The Arctic Circle Part 1 - Enroute to Nordkapp

17 Feb

En route to the “End of the World”

Riding 4,000 kilometres to the “End of the world” through the wilds of Scandinavia.

Enroute to Scandanavia

The last week of preparation for this trip didn’t go as planned. Work threw a few unexpected curveballs, and I received devastating news from back home. My stress levels peaked, leading to a full-on breakdown. Thankfully, my partner stepped in, helping me prepare and pack the bike, ensuring I made it out the door. What was meant to be a relaxed ride to the ferry, camping overnight, turned into a brutal 3 AM start with a four-hour sprint—motorway detours and dark, twisty roads included—just to catch the 9 AM ferry from Harwich. It was the worst start imaginable.

Straddling my little Honda CB500X with a fever and waves of nausea, my partner rode with me from Bristol to Bath, giving me a proper send-off before I pressed on alone. My only goal: make it to the ferry in one piece and catch some sleep. In hindsight, I have no idea how I managed it.

After boarding, I checked in, found my cabin, and collapsed into sleep, praying I’d wake up feeling better in the Hook of Holland. Unfortunately, I didn’t. The fever still clung to me, and nausea made every mile excruciating as I pushed through the Netherlands toward my aunt and uncle’s home near the German border. Making it there was a small victory. All I could do was rest and hope for a better morning.

The next day, I felt slightly better—not great, but functional. I prepped the bike, said my goodbyes, and hit the autobahn. My fully loaded CB500X pushed its limits at 98 mph in the slow lane while cars screamed past at over 130 mph. I powered through Germany, heading for Fehmarn and the ferry to Denmark, with my final stop for the day in Copenhagen. There, a kind host from Bunk-a-Biker welcomed me into his apartment—before casually handing me the keys and heading off on a stag-do for a few days. The generosity and trust within the motorcycle community never cease to amaze me. The fact that complete strangers open their homes to fellow bikers, often without expecting anything in return, is proof of the camaraderie we share—something often misrepresented by outsiders.

Across to Sweden: The True Start of the Adventure

Saturday morning, I took a brief ride through the heart of Copenhagen, soaking in the city’s colorful waterfront buildings before pressing on toward the Øresund Bridge. Spanning 8 kilometers (5 miles), this engineering marvel connects Denmark and Sweden, bridging the North and Baltic Seas. The crossing was an intense battle against the wind, my bike being buffeted from side to side as I gripped the handlebars, determined to stay in my lane.

Once across, Sweden welcomed me with winding country roads, lined with the classic red farmhouses and endless forests. The pace slowed, the scenery calmed me, and the frantic rush of the autobahn felt worlds away. Now, with the Netherlands, Germany, Denmark, and Sweden behind me, the real adventure was about to begin: the Trans European Trail (TET).

That night, I faced my first wild camping experience. It felt strange to just pick a spot and set up camp, half expecting someone to come along and tell me to move. Sleeping alone in the middle of nowhere was a direct challenge to everything I had been warned against as a woman traveling solo. But how could I not embrace it? The beauty of the landscape, the savings, and the sense of freedom outweighed the fear. Adventures are meant to push you out of your comfort zone, and I was determined to embrace the wild-camping life throughout Scandinavia.

The Trans European Trail: Facing the Fear

Morning came, and so did the nerves. I lingered, procrastinating, trying to find excuses to avoid leaving the safety of the tarmac. But deep down, I knew I'd regret it if I didn’t at least try. The Scandinavian TET was supposed to be mostly dirt roads, nothing overly technical, and the best way to explore the wilderness. I had to do it. Time to put on my big-girl pants.

I reached the turning point, took a deep breath, and rolled on the throttle. Gravel crunched beneath my tires as I plunged into the heart of Sweden’s forests, winding past lakes, waterfalls, and the occasional logging site. The solitude was immense—hours would pass without seeing another soul. Yet, civilization was always about 30 minutes away, offering a small comfort.

Blaho Mountain Sumit on the TET

As I pushed north, I aimed for Blåhø Mountain in Norway, but the remnants of a recent 100-year storm had other plans. Detour after detour slowed my progress, and washed-out roads turned simple routes into frustrating puzzles. Still, I pressed on, finally beginning my ascent—only to be swallowed by thick clouds. Another mountain summit, another view lost to fog. Typical. Maybe next time the weather will cooperate.

That night I camped in the most gorgeous national park Rondane National Park. I pitched up by a lake under some small mountains and even if the temperatures dropped below zero and I woke up with ice on my tent, it perfect. After heading on my way, I stumbled on a magical place called the Grimsdalen Canyon, which I’m told is one of the best kept secrets in Norway by some locals I met enroute. I completely agree, just the thought of it still takes my breath away and as much as I wish I could I have captured this place with a photo it seemed impossible to photograph its magnificence.

Setting off the next morning, I stumbled upon a hidden gem—Grimsdalen Canyon. Locals I met along the way called it one of Norway’s best-kept secrets, and I couldn’t agree more. The sheer beauty of the place was overwhelming, a landscape so vast and awe-inspiring that no photo could ever do it justice. Even now, just thinking about it takes my breath away.

Crossing back into Sweden, I made my way to Flatruet, the highest public road in the country at 964 meters. The barren, windswept plateau was a stark contrast to Sweden’s endless evergreen forests. And the reindeer—so many reindeer! It felt like Christmas in the middle of summer.

The more miles I covered, the more Sweden’s scenery began to blur into itself. The endless forests were undeniably beautiful, but after days of sameness, I craved variety. Norway had teased me with its ever-changing landscapes, and I wanted more. So, I made the call: I would leave the TET and push toward the Arctic Circle.

Crossing into Finland, I finally reached the Arctic Circle. Now, just one more day’s ride stood between me and my goal: Nordkapp.

The Arctic Circle: Closing in on Nordkapp

The nights grew colder as I crossed into the Arctic Circle, with temperatures regularly dipping below freezing. The midnight sun illuminated my route, and I counted myself lucky—minimal rain meant the journey remained challenging but bearable. Layered to the max, I pressed on.

On my final day to Nordkapp, I traversed Finland, Sweden, and back into Norway, completing the last section of the Norway TET. The trail led through rugged landscapes, past the Trailhead Alta Canyon, where herds of deer grazed in the distance. I paused often, taking in the views and savoring the last leg of my journey before finally joining the legendary E69—the road to Nordkapp. The landscape turned barren, the temperature plummeted, and tunnels connected me to the island of Magerøya. Riding along the coastline, staring over sheer cliffs into an endless horizon, I felt the weight of the adventure behind me.

Five kilometers from Nordkapp, I pulled over and set up camp, wanting to reach the famous Globe after hours to ride my bike directly to it. Wrapped in my sleeping bag, I braced against the wind’s icy bite, regretting not bringing a Shewee as the midnight sun offered no privacy. The cold made it worse, like “breaking the seal” after a few drinks—once you go, you keep needing to go. Desperation won, and I unapologetically stuck my bum through the rear of the tent into the Arctic air. No regrets.

By 3:30 AM, I was up, bundling awkwardly in my sleeping bag’s warmth before braving the sub-zero temperatures. Heated grips at full blast, I skirted past the barriers and rode behind the tourist center to my goal: 71° 10’ 21”, the northernmost point of mainland Europe. After 3,000 miles and 12 days, I had made it. Overcome with emotion, I laughed and cried at the same time. My little Honda and I had conquered the journey. And the adventure was only halfway done.