Day 15, forest clearing near Mosvik to Beitstad (96 kms)

The Cycling to Norkapp Parliament met in a shady spot near a service station in the attractive little industrial town (seriously, not sarcasm) of Steinkjer, near the head of one of a pair of big fjords that we've been up, down, beside and across for some time now. Members of Parliament vary depending on who's caught up with whom at the time, but this time it was me and two German cyclists – Felix, who had the bunk above me in the hostel in Trondheim, and Andreas, whom I'd met for the first time earlier when I pulled into the lay-by where he was camping in order to utilise a picnic table for open-air office purposes. The strangest things arise, aside from the usual matters – Where are you stopping tonight? When did you last see so-and-so? What are you doing for water? (Me? Purification tablets, filter, mountain springs). Today it was robot mowers. I recounted a nasty moment with one the previous day, when cycling down a gentle hill with the Belgians behind me, one of the blighters working on a verge suddenly reversed off the grass into the road about five metres in front of me. I applied Claud's old fashioned centre-pull brakes, calculated my options for evasive action, and, absurdly, rang Claud's bell at it. Claud's bell just “tings”. The idea is to alert but not alarm people on dual purpose cycle/pedestrian paths, but it's never hugely effective at that. But remarkably, as soon as I rang, the robot seemed to sense its error and trundled back onto the verge as fast as its wheels could carry it. Andreas had a much darker tale to tell. Camping a couple of nights ago on a piece of public sward somewhere, he was awakened in the small hours by a furious whirring outside his tent accompanied by a red light flashing through the fabric. He crawled out as fast as he could, just in time to see a robot mower beginning to devour one of his new trainers which he had left outside the flaps to air. The footwear having been snatched back from its maw, the machine trundled off again, but Andreas spent an anxious remainder of the night. When I saw him he'd repaired the toe of the shoe with duct tape (man after my own heart). Earlier he took this photo of Claud and me crossing the beautiful Skarnsund Bridge, over the Skarn Sound between Trondheim Fjord and Beitstad Fjord:

On the Skarnsund Bridge

It's been SO HOT today. Felix checked a European weather app and came up with the gen that it was 32 here (we're now at latitude 64 degrees north, by the way), while it was 30 in Barcelona and 28 in Monaco. I've been cycling with sweat running down my face like it did in Turkey (but there are more hills here – constantly going either up one or down one). I am badly packed for this too – I have with me my warm, three-season sleeping bag, various items made out of Merino wool, plus a heavy pair of winter cycling gloves at the bottom of one of my panniers – and it's forecast to continue for another week.

Readers of last year's blog will recall an inordinate amount of space being spent on the topic of old Ferguson tractors. I don't intend to go back over old ground, but readers may be pleased to know that I have now come across one in business in Norway, used for pulling up the boats at Steinkjer:

Beside the fjord

I camped for the night in an unused corner of a football field just 75 metres from the beach. Many people swimming. I've been for a paddle, and yes, it does feel as warm as the Mediterranean sea. But disturbingly, someone started mowing the grass at 10.15 pm!