Midnight Sun Randonnée is a 1200 km journey winding through the inland wilderness of Västerbotten, into the mountain ranges, across the Norwegian border to Mo i Rana – and back again. A round trip between two countries, multiple seasons, and just as many states of mind..
Prologue
Umeå is basking in light and a lovely summer warmth that’s just perfect for cycling. Tomorrow the fourth edition of the Midnight Sun Randonnée will depart. One day ahead of the start some of the participants, us included, head out for a casual coffee ride up to Tavelsjö. It’s a quirky mix of cyclists from all over the world, ranging in age from 25 to nearly 70, with an equally diverse collection of bikes and gear. The atmosphere is expectant and social, but there’s also a hint of nervousness in the air.
Some riders have done this several times before – not just the MSR, but also well-known events like Paris-Brest-Paris or Sverigetempot. Others, like me and Sara, are complete rookies when it comes to an official randonnée, or “brevet” as it’s also called.
Brevet
In short, a brevet is about covering a set route – either from point A to B or in a loop – within a specific time limit. In this case, the goal is to complete the 1213 km course within 91 hours. Aside from a few checkpoints with food and sleeping options, the idea is to ride self-supported. Bike and gear are not UCI regulated and choice is highly personal.
The calm before the ride. Some riders rest until the last moment. Others eat a bit, sip some coffee, or tweak their equipment.
Into the bright, wet night
As the start time approached, the temperature dropped minute by minute, and clouds dimmed the otherwise light summer night. Midsummer is only days away so we are at the lightest time of the year with near 24 hours of daylight. True to its name, the ride began late Sunday evening, one hour before midnight. About fifty cyclists rolled out of Umeå – we were supposed to be closer to eighty. Yesterday’s glorious summer weather had vanished, as had any hope of staying dry. The forecasts hadn’t lied: a low-pressure system was firmly parked over northern Sweden, and it wasn’t going anywhere. 1200 km in near-constant rain was enough to scare off even the most seasoned randonneurs even before the start.
We had a plan: ride as far as possible during dry spells or try to dry off between downpours. We also decided not to push for a nonstop sleepless marathon but to sleep properly at three preselected checkpoints. The distance didn’t scare me – it was all just a matter of time… or was it?
We rode into a night that resembled dusk. The low clouds carried an unmistakable premonition of rain. The route followed the beautiful Blue Road along the Ume River. A few hours in, we reached our first checkpoint at Granö Beckasin. We avoided lingering and the stop short– a toilet break, some coffee, and an energy ball – then back on the road, into what looked like a subtle sunrise sneaking through the clouds.
Aside from a shower or two, things went smooth. We kept the pace deliberately easy – a fast start is a really bad idea when you’re facing this kind of challenge and distance.
Early on it became clear that the participant could be divided into two camps: those who wanted to talk and be social, and those who retreated inward – pedaling in solitude, meeting the wind, the road, and the forest alone. Embracing the meditative rhythm of the slow and repetitive.
The roads here are made for it – long, straight, and virtually car-free, especially at this time of night. Mile after mile after mile through forests has a mildly hypnotic effect.
Checkpoint Lycksele
Many paused here for a longer break, breakfast and even a short nap. But we again kept our stop short and continued towards Vilhelmina. This was where we left the Blue Road and headed westward. Through endless forests, passing rivers and lakes.
At first we were still lucky to dodge the worst of the rain, but the wet tarmac told another story – our luck had a time cap. After nearly 12 hours in the saddle the downpour was now our reality and the rain grew heavier with every pedal stroke. By the time we reached Vilhelmina, not only the rain but also the temperature had dropped significantly.
So we took a longer break at Hotel Vilhelmina – drying gear in the sauna, resting, and chatting with other riders. Several chose to cave in here. They were soaked, chilled, and still had 960 km to go. One by one, the others headed out into the pouring rain towards Norway.
Plan B
Four hours later, the sky finally turned off the tap, and we reformed. But our plan now took two major hits. Sara had developed a serious saddle sore – unhealthy to keep riding with. And even though I surely could finish within the overall time limit, I wouldn’t be able to hit all the checkpoint cutoffs in time.
I wasn’t just here as a rider – I was also a journalist and photographer. So we switched to Plan B: we called in our support car, which had been on standby. Sara got into the car while I kept riding towards Kittelfjäll. My new goal was to ride as much of the Swedish portion of MSR as possible, capturing the mood and photographing as many riders as I could.
