It’s 10:00 at night, 19 hours since we began at a quiet Swedish border—a world away from the scene before us now. The wind howls in from the stormy North Atlantic, rain lashes down in waves, and no number of layers can keep the cold from piercing through. How did it go so wrong so quickly? All the planning, training, and resources feel like they’ve unravelled as I stand shivering in an empty car park in a random Norwegian village, just seventy kilometers from our goal. It might as well be a thousand. Sebastian, our cameraman, tries to console me. “It was a crazy project, and 390 km is an incredible achievement,” he says. His words fall flat. I’ve cycled farther than ever before, enduring extremes, yet I feel only emptiness—a crushing sense of failure. The devil on my shoulder sneers, “Loser.”

Part 1: The Dream and the Plan

Cycling, for me, has never been about power meters, max watts, or structured training rides. It’s always been about discovery, exploration, and the sheer joy of movement. Over the years, I’ve traversed Norway—arguably the most beautiful country in the world—capturing these journeys for my YouTube channel. Among the many iconic routes, one stands out: Nordkapp to Lindesnes, from Norway’s northernmost to its southernmost point. The 3,000-kilometer journey across varied and breathtaking landscapes was a monumental achievement, and it left me craving the next big challenge.

The idea to cross Norway from east to west sparked my imagination. Unlike the well-trodden north-south route, no official path exists between Vardø in the east and Vardetangen in the west. After research, I decided on a more southerly route: from the Swedish border to the picturesque coastal town of Ålesund. The journey would span 455 kilometers, featuring 4,000 meters of elevation gain and a mix of tarmac and gravel—a quintessentially Norwegian cycling adventure. Ambitious? Yes. But achievable within 24 hours.

I shared my plan with Jeff Webb, CEO of Fara Cycling, a high-end bike company. Jeff, an ex-pro cyclist with a wealth of endurance experience, helped refine the route. The final version—463 kilometers of “just right” cycling—was as close to perfect as we could imagine.

The Journey Begins

Three weeks later, at 3:00 a.m., Jeff and I stood at the remote Swedish border crossing of Vauldalen. The temperature hovered at 6°C, and mosquitoes buzzed incessantly. Sleep had eluded me the night before; adrenaline and nerves kept me wide awake. The goal wasn’t just to cross Norway but to create an inspiring film for my YouTube audience. We had the support of Sebastian and Lucas, a Polish filmmaking duo experienced in capturing the drama of Norwegian cycling races.

Jeff—not exactly a morning person—exuded calm confidence. Fresh off a grueling 1,200-kilometer race through Italy, he had both the stamina and the mindset for ultra-distance rides. As we pedaled into the chilly darkness, the road stretched ahead like a promise, its end shrouded in mystery.

Part 2: Challenges on the Road

The first hours on the bike are always the hardest for me. The devil on my shoulder whispers doubts, but Jeff’s steady conversation keeps me grounded. As dawn breaks, the world transforms. A blood-orange sunrise ignites the horizon, and mist dances over countless lakes, creating an ethereal, cinematic atmosphere. It feels like the opening act of an epic quest.

At 40 kilometers, we roll into Rørøs, a historic mining town of weathered wooden houses. The streets are eerily silent in the early morning, save for a trio of young men finishing an all-nighter. “Are you cycling to Ålesund?” they ask, incredulous. Somehow, they already know our mission. Their surprise fuels our determination.

The gravel segment that follows is a 20-kilometer stretch through dense forest, its rugged beauty undercut by the challenges it presents. Jeff had assured me it would be worth it, but the rough terrain slows us, and we briefly lose our way. My Strava ego takes a hit as our average speed plummets. Emerging onto smooth tarmac offers relief, but only briefly—the climb into Grimsdalen, an exposed mountain pass, greets us with relentless headwinds. Progress slows to a crawl, and our dream of a sunset arrival in Ålesund begins to waver.

At Dombås, the halfway point, we’re greeted by the chaotic bustle of a tourist hub. Hungry and stressed, we grab food hastily from a crowded supermarket. The delay sets us back further. We push on, hoping to make up time on the descent through Romsdalen valley, but fierce headwinds funneling through the gorge sap our strength and morale.

Part 3: The Breaking Point

By the time we reach Trollveggen, Europe’s tallest vertical rock wall, the weather turns hostile. Torrential rain and biting cold make every pedal stroke a battle. The temperature dips into single digits, with wind chill cutting deeper. At 370 kilometers, soaked and shivering, we take refuge in an old barn. My body is failing, and my spirit isn’t far behind.

Jeff suggests pushing on to Tresfjord Bridge, 15 kilometers away, to reassess. Reluctantly, I agree. Crossing the bridge, a brief glimmer of hope emerges, but it’s fleeting. Ahead lies a forbidding mountain pass under Mordor-like clouds. With 72 kilometers remaining, it’s 10:00 p.m., and we’d need at least four more grueling hours to complete it. The ride is over.

Part 4: Reflections and Redemption

The vision I’d held onto—cycling into Ålesund under a glorious sunset—is replaced with the harsh reality of loading my bike onto a car rack, soaked and defeated. The failure lingers, gnawing at me for days. Messages from supporters flood my Instagram: “Keep going,” “You’ve got this,” “you’re inspiring.” They feel hollow. Deep down, I know there’s only one way to silence my inner critic: try again.

For days after the ride, I couldn’t shake the failure. “Why did this happen?” “What are the odds of such extreme weather in July?” Reviewing the footage only deepened the frustration—there was no ending, just an unfinished story. Deep down, I knew there was only one solution: go back and try again.

This wasn’t just about completing the ride; it was personal. I needed to reconcile the memory and end the summer without this failure lingering. I called Jeff and told him, “I’m going back.” Though he considered the ride done, he agreed. We started this journey together, and we’d finish it together.

A week later, we stood at the Swedish border once more, this time without a camera crew or support car. Just two riders, self-supported, ready to face the 463 kilometers ahead. Strangely, it felt liberating. No pressure, no distractions—just the open road and the challenge before us.

Sebastian, our cameraman from the first attempt, had said we’d learned a lot from our 390 kilometers. At the time, I didn’t want to hear it, but he was right. The off-road section that had frustrated me before now felt like an exciting detour. Grimsdalen, once intimidating, seemed far gentler on a calm day. Instead of stopping in bustling Dombås, we found a peaceful café in Dovre. Experience changes everything.

Romsdalen valley was quieter too. With fewer tourists and a supportive tailwind, our average speed climbed to 28 kilometers per hour. Reaching the car park where we’d abandoned the ride weeks earlier was triumphant. This time, the mountain pass ahead was clear.

The final stretch wasn’t easy. The back roads to Ålesund were steep and slow, with the last 72 kilometers testing every ounce of resolve. We were certain now that giving up 3 weeks ago was the right decision. The sunset ride that I was desperate to experience was finally granted to me as we summited a small mountain. The view of Ålesund’s archipelago, bathed in glowing colors, was magical. I soared into the tree-lined descent, savoring a moment only cycling can offer—a profound reward after 17 hours on the bike.

We arrived in Ålesund past 11:30 p.m., with one final challenge: climbing the steep hill overlooking the city. Skipping it wasn’t an option. Exhausted, we pushed to the top and were greeted by a lingering red stripe of light on the horizon above the calm sea. Below, the city’s lights shimmered. We began in darkness and finished in darkness, but in between, we experienced landscapes and moments only Norway can offer in a single day. The Goldilocks route really was just right”

The Film – Across Norway in a Day

Røros – Ålesund – Visit the Route Page here.