This is the kind of morning I hate. Thick mist has settled on Inari. The lake, with its magical islands has all but disappeared in a canvass of white. The good thing is that I am rested after two days in Inari, and ready to ride. Today, I plan to ride about a 50 mile or so to a campground listed on the map along the Utsjoki River. This will place me about 50 miles southeast of Nuorgam, the northernmost settlement in Finland. I start out heading north on National Bike Route 4. The mist is like a wet sponge. I start to get wet so I stop and put on my rain pants. Over a rise, I come to a small lake. In the middle of the lake I see the figure of a man standing in a canoe, fishing. His outline is fuzzed. It seems as if he isn't real at all but the product of an impressionist painter. The dismalness makes it difficult for me to muster enthusiasm for this morning's ride. In the first hour-and-a-half I encounter rise after rise. My pace slows to a crawl, barely 6 miles per hour.
At mid-morning I come to the junction with highway 971, which juts off to the east to Kirkenes, Norway. My original plan was to go to Kirkenes via this route. I had calculated I could reach the city in about two to three days. But now I have become fixated on cycling to the northernmost point, Nourgam. I stay the course and continue grinding north on highway 4.
The hills soon cease and I enter a flat, featureless gray green land of cedar bush and a few Inari pines. The mist lifts A few reindeer wander the road, despite the long wooden fences that parrallel the road. In many places the fences have openings where the reindeer can wander into the right of way. I pass bogs, ponds and swamps, where bean geese and swans linger.. If I had to camp here I would be in trouble because there is no dry ground. Cars or campers streak by every ten minute or so, but other than that I am by myself in a silent dull green soggy land. I come to a monument, which tells me that this was the site of the last battle of the Lapland War between Finnish forces and the Retreating Nazi Army. It is a hellish place.
Every once in awhile I pass a lonely Sami cabin, but no one ever seems to be home. To the east, the hills are cloaked in dense rain. I'm hoping the clouds stay put. I do not need more dampness in my life right now.
Toward late afternoon the terrain becomes more mountainous. I enter a valley bissected by the Ochejohki and bordered by high hills covered in pines. I am feeling much stronger now on the bike and am congratulating myself for perservering the ride. By when I reach the campground, I am greeted by a sign that says "closed for the season." I check my watch. There is enough time to reach Utsjoki the next town, but it's about 20 miles to the north. My hastily concocted plan is to look for a campsite along the road, but if one fails materialize to continue all the way to Utsjoki, which would bring my mileage total to an inhumane 80 for the day. The road twists through a river canyon with steep walls. The few decent campsites are already occupied. By 8:30 p.m., with the light growing dim I pass the spires of the Utsjoki Church and wobble into the campground. I am dead tired and rather astounded that I made it without further injuring my knee though saddle sores have returned with a vengance.
As I unroll my tent, a young man jumps from a neighboring tent and rushes over to help. Oescu from Belgium has been hitch-hiking through Finland between hikes across Lapland's many National Parks. He tells me he has just finished a midnight trek across the wildly beautiful Kevin Luounnonpuisto. Like me he is a solo traveler and eager to talk to anyone. As he helps jam in tent stakes, I can barely see him because he is obscured by a cloud of mosquitos. They are so thick here that when I inhale I breathe them in. I am choking on mosquitos. When the tent is up I dive in and Oescu has no choice but to flee to his before he is eaten alive.
In the tiny kitchen cabin, Oescu and I join a German couple that just started their bike trip. Thankfully English is the common language. We talk about our travels. The Germans, who are also bound for Arctic Norway, warn me that Norway is very expensive. After such a difficult start for the day, I am grateful for the company and the conversation. Tonight I am tired, but happy even though I need to spend extra time killing off mosquitos before I button up the tent for the night. As if to highlight my changed mood, the sun comes out just before setting and once again everything is once again bright and new.
At mid-morning I come to the junction with highway 971, which juts off to the east to Kirkenes, Norway. My original plan was to go to Kirkenes via this route. I had calculated I could reach the city in about two to three days. But now I have become fixated on cycling to the northernmost point, Nourgam. I stay the course and continue grinding north on highway 4.
The hills soon cease and I enter a flat, featureless gray green land of cedar bush and a few Inari pines. The mist lifts A few reindeer wander the road, despite the long wooden fences that parrallel the road. In many places the fences have openings where the reindeer can wander into the right of way. I pass bogs, ponds and swamps, where bean geese and swans linger.. If I had to camp here I would be in trouble because there is no dry ground. Cars or campers streak by every ten minute or so, but other than that I am by myself in a silent dull green soggy land. I come to a monument, which tells me that this was the site of the last battle of the Lapland War between Finnish forces and the Retreating Nazi Army. It is a hellish place.
Every once in awhile I pass a lonely Sami cabin, but no one ever seems to be home. To the east, the hills are cloaked in dense rain. I'm hoping the clouds stay put. I do not need more dampness in my life right now.
Toward late afternoon the terrain becomes more mountainous. I enter a valley bissected by the Ochejohki and bordered by high hills covered in pines. I am feeling much stronger now on the bike and am congratulating myself for perservering the ride. By when I reach the campground, I am greeted by a sign that says "closed for the season." I check my watch. There is enough time to reach Utsjoki the next town, but it's about 20 miles to the north. My hastily concocted plan is to look for a campsite along the road, but if one fails materialize to continue all the way to Utsjoki, which would bring my mileage total to an inhumane 80 for the day. The road twists through a river canyon with steep walls. The few decent campsites are already occupied. By 8:30 p.m., with the light growing dim I pass the spires of the Utsjoki Church and wobble into the campground. I am dead tired and rather astounded that I made it without further injuring my knee though saddle sores have returned with a vengance.
As I unroll my tent, a young man jumps from a neighboring tent and rushes over to help. Oescu from Belgium has been hitch-hiking through Finland between hikes across Lapland's many National Parks. He tells me he has just finished a midnight trek across the wildly beautiful Kevin Luounnonpuisto. Like me he is a solo traveler and eager to talk to anyone. As he helps jam in tent stakes, I can barely see him because he is obscured by a cloud of mosquitos. They are so thick here that when I inhale I breathe them in. I am choking on mosquitos. When the tent is up I dive in and Oescu has no choice but to flee to his before he is eaten alive.
In the tiny kitchen cabin, Oescu and I join a German couple that just started their bike trip. Thankfully English is the common language. We talk about our travels. The Germans, who are also bound for Arctic Norway, warn me that Norway is very expensive. After such a difficult start for the day, I am grateful for the company and the conversation. Tonight I am tired, but happy even though I need to spend extra time killing off mosquitos before I button up the tent for the night. As if to highlight my changed mood, the sun comes out just before setting and once again everything is once again bright and new.
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