Moss - Efteløt, Norway

Thursday June 28, 2018, 64 km (40 miles) - Total so far: 1,610 km (1,000 miles)

I'm not sure what to write about today. Lost in Norway.

Yes, I'm in Norway, but lost here has many dimensions--mostly vertical. Lost can be scary and dangerous. I've never had such a day such as this one.

First the good bits. Woke up and took my time, eating and packing; said goodbye to my host. She wished me luck.

I caught the ferry to Horton and made it to Asgardstrand in about an hour and a half. I did ask two people where Munch's house was, as I had to go down a big hill and wanted to be sure. Not a clue and we were about 300 meters from it. Sheesh.

It was a great tour of Munch's house--his favorite and the one he had before becoming rich and famous. He was a very complicated man.

view from Munch's front door

Munch selfie (and, if you look closely--me)

quiet Swedish road before craziness started

Left around 12:30 and somehow my directions sent me forward and backwards. I rode up a serious hill twice. Finally I said to myself, this is crazy. Why would Google send me south when I need to go north? Sometimes the map loads slowly. I cannot account for it, but got extremely frustrated and prayed, God help me get going in the right direction on the right road. Finally found the road and was on the blue line.

Then.

It was VERY hot today. I went through water like crazy, yet my lips still stuck to my teeth, my mouth was so dry.

I'm not sure when and maybe later I can update once I'm home, but maybe around 2 p.m., the hottest part of the day, Google sent me down a gravel road. I've had this happen before, while on the Kattegarden. No big deal. And I could tell it took me under the E6(?) So I followed it and it remained gravel and steep. Okay. I kept going, thinking it must meet up with a real road. It took me by a sheep pen. Oops, off the blue line. I went back and down a creepier gravel road. The blue line took me over a slag heap and where trees had been uprooted. It was like a lunar landscape of red rock. There were big machines, as if to quarry. I walked the bike in circles trying to connect with the blue line. I went one way then another. There was no shade. I rolled the bike to a plateau at the top of the rock heap. There was another massive machine. I leaned the bike next to the house-size tire. I was thinking of taking a picture and sending it to Sandy Ramsey. But my battery was dying. Over-used. I put it on charge and said, you've got to get out of here. I started back, retracing my steps.

Then up by the sheep pen I saw a man with big buckets. I moved toward him with my fully loaded bike. I must have looked like someone from another planet. He threw the buckets in the back of his van. I thought he was leaving. HELP, I cried out. He stopped. I got closer. He stared at me. I took a breath: I only speak English. I'm lost and can you take me to a road. By now it was 4 p.m.

Get in, he said.

He told me I was lucky--I wanted to laugh--because he only comes out twice a week to water the sheep. Then I wanted to cry. I did.

He said he'd take me out, then he said he'd take to the next biggest town. Then he said he'd take me halfway to Kongsgårdmoen, my destination. I said that would be great. We passed roads with bike paths beside them. Why couldn't Google have put me on them?

It was 5 pm when I started toward Hvittingfoss on route 32. I'd have about 40 KM, but that's only 24 miles. I have time, the sun wouldn't set for another 7 hours.

But I had a headache from the sun, the stress, and crying. And there was wind. At one point wanted to take a photo of the Lagen river, and the wind almost blew me over, so kept going. Even going down hill I got no speed.

My cranks started clicking. Not serious, but annoying. Everything felt awful and bad. At 6:15 and only 64 KM, I pulled off the road at a church where I sat for a very long time. I only had 18 KM to go, but was done. Beaten. I went to fix my cranks (maybe) and discovered my lube had leaked. I cleaned up my front handlebar bag, got out my allen wrench, which was still slippery and went to tighten the cranks. My hand slipped and I fell head first into gravel, gashing my forehead.

Then my phone really blitzed out, like that day I tried to get to Zwolle.

I got permission to camp behind the church. Maybe the word is out a foreigner is here, every 5 minutes a new person drives up to water around a grave. Hopefully, tomorrow Kongsgårdmoen and Heddal.