CYCLE TO SUMMIT - a bike to ski adventure across Lofoten Islands
INTRODUCTION
The idea of leaving came to me and Francesco last year on a spring day, and between one chat and another, the plan was born: to head to the Far North, beyond the Arctic Circle, to ski on the Norwegian fjords. The goal was to cross Lofoten Islands self-sufficiently by bike and ski — an ambitious project, to say the least, that required a lot of planning.
The team consisted of three guys:
Giulio — a dreamer, cyclist, and skier… but only on Sundays.
Ale — a filmmaker and mountaineer, but… never ridden a bike.
Franz — a huge ski lover, but please, don’t talk to him about video!
Winter came, and we set our departure date: March 26.
ARRIVAL IN NORWAY
March 26th arrived almost suddenly, and on a rainy evening, we arrived in Bodø. We quickly learned to accept the rain as a constant travel companion.
During the rest of the winter, we pour tons of mental energy into deciding where to ski – considering wind, snow accumulation, sun exposure, and more. But here, there’s no driving to another zone or comparing weather stations. It’s just what we see from the tent window. The entire experience feels more like solving a puzzle.
DAY 0
The following morning, while waiting for our ferry, we started assembling our bikes… the lightest one weighed 75 kg. It was only late in the evening that we reached Svolvær by ferry, under heavy snowfall.
DAY 1
At dawn, we started cycling north, and after the first 10 km, at the bottom of a descent, Franz got a flat on his front wheel. We replaced the inner tube and quickly set off again, still unaware that this would have been just the beginning of many technical problems.
Riding along the Austnesfjorden, I suggested turning west, where we could take shelter in a bivouac for the night.It was just a few kilometers from our destination when Franz’s front wheel suddenly exploded. There wasn’t a soul around, and the deformed tire made it impossible to fix on our own.
The rain and the approaching darkness threw Franz into a panic. Then, in the distance, we spotted a tiny dot approaching that gave us a flicker of hope: it was a van, and we had a chance to ask for help.
The driver, Tom, was incredibly generous — after identifying the tire model, he drove Franz to the bivouac and then returned from the city a short time later with a new wheel. Franz, clearly moved, gave him a big hug, thanking him for the help.
Before leaving, Tom handed us three bags of firewood. “So you can dry off and stay warm,” he said. “Because in Norway, it gets cold.”
DAY 2
Franz barely had time to wake up before he rushed to check if his wheel was still inflated — and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the new tire was holding up.
Once we packed up all our gear, we resumed our journey. The plan was to head toward Laupstad, completing the loop and returning close to where we had turned off the day before. Unfortunately, the first few kilometers brought more trouble: within just 100 meters, I lost a crank arm and then got a flat on my rear wheel. Meanwhile, on Ale’s bike, a bolt holding up the rear rack came loose at the bottom of a descent.
But we had learned our lesson — once again, teamwork saved the day.
We reached Laupstad in the early afternoon, but since the rain didn’t let up, we stopped for lunch under a small shelter that turned out to be a bus stop — the first of many.
Due to the bad weather, we had to give up skiing for the day, so we went looking for a spot to pitch the tent. We set it up right on the fjord’s edge, in a grassy field, and at last, the sun came out.
The next day’s goal was Geitgaljen, one of the most iconic mountains in the area. Around midnight, Franz woke up to pee. Trying not to disturb me and Ale, he slipped on his shoes and stepped outside the tent — and as he turned to go back in… there it was: a streak across the sky — the long-awaited northern lights.
We stayed outside for over an hour, mesmerized by that cascade of lights, until the biting cold finally drove us back inside.
DAY 3
The night’s serenade had brought temperatures below freezing, and in the morning we realized everything around us was covered in a layer of ice.
We strapped our skis onto our backpacks and set off on foot toward the start of the route. The lack of snow in the lower section made the ascent a bit tricky, but with crampons we managed to climb over rocky ledges and reach higher ground. Up there, the landscape changed drastically. The snow shortage was now just a memory, and the jagged peaks — barely over a thousand meters high — looked as if they belonged to a completely different world.
The cold wind had shaped those mountains in such a way that it felt like we were in Patagonia, with the characteristic “mushroom” formations of wind-sculpted ice.
Geitgaljen was getting closer, while the frozen Austnesfjorden and the tiny orange dot of our tent made the scenery feel surreal.
For the descent, we chose to make a loop, heading south through a gully until we reached the beach at sunset — skis still on our feet. Bathed in a warm orange light and filled with a speechless sense of joy, we returned to our tent.
DAY 4
The night’s serenade had brought temperatures below freezing, and in the morning we realized everything around us was covered in a layer of ice.
We strapped our skis onto our backpacks and set off on foot toward the start of the route. The lack of snow in the lower section made the ascent a bit tricky, but with crampons we managed to climb over rocky ledges and reach higher ground. Up there, the landscape changed drastically. The snow shortage was now just a memory, and the jagged peaks — barely over a thousand meters high — looked as if they belonged to a completely different world.
The cold wind had shaped those mountains in such a way that it felt like we were in Patagonia, with the characteristic “mushroom” formations of wind-sculpted ice.
Geitgaljen was getting closer, while the frozen Austnesfjorden and the tiny orange dot of our tent made the scenery feel surreal.
For the descent, we chose to make a loop, heading south through a gully until we reached the beach at sunset — skis still on our feet. Bathed in a warm orange light and filled with a speechless sense of joy, we returned to our tent.
DAY 5
We woke up surprised by an overnight snowfall and a shy sun peeking through the clouds. We were eager to make the most of every moment, so we even skipped breakfast. Within minutes, we were ready on our skis.
