Am I really in the Arctic in February? I ask myself as I clamber from my tent once more. I’ve been wild-camping for several days and have noticed that I’m emitting an increasingly blood-curdling reek. Unsurprising — it’s been almost a week since I last took off my long-sleeved baselayer.
Sören drops me off where I’d left my bike. It’s almost eight in the morning, sunlight seeping into the sky. It’s ‑29°C, so I waste no time in getting going — I can’t afford to stand around. The first few minutes bring an uncomfortable chill to my extremities, but I soon warm up and settle into an established, comfortable rhythm.