The Arctic to the Med – a 6500km, 60-day cycling challenge traversing 8 countries and ascending 35,000m, nearly four Everests. 
UPDATE 1
I'm Woody, and this blog will chronicle my lifelong dream: a cycling adventure filled with stunning scenery, days in the wilderness, and Europe from its most remote to its capital cities.
Follow my highs, lows, and lasting memories of The Arctic to the Med.
This journey will take me from the stark beauty of the Norwegian Arctic tundra (next stop the North Pole) to the sun-drenched Spanish Mediterranean, with Africa visible across the Strait of Gibraltar. The initial eight days in northernmost Europe will be under the constant gaze of the midnight sun.
This epic ride will be a test of resilience, demanding adaptation from near-freezing Arctic nights to the scorching Spanish sun, which can exceed 30°C.
One of my earliest childhood memories is crashing off my tricycle, I still bear the scar. Decades later, while falls are rarer and distances are greater, I still love being out on my bike. My Norwegian grandmother and parents imbued a passion for the outdoors in me and I now combine the freedom of two wheels with multi-week bikepacking trips. Not the fastest nor most streamlined, I keep the pedals turning with a smile, whatever the weather!
This journey has been 40 years in the making, sparked by a youthful, ill-planned Interrail trip to Scandinavia. Arriving in Narvik a month too late for the midnight sun, we then tried to get to Nordkapp, unaware it was 500 miles up the road, not just nearby. A missed train back south, only one a day, due to a clock change added to the chaos. A desire to conquer the European Arctic lingered, but a later attempt to cycle north from Rovaniemi in Finland failed due to yet more bad planning and a crash.
Family and work life then intervened, but the Arctic dream persisted. Every cycling companion became a potential recruit. Finally, in 2024, a school friend from 40 years ago agreed to join me on the Arctic leg. Twelve months later, a lifelong ambition is about to begin. With it, a chance to raise money for a charity I care about deeply: The Wheelchair Football Association.
My ride is a Cannondale Topstone 1, built for off-road adventures, crucial for the wild gravel and forest tracks ahead. It's configured to carry my essential bikepacking gear without excess weight - as light as I dare.
Kit selection prioritizes functionality and weight: three cycling outfits, a lightweight tent and cooking setup, a sleeping bag, liner, space blanket, first aid, tools, and a crucial luxury item - a down jacket for cold Arctic nights. Of course these days a bag of electronic devices is also needed!
To train, I have been doing a lot of long indoor virtual hill repeats and significant hiking miles in the mountains to build physical and mental resilience. Having established an endurance baseline, I will complete two 600km “shakedown” rides in May to fine-tune the bike, kit, and the habit of doing the daily distances. Crucially, I have been camping for weeks in the UK in April to get used to the June temperatures in the Arctic. Making sure I can sleep well in the tent is vital for recovery during the initial Arctic weeks.
Past unsupported rides including London to Paris, a UK coast-to-coast, the Canal du Midi, journeys to Germany and Norway, and around the British Isles, have provided valuable lessons in how to manage my efforts and recovery over many weeks of continuous riding.
It will all start on June 22nd, 2025, at Nordkapp, the most northerly point accessible by road in Europe. The first leg goes south through a couple of Norwegian towns before crossing into Finland.
Six days through northern Finland lead to a rest in Kemi, north of the Baltic Sea. Ten days along the western Finnish coast bring us to Turku and a ferry to Stockholm, where my companion departs. From Stockholm, on to Copenhagen for a rest, then Denmark, northwestern Germany, and Belgium to a rest in Liège. From there, southwest through France, including Paris and Orléans, to Bordeaux, where cycling companions join me after another rest. We will then skirt the Pyrenees and head to Madrid for a final rest, before going on south to Tarifa, aiming for an August 24th arrival. This route will offer the most diverse of European landscapes, from the Arctic tundra, coastal plans, capital cities, and the dry lands of Southern Europe.
The packing is nearly done, and the route is becoming seared into my mind.
This 40-year dream is about to become reality. The Arctic to the Med. Let the adventure begin!
Track me here! - https://live.garmin.com/woodyswaiyz 
It is with immense relief and growing pride that I share my first update from Kemi, Finland, on the Baltic Coast!
