For detailed route planning, see my posting:

Part 3: Route Info Motorcycle Adventure from Tromsø to Lillehammer

The Verdict on the Frontier

The adventure began with a whisper of mechanical uncertainty. Outside Tromsø, the chill air still held the promise of the High North, but the front suspension of my BMW R1200GSA was faltering. We'd packed up camp and rolled straight to the dealer for a diagnosis on the leaking front suspension. The verdict was a punch to the gut: "Ride it out all the way to the Netherlands, but keep an eye on it," the technician advised, eyes narrowed in warning. "And no more off-roading. Stick to the asphalt like glue." Our lifeline lay 350 kilometers south in Bodø, but a full replacement there meant a small fortune and a week's delay—unthinkable. The diagnosis settled like a damp cloth over our plans: the remaining Norwegian miles would be ridden with a newly cautious respect for every bump in the road.

Despite the setback, the horizon beckoned, specifically the legendary Lofoten Islands—a breathtaking chain connected by bridges that arc over the sea like giant necklaces. We headed south, pushing past a woodworker’s shop where ancient machinery still churned logs using water power, a silent, timeless scene. Norway, it seemed, was determined to amaze, even as my bike demanded restraint.

That evening, the mundane task of finding shelter became an exercise in travel comedy. After one false reservation 350 km off-route (thanks to two campsites sharing a name) and another closed one, we eventually stumbled upon a small patch of grass 40 km further down the line. Surrounded by a "sea of campers"—the overwhelming majority of travelers here—we were the lone tent, embracing the 13-degree weather and the whipping wind. We cooked a warm meal and slid into our sleeping bags, the soft sound of the breeze a reminder of the wild commitment we’d made.

Seagulls, Seafood, and Scrutiny on Lofoten

The next day delivered the promised visual feast of the Lofoten archipelago. We rode through jaw-dropping landscapes, a mesmerizing succession of granite peaks plunging into sapphire fjords. The irony, common to motorcycling: the most breathtaking vistas offered no space to stop, leaving the spectacular scenery etched solely in our memories.

We paused in the heart of Svolvær for a celebratory fish and chips. The weather had turned brilliant—blue skies and rising temperatures—but the cost was startling. Norway, we learned, likes to charge a premium for the privilege of a simple meal. As we ate on the terrace, fearless seagulls swooped in like aerial bandits, scavenging leftovers right off the tables. These birds were masters of their territory, utterly unconcerned by human presence.

That afternoon, at the Kabelvåg Feriehus & Camping, the avian antagonism continued. As I set up camp, two gulls dive-bombed me—multiple times. A wild scolding and frantic arm-waving finally convinced them who was boss. Later, a brisk 3 km hike to a supermarket ensured we had supplies to use the campsite’s kitchen, a welcome luxury after days of stove-top cooking. We even managed a spot of laundry, which we left out overnight, crossing our fingers that the surreal 4:00 a.m. Arctic sunlight would finish the job before we packed for the ferry.

From the Islands to the Arctic Farewell

Our Lofoten finale was a slow ride down to Moskenes. The islands were spectacular—the roads, the gracefully linked bridges, and the views were truly special—but the ride was marred by the sheer volume of slow-moving motorhomes. It was only June, yet the narrow roads were already clogged with older drivers braking hard at the slightest provocation. I shuddered to imagine the "camper traffic jam" that peak season must bring to this beautiful, fragile place.

Arriving ahead of schedule, we were lucky to squeeze onto the 14:45 ferry to Bodø, a 3.5-hour crossing. Once on the mainland, we fueled the bikes and rolled toward Camp Saltstraumen. The weather apps had predicted rain, but as we approached the coast, the clouds seemed to dissolve behind the mountain range. We were gifted with sunny skies.

The campsite was predictably packed; we were relegated to a spot near the entrance, denying us the coveted view of the Saltenfjord. No matter. With the tent up, we cracked open a can of Guinness, celebrating the day’s ride and the generous surplus pizza offered by our neighbors—a true roadside blessing.

The following day was an immersion in the coastal beauty of Nordland, dominated by ferry crossings. Our route was the RV17, the coastal highway that snakes between rugged mountains and tranquil inlets. The morning started with a peaceful stop in Meløy for coffee, but soon we hit a three-hour delay in Jektvik, the local ferry taking its midday rest. We passed the time on the quayside, eating bread and canned mackerel under the warm 17°C sun and sea breeze.

The afternoon brought the geographical highlight: we crossed the Arctic Circle. We officially left the realm of the High North, continuing our journey south. Later, fueled by an excellent roadside Pad Thai from a gem called Lor’s Thaimat & Kafe, we dashed to catch our final ferry of the day.

