Down the valley of the Glomma

July 28, 2017

Svullrya to Oslo

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I slept undisturbed, and awoke early to my alarm surprisingly refreshed. The rain had cleared during the night, and the morning proved to be cool and overcast. I felt significantly restored, and was glad I had stopped when I did - I would need my strength to reach Oslo on this, the last day of the tour.

My plan remained the same: I would continue down the minor roads until hitting the valley of the broad Glomma. An unavoidable 10km on the major route 2 would take me to the regional centre of Kongvinger. From Kongsvinger I could follow the Glomma valley, on minor roads running parallel to the 2 all the way to lake Øyren, the truncated Fjord to the east of Oslo. From there I had a somewhat ill-defined route into the city through Lillestrøm, which was the edge of my map.

I set off and made good progress along the 202, always gently descending. I twisted around further lakes and through the familiar pine forest, eating up the kilometres; and then, and it was a genuine surprise, I was suddendly in an open landscape and surrounded by fields of oats. This was the first time I had seen crops since near the Gota canal between the Swedish great lakes.

There's oats in them there hills! The first time I had cycled past fields of crops for 6 days. Since my usual range is southern England, this is not something I am used to.

The landscape really opens out as I descend towards the Glomma valley

At Roverud, the minor road joins main route 2 to Kongsvinger. It was reasonably quiet, with maybe a car every 5 minutes, but after my experiences of remoteness of the forest, it felt like cycling down a dual carriageway. Fortunately the Norwegians proved to be as courteous drivers as the Swedes, and it was fairly easy going.

Monument to a battle fought by Norwegian resistance forces during the war

Kongsvinger Festning fortress. This was a "drive by shooting", hence the bluriness - I was making too good progress to stop.

As I approached Kongsvinger, the traffic became heavier, and I had a hairy stretch when I was forced into a single lane by roadworks. After looking for a way around, I went for it - it was actually fairly spectacular, crossing the railway and enornous timber yards flanking the river.

The railway - of course, I hadn't thought of that. I was out of Sweden now, and the railway would of course lead to Oslo. The knowledge that I had a safety net gave me a great psychological boost. I felt strong now, and I would continue as far as I could - I could always jump on the train if I became truly exhausted.

I stopped at a supermarket in Kongsvinger, and picked up more chocolate. It was the first time I had used my bike lock since Jönköping, and I'm not really sure it was necessary there.

Bridge crossing the Glomma in Kongsvinger

I wasn't too upset to leave Kongsvinger - it's a fairly gritty place. It wasn't hard to find the 175 minor road out of town though, and I left the main road, which becomes the E16 motorway at this point.

The ride, and my legs, felt on rails at this point. The 175 follows the Glomma, round a 20km meander to the North, and then striking South-West towards Oslo - through a series of increasingly big towns, and crossing and re-crossing the railway. It felt very lively indeed, compared to the border land I had passed through. The traffic slowly increased, and I passed through a landscape of crops and red barns.

The frequency of settlements increased, and I began to pass through a village or small town every few miles. While the road remained minor and the cycling reasonably relaxed, the traffic heading to and from Oslo was really starting to pick up. I passed through the village of Årnes, and closely followed the railway for a number of kilometres.

As I knew from my map, every 5-10km was a small station. Passing close to one in Bodung, I hopped off the bike to take a look at the timetable, just in case my body gave out before I made it to Oslo. I couldn't determine much - whether the trains would take bikes, for instance - but it was clear that all trains lead to the capital. Reassured I remounted and continued.

An Italian restaurant in Årnes with the single worst reproduction of the Mona Lisa I have ever seen. Is she meant to have stubble?

To be honest, I'd just assumed the veg was private

Here the road crossed and re-crossed the railway. At one point the crossing was really narrow - barely wide enough for a single car, and I got the sense that this was very much a back route that had become a rat-run for commuters down into Akershus. The cars had to queue (politely of course) for several minutes on each side to get through the tiny, blind gap. I took no risks getting the bike through here!

The road continued, in something of a blur for me along the increasingly widening river. I was making good time, but the clouds had cleared and the day was becoming increasingly hot. After passing a spectacular suspension bridge, not wide enough for cars and now devoted to bikes and pedestrians at Rånåsfoss, the road peeled off away from the river, and I had some wearying climbs up the steep banks. Fighting up these, I joined the 172 - now a more major route - and descended back to the river's edge and the next town of Sørumsand.

