The Lofoten Islands all to ourselves, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, at that moment when everything becomes softer, simpler. Not a sound, not a presence, just the steep mountains plunging into the sea, and that strange feeling of being exactly in the right place at the right time.
Traveling by bike is a series of contrasts. In the morning, you leave your sleeping bag wondering why you're putting yourself through this. During the day, you pedal for hours, battling the cold, the wind, the hills, and sometimes even yourself. You start to hate your bike, wondering what you're doing there, so far from home. Then, without warning, a moment erases everything. A bend in the road, a view, a burst of light. And suddenly, you remember. You remember why you left, why you chose this way of traveling. You remember that you love it, deeply.
That evening, it was exactly that. A perfect end to the day, a silent road, an unreal setting. And the certainty deep down that a small A-frame shelter was waiting for us somewhere for the night. Nothing luxurious.
