Perhaps this landscape means nothing to you. But this globe, standing there facing the void, is a symbol. The northernmost point of Europe, the edge of a continent, the end of a road for so many travelers.
We cover the last hundred meters, speechless. A few tourists, bundled up in their coats, watch us approach. Their eyes reflect a mixture of astonishment and admiration. Two cyclists, here, in the heart of winter.
71° north. You can't go any further on land, at least not in Europe. Here, the road ends; beyond, there is only the sea, the wind, and the vast sky.
There's no one to greet us, no one to congratulate us on this month of tireless cycling. No banners, no music, no outstretched hands. And yet, this moment contains everything. The Norwegian Sea stretches out before us while our bikes lie in the snow, covered in salt and memories. And this globe, planted in the wind, watches over the sea.
I remember thinking to myself, in that striking silence: We are so far from home. It's crazy. But what's even crazier is that this was only half the journey.
