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August 16, 2004, Leslie Days 18-23 We sadly departed Mosjoen after a few days, but we went out with a big bash inviting all our friends and relatives to a party at the house. 23 drunken Norwegians later, the party ended up with naked Norwegians running around the farm. Leslie and I started our journey south, with our first stop in Mo I Rana, a strange name for a neat little town. Kind of the rival town to Mosjoen, a couple hours north. There we spent the night with my mother's friends Ellen and Osmund. I've known them ever since I can remember, and before long Leslie and i were burriend underneath a large down comforter full of berries, cheese and rolls. The next day we made our way down the coast over 4 ferries and countless miles of striking beauty. Atle's parent's house was the destination, just outside of a sleepy little town on the coast called Bronnysund. It was an old tiny house near a fjord next to a farm. The water smelled like sulfur, but the company made up for it. That night we went fishing out in the Fjord courtesy of Edmund, Atle's friend with a small boat. The fish must have been starving because the moment we dropped our lines the fishes were almost jumping in the boat. Leslie caught what looked like the biggest fish, a 2 foot cod. Then I caught a slightly bigger one. Finally Arik, Atle's 9 year old son caught a monster cod and took the prize. 2nd place got to clean fish with Atle on the shore with a dull knife and fish organs the size of a small cow's liver. We must have caught 20 fish that night, and had to stop because we simply didn't want to have to clean them all. The only other time I've caught so many fish was on the Fjord with Bjorn when we were 12. The next day we wandered around Bronnysund and came back to the house to eat the fish we caught. Grandma Atle cooked up the fish and served a proper Norwegian Middag (dinner). Then if that wasn't enough, we went fishing again on our way out of town, this time at a large river. The fish weren't as eager, but Leslie caught a nice looking trout. Our way down south that night included a 8km tunnel that went both up hill and then downhill, and on forever. The next day was a long trek down to Levanger to visit with Aida once again. Then down south to Bergen. On the way we stopped and rented a cute little cabin at a campground in Voss. That night we ran into two other motorcyclists at the gas station in town who were there for a dualsport rally up in the hills. Leslie had plans of her own with a good book in the cabin, so I followed one of the Norwegians on his GS and flew up the mountain to the camp site. There must have been 50 other bikers at the rally, all on dual sport bikes. The most popular were Transalps, followed by GSs. And I have no idea how they got so much beer up there. The ride to Bergen was another long trek, but the most beautiful day on the bike by far. We inadvertently took the long way over a mountain pass and ended up on a never ending road that was barely wide enough for one small car. It wandered up and down a beautiful 'fjella' with waterfalls, rivers and glaciers. The final stretch into Bergen involved a hundred tunnels and even more Germans in their RVs. At the campsite in Bergen that night we met some French motorcyclists coming back from Nordkap. Leslie's French started to come out and I was shocked at how well she spoke. The Frenchies were full of stories and even invited us to stay with them just south of Paris. Bergen's a bizarre town unlike any other in Norway. It felt a lot like Amsterdam or Copenhagen. The fish market was filled with bizarre creatures, and a few Monkfish, which must be the ugliest creatures imaginable! The ferry to Newcastle was a welcome day off the bike. We had a cozy little cabin beneath the car deck, which meant underwater in the hull of the boat. Oddly enough it was the most steady spot on the boat so we slept like lazy cats. On the boat that evening we experienced Northern England's finest as they drank and partied themselves senseless. Now I don't know much about the northern English, but I swear they're speaking another language, and I'm not going to say anything about the women... We shacked up in a swanky business hotel in Leeds courtesy of the internet. Somehow TV in english was a luxury, as was internet access. In London we stayed with Leslie's distant 2nd cousin Jackie in their beautiful surburban home. They treated us to a very lavish lamb dinner as we drank and talked our way into the night. Love, Leslie and Sasha