1,678. 1,679. 1,680. 1,68 and oh! 1. 2. 3…. trees. 9th July.

There were many trees this morning. If I was a certain member of the British monarchy. (which thankfully for both you and I, I am not), my arms would have been very tired. There are many varieties of trees, these were Spruce, nothing but Spruce, all growing in straight lines. Was this going to be ‘a boring tree only’ day.

It certainly wasn’t! Whereas yesterday afternoon had caused me to dig deep, this afternoon was an absolute pleasure. Hard work on a series of long steep hills.

From Lonin onwards riding was a delight.

As a light alternative from cycling at Reppklelv I climbed a number of staircases and scrambled up to what the information board proclaimed to be the largest Granite pothole in northern Europe, with a diameter of 11.6m and a height of tens of metres. The side wall having collapsed years ago had exposed what had been the remainder of the internal walls.

I later saw this Indianna Jones style cable bridge that ‘had’ to be crossed (several times). Without a whip, revolver, school satchel or a cowboy hat, I didn’t drown. However I wasn’t running for my life or having to rescue a damsel in distress.

Not everyone had made a successful crossing.

What followed was a series of lakes. After one long and steep climb I was rewarded with this view.

After the lakes came the fjords. Now fjords were around long before the straight line was invented. So when first putting in a destination into my mapping device, it may say 40km. Now that’s ok for a Crow, but not a bloke on a bike. Ask it to identify a route and that 40 could jump to 65km. From here on ‘straight’ doesn’t exist. However cycling on such beautifully maintained roads (and Norway, I am told, can be a little colder in the winter than in the U.K. – take note UK Highway Maintenance, Norwegian roads rarely have potholes) and with such stunning views, who cares if you need to cycle in a near circle.

Road sign warning of pedestrians air walking.

This sign appears to indicate that some have perfected the art of walking in the air, without the help of Raymond Briggs Snowman. Such an ability would negate the need to walk in those near circles around these wonderful fjords.

On nearly reaching Osen I looked across the fjord and saw a camp site. The fjord stretched away both to the left and right. The tide was out, would it be possible? No, it wouldn’t even look plausible in a Monty Python’s sketch.

So around and up over another hill, (how many of those today?) riding past The Seven Sister hills, although there looks to be more than seven, maybe their parents are still trying to give them a brother and just get more daughters.

The Seven, (or perhaps more) Sisters.

This sign confirms that tea is as important to Norwegians as it is the the English.

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