The Drive from Norway
E6 south 257 to 51 to E16
Look for Steinkjer north of Trondheim
Levanger
Stjørdal
Trondheim
Oppdal
Dovre
Otta
Route 51, Vaga to Fagernes
E16 to Vang
Lærdal
Aurland
Voss
Vaksdal
Bergen
Friday morning I packed the car went to the town office to tell them to stop taxing me, then hopped over to the DMV to tell them I was moving. While I was there, I saw Vidare who was registering the MGTD he built from a pile of bits; it looked showroom new. Then I went to the office and waited for my boxes to get picked up. The movers didn't come, so at about 3:00 I headed off with a full car and the Austin Powers theme on the stereo. Bjorn Erik had started calling the Healy "Shaggy" and I guess that is going to stick.
The drive went fine, it was a bright sunny day, and it was a shame to have the hard top on the car. I kept up with traffic ok, maybe a little slow, I was doing about 55. It was nice to have the speedo working as the tack is dead and so is the water temperature gauge. At Frosta I stopped to eat my salmon sandwich, and I checked the fluids. All was fine and I got to Størdal a little early. It took about two hours from Steinkjer as Størdal is just north of Trondheim.
The next morning I wanted to leave at 8 AM because it should be ten hours to Bergen. I checked the fluids again - the radiator was full but the overflow tank was down a bit. For weeks I had been losing oil pressure when the engine was hot but that was solved. So after photos with my cousin Maren, I left at 8:50 and enjoyed another bright sunny day cruising at about 55-60 on empty roads though Trondheim. I was still hating the hard top being on, especially with the added disadvantage that the convertible top was sitting on the speakers. The route was over wonderfully windy roads. I got stuck behind a tour bus for about an hour but the speed was right. I did really appreciate that Mats re-webbed the driver’s seat so it was comfortable. Three hours or so south of Trondheim while pushing up hill smoke started drifting though the dash board!! All the gauges were working so none of them were shorting, and there was no power from the gas petal. I pulled off the road and popped the hood. Smoke was coming out of the rocker cover - the radiator was dry.
The problem on the trip was not going to be oil but coolant. After about half an hour I filled up with water and limped to the service station two kilometers up the road. I bought several litres of water, filled up what containers that I had, topped off the gas and pressed on. The road snaked along a river, and huge fallen boulders filled the river and sometimes made for interesting twists in the road. The way was very windy and would have been fun if I wasn't so worried about blowing up the engine. I missed a few turn outs; they are hard to spot from so low a seat. On the steep mountain wall the trees were turning yellow; autumn comes early up here.
Twenty miles later I stopped at a hotel, where the radiator overheated and blew much steam out the overflow. I talked with some Swedes who own a Spitfire, no fresh water supplies but a nice Jaguar MkII lives there. The restaurant didn't open for another hour so I had to push on to the Hall of the Mountain King. The Dovrefjell is a high, grassy, empty plateau with occasional places for camper vans. I knew the gift shop there had a river if I got very desperate, but the folks at the gift shop got me water from the tap out back. I bought coffee and was off again. A light rain started as I went over the high plateau. Coming down out of the mountains I missed a beautiful place to stop for photos, just over Dombås going into the town at an extreme turn with lots of danger signs. This would have been great were it not clogged with camper vans. The mountains in the distance were covered by rain clouds. I stopped at Dombås to look for a better map and ask for advice on getting to Bergen in the tourist office. The girl didn't understated that I needed a route that had service stations for my old car. I took a photo of the car with a stave church but got mostly tree. I filled up with coffee and was off again through the camper vans, afraid someone would clock me because the MG sits so low. The gorge going to Otta is very dramatic, with a river, a road and a railway line, and high cliffs on either side. I was sad to pass the turn off up to Rondane but I don't know how "Shaggy" would have coped with the 18 kilometers of switchbacks up the mountain. Just one more of my Norwegian dreams that must be delayed.
I made it to the junction of the 257 at Sjoa just past Otta, and stopped for more coffee and to refill everything. It was a cheesy place with big carvings of trolls and moose and the like. I met a guy with a perfectly restored ‘60s Ford 4 door who was off to a swap meet. Then off into the mountains. This was the scary part because the stops would be further apart and there would be less traffic and perhaps no cell phone signal. I stopped at a scenic place to let the car cool. Mats called and I pow-wowed with him about the coolant, took a few photos, and determined that if the lake was on the left side of the road I was still on the right route.
Now it started raining heavily as I got into the high mountains, running hard up the steep climbs. Rain water was coming in at the edge of the windshield and running down the glass into the dash and dripping on my right leg. Route 51 goes into the high Jotunheimen mountains, with peaks of gray craggy stone with snow on them - very dramatic. On each side of the road 9 meter tall poles tell the snowplows where to plow. Rain-soaked hikers were walking along the road; their faces lit up when they saw Shaggy. I gave them a friendly beep beep! The land was very gray and so was the sky, huge mountains all around, their tops crowned by dark rain clouds.
In a light rain I did stop at one hotel high in the mountains somewhere near Vaga, where I was not able to get more water but the hot coffee was dreamy. The hotel sat on the side of a huge lake with high, unspoiled mountains on the far side. I topped up the water and was back on the road. I spotted a cut off road that I remembered father and me taking a few summers ago. It would have shortened the journey by an hour but I kept to the main road for fear of breaking down. The road hugged the mountainside, passing a single file of farms on the south-facing slope.
