There was still plenty of snow on the high sections, but the beautiful sun we have had for weeks brought the temperature up to about 75-80 even between the 8 meter high snowbanks. No joke… I am sure the highest drifts they had chopped through on the route were at least that height. Began stopping for photos when we first saw the 3 meter snowbanks. Then we stopped again when they were 4 meters. After that we didn’t stop more – there are limits to how often you climb off your mount for more pictures of snow.

At Røldal, the road merges with the main southern road between Bergen and Oslo. Anywhere else this would be a spectacular road. But it is hard to compete with what we had experienced on the Old Ryfylke Road. We relaxed in the long soft curves leading us to our next departure from the modern standard – at Seljord. Like Loch Ness, that town is famous for the sea serpent in the lake. But we didn’t stop to talk to gawkers or stalkers there, we headed south. We snaked our way down toward Kviteseide Canal and then turned due east again – into the hills.

It was a very good thing I had run the route on a Dept.of Vehicles trip-planner, because neither of us were using GPS and the roads got smaller, and smaller and smaller…
At last we came to a road that made a sharp right turn at a country house-corner and disappeared up into the foliage. It had no number, only a name, and my route-planner used numbers. More alarmingly, there was a warning sign I had never seen before at the base of the hill. It had 3, THREE, hazard triangles and warned us away from this extremely steep, extremely narrow, extremely uneven…. road.

Dag may have wondered, but I followed the golden rule of any good front rider: show no sign of doubt. I laid the Centauro over in a power-turn and plunged up the grade into the trees. It was a fantastic ride. The road did match the warnings, but the bikes ate it up. We twisted and looped our mounts over the asphalt paths and suddenly were back in civilization. We came out of the hills just across the coastal road our careful Indians were following… about 3 hours ahead of them despite the tiny, mountain roads we had been riding.

Tønsberg was Hell after riding the traffic-free, cooler mountains. The rich and famous from Oslo were obvious and preening on the mostly choked two-lane highway leading around Tønsberg toward Verdens Ende. We worked our way around and through the standing cars in the thundering heat from the bubbling pavement and followed the elite to the edge of the water.

To page 3 ~ to the beginning ~ to the Photo album