We skied along a frozen lake, where beautiful red cabins occasionally dotted the shoreline. The climb quickly became steep, and after gaining the first 300 meters of elevation, the clouds rolled in. Worried about getting caught in a total whiteout, we reluctantly removed our skins and turned back. But as if the sun was playing hide-and-seek with us, it reappeared once we reached the bottom. Regretting our decision, we let ourselves be swept up in Ale’s enthusiasm… skins back on — and up we went again!
The return descent turned out to be trickier than expected. To avoid getting lost, we carefully followed the tracks left by a skier who had gone before us.
After crossing a steep gully barely wider than our skis, we neared the end of our morning just in time — before the downpour began. Donning our rain gear, we set off toward Henningsvær. Though the distance wasn’t far, the heavy rain made for an unpleasant ride.
That night, we stayed in a bivouac, although we were never quite sure whether it was truly public or private. Given our condition, we decided not to overthink it. With great respect, we quietly settled in.
We gathered some wood and lit the stove to warm up, while outside the wind had picked up enough to let us string up a paracord and hang our shells, which dried in just a couple of hours.
As we did every evening, we sat down to plan our next moves. The forecast called for two days of storms, and we were alarmed. It would have been a true North Sea storm, with winds over 60 knots — meaning the bridges would have been closed, making both biking and skiing impossible.
But time was slipping away before our eyes, so we decided to attempt “the crossing.” The plan was to cycle to the end of the islands and catch the return ferry not from Svolvær, but from Moskenes — but only after reaching Å, the last village of the Lofoten.
It would have been 130 kilometers to cover in bad weather, with bikes weighing over 70 kilos. It was a daunting challenge — but we didn’t let fear take over.
DAY 6
When we woke up, it was already raining — but the decision had been made.We loaded up the bikes and headed south toward Leknes. We covered the first 60 km, mostly along the sea. From time to time, rays of sunlight broke through the clouds, turning the ocean a crystal-clear blue. The road crossed long bridges, fjords, and solitary villages. For long stretches, we didn’t see a single soul, which allowed us to fully immerse ourselves in the journey.
We could feel the kilometers rolling beneath our tires, and we stopped caring about the relentless rain. Just before reaching Leknes, we had to face what would be the toughest climb of the whole trip: two kilometers that on our loaded bikes, felt brutally hard. Fortunately, once we reached the top, a long descent led us straight into town, where we dove into a bakery to recharge.
With the fear behind us, we had identified the only safe spot along our route: a public restroom that, according to photos, seemed to be connected to a small room that might serve as “our bed” for the night… but it was still 28 km away, and we’d have to cross the “Nappstraumen” — a dangerous undersea tunnel connecting two islands.
Exhausted, we finally reached our destination, and our faith had paid off! After making sure the bikes were protected from the wind, we set up camp for the night. Dinner was eaten leaning against a concrete block, and our sleeping bags were laid out on the floor of a public bathroom — a reminder that true luxury in life is simply the people you have around you.
As darkness fell, we drifted off to sleep. It had been an epic day: over 90 km covered, all under the rain. But now we were safe, dry — and the storm had become our travel companion.
DAY 7
We all woke up with a start — the windows were shaking from the wind.It was barely dawn when I shouted: “The bikes!!! They’re going into the ocean!!!”In disbelief, we looked outside and saw our bicycles being pushed by the gusts of wind toward the cliffside. We couldn’t believe our eyes. In an instant, we jumped up and, braving the storm, managed with great effort to bring them back inside.
They say all’s well that ends well, and between bursts of laughter, we decided to spend the entire day inside that little place that, even if just for a moment, had made us feel at home.The goal was to carefully plan out our final day. Through the glass window, we watched the sun rise as the sea grew rougher and rougher.
We stepped outside only for a few minutes, but the wind was so strong it was hard to stay on our feet.Not a single person passed by, and around us, storm noises and frost reigned.
DAY 8 (end of the adventure)
The next morning, the wind had died down and we were finally able to set off again.After just a few kilometers, a light snow began to fall — light but incredibly thick, and within minutes everything turned white. Nearly ten centimeters had already piled up on the road.
We took shelter at a bus stop, waiting for the snowfall to ease. As soon as the weather gave us a break, we set off again and quickly passed through the beautiful towns of Hamnøy and Reine.
It was just after noon when we finally arrived in Å. The sun lit up the pier — it felt almost like a cruel joke, but we took it for what it was.
We had learned that around Lofoten Islands, the days are shaped by the rhythm of nature: it was the weather that made the plans, and we just had to follow.We were tired, a bit smelly, but happy. Words didn’t come easily; the silence brought us inward, trying to process what we had just lived.It had been an intense journey that pushed all three of us beyond our limits. We boarded the ferry with our minds still full of thoughts, and once we arrived in Bodø, a hot shower brought us back to reality.
We began to truly process what we had experienced only by looking back at the photos: the plans we had started with and how, day by day, we had to change them — adapting and reshaping our days based on what the weather allowed.We brought home a new awareness: that believing in a dream is not enough unless you're ready to embrace and love the hardship, the cold, and the biting wind on your face.
We could have followed the many pieces of advice from people around us, but instead, we chose to push ourselves beyond our comfort zones, past every limit and fear that held us back. We strapped skis to a bike, wrote “cycle to summit,” and started pedaling.
And soon, this adventure will become a documentary — to share the story, the struggles, and the beauty of a bike to ski adventure across Lofoten Islands.
A project by cycle to summit.
Written by Giulio Ballardini.
