It’s the start of a gloomy and unpromising sort of day as I help Dave lug his kit through Tromsø, Norway’s largest city north of the Arctic Circle. During the night, a wet and windy cold front had crashed through – there has been no sign of the summer midnight sun I’ve heard so much about.
At the marina, I see Tromsø’s landmark bridge which arches across the Tromsøysundet strait; the backdrop is all bare rock mountains, with snow on the peaks. I push my hands deeper into my coat pocket as I feel the Arctic chill in the air.
Dave manhandles the Schiller onto the icy water and steps lightly onto one stable pontoon (the floats that steady the ride), before settling onto the seat and pedalling towards open water with a big grin and a determined wave.
Once Dave has set off, I hitch a lift with digital nomads Yellow Matilda – they’ve joined Dave on the road for a few weeks – and we drive south to search out a spot with a jetty to catch up with the adventurer again.
Our route is a narrow, winding road that hugs the fjord, but we don’t even glimpse the tiny offshore craft. “On this expedition, I’ve seen more puffins than people,” Dave will later tell me.
His face is etched with lines like a seafaring fisherman
The view from my window could be lifted straight from a Scandinavian tourist brochure. It’s all lush, green Norwegian Spruce with glimpses of rocky, mossy higher ground; red timber cabins and boat houses are dotted along grey pebble beaches, often with crude wooden frames to dry fish, or picturesque jetties jutting into the startlingly blue water.
We find a sheltered marina and drop a pin in our location on WhatsApp so Dave can find us. Hours later, we spy him, struggling against the incoming tide. Once landed, he lies down and doesn’t move again for a long while.
He is tanned and slim, and his face is etched with lines like a seafaring fisherman. It’s been a tiring journey so far and from here-on-in he’ll be travelling completely alone. But he has no intention of giving up.
The sun breaks out and the Norwegian landscape looks shiny and brand new
“My Achilles tendon is playing up and my butt is in pieces from the long days – sometimes 15 hours pedalling. My waist has dropped by four inches. It’s shaping up to be one of my most challenging expeditions,” Dave says.
The sun breaks out and the Norwegian landscape looks shiny and brand new. The slack water (the tide hasn’t yet turned) gently ripples, and it’s time for me to try out the Schiller.
I gingerly step off the jetty. There’s little movement. The frame of the spare bike is too big for me, but the seat is adjustable and I lean heavily on the handlebars. Later I learn it has been designed this way to ensure your arms take more of the weight than on a conventional bike.
Sturdier than I imagined, the Schiller has a wide turning circle, but is responsive. If you stop pedalling for a second – you can’t freewheel – the prop (the all-in-one rudder and propeller) raises out of the water.
Out on open water, I keep the momentum of my pedalling going. Worried about slowing Dave’s pace, I remind myself to look around at the jaw-dropping scenery.
It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience to be silently pedalling in a fjord, Arctic terns wheeling and swooping above, while a seal plays in our gentle wake.
How to be a modern-day adventurer
I’m on a Hurtigruten ship heading back to Tromsø the final time I see Dave on his Schiller. The captain has spotted him from the bridge and an announcement has gone out to all the passengers.
As a long blast from the ship’s horn sounds out, the crowd waves flags and shouts encouragement. Everyone is smiling and Dave calls out an emotional hello. This is what he is all about – inspiring and encouraging adventure. I chat to him later to find out what it takes to be a modern-day adventurer.