At Fagernes I took the right turn into the last leg of the journey - the run along the E16 to Bergen. The route was over rolling roads by pretty lakes and low farms. The drive was spectacular, the road a bit slick but there was a picturesque little farm perched on rocks above. The road hugged the shoreline, with lovely snaky bits around little cliffs and waterfalls. The sky was slate gray but the scenery was still spectacular. I think I found the longest tunnel in Norway, Lærdal. The last two checks of the coolant were fine but 24.5 km underground in the dark was still worrying. There were three big cavities in the tunnel, two with ice blue lighting on the white walls and the center one with green lighting. These broke up the darkness well. On the other side the route passed along a deep fjord. The curse of having the hard top is that the top of the mountains is out of sight. To bypass construction the road detoured though little towns on the old windy roads, on which I was definitely driving too fast. I had meant to write the kilometers on the speedo before I left but oh well.
The light was fading, partially because of the high mountains and partially because of getting further south. Up in the valleys there were clouds on the mountains and some late day sun coming in, but mountains filled my view so no sky. Someday I will go back and drive that road with the top down. The car was running well and I fell in behind a Benz that was doing about 50 mph. There wear a few points where I got to see the setting sun; as I went under the bridge at Takvam the sky was purple and orange. A railroad joined up with the E16. Driving was fairly comfortable for a long while, but then I had a bunch of cars pass me and tuck in behind the Benz - just because I'm old I must be slower - but Shaggy held a steady 50 along the fjord. At this point it was dark and I finally passed the Benz after a roundabout. I knew I was getting close but there was still an hour to go. It went dark and little tunnels popped up frequently; I kept hoping the next one would emerge in Bergen center.
Although I knew where the hotel was, my map just had the road ending at a dot labeled Bergen. This does not help when you're looking for an exit, or if there is an exit maybe it would end in a roundabout or something. Well I missed the exit to Bergen’s old town. @#$%! So I took the next which at first I thought was a mistake, but then I came to the edge of the fjord. I was looking for a place to turn around when I drove under the star wall of the fort at the north side of town. I came around Rosencranz
Tower. It was about midnight and the old city was in full party mode!! I fiddled with the iPod and blasted the Austin Powers song as I crusaded though the crowds of partiers - it was great. Just as I got out of the party district I missed the turn off to my hotel and pulled in to the next side street (which was a dead end) and the car overheated. I was down 4 liters of coolant but I made it!!
I called Mats without realizing how late it was, and I was shouting because my ears were ringing. After putting the 4 liters in the radiator it still took me a half hour of running round dead end streets and one way streets to get to the hotel. Father and I had walked this part of town twice so I always new where I was, but going up little streets that only a Spridget could fit to find only a staircase continuing to the next street was frustrating. I finally found the hotel, pulled up on the side walk and staggered in, my ears ringing from the stereo and the engine. Thankfully the hotel had a tiny parking garage. How any bigger car navigated it I don't know; when I left I had to do a 12 point turn to get out of the parking spot!
In the morning I hopped down to the port and took a few shots of Shaggy, my baby. Then I drove though some of the walking streets (you can get away with things in an old car) over to the ferry terminal. At the gate the car stalled as I was getting out my passport but started fine. As I drove to the ship there were a bunch of workers pointing in my direction. I pulled to a stop out of gas! I hopped out and filled up and then pulled onto the ship! I headed up on deck just as we pulled out; I was one of the last to get on.
The sun was out, just a little cloud hugging Ulriken, and I was leaving Norway. No one can say that I didn't try hard to make it all work. I am lucky and thankful that the day my boss said he wasn't going to pay me I got this job in Holland. But my heart still wants to be in Norway.
I walked around the deck as the ship passed down the fjord, and talked with some English teachers. Then I took a nap as it rained. I woke up and we were in Stavanger. It is a spectacular, beautiful city with a nice mix of historical buildings and new bridges, and all surrounded by mountains.
Leaving Stavanger, I sat in the sun reading as Norway slowly disappeared to the stern. In the morning I had a good breakfast and put on my Union Jack shirt. I stood at the bow of the ship with a whole flock of bird watchers as we came in to Newcastle. On the headlands were the ruins of a priory and I chose that as my first destination. Down on the car deck I was hopping up and down with excitement. When I reached customs the officer asked how long I was going to be in England. I said seven hours. What was my purpose in England? I said I'm very excited to dive my English car in England. All I got was a very dry "I see that."
Well, I drove up the coast and stopped at the priory and a lighthouse. I ran out of film and battery on the digital camera. I did a few laps and stopped to get a map to go to the "new castle," but no luck so I went into the café across from where I parked. On my way in the couple having coffee reminded me to "pay and display," so I did. I grabbed a coffee and sat down with Fred and Wendy. Fred had been a British car mechanic in the ‘60s and they go to Goodwood every year! If you love British cars you can make friends anywhere.
At the end of the day I went back to the priory and had a hamburger and then back to the port. So much for dear old blity.
It was an uneventful passage over to Holland. The cabin was very dark so I had no sense of time when I woke up in the morning. I sat out on deck in the morning sun plowing through my book. About a half hour out from the coast we passed a huge wind farm, massive windmills in rows well out of sight of land. They were very still, hence the problem of wind power.
Well, if I thought the rolling hills of Newcastle were flat, Holland is in a new league altogether. I pulled off the ship and got my passport stamped; yes, the guard looked at me funny, a US passport with a Dutch work permit in a car with a union jack on it with Norwegian plates!
I headed south and just kept going on anything that looked like it would head south though small towns. After 40 minutes I stopped to check the coolant and got directions, which was good but it meant I was then on the highway with big trucks. I took it slow and found Breda at about 1:00 in the afternoon. My hotel was one town north so back on the highway, then some fun wandering around lost in a small town. The hotel had a sign in the main street that was... well, irrelevant would be an under statement, but it was safe.
I said I could build my own car and drive it across Europe and it worked. Two days later I drove to the beach. The filler for the radiator snapped off and I limped home 4 miles at a hop.
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