We successfully reached Nordkapp, navigated challenging tunnels, and cycled swiftly through Finnish forests, arriving a day ahead of schedule. The week encompassed a freezing day to Nordkapp, two grueling 180km days, and a total of 975km, with 350km off-road. Seven nights of camping brought us face-to-face with savage midges and mosquitoes, but also the realization that 24-hour sunshine allows for flexible riding whenever we felt ready.
Pete and I disembarked the ferry at Honningsvåg around midday. The route to Nordkapp, though remote, was surprisingly busy with travelers. Despite the traffic, it was a tough ride; we wore all our waterproof gear, and my feet were numb from the cold. Two significant climbs provided a warm-up for the longer journey.
Reaching Nordkapp and its iconic globe sculpture was a personal triumph, having failed twice before. After a warming bowl of soup, the true adventure felt like it could finally begin.
Whether due to improved spirits, a shift in wind, or easier gradients, our return to Honningsvåg was swift, arriving by 6 pm. We decided against camping there and pushed through the tunnels as traffic subsided. The tunnels proved difficult; the vehicle noise was disorienting, forcing us to walk a section where space felt too confined. Emerging from the tunnels, we immediately found a perfect first campsite by a flowing stream, on soft moss, with reindeer in the distance.
Having gained ground on day one, we maintained our pace, sailing through Olderfjord for a reindeer stew lunch on Monday, before continuing to Lakselv at the base of Porsanger fjord. This classic fjord territory offered a relatively easy ride, with the road hugging the water and no tricky climbs, making for a smooth start to our first full day.
From Lakselv, situated at a river estuary, we headed upriver and over the Arctic Tundra plateau on Tuesday. The long ascent was rewarded with a fast descent into Karasjok, where we stopped for lunch and visited the Sami Parliament. Feeling strong, we pressed on into Finland, reaching the border town of Karigasniemi down the river valley. A supermarket stop was essential to stock up, as civilisation would be scarce for days.
Encouraged by good weather and constant daylight, we took a dirt road towards Angeli, where our true Arctic adventure in the Finnish woods began, along with the relentless midges that plagued us for the next five days.
We knew we were entering very empty territory – only two towns across 550km, 350km of which were dirt tracks. The reality hit on Wednesday when we saw only one person (a reindeer herder) in 100km. We rejoined asphalt roads to navigate in and out of Inari, where we refueled and felt good enough to continue riding.
What was planned as a short stop turned into four hours of cycling. We even considered riding through the midnight sun just for the experience, but after 180km and several reindeer encounters, we camped again. The continuous daylight, favorable weather, and our cycling progress instilled confidence to tackle the tougher, more remote routes ahead.
On Thursday, we opted for a shorter 80km day to refresh in Sirkka before fully immersing ourselves in the forests for the next three days. The experience was extraordinary.
Suffice it to say, all our meticulous pre-planning – food carrying, route checking, and training with fully laden bikes – paid off. It was a magical two days, covering distances much faster than anticipated, with midges ironically motivating us to keep moving.
Around 7 pm on Saturday, emerging from the forest track, we were greeted by the fantastic sight of an empty road descending into the distance. It was a bittersweet moment, as I knew such a wilderness experience would be unlikely to repeat. However, Tervalo and food beckoned. With a headwind, we took turns leading and soon found what seemed to be the only eatery open on a Saturday night – a Pizzeria. The owner refused our order for an 80cm pizza, saying it was too big; he was right, the massive medium sufficed.
Refreshed, we decided to keep rolling. Leaving at 8:30 pm, we added two more hours to the day, covering another 180km. With only 20km left to Kemi and pre-booked accommodation for the next day, we were effectively set for two days of rest.
The journey to the Mediterranean is definitely on!
UPDATE: The Finnish Arctic Woods
This update focuses on our five days of gravel riding in the Finnish Arctic Woods!
Almost everyone cycling south from Nordkapp through Finland will stick to the two roads, 92 and E75 for over 500km to the Baltic Sea, stopping at towns along the way. We wanted the remotest experience we could find, whilst still keeping up pace and wild camping when needed. We did as much due diligence that we could on the route using multiple mapping apps, satellite imagery, 3D fly throughs (we couldn’t find any helpful video of cycling trips into this part of Finland) to make sure it was most likely that our route would be navigable and cyclable all the way through.