Sure, there were feelings of disappointment. But the new scenario enabled me to lean more into the experience and truly take in the landscape. And what a landscape – I experienced something new for me in Sweden: hour after hour on wide, empty roads. I could count the hours between passing cars. Then came the views – or rather, glimpses through the mist and clouds.
The road to Kittelfjäll is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful I’ve cycled in Sweden. A symphony of mountains, forests, and lakes. Still carrying all my own gear, it felt like some sort och alternate mountain trek – but on a road bike. Same landscapes, same air, same meditative tempo, and the same ever-changing weather.
Kittelfjäll
Nearly a full day after leaving Umeå, 370 km and 3,000 meters of climbing later, I rolled into Kittelfjäll. I’d only passed one rider since leaving Vilhelmina – the rest were either asleep or had already pedalled on toward Norway.
I thought 370 km was a solid effort for day one, but the seasoned riders had aimed for 470 or even 600 km. These rando folks are made of something else.
I later learned that those who made it to the finish either barely slept at all – taking only short random naps – or rode extremely long stretches with minimal breaks.
Despite the longest distance and time I’ve ever had in the saddle, my body felt great, and all the gear worked perfectly – top marks for preparation in that sense. My head, though, was another story – I’d been awake for nearly 36 hours, so it felt like a bowl of poorly cooked porridge. Luckily, Sara had organized food and a proper place to sleep.
Borderlands
After a full night’s sleep, we woke to cold but dry weather – good enough for me to hop back on the bike. The views remained generous and became more dramatic as we closed in on Norway. Across the border, the road narrowed immediately, leading us, mostly downhill to Hattfjelldal. When I arrived, two predictions fell through, the checkpoint had closed and the rain had arrived. So I settled for an overpriced pizza for lunch before joining the others in the support car, heading for Mo i Rana. Not to unhappy to miss out on riding heavy roads in busy rain.
Towards the Arctic Circle
Mo i Rana gifted us with some proper sleep and one of the most sumptuous breakfast buffets I have seen in a long time. But no time for lingering on coffee and croissants, we still had a mission to pursue. We left the pouring rain behind as the route climbed toward the Arctic Circle. On that particular day, it offered a full-on winter vibe – temperatures just above freezing. Cold and barren – but a fitting extreme for a journey that takes you this far north..
Catching Up
It wasn’t until we neared Arjeplog that we started catching up to those who’d kept pedalling. The field had thinned out dramatically – nearly half had quit by now. Those who remained were clearly affected by the conditions but mostly still in surprisingly good spirits. Their embrace of the challenge was inspiring to say the least.
Sun After Sorsele
Sorsele was the final real rest stop for many, including us, before the final push back to Umeå. After Åmsele, we rode the final 100 km alongside Mark, Andy and some of the other remaining participants. To spark our spirits, the rain stopped. The wind eased. The sun came out. We cycled on dry roads for the first time since the start. Spirits lifted, and the conversations got lighter
Some portraits of participants taken in Arjeplog and Sorsele Sorsele
The bikes: just as diverse as the riders – carbon, steel, and even singlespeeds. You’ll see it all at MSR.
And of course – no trip to Västerbotten is complete without the traditional dish palt. That’s exactly what was served at the final checkpoint in Åmsele.
Backlash blues
Sealing the deal in a proper fashion, the rain served up a rendezvous and joined us for the final kilometres, making sure we finished drenched to the bone. Back in Umeå there was no finish arch and no applauses. Midnight Sun Randonnée isn’t about times, rankings, or prestige. It’s about something bigger. About experiencing something that is tricky to verbalize, even for one self. Its about sharing solitude, or silent companionship. Crafting memories through forests, mountains, and weather.
Midnight Sun Randonnée 2025 turned out nothing like we planned. It was both less and more. A memory wrapped in mist, winds, and midnight sun. Wetter, harder, colder, and a lot shorter – I made it about halfway.
But still – what’s the point of cycling 1200 km through wind and rain, over mountains and borders, under eternal daylight? Maybe that’s exactly the point – to enter ones borderlands. To meet the adventure, the landscape, and yourself all at once. To understand that some journeys aren’t measured in kilometers, hours or sunlight – but in impressions, memories and mist.
Epilogue
After a much-needed night’s sleep, we headed out to Norrmjöle Community Center for a traditional Swedish Midsummer celebration – with