Just a day of burning petrol. I’ve seen everything I want to see in Norway and all that’s left is the arctic circle and Nordkapp. The overnight rain lets off just in time to make breakfast and reload the bike. Waiting for yet another ferry I meet the only motorcycle policeman in the area, whose nearest biking colleagues are in Bergen and Oslo. A diversion via the supposedly spectacular Atlantic highway turns out to be not worth the time or the toll fees. I’m surprised to see the group of English bikers I met several days ago, who were going much faster than me but are now sitting outside a cafe right here. I’ve caught up with them because they were stuck in Voss for two days after one of the bikes chains broke and they had to wait for parts. They soon disappear again and so do the miles as I blast past Trondheim and onto to the Arctic highway. The landscape opens out, flattens out, spreads out, the treeline slowly drops, agriculture thins out then disappears. I pass dozens of motorhomes and caravans. Norway must have the highest motorhome density of any country. Into the evening and the traffic thins, leaving me free to enjoy the relaxed riding on roads that are wider, straighter, faster and longer than Norway has presented before. The weather is much the same, though, and I ride through torrential downpours split by half-hearted sun. Approaching Mosjoen the rain is hard and the sky is black, lit with lightning strikes. It stays light through the night so I’d expected to be riding quite late to cover some ground. With the storm clouds it’s really dark so I pull in at a "Hytter – ledige" sign (cabins – available), expecting merely to get out of the rain but finding a room with a view over the river, the snow capped peaks, and a front row seat for the perfect storm. Tomorrow, the Arctic circle beckons.