What worried us in particular was that there were no “outs”. Once you were committed onto some parts of the route it was up to 50km either back to the beginning or the end if something went wrong and we had to bail out. That’s two days walking if no traffic passes and a phone signal isn’t guaranteed.
For most people, I think a great way to enjoy cycling in these wilds would be to fly to Rovaniemi, have someone nominated as support each day, and get dropped into the start of the forest rides, then collected at the forest exit to head to accommodation in nearby towns. If you just did our routes both ways (the experience each way would be totally different) you have 700km to play with, and there must be thousands more kilometres to be explored by bike.
Whilst Nordkapp was an iconic starting point for us - and reaching it was a personal goal - the moment of magic was when we crossed from asphalt to gravel just south of Karigasniemi in Finland. 90km of gravel awaited - go south to Angeli (the darkest town in Finland) for 45km, turn left, and carry on for 45km. This section was going to tell us if we could travel fast enough, keep our gear onboard, and wild camp as we expected so that we had the confidence to go even wilder south of Sirkka.
Gravel or not, there is something liberating about cycling in the land of the midnight sun, because there’s no restriction on when you stop or start. If your legs are good, keep rolling, if you are cooked, haul up for a rest and start whenever you want. The surface was a dream, slick and well compacted with very little potholing. Little wonder given to the minimal traffic we saw here in 2 days, less than 10 cars. We encountered close to zero washboarding anywhere on any of our routes. It is as if the whole country has been corrugated by gravitation, so the ascents and descents are gentle, but never-ending.
The sun also does wonderful things through the trees during the day, since it will shine at all angles at some point. If you plan it really carefully, you can probably even get the sun at the angle you want as you pass through a particular part of the route. By chance, we got a few times of the day when our direction and the sun cast some wonderful cycling shadows.
The highlight for us of the Angeli route (the wild camp by small lake aside) was the eastern section riding east. The lichen on the forest floor, underneath the trees, lit up like a magical carpet - a place you could believe in elves and mystical wood folk. We even had an encounter with a reindeer herder. We had stopped to fill up our water bottles by a stream and were chatting away when we heard a voice, a man strode out of the woods (wearing Crocs!) and in perfect English asked if we needed help.
It turned out he lived there year-round and was looking forward to the next week when everyone would bring the reindeer in from the wild to mark the ears of the newborn calves so everyone knew which belonged to which herder. He went back to the woods, we carried on riding!
We were so thrilled with how the first two days went, on the second day we hit Inari for a late lunch, where we were meant to stop overnight, and kept riding for a total of 180km that day, stopping just before 10 pm to camp, so we were close to Sirrka and the “big wild”.
We learned a few crucial lessons…First, views are rare amidst the dense, 10-30m high trees, so savor them when they appear. Second, water isn't as accessible as we expected; many lakes are marsh-surrounded, and streams are often in ravines or unappealingly brown. We always sterilized or boiled the water. Lastly, midges are a nightmare. Head nets were essential, and we quickly donned them when stopping. This alone makes a strong case for supported rides and avoiding wild camping if midges are active... and always carry repellent!
The western edge of Arctic Finland is a couple of main roads north to south, cut across with a few roads joining bigger towns. The rest of the forests are accessed with compacted gravel roads, turning to loose gravel, then hunters' roads (mixed gravel and track), and finally, evidently used but rarely, tracks.
All the ones we used connected up and never dead-ended. Obviously, we were only certain of this after we had done it. Of the 263km over two days we cycled entering the woods at Sirrka and exiting west of Tervalo, 230km were gravel or track. We saw more reindeer, which wasn’t that many, than people and cars. We also saw hares, red squirrels, foxes, toads, deer, hedgehogs, and nearly ran over an adder in the Arctic - we watched our step camping after that - and tens of species of birds, from tiny forest dwellers to the massive white tailed eagle.
There wasn’t a moment when we weren’t in awe of how remote some of the places we were, how lucky we were to be passing through, yet filled with uncertainty about what the next kilometres might bring.
