Scenes from a roadtrip from Røros to Oldedalen - Part 1
CROSSING GRIMSDALEN
In early November, I set out on a road trip from Røros to Oldedalen, at the foot of Briksdalsbreen. The reason was straightforward: picking up a new sled for the dogs before winter settled in for good. It was an 800-kilometer journey, and instead of choosing the fastest way west, I chose the slower one — the more scenic route through Grimsdalen.
I left early. The clock had barely passed 07:00 when I rolled out of Røros, the dogs still asleep back home and the day just beginning to form. Early November mornings carry a particular stillness — cold air, low light, and the sense that everything is briefly holding its breath.
The first stop came in Alvdal. For fuel, and for coffee. I stood there with a warm cup in my hands as the sun broke free of the horizon, casting deep red and golden tones across Tronfjell. Rising just east of Alvdal, Tronfjell reaches 1,666 meters above sea level and is one of the highest road-accessible mountains in Norway — often catching the very first light of the day.
The mountain caught the light in silence, glowing against the cold morning air, as if reminding me that the day had its own rhythm — one that couldn’t be rushed.
It felt like the right way to begin an 800-kilometer journey. No hurry. Just a slow start, warm coffee, and the first light of the day setting the tone for everything that would follow. With the cup refilled and the sun climbing higher, I got back on the road — Grimsdalen still ahead.
As the road continued south, the landscape began to open up. Forest gave way to wider views, the terrain flattening slightly as the mountains pulled back and made room for space. Somewhere along this stretch, the sense of transit faded, replaced by anticipation. Grimsdalen was getting closer.
Grimsdalen lies between Dovre National Park and Rondane National Park, stretching quietly through one of Norway’s oldest mountain valleys. Shaped by ice and meltwater over thousands of years, it has long served as a natural corridor through the highlands — first for animals, then for people moving between east and west.
When the road finally entered the valley, the shift was immediate. The pace slowed without effort. Wide plains unfolded on both sides, the river Grimsa tracing its way through the landscape, and old mountain farms resting low against the ground. This is a summer road, open only for a limited part of the year, and driving through it in early November felt like arriving just before the season turned the key. I had to take the opportunity to drive thought there before winter kicked in.
