Singletrack/MTB
Gravel/All-road
Dirt-road Touring
Fat-bike
Ride to Ride: A Bike-to-Splitboard Journey Through the Sunnmore Alps (Video)
“Ride to Ride” follows Henna Palosaari and Karen Ekman on a 10-day bikepacking and splitboarding trip through the Sunnmøre Alps on Norway’s west coast. It’s an ode to multi-sport adventures, showing how combining biking with other passions can deepen the experience. Find the 30-minute film with a short reflection from Henna and photos by Adam Gairns here…
Words by Henna Palosaari, photos by Adam Gairns
“It’s only our second day on the trip, but it feels like we’ve been on the road for four. Time slows down on trips like this. Instead of running around doing ten things at once, you’re exactly—and only—where you are. Whether you’re biking through a snowstorm, packing and unpacking, eating, snowboarding, or touring, you’re there with every cell of your body. You feel the cold and the sweat, and somehow you end up experiencing more in less time.” —Journal entry, May 4, 2025
My friend Karen Ekman and I have just kicked off our 10-day bike-to-splitboard mission in the Sunnmøre Alps on Norway’s west coast, a place known for high valleys, deep fjords, and some of the best freeriding lines you can dream up. We’d been here before for snowboarding, but this time we left the car at home and took the bikes, curious to see how that simple change would shape our experience.
Brace it
We postponed the start of our trip by a day, as the weather forecast promised pouring rain for the next 24 hours and overall very moody weather for the next week. Eventually, we realized we might as well just get out there and see what the mountains had in store for us.
As we had stepped outside the comfort of a house, we realized it wasn’t that bad; it was just a little bit of rain, after all. Also, knowing that the rain down by the fjord could mean snow higher up gave an extra motivation push to keep going. If we were lucky, it could all pay off the next day.
Thankfully, it did. Forty centimeters of deep, untouched powder, some of the best turns of the whole season. Our skepticism about the days ahead slowly gave way to hope. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be a sufferfest after all.
Being in One Place at a Time
Days spent entirely outside—pedaling, climbing, soaked in wind and rain and sun—strip everything down. You start noticing all the tiny changes: the temperature shifts, the sound of water in the streams, how the mountains look different every time you glance up. That presence pulls you into yourself in a way that’s hard to find in everyday life.
On day three, we spotted a couloir straight from the road. It looked steep and a bit questionable, but doable, so we left the bikes against a fence at the end of a dirt road and booted up. I watched the snow sluff past Karen as she jump-turned her way down. It was one of the worst couloirs I’ve ridden, and also one of the coolest. You don’t just see a line from your bike and then climb it every day. The details didn’t matter. What mattered was that feeling of being exactly where you want to be, doing the thing you love.
Trips like this have a way of restoring something that gets lost in everyday momentum. The constant moving, the quiet pressure to keep going. Out here, there was only where we were, and one thing at a time.
All the Weather in One Day
Norway loves to throw all four seasons at you before lunch, especially out west, where the mountains meet the sea. Forecasts flip, valleys have their own microclimates, and you learn quickly to trust what you see more than what’s predicted. This time, though, we seemed to be on the lucky side. The rain symbols on the forecast began to fade into sun and warmer temperatures, more like what we were hoping for at the start of the trip.
We sat in camp after rinsing off in a stream, cooking, and taking in the first warm evening. Not being cold felt almost indulgent. Only then did we realize how quietly the cold had been draining us. For once, the weather was giving more than it took.
The snow didn’t welcome the warmth the way we did. The next day’s descent felt like sticky toffee, no overnight freeze, only a heavy snowpack saturated with moisture. Then the nights cleared, and everything shifted. The rest of the trip delivered perfect spring corn—soft, corn-kernel-like snow that’s ideal for skiing.
Ending on a High
“I don’t know if a perfect day exists, but our second-to-last day felt close. Slow morning, multiple coffees, a swim, a nap in the sun, lots of food, just hanging out until 5 p.m., when it was time for the last tour: a sunset mission to Skarrabben,” I wrote it another journal entry.
Watching the sunset from the mountaintop, laughter and tears bubbled up at once. Stepping outside your comfort zone can give you exactly what you need. It pulls you into the present and reminds you of what you can handle. This trip wasn’t just about the snow or the mountains. It was about being there, one pedal, one turn at a time.
Further Reading
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