Downhill village

LOOK, HERE I AM in a hire car outside the Stopp 69 petrol station at Sjøholt, in Møre og Romsdal County, Norway. There’s a raisin bun in my right hand and a cola in my left. The stereo is blasting a relatively aggressive tune by Interpol. The rear passenger seats are folded down, and mountain bikes fill 80 percent of the car’s interior. It smells of earth, bicycle oil and fried chips. And who is that seated beside me? Yes, it’s Ingrid Hokstad. The mountain-bike phantom who spent the winter in Chamonix and is now planning a move to Fernie, in Canada. She has just one question, one important question: ”How much farther is it to Fjørå?”

FJØRÅ. What a name. What a sound. Try saying it aloud: FYUH-raa. Well, you’ll have to trust me: it sounds beautiful. This little village has always been in the shade of world-famous neighbourhood landmarks like the Trollstigen switchback road, the Valldal strawberry valley and Geiranger, that fjord of fjords. The only thing Fjørå itself has been known for is a tragic avalanche that took the lives of 17 people in 1934. More recently Fjørå has been losing population. Its one store has closed down. It’s been the kind of place you drive through, bound somewhere else.

IN 2004, HOWEVER, Fjørå received a visit by two Sunnmøringer. Armed with big suspension forks, Arild Eidset and Helge Høyvik were on the lookout for narrow trails, spectacular descents and peak experiences. In Fjørå they found it all. Absolutely everything. They found the Shangri La of Norwegian mountain biking. Pictures of it soon spread across the World Wide Web. Pictures of a perfect trail, shaped over hundreds of years by high-mountain dairy maids and foot tourists. I saw the pictures on a computer screen three years ago and have thought of them every day since.

AND NOW WE’RE HERE. Finally. The pioneers Arild Eidset and Helge Høyvik have drawn in the most important descents for us. They have also arranged transport for us to a high-mountain summer farm, which in practice means that the friendly landowner Ove Vegard Selbuskard takes us in his pick-up truck as far up as the road goes. Sheep stare at us intently. It’s warm, almost muggy, as we push our heavy mountain bikes still farther up, toward Mefjellet. But the heat doesn’t bother us. We know that every metre of elevation we clear now, on foot, will provide a second of ecstasy on the way down.

IT’S LATE EVENING as we stand at the summit munching chocolate, with mountains all around. Almost reverently, we take out our knee pads, elbow pads and helmets. We roll the first few meters off the peak. I’ve never had such a spectacular view before my front wheel. This trail leads straight to dreamland.

Text Eivind Eidslott
Photo Jørgen H. Moen