At our cozy farm campground that evening, we were, predictably, surrounded by motorhomes. We made short work of pitching camp—we’d become pros at the setup and pack-down ritual—and toasted the day with a splash of whiskey under the late-evening sun.

Father’s Day on the RV17 and the Shock’s Warning

Sunday meant a quieter Father’s Day ride, characterized by more ferry waits and fewer kilometers. Messages from home—my kids and my dad—were the perfect start. The RV17 continued its breathtaking display: the air thick with the scent of salt and pine, fjords cutting deep into the jagged coastline, and the smooth asphalt a dream for the bikes.

We paused in Brønnøysund, a charming town known for the distinctive mountain Torghatten (the one with the hole). Later, aboard a ferry to Tjøtta, the lack of tie-downs for the bikes caused a moment of collective anxiety among all the riders. We left the bikes on their side stands, crossed our fingers, and headed upstairs—luckily, they held fast. We noted the curious social dynamic of the route: motorcyclists and cyclists always get priority boarding, a small nod from the system to the spirit of light-travel adventure.

That evening, the front shock absorber announced its declining health more aggressively. It was still leaking oil, but now it was bottoming out on speed bumps and rough patches. Every thud was a warning. I knew then that I had to start taking it easy or risk terminal failure before reaching the Netherlands.

The Trollstigen’s Closed Door and the Cruise Ship Spectacle

The road drama continued the next morning, but this time, it was natural, not mechanical. After a restful night, we aimed to conquer the legendary Trollstigen and the dramatic Geiranger Fjord. Just 12 kilometers from the famous ascent, we met a road closure sign: falling rocks had forced the authorities to shut it down.

Disappointment was quickly channeled into a reroute toward the Geiranger Pass. The viewpoint was chaotic, choked with buses and campers. Below, an enormous cruise ship sat anchored in the fjord, belching black smoke while small shuttles ferried hundreds of passengers to the hyper-touristy village below. The descent was exhilarating—a series of steep, tight switchbacks—but slowed to a crawl by rental four-wheelers occupied by the cruise guests, crawling along at 35 km/h. The village of Geiranger was pure commerce, a vibrant but soulless spectacle catering to the constant influx.

We quickly climbed the other side, shedding the crowds. The temperatures dropped to a chilly 5∘C as we rode past snowy roadsides, heading eastward toward the Swedish border to escape the heavy coastal rain forecast.

Amidst the scenic beauty, the mechanical drama had a sudden physical counterpart. On a downhill stretch, a driver flashed their lights. Moments later, a sharp, painful impact struck my right foot. My bike was fine, but a review of the camera footage later confirmed it: I had clipped a large, road-colored stone that had likely fallen from a passing truck, a chilling reminder of the road's constant hazards.

That night, a last-minute Booking.com miracle landed us a spacious room at Trolltun Hotell og Hytter in Dombås for a camping-level price. We settled in, enjoyed a dinner of local elk, and planned the final push toward Lillehammer.

The Quiet Contrasts of Lillehammer

Our final day of this stretch began with a hearty Norwegian breakfast and a clear agenda: avoid the main highways and follow the serene backroads toward Lillehammer. The ride was perfect: smooth roads, stunning mountain views, and virtually no traffic.

We stopped for lunch in Forset. Behind a small supermarket, we found an unexpected picnic spot overlooking the village. From our sunny bench, we witnessed a profound contrast: the loud, vibrant cheering of 40 children competing in a summer camp tournament, just steps away from a solemn funeral service underway in the nearby churchyard—life’s beginning and end playing out simultaneously.

Near Lillehammer, the wind persuaded us to trade our tents for a cozy cabin at Sveastranda Camping. For a few extra euros, it was an easy choice. We utilized the excellent communal kitchen to whip up lapskaus (a hearty Norwegian stew) and flatbrød (crispy flatbread)—comfort food to warm the soul.

As the sun set over Lake Mjøsa, the chill air reminding us of the thousands of kilometers behind us, we realized we were entering the final leg. With over 6,500 km covered in just under four weeks, Norway had delivered mechanical trials, breathtaking vistas, and deep, quiet moments of reflection. Tomorrow, we would cross into Sweden, heading toward Gothenburg, the Arctic now a precious memory, and the open road still calling us home.

The Journey Continues

Norway, with the Arctic Circle, Lofoten, and its Fjords, has left a deep mark. But a new destination awaits: Sweden and Denmark. Pack your gear; we're heading for Midsummer Eve!

The next destination: Sweden, Denmark, and Germany!

➡️ Read the sequel: The Long Road Home: From Arctic Farewell to Summer Heat