Whatever happens in the next 3000 miles of my trip south, this will be a stand-out few days of my life.
Update - Kemi to Turku and the end of the Finnish Stage
With Kemi and the Arctic leg of the journey behind us, our journey to the Mediterranean was truly underway!
We began the next leg of our adventure, a 10-day, 1000km ride from Kemi to Turku, shadowing the western coast of Finland, including 350km of gravel through rural hamlets, forests, and evenings camping by the Baltic Sea.
We had done far less research on this leg of the journey on the basis that it was more highly populated than our first week, and we felt confident we would never be far from a town or village.
As it turned out, even the little planning we had done turned on its head. We were expecting to hug the coast, with views of the sea, and cut inland each day to either camp or stay in the shelters highlighted by the Finnish outdoor apps. We were not expecting much gravel along the way.
It turned out that the routes rarely went near the coast for any extended distance in a way you could see and enjoy the sea. The organised campsites that were by the sea were wonderful; once off the main roads, nearly all the other roads and routes through the woods were gravel. So we spent our days cutting in from the coast to ride through the woods, then cutting back to the sea to camp.
This pattern repeated for 10 days through Nallikari, Kalajoki, Jakobstad, Vaasa, Kaskinen, Merikarvia, Rauma, and Mussalo. Other than one killer 3km section of sand (out of the blue on a forest track), the riding was delightful. The rural roads were hard-packed and fast, and the forest tracks were either well-maintained to service forestry work and massive wind farms or well-used hunters' tracks.
Unlike the Arctic section, where I reckon you needed a car in and out to make the best of the riding, you could cycle almost straight out of every campsite here and do a return gravel loop through the woods over 100km or so. A downside? The trees started to look pretty similar after hundreds of kilometres. Views were limited, and the landscape was pretty flat - great for moving at pace with a destination in mind, but less interesting if you were looking to mix it up.
Whilst we had left the midnight sun hundreds of kilometres behind us, it was light 24 hours a day, and the midges here were bearable as an occasional nuisance.
Rauma provided an interesting rest day. The old town centre is the oldest remaining wooden town centre in Scandinavia, with the layout dating to medieval times. It is all cobbled, though, so no cycling to give my backside a rest!
The medieval theme continued unexpectedly on our final day. We drew up at Turku Castle to wait for the ferry. We were just in time to see a jousting tournament in the castle grounds and help ourselves to some medieval food to recover from Stage 2 of our journey.
That evening, we left Finland on the ferry, with the next leg going from Stockholm to Copenhagen through the southern Swedish uplands.
UPDATE: The Swedish Leg
Arriving by ferry in Stockholm, we took a few days to explore the city before Pete flew home as planned. I prepared to set off alone on July 17th for the next stage of the journey: Stockholm to Copenhagen.
The route was a bit uncertain. After three weeks, we had grown adept at reading the Finnish landscape and anticipating what a daily route would bring. Now, in Sweden, it was back to square one, and I wasn't sure how a gravel route on the map would translate to the ground.
One obvious difference was the population density; southern Sweden, at 110 people per square kilometer, is far more populated than Finnish Lapland's 2 people per square kilometer or even southwestern Finland's 45. More people meant more houses, more occupied farmland and woodlands, more traffic, and more asphalt roads. Towns and villages were larger and more sprawling, though the landscape remained empty compared to most of England.
Similar to Finland, I discovered that once you got away from the main roads, there was plenty of gravel to be found, albeit in isolated pockets between larger towns. My route was locked in once my Danish friends confirmed they would be in southern Sweden. I ended up rolling through the southern Swedish uplands, staying south of the main E4 motorway that connects Stockholm and Copenhagen. Discounting the days in and out of Stockholm as gravel days, I had four wonderful days of riding, aided by a week of continuous sunshine.
he landscape was more rolling than in Finland, shaped by large rock outcrops. These outcrops formed the core of many forest reserves, making the riding more enjoyable. The tracks were more undulating, often steeper, and twisty, which made it more fun but also demanded higher concentration. I did take one tumble when I applied power at the wrong moment, and the bike slid out from under me. Hitting the deck alone in the woods, far from help, was a bit unnerving, but no real harm was done, just a bit of red painted on the track from my knee.
