been picked clean by the circling birds. I am suddenly unnerved by my surroundings. I eat in a hurry and leave.

I pass small fishing villages. In the dim light of the gray afternoon, they appear bleak and as weary as I. Large wooden frames, fish drying racks that resemble the trusses of a ship being built, stand by the sea. But there are no fish. The sky is gray, but thankfully there is no head wind. Water tumbles out of the headlands in frothing cascades down to the sea. There are no trees, nothing higher than grass and moss grows here.

By late afternoon evening I arrive in Vadso, the administrative center of Finmark, Norway. I find an ATM and load up on Kroners. Then, I pull out my Lonely Planet book, and turn to a dog-eared page where I circled the only affordable noncamping option, a furnished apartment. The woman on the other end of the line doesn't speak English, but I manage to convey the message that I want to rent the apartment. Thirty minutes later she is handing me the key, and I settle in for the night just before a massive storm pummels the city. This is a bleak place. Along the road, by the sea, old wooden fishing boats rot on the rocks.