Driving to Survive

As the sun slipped out of view, my journey north began...

Norway is a country of contrasts. The people that choose a more exhilarating life in towns and cities are never more than a stone’s throw from the sleepy vistas of rolling countryside. Alcohol is ruinously expensive but that doesn’t seem to stop the locals enjoying it in vast quantities (take note the UK Government). And for half the year its roads are bathed in sunshine and lined with lush green trees, while the other half of the year sees the tarmac glisten under the influence of snow and ice, and the flora haunt the edges of roads as skeletons of their former selves.

Oslo Rygge airport's collection of rental hatchbacks.

My visit to Norway in February was my first – I’ve got a feeling it won’t be my last. But that certainly won’t be because of my hire car, a lowly 1.6-litre, petrol powered Toyota Auris with all the guts of a nostril hair trimmer and an engine note to match. 

Our first encounter with the Japanese hatchback at Oslo Rygge airport was far from memorable. Road salt was yet to be washed off its silver metallic bodywork, which made it look like one of those old fridges you see discarded on a landfill site.

But at least it had winter tyres. These are compulsory in Norway during the winter months and were soon to prove their worth as I slipped onto the E6 motorway heading north towards Oslo, before spearing west on route 23.

The eastern entrance to the challenging Oslofjordtunnelen.

This road takes you west of Drøbak via the fast descending and then fast climbing Oslofjordtunnelen, the latter challenge of which the Auris could only just manage in third with right foot mashed on the loud pedal. This part of the journey was mind boggling, but only because the tunnel lighting was so poor and the juggernauts had more torque than our entry level Auris.

A Norwegian speed camera.

We hadn’t travelled far – about 45 clicks – but already the Norwegian roads had made a massive impression. The speed cameras, for instance, are as covert as a sniper in a ghillie suit. They are finished in matte grey, which blends into the night so well, every time you see a speed camera sign your eyes protrude from their sockets for the next eight miles because you are never quite sure if you’ve past the wretched thing or not.

You don’t know how easy we have it in Blighty until you’ve seen one of these things – or rather not seen one of them until it’s too late.

Of course, you could always travel at the speed limit which is usually around 50km/h out of town. But given the sheer amount of lovely sweeping curves Norway’s terrain throws at you, it always feels a bit pedestrian. And more often than not, you’ve got a Scandinavian close behind. But not too close, because if they were their headlights would get clogged up with the road grime your car is kicking up out back. Experience is priceless on Norway’s roads.

Salt prevents ice spawning on the road - but not always.

But even with extra know-how, during winter the continuously evolving road surface will always catch out the exuberant. Which is why even those familiar with the roadscape tend to stay in convoy for tens of miles at a time rather than overtake each other and risk their life for an extra few minutes at home.

You stay together for so long, in fact, you develop a sense of camaraderie. If one of you was to fall off the road there’s little doubt everybody else would stop and check for vital signs. The poignant feeling of isolation does that to human beings, especially at night.

Another factor to keep you on your toes is the Monaco esque channelling through the tighter curves of what Brits would call B-roads. First comes a roadside sign letting you know you’re close to the corner. Then, out of nowhere, come the six-feet tall walls that separate your lane from the other side. These things are like central reservations on steroids.

And yet every one bears the scars from a machine whose owner anticipated there was more grip than there really was and sent their pride and joy into a very expensive embrace with solid concrete. Norway may be quite beautiful, but its roads can bite back. Hard.

The town of Gol is surrounded by breathtaking roads.

The four hours it took to reach Gol felt like twice that – and the first beer tasted doubly good. I set off from Oslo Rygge airport at sunset and arrived in Gol in the dead of night when temperatures were nearing their lowest. The return journey – again at night – saw the Toyota showing -15C on its unappealing, yellow lit display. Experience counts for a lot when things get that cold. Luckily, I had at least some...