Tight tunnel under the railway, barely wide enough for one car. I managed to snap this during a quiet period, but generally it was five or six cars-deep waiting to get through.

Spectacular suspension bridge crossing the now very wide Glomma at Rånåsfoss. They obviously didn't anticipate the wideness of future traffic in 1927 - the beautiful bridge is now only for bikes and pedestrians

Hitting the 172 and regaining fast traffic - I was too stoked up on getting on to care too much

Some fast and rather exhilarating cycling - the cars were fast and frequent now, though continued to pass me safe and wide - took me into Sørumsand. I had exhausted my water by now in the hot conditions, and being at the point where I knew I would need adrenaline and carbohydrate to take me the rest of the way, I bought an enormous bottle of cold Fanta at enormous cost from a petrol station. It's not a sustainable way to keep your body going on a long ride, but I could feel the end was in sight and there was a sense of pulling out all the stops. I was already well over 100km and could feel that I might make it.

Gulping down half a litre gave me the burst of energy to attack the last stretch of the 172. In 6k I would be near the mouth of the Glomma and could try to find a place to cross the enormous river to reach Fetsund and Lillestrøm, the first suburb of Oslo.

I was a bit nervous about this crossing, and the approach to Oslo in general, which seemed to consist of suburbs packed into the tight valley, joined by motorway like beads on a string. I obviously wanted to avoid cycling on these (and was not certain if it was even legal). Surely there would be a bike-friendly way into the capital?

So it was with some relief that, just at the mouth of the Glomma, I found that the spectacular iron bridge that on the map was marked only as the rail crossing also had a pedestrian way, rather precariously attached to the outside. The gangway was floored with wooden planks, some of which creaked rather ominously, and even riding carefully it took me some minutes to cross the 1/2 km of open water. I was very thankful though - the river was otherwise an uncrossable natural barrier, and Oslo was on the other side.

Spectacular rail bridge crossing the now 1/2 km wide Glomma. The slightly precarious, and very narrow, wooden-paved pedestrian gangway is on the right.

This isn't a lake - this is looking upstream from the bridge in the middle of the Glomma

As I crossed the river I noticed huge pontoons bounding pens for gathering timber floated down the river. They aren't operating now, but are part of a historical museum dedicated to the collection and processing of timber transported down the river. I filled up on water in the facilities, and then since I wasn't really sure on my next move, I dived into the museum shop and quizzed the girl on the desk there. She let me know that there was a cycle path that could take me into Oslo - go around Fetsund, and past the wetlands.

This would get me past the next stage of motorway and into Lillestrøm.With high spirits I set off around the small peninsular on which Fetsund lies - this really did feel like the last leg. Sure enough, I could see the marshes opening up to the West, and I started to pass city cyclists - I even managed to keep up with them in my reinvigorated state.

Pontoons in the Glomma which historically were used for collecting timber floated down the river

After a somewhat complicated attempt to cross over the motorway on a cycle bridge, I found my way onto a broad bike path running alongside, and obviously heading West to Lillestrøm and Oslo. The sun was shining, I was on a clear route - I was really going to make it. The exhaustion I'd accrued over three days, and my dehydration in the hot afternoon melted away. I could see the city in the distance.

Bike path along the motorway heading into Lillestrøm, the first Oslo suburb

As I entered Lillestrøm the easy route continued, and I happily progressed. As seems inevitable with urban cycle ways, though, I soon found my way at a major junction - of trunk roads it seemed - with no indication of which way I should go. The convoy of cyclists seemed to have dried up. I knew I had to find my way to the South or West, to cross another large river and get to the next suburb of Strømmen. I found a similar cycle way going South - only for it to stop half a mile later. Backtracking, I eventually found another route South.

As I passed through a concrete underpass, I felt something damp and heavy drop onto my trouser leg. Eugh, a slug! I flicked it off as quickly as it had been a leech. What is it with slugs in these parts?

I started seeing signs for Strømmen and crossed over a body of water. I felt confident again, but I was soon lost and disorientated in increasingly suburban, and remarkably hilly, streets. Traffic was fierce now and I had to go onto the road. These suburbs of Oslo have an odd design - they seem to break out into open countryside at random points, and there all the traffic is funnelled onto a single road. After passing through one of these and dodging a school bus, I saw a sight to gladden the heart - a bike sign for Oslo! But still 21km to go. I had now done over 120km, the sugar from the Fanta had long departed, and I was starting to physically fail.

A sign at last! But how could it still be 21km?

