Atlantic Ocean Road
Feat of engineering? Work of art? Either way, Norway’s Atlantic Ocean Road is a ride you can’t miss
It’s like Scotland… Only better,” says fellow rider Sean, as he sits back with coffee in hand. These are strong words – fighting words, some would say – to fall on a Scotsman’s ears, and in normal circumstances they could lead to a sharp response, or even a light scuffle. But in this case they are actually spoken by a fellow Scot.
We are sitting outside our hotel on the north west coast of Norway, cradling a last steaming coffee before setting off on a ride up the famous Atlantic Ocean Road. The sun is out, the roads that we have seen on our drive here, snaking along the coastline through rocky islands above deep blue water, are beautifully smooth, and the drivers – what little of them there are – seem courteous and far more relaxed than their British counterparts. Add a background of mountains and sprinkling of lively coloured clapboarded houses, and if there is a cycling heaven, it wouldn’t look too different to this.
Opened in 1989 the Atlantic Ocean Road was built to link the island of Averøy with the mainland but, being Norwegian, it was done with a degree of flair and style rarely seen elsewhere in those dark days of architecture. Sixteen years later it was voted Norway’s ‘Engineering Feat of the Century’ and has turned into a top tourist destination in its own right. With over 6km of swooping bridges and winding tarmac spanning a multitude of small islands, what could have been a bland and cheerless project has been made into something people travel the world to see. Only metres above the churning swell for most of the journey, the road occasionally arcs high over the water in spectacular fashion, like someone has bumped the designer’s elbow while squeezing past their desk, only to swoop down once more in wonderfully flowing lines. It is unquestionably one for your riding bucket list.
The official tourist route goes from Bud in the west all the way to Kristiansund in the east, but we have been drawn here by spectacular images of a bridge section right in the middle. So, with a little online digging, we concoct a route that takes in the bridges then tours the coast road of Averøy rather than doing the point-to-point tourist option. A return over the bridges will give us a second chance to get some salt spray in our nostrils – and down our helmet vents if the weather is rough – before a circuit on the mainland drops us back to our hotel at Hustadvika.
Jumping on our hired Look 675s we glide off away from our hotel and hit the roads. A short stint on main road number 64 is pleasant and rolling, but as soon as we cut off onto the minor road paralleling it we realise just how quiet life is here. With an average population density of around a twentieth of the UK it isn’t just our imagination
that, when you leave the main population centres, the roads really are deserted.
The route gently meanders through scattered houses along the coast, back from the waterline for the moment but occasionally sneaking views of secret cabins clinging on to rocks by the lapping water, boats tied outside and nets drying. Turning to our right mountains serrate the skyline and I can’t help but think I am in the Scottish Hebrides, with their almost identical landscape and ruggedly windswept feel.
The sea is benign today however, something we’re glad of as the road drops almost to water level. Even with these gentle conditions the sea dashes menacingly off the walls of the causeway, swirling and heaving underneath the low bridges as we pedal onto our first islands.
“I would hate to see this in a storm,” one of our number calls over his shoulder. I have a flash of the same scene in bad weather, with walls of white water exploding skywards over the road. Actually, apart from the whole salt water/ drivetrain no-no, I think I would quite like to see that… With nothing between here and the coast of Canada I reckon the wind could blow the hair clean off your head.
Fishermen line the sides of the first bridge, with one pulling a flapping mackerel out as we pass, letting out a shout that brings others jogging down from their positions. We cruise along before digging in for a surprisingly steep climb up and over the big one, the Storseisundet Bridge, taking in the glorious views as we grind up its flank. A moment at the top – there is nowhere to pause – allows us to take in the flawless landscape of rock and sea all around, a water-skier unzipping the blue water nearby, before pedalling out on the smooth and curving descent, tucked low all the way into the cafe below at Elduset.
A moment at the top allows us to take in the flawless landscape of rock and sea all around
A sea of white campervans have the same idea, so after being served lattes by a lovely lady from Aberdeen and sitting among the throngs, we take off once more. Once off the bridges and causeways the route settles into a more routine land-based nature. The roads and separate cycleways are still glorious and well maintained, and the scenery around Averøy is just pristine. Barely a car passes as we spin through endless farmland, the road rising and falling to reveal new views around every corner, all of them including at least a peek of the sparkling sea.
By the time we return over the Atlantic Ocean Road the sun has gone in, the sky flattened to uniform grey. I am glad we got to see it at its best, and it is a happy peloton that spins round the mainland loop to finally step off the bikes back at the hotel for a slap-up feed.
Was it better than Scotland? Well, you would never catch me saying that about anywhere. But watching the moon rise over the sea from our hotel that evening, celebratory beer in hand, I am still struggling to formulate a cohesive counterargument. Mind you at nine quid a pint I may have found the Achilles heel but, supping away, I dismiss the idea. It is worth it. Very worth it…