Overall, I managed to head south without much deviation, still logging 150km of gravel out of 360km. Because these reserves were relatively close to towns, access to lakes was often cleared for small beaches or pontoon docks, offering a glimpse into the area's tranquility across beautiful, glass-like water. Like Finland, the dense trees meant that extended views were rare, even in the "uplands."
After five days out of Stockholm, I pulled up at my friends' lakeside hut in Kalvshult. A quick dip in the lake to wash away the day's dust and heat, followed by a barbecued meal featuring locally foraged chanterelle mushrooms, felt quintessentially Scandinavian.
Leaving Kalvshult (my last stop in Sweden) for Copenhagen the next day brought the usual mixed feelings. I was heading for a rest day, which was great, but it also marked the end of wild Scandinavia and, as it turned out, the long, intense periods of gravel riding.
UPDATE: WOODY IN PARIS
The evenings of the 21st - 23rd of July were spent with my Danish friends, Celia and Klaus, and their adult children, Astrid and Anton. One night in a lakeside cottage in Sweden, then for two nights at their home in Copenhagen. This visit was completely reinvigorating. I machine-washed my clothes, gave my bike a thorough clean, and spent a day walking around instead of being stuck to a saddle. I also decided to get rid of my camping gear. I had a bad cough throughout the Swedish leg, which worsened at night in the tent and was starting to affect my physical recovery. Additionally, as the temperature in Sweden rose, the tent became unbearably hot. I knew it wasn’t going to be a place for rest and recovery as the much higher temperatures of southern Europe approached.
On the morning of July 24th, I felt physically and psychologically recovered and had a lighter load as I headed to the ferry to Germany and ultimately Paris. The original plan to go to Liège, Belgium, fell through, so I changed my route to stay with a friend in northern Paris. Astrid, an accomplished bike packer, warned me that the route might be "pretty flat and boring". I was hopeful I could make it more exciting by going off-road wherever possible.
I left Burg am Fehmarn, near the ferry from Denmark to Germany, on the morning of the 25th, heading to Mölln with 50km of gravel on the route. Unfortunately, what I found was mostly farm fields, gentle woodland tracks, and canal tow paths. While there was nothing wrong with this, it wasn't technically challenging and didn't offer new scenery.
The geography of the region, formed by multiple river valleys, meant the cycling would be mostly flat. In the previous 10 days, I had ascended nearly 9000m, but in the 10 days to Paris, it was only 5000m. My time constraints also meant I couldn't deviate much to find more interesting terrain. Also, I was barely in a patch of wilderness before the next village or town appeared. This resulted in routes being very chopped up between off-road and road sections. I decided to ride the long days entirely on the road and add off-road sections on shorter days. In the end, out of 1250km to Paris, only 135km were off-road. Most of this was gentle riding through mostly agricultural landscapes, passing through Germany (Walsrode, Osnabrück, Raesfeld), the Netherlands (Ell), Belgium (Nivelles), and into France (Le Nouvion en Thiérache, Creil sur Oise, Paris).
However, the final day into Paris provided two surprises: a huge route-finding disaster and one of the most glorious off-road runs of the entire trip.
The disaster occurred just north of Chantilly. My bike computer told me to turn right into a field where I couldn't see a path, so I ignored it and took a track a few hundred meters further up. This led me into the mid-level of a disused quarry, making it impossible to descend to the correct track I had ignored, which I could see enticingly below. The track became more and more overgrown, but I kept going, hoping for a way out. Eventually, I had to drag my bike up a steep, slippery slope, cross a farm field, and follow hunters' paths to get back to the original route.
2.6km took me 40 minutes.
What followed was a delightful surprise. The Forêt Dominiale de L'Isle Adam, a forest north of Paris, still has tracks laid out in the 1700s by the Princes of Conti for hunting. I was suddenly presented with 10km of forest riding. The forest canopy was cooling, and there were strenuous ascents, including cobbled sections, and technically challenging descents with sharp drops and narrow gullies. Then suddenly it was over.
I hit the suburbs of Paris, the end of another stage, and 4000km in total, with a washing machine and a good bike clean just a few kms away.
UPDATE: A LIFETIME DREAM FULFILED.