I attempted to follow the sign, and was lead back down the hill and into buiilt-up Strømmen, where I could see the rail line again. It seemed I should be able to follow the rails, but I was prevented every way I tried. In desperation - I have no other real explanation - I took out my compass and tried to head North-West. I just wanted to get out of the suburb and its domination by the motorway. I quickly found myself going up a very steep hill through a quiet residential area. Quite exhausting myself, I could see a cycle track at the top, which seemed to head out into woodland. Near the top I saw a women walking her dog - I jumped off and (launching into English) asked if this was the way to Oslo. She looked rather surprised - whether at my rather un-Norwegian forwardness or the sheer wrongess of the route - but very kindly let me know my error. Down the hill I went again, and found myself at the same station.

Then began a period of half an hour, fighting my way to the West, trying to avoid the major roads. Progress was agonisingly slow. I wouldn't have looked twice at 21km on a flat route when I knew where I was going, but, for the first real time in the tour, I was quite lost - and every wrong turn meant more climbing. Somehow I got out of Strømmen, and could see signs for the next suburb of Fjellhamar.

I would follow a reasonably pleasant and direct stretch following the rails, and then would be cast back into confusion. I continued through heavily trafficked streets, crossed another major road, and came out near another suburban rail station.

Passing under the station, I seemed to join another bike path going West - but without warning it tightened, and became a narrow pedestrian walkway through a construction site. This was enough for me - as far as I was concerned this suburb was Oslo, and I wouldn't enjoy the 10km or so I would have left to fight through to find the centre. It's a lovely, hilly, charming city, but its layout is very confusing.

I wheeled the bike back to the stairs leading up to the station, and locked it there to see what the deal was to get a ride to the central station. Trains were frequent, and I bought a ticket. I couldn't see any indication about whether bikes were allowed - it seemed unlikely, but I intended to brazen it.

Obtaining the bike, I waited for the next train, and then boarded a carriage indicated as "without conductor" - for those who already have tickets, like me, or those like me who want to illicitly take a fully loaded touring bike on board. The train was typical light suburban mass transit, and was not designed for bikes - I had to pull the loaded shift up three steps to get it on, and then it barely fit in the vestibule.

Feeling very sheepish now for my antisocial behaviour, I manhandled the bike to and fro to let people get on. And you know what - nobody made the slightest complaint, they let me quietly get on with it, and met my apologetic gestures with smiles. There's something very Norwegian about that.

After what seemed like a long journey - though it was in fact only half a dozen stops from the Lørenskog station - I arrived without mishap in sentralstasjon. I was a bit worried about getting my bike out - obviously this was not a conventional means of arrival, and an escalator would have really clobbered me - but it turned out I could wheel it out with no bother.

Suddenly I was in central Oslo! There were people everywhere. I didn't dare ride, and pushed my bike the last kilometre to Karl Johans gate. I had booked the Karl Johans hotel there for a surprisingly cheap rate - Oslo is not a cheap city - and was surprised to see it was quite grand. Securing my bike to some railings rather well - I was convinced that nothing was safe now with so many people around - I checked in. The haze went in a broom cupboard and I detached a pannier with my remaining food and clothes.

I made the mistake of laying down on the bed when I got to my room, and didn't move for about an hour. It was now about 7pm - I very slowly got washed and changed, and thought I should try to see some of the city and get some food before I completely passed out.

I wondered in a bit of a daze around the charming centre of the city as the sun set and evening came in. This was not exactly systematic sightseeing. After an hour or so I thought about getting something to eat. I wasn't really in the mood for a proper restaurant, and cost of food is always a factor in Norway, so was pretty pleased to find a sort of Norwegian burger chain that was having a special Halloumi week. Seemed fitting, so for under £15 I got myself a very satisfying burger. You had to order on automated screens - the chap next to me was struggling a bit, and asked me what a particular Norwegian word meant. He was a bit surprised when I turned out to be English as well.

An enormous cruise ship, and lots of tall ships

It really was the biggest cruise ship I'd ever seen - it towered above the dock. As I wondered along the dockside, the cruisers were returning in dribs and drabs. I dimly wondered how hard it would be to sneak aboard.

...and then I saw them. They had followed me all the way from Trelleborg!

A "monsterbike" I saw for sale. Like the cruise ship, it's hard to get a sense of scale here - but the penny-farthing alongside is full size

Today's ride: 83 miles (134 km)
Total: 815 miles (1,312 km)

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