It’s -20°C when I hit the sack, but I sleep like a log. I get up early, stumble around for a while in the powder, and witness an indescribable sunrise over a standard‐issue breakfast of porridge and instant coffee.
The day’s ride doesn’t start well, as my jacket’s main zip slider snaps in half and I ride all day with my main source of insulation held together with safety pins. Later, I lose my phone and spend at least an hour contemplating hitching back to my campsite to find it, before finding it at the bottom of a pannier. (My night‐time pannier — what’s it doing in there?)
But today is mostly about stunning visuals, and I don’t let much else get in the way of simply enjoying them. Simple beauty is what this day is about, up here in the mountains, on the back‐roads through rarely‐frequented villages and valleys.
I arrive in Tynset, the largest settlement I’ve come to since Oslo, with an hour of light to spare. The long descent into the town leaves me chilled to the bone. But I soon meet up with my host, who has very kindly agreed to put me up for the next couple of nights. I look forward to my day of rest, and feel that it is well deserved.