I rode through the depths of a Norwegian winter and lived to tell the tale.

We all know the drill. The season ends, your bike is stoved away, and a dark period of indoor suffering awaits. Not this time though.

This year, I decided to keep riding, whatever the winter threw my way. These are the highlights.

Text: Gjermund Gustavsen,
Photos: Gjermund Gustavsen, Sinan Kargı and Sunniva Sollied Møller

Fatbikes in the Arctic

It’s November. I find myself above of the Arctic Circle, where the city of Tromsø is being ravaged by winds that gust close to hurricane strength. I’m supposed to be showing off the cozy Norwegian winter to my Italian friend, but the usual blanket of snow is nowhere to be seen, stripped away by rain and relentless storms.

In a slightly desperate move, we rent fatbikes for some off-road sightseeing. I’ll admit that cycling for fun in these conditions borders on the ridiculous, and the guy at the bike rental clearly agrees. But the very things that make this seem unlikely, are also what makes it appealing to me. So off we go.

The wind over the city bridge nearly rips the handlebars from my grip. Checking the map in these conditions isn’t exactly tempting, so I end up taking the wrong turn up the mountain path. My credibility as a guide takes a hit as we haul our bikes over wooden fences and push through tangled birch forests. Trails dissolve into creek beds, and in some parts we’re straight up rock climbing with our bikes as awkward, unwieldy baggage.

As with any tough climb though, it all fades once we reach the top. We check out the old radar antenna Linken, scan the mountains around the area, and send it down the gravel path we definitely should have taken up. 

Tip: If you really want to step up your fatbike game, go to Alta in peak winter. The city has a thriving MTB and fatbike community, with dedicated trails and races like the Arctic Alta (46 km / 29 mi). It’s the kind of place where Strava KOMs are set on snow rather than summer trails—something I found quite fascinating.

Snowy Oslo woods

Back in Oslo, and Christmas is just two weeks away. The studs are on, and Nordmarka—the vast forest north of Oslo—is buried in snow. Many local cyclists go gravel riding here, but a select few are stubborn enough to keep going through winter. Among them are me and my friends, Sunniva and Eirik.

The ride starts out like a postcard with snow-draped trees, crisp air, and a soothing silence. Then the struggle begins.

The snow is fresh and thick enough to give our 40-ish mm tires trouble. The surface becomes wildly unpredictable, and hard to pedal through. Two out of three of us go down, but thankfully, the landings are soft. The snow may be a bitch today, but it cushions the fall and looks magical.

I’m layered up—three wool shirts under my jacket keep my core warm—but my feet inevitably starts to freeze. By the time we reach Kikutstua, we’re halfway and have been at it for two hours, so a break is definitely welcome. The lodge is still closed, waiting for ski season, but a side room remains open for passersby. Inside, a coffee machine and some self-serve snacks for sale are excellent news for three half-frozen cyclists.

Winter riding in Oslo can indeed be beautiful, and easily accessible, but usually hard to plan. Conditions shift overnight, so there’s no real way to predict the surface without going to see for yourself. Scouting missions are rare, so if you report back in the local Facebook groups, you’re something of a hero for the day.

Far North Again, This Time With Snow

I’m visiting my parents in Tromsø for Christmas, and this time, I’m bringing my own bike. At the Oslo airport, the guy handling special luggage fires off guess after guess about my destination—somewhere warm, surely—before his jaw drops when I tell him I’m heading north.

With the airport just five kilometers from the city center, I simply hop on the local bus with my packed-down gravel bike beside me. Two euros well spent.

This time, winter has arrived in full force. The wind isn’t as brutal as last time, but the temperature reaches –13°C (8.6°F), so let’s just say wool remains in fashion.

I meet up with Sinan, a Turkish bikepacker who is arriving after nearly a month of riding through Norway. We roll into town together, talk our way into a packed restaurant, and have one too many beers. Somewhere between the third and fourth, we decide that an early ride is a great idea.

The next morning, we leave the city and head onto Kvaløya island. Wet, thick snow keeps falling, and we spot exactly zero other cyclists. We push through the slush, and are rewarded with a sweeping view of Ersfjordbotn.

As we pass through, I ride by the house of my ex-girlfriend from my teenage years. Her mother is in the kitchen, and on impulse, I wave my heavy, snow-covered glove at her. Through the window, I catch a glimpse of a living question mark, trying to decipher who, or what, just rolled by.

Our cafe stop in Ersfjordbotn turned out to be closed, which I admit hits harder in wintertime. But we’re saved by a stop at the famous supermarket of Eide Handel with coffee, carbs and some banter with the locals.

Read Part 2 here