Waiting for the bus in Hammerfest

I will always remember Hammerfest for the bitter wind that blew in from the north, from the Arctic Ocean. It was a constant reminder that the North Pole is closer than Helsinki. I would have froze to death if I had camped in a tent. Instead, I found the town's only campground, a small site by a lake but dwarfed by the ugliest apartment complex I've ever seen. That building was perched on the hill that surrounded the lake. As usual, the proprietor was gone, back at 5 pm, so I did the best I could to make myself busy in the ensuing two hours. There isn't many options for touring as the city is perched on the side of a cliff, and the only road winds into these bare granite green mountains to God-Knows-Where. Besides the wind is howling. I bike out to the site of an old fort. Apparently the British saw fit to sack the town in 1809, and the lone cannon monument marks the site where the good citizens of Hammerfest erected a fort after the British attack. The city again was leveled during World War II. Food resupply is my next priority, and then I kill time in the library, catching up on the news in Newsweek, the only English language periodical on hand. When I return, I am greeted by the campgrounds resident reindeer herd, who oblige by posing quietly by the Expedition bicycle, banner aflutter for the last time. The cabin is warm if not a bit spartan.

I'm up early in the morning. The cycle of squalls, wind and sun continues without let up. I bike into town and discover that the bus schedule to Alta has been changed. I'm an hour early. For the first time in the trip I dissemble the entire bike. This takes about 45 minutes. It's clear I'm going to have to get rid of some stuff before I flew home. The library has opened so I have an opportunity to update the blog. The plan is to stay in Alta tonight, then catch an early bus to Kautokeino, the last significant town in Norway, build the bike, and bike the like hell until I get to the Finnish frontier town of Hetta.