A day at the races

Despite the potential for supernatural events, an uneventful night results in a very good night's sleep. It is a chilly and bleak morning on the high moorland of Saltfjellet. Surrounded by snow, I set off southwards in search of warmer climes…

Approaching the summit of the plateau, the Arctic Highway is snugly sandwiched between the railway and some splendid rapids. The watershed between north- and south-flowing streams indicates the highest point of the vidde, at just over 692m.

Shortly after this I reach the Arctic Circle, which is marked by a line of cairns and the recently built Polarsirkel Senteret. It is quite a contrast with my first crossing of this significant waypoint. Still, I stop to sample the mass produced touristy tat and cannot help but feel that something of the magic of crossing the Arctic Circle has been lost.

Leaving the railway line and the tourist trap behind, I feel my spirits rising as I descend into a lush, green environment. The Arctic Highway now criss-crosses the course of the River Rana through Norway’s second most northerly spruce forest.

Further down the Highway is one of those surprises that could easily be missed. A large white sign indicates that the small road to right will lead to the Arctic Circle Raceway! I feel compelled to investigate…

I follow the narrow poorly maintained road for a few kilometres. The only thing stopping me from giving this up as a weak practical joke is the occasional set of wiggly tyre tracks; as if people were warming up their tyres for something…

As I turn onto the track of a disused railway, I feel like I have been had. What was I thinking!? A racetrack a snowball’s throw from the Arctic Circle…and then it appears. This 3750m racetrack is reported to meet the standards of Formula One racing. I head over to a man wearing a Manchester United cap and before I know it, he agrees for me to race a few laps!

It is at this point that I should mention that I love riding my motorbike, but I do not consider myself a biker. Nor am I a speed demon, as my friends Ralf and Dick will confirm. I pootle along taking in all the sensory stimuli that you miss when you are encased in a car. I do not think there is any feeling in the World like that of covering hundreds of miles on the back of a motorbike.

All that said, once I get on the racetrack I hear Murray Walker’s commentary in my head and I fly! I try to stick to the racing line marked out by the rubber on the track. This involves taking corners at 90mph and almost touching the floor with my knee. By the end of my second lap, I have a huge grin on my face, so I turn off into the pit lane, wave goodbye to the kind folks and head back to the Arctic Highway.

With only eight miles left until my final destination of the day, I stop for some lunch in Røssvoll and go over the details of my next excursion…

Route 353 leaves the Arctic Highway and passes the local airport situated on the South end of Langvatnet. Shortly after, there is a fork in the road and I opt for Route 354 which follows the Røvass, a river carrying the meltwater away from Svartisen, Norway’s second largest ice mass. My destination is Lake Svartis in the hope of seeing the snout of the glacier, but the glacier is shrouded in mist.

I head back to the junction with Route 353 and this time take Route 355 across the turquoise coloured Røvass to Melfjordbotn. The destination is not important; the journey is the part that interests me. Until 1982, the only way to Melfjordbotn was by boat. Now a beautifully engineered road climbs up on the Melfjellet. The scenery is quite spectacular: ice-scoured rock, small lakes waterfalls and magnificent peaks – this is a thrilling place to be.

Suddenly, and almost without any warning, Melfjordbotn can be seen through the thin clouds hundreds meters below at the head of the fjord. The road then steeply snakes its way off the plateau. I pray I do not meet another vehicle. The road is, at some points, barely as wide as a car and the hairpin bends are so sharp that I wobble my way around them in first gear.

Once I am below the clouds I am soaked to the bone by a heavy downpour, so after a few photos of Melfjordbotn I hop back on my bike and head to Mo i Rana.

The Arctic Highway follows the river and railway line through a magnificent gorge to Mo i Rana. Mo is home to Anthony Gormley’s Havmannen (Man of the Sea) and will be my home for this evening.

Distance: 151.7 miles