Day 19: Salhus to Helgeland Bridge (110k)

Today's distance includes two ferries First another electric one -- all charged up this time -- from Horn to the ferry quay of Andalsvagen, 15 minutes across the water to the opposite peninsular. Then, following an idyllic ride along a quiet road between verges of wildflowers, a 50 minute voyage, courtesy of the state of Norway, on a huge seagoing ferry that threaded its way between skerries -- a skilful bit of navigation -- to carry The Ven Claud and I; two other cyclists; a pedestrian with babe-in-arms; and two camper vans to the beautiful island of Tjotta.

Just up the hill from the ferry landing on Tjotta we passed two sobering reminders of the indiscriminate horror of war: the Tjotta International War Cemetery, founded in 1970, after the remains of 2500 Serbian, Soviet and Polish prisoners of war, German deserters, Norwegian prisoners and Norwegian crew were recovered from the nearby wreck of a Norwegian cargo ship requisitioned by the Nazis and used as PoW transport, The vessel was sunk by British dive bombers in 1944 after being wrongly identified as a troop ship. All the graves are anonymous because all the dead recovered were beyond identification. Next to it is the even-larger Tjotta Russian War Cemetery, where 7500 Russians lie -- more than 6700 of them in a single mass grave. They were mostly men who were sent to Norway by the Nazis as forced labour. Originally buried hither and thither in churchyards and cemeteries, they were consolidated in this single location in 1953 after the Norwegian authorities decided it needed to be able to more tightly control visiting family members from the Stalinist and post-Stalinist Soviet Union.

Two bridges connect Tjotta with the breathtakingly beautiful island of Alsta, with a backbone of igneous rock like a stegosaurus:

The island of Alsta's extraordinary geology

The day ended wild-camped in a layby separated from the number 17 trunk road by a dependable-looking steel crash barrier and a sturdy wooden fence, just south of the spectacular kilometre-long Helgeland Bridge. As with the Road over the Atlantic further south, I suggest readers Google an aerial view. As the light dimmed (it's no longer getting dark this far north, even though it's now the third week in July and past the days of total midnight sun) this busy layby became a different sort of place: there's the The Ven Claud and my tent; there's me writing this blog on a concrete picnic table; a Norwegian couple have caught fish and are barbecuing them producing incredible aromas; and a German girl, who with her boyfriend is sleeping in their van on a Scandinavian tour, is sitting at the water's edge playing a guitar. A Polish couple are walking by hand-in-hand. A lorry driver is asleep in his cab. So I shall stop now, go and wash in the sea, and go to sleep myself...