Lom - Sognefjellshytta

I rolled out of Lom on a cool morning with gels and energy bars stuffed into my jersey pockets, knowing full well there would be nothing between me and Sognefjellshytta except tarmac, wind and mountains. The Lom stavkyrkje watched me go — that dark, tar-scented silhouette is one of those sights that makes you pause for a photo even when you're itching to get the legs turning. From the church the RV55 tips gently upward alongside the Bøvra river, following the Bøverdalen valley deeper into the range. The first hour is deceptive: the gradient is modest, the tarmac smooth, and you can spin along at a comfortable pace while the valley walls slowly close in around you.

Then the Sognefjellsvegen begins in earnest. The road ramps up through a series of switchbacks, and the trees thin out until suddenly you're above the treeline and into proper high-mountain country. This is one of the highest mountain passes in Northern Europe and it feels it — glacial meltwater pouring off the rocks, the Smørstabbtindan and the broader Jotunheimen peaks rearing up on either side, and in early season, towering walls of snow carved out by the ploughs lining the road. I passed a Norwegian cross-country ski team out training on rollerskis, which tells you everything about how serious this climb is. The wind up top has a real bite, and the sense of scale is hard to overstate — it's bleak and beautiful and relentlessly photogenic.

I reached Sognefjellshytta genuinely cold despite the effort, and ducked inside for the traditional treatment: a bowl of hot soup, a waffle with brown cheese and jam, and a strong coffee. Twenty minutes by the fire and I felt human again. Before dropping back down I pulled on every layer I had — a windproof jacket, full-finger gloves and a buff over the ears. The descent is long, fast and exposed, and the wind-chill at 70 km/h on a body that's just finished climbing for two hours is not to be underestimated. I've been colder on that descent than on many winter rides.

The run back down Bøverdalen to Lom is pure reward — sweeping bends, the Bøvra tumbling alongside, and the valley gradually softening back into farmland and birch forest. I rolled into Lom with tired legs and a huge grin, racked the bike outside Bakeriet i Lom, and finally cashed in the cheque I'd been writing myself all day. A skolebrød, a cinnamon knot and a proper coffee in the sun, looking back up towards the mountains I'd just climbed and descended. That, for me, is what this ride is about: earn the bakery, don't pre-empt it.