I'm awake very early, just after five, and get on the road under a clear sky. It's deadly quiet. Nobody. It's quite chilly. 

The route climbs for 20km to the top, most of it 10 percent, which takes me almost 3 hours. I eventually get into the warmer sunshine as the tarmac weaves its way out of the deep valley and up to the open terrain, a plateau where the snow is still deep. It feels ecstatically right to be here. I need to get a snap. 

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While I'm setting up my tripod, a minibus pulls up not too far behind, it's occupants spill out and their guide shows them the snow as though this is a phenomenon of unspeakable scarcity. They stand on it and pose and take photos of each other. So this is what a guided tour is like. Lord have mercy.

The hotel by the lake called Djupvatnet is just opening as I ride past, the young gorgeous waitress telling me they serve coffee, so I'm off my bike in a flash. She tells me my feet are brown. She says she studied in Beijing, so I order my coffee in Chinese, which is better than my Norwegian. She then tells me about the steep track across from the entrance that winds up to a dramatic viewpoint. It's a five-kilomter haul that I don't want to do, but would like to in a way. If only. From the top is a vista of Geiranger and its namesake fjord. 

Instead I continue riding on the 63 beside the semi-frozen surface famed for its mirror reflection of the enveloping peaks.

The route drops slowly for 80km, past more high lakes, down a lush valley and I arrive in Lom at about 5pm, staying in a wooden cabin that's a pricey 430 krone. 

I've had a 100km day. 

Dinner is a kebab in the small town.