Drivetrain Woes on Donna

From Sandnessjoen I took the 13:00 h ferry to the town of Bjorn on the island of Donna. What a misnomer, I didn't spot any bears there. The plan was to take a tour of the northern part of the island and then cross over via bridges to the island of Heroy.

However I was surprised by how loud the clicking in my drivetrain, which I'd noticed for a few days now, had become. I stopped a few times to inspect the bike and isolate the origin of the sound. It's not the pedals that creak, it's got to be somewhere on the crank or the bottom bracket. I tightened the crank again to no avail. Intuitively I'd suspect a loose chainring bolt but I can't verify that without a 10 mm Allen key.

A bike shop should be able to help me. There is one in Sandnessjoen which was open til 18:00 h despite it being a Saturday. I decided to pay them a visit so instead of continuing to Heroy I went back to Bjorn to wait for the ferry back to where I started today. After a while however I noticed that the ferry I was waiting on didn't actually go to Sandnessjoen but to some other island, and it would take another hour for the right ferry to show up. Damn. The bike shop would be closed by then. Unfortunately it was now also too late to ride to Heroy if I wanted to continue on my trajectory due to how the subsequent ferries were scheduled. The only reasonable way forward was to wait it out and then continue riding with a clicking drivetrain without visiting the bike shop. What a mess.

Ferry Hopping

The ferry came eventually and left me with two hours to reach the next one at Tjotta, about 36 km away. Ignoring the clicking noise, I started pedaling and reached that ferry with plenty of time to go shopping at Tjotta's 24 hour supermarket.

Likewise for the next ferry: I had an hour to cover the 16 km between docks, and arrived early enough to see what appeared to be a fat otter busily swim about and walk between the rocks before it got scared away by the incoming boat. That stretch of road from Forvik to Andalsvag is notable because despite being on a peninsula connected to the mainland, it can only be reached over the sea with these two ferries.

When I got off the boat in Horn I noticed the last ferry of the day to the Vega islands was still docked and about to board the three cars that were lined up. That surprised me as I didn't think I would make it in time. After the mechanical problems earlier today completely shuffled any plans I've had for going there I was already resigned to head to Bronnoysund first. Well then, one minute later I was sat on the passenger deck of the fifth sailing in one day.

The Bird Island, at Night

Disembarking the ferry on Igeroya, an island connected to Vega proper through a bridge, I immediately noticed the different mood of the archipelago. It's the birds that run the show here. Wherever I went: through forests and fields, along shores and rocks -- everywhere there was at least one bird singing in the background, or crying accusatorily in the foreground as with seagulls.

Farmers were busy as well. I must have encountered half a dozen tractors and other farming implements on the road even past midnight. Otherwise traffic was quiet. To the extent that I met more roe deer than cars on the roads, as well as one stag who was observing me from in between the birches.

I took a grand tour of the main island, exploring first the southwest which is marked by a chain of tall mountains that can be seen from pretty much every corner of the otherwise flat island. The I crossed it diagonally until I arrived at the northeastern shore to a still life of an idyllic former trade port. There I gazed north at the "night": when the sun dips under the horizon for a few moments of combined dusk and dawn. The spectacle lasts one hour and forty minutes up here at a latitude of about 65.6 degrees.

To conclude the day I headed almost all the way west across the island again on the northern road passing through the largest settlement, Gladstad. On the ferry I had researched locations for spending the night and the shores of the interior lake Holmvatnet seemed the best candidate. I didn't expect too many campers there in this weather. And I was right, I was there all by myself -- not counting the hundreds of birds -- that call the protected lake their home. I didn't even have to pitch the tent as there's a shelter there whith a large enough table to use as a bed. Marvelous.

Listening to the polyphony of birdsong at the lake I had a good night of sleep on my table bed.