The last three stages Paris -> Spain; -> Madrid; to Tarifa didn’t pan out the way I planned. Luckily, I learnt, at last, that sometimes my plan is not to be followed.
Normally, on a multi-day bike trip, I am a stickler for sticking to the route and the schedule. Doing that takes away any issues with route finding or daily planning, so you can just concentrate on the ride ahead and enjoy it.
For the Arctic leg, I had put in very detailed planning and preparation. My main concern was poor weather and not being able to travel fast enough through the forests. That said, I knew that Pete and I could last out a few days of even sub-zero weather in the tent - it was something we had done regularly over the years in the mountains. And as it turned out, our flexibility with the 24-hour daylight and wild camping made for a much better experience than my original plan.
In France and Spain, I was much more laissez-faire in the lead-up. I had divided the stages into “reasonable” distances, paying no attention to ascending. I take the approach that some hard days just take longer; you can always cycle into the early evening, and it always evens out over a week or so. I would figure out the details closer to the time.
My only unknown was what the temperatures would be. I knew from experience cycling in Southern France and mountaineering in the UK that I would struggle with temperatures in the high 20s and would have difficulty recovering. Monthly average temperatures across the route seemed bearable, and I figured I could always cycle in the dark.
Then, from June onwards, the heatwaves reached southern Europe. As I was cycling from Denmark to Paris, and started looking in detail at the final three stages, I realised my plan was a sham.
There was no way I could manage the significant ascents in Spain over the daily distances I had planned, especially with the temperatures being forecast and peaks rising to the high 30s in the afternoon. What to do? I took days of mulling it over through the Low Countries to figure it out. I had to create more time so I could do less distance per day to finish before the peak heat from around mid-day.
How? Firstly, rest days, which had been my “must-haves,” got ditched. 3 between Paris and Tarifa became cycling days. Secondly, I realised I could buy another day by just going all in on distance through France. And finally, I had two days at the end “spare”, so they became cycling days too. This bought me an extra 6 days in Spain.
From Paris to Spain, I averaged just under 160km per day, cycling all day, at about 5m/km ascent. Through Spain, I averaged just over 80km per day, finished around noon most days, having started in the dark about 6:30, at about 10m/km ascent. I also cut Spain up, so the big ascents were usually the first few kms into a ride, not later in the day when heating up.
It worked. I flew through France (Chartres, Tours, Bordeaux, Biarritz, and into Spain) across a lot of quite similar cycling terrain through rural agricultural landscapes, generally quite flat.
In Spain, I enjoyed the magnificent Basque Country mountains and the Sierra de Guadaramma ascents and descents into Madrid.
Out of Madrid, there was a series of Sierras, which I went through over five days, then descending onto the heavily farmed Andalusian plain for the final three days to Tarifa. My concerns about the heat were well founded, as I found on afternoon strolls to stock up on liquids and provisions, it was punishing outside once the temperature rose beyond 30c.
As well as the serenity of dawn cycling across these empty parts of Spain, some of the standout moments were encountering groups of vultures. Often they would be on the ground, waiting for thermals to develop, and would take to the air, lazily, but incredibly impressive at their size, as I approached on my bike.
And so, on August 24th, after 54 days cycling, I began my final day.
It turned out the weather and landscape were to gift me one last jewel in the ride. I had stayed in the hill top village of Alcalá de los Gazules, so the short (60km) day was almost all descent or flat. 20km in, I diverted off road to follow a track 20km beside the western fringes of Los Alcornocales Natural Park. With overcast weather, it was relatively cool, and the surface, although flat, was continuously challenging. Hard packed at times, heavily rutted, soft drifting dust at others - but in a landscape reminiscent of the tracks north of Skiddaw in the Lake District.
For over an hour, I had one last period of serenity and wilderness, before I hit the busyness of the coast for the last kms. And then, after 2 months and 2 days with rests, 5000km on the road and 1000km off road, 40,000m ascending, I reached the southern most road point in Europe.
Utterly proud, utterly relieved.
A lifetime dream fulfilled.
What’s next for me? Some lovely Lake District gravel tracks, dew on the ground, the nip in the air of an Autumn morning, a bit of cloud cover, and no worries about what the sun will do or where my next water might come from!
