Extreme Isolation

A yellow direction sign acts like a homing beacon to those who have made the pilgrimage to this part of the world: Lysebotn. This is the start of the road built to service the Tjodan power station. The start of the lifeline to the village of Lysebotn, which previously relied on boat travel to reach civilisation at the end of the Lysefjord. The start of what we have come to experience.

The climb to the peak starts gently, the road arcing through lush woodlands; all around us the rich contrast of evergreens and yellowing leaves, shimmering in the damp, chilled air. The rumble of a cattle grid passing under the tyres signals a change, though; the angle of ascent steepens and the landscape closes in around the windows, shadows dancing over our paintwork and the walls of rock towering above.

What a location to be putting a car through its paces. The Lysebotn road tests man and machine, tightening in places before rising to a series of plateaus with the road reaching as far as the eye can see and gentle kinks littered between bursts of straight roads. Boulders dragged through here by a long-departed ice age lie by the side of the road, rising up out of the moss and heather with a silver sheen that makes this look like an alien landscape bubbling with mercury.

In the autumn, you can count on one hand the number of cars you see here. Yet as always, you drive with due consideration for the next twist or turn the road throws at you, positioning the car for maximum visibility and opening up the line of sight so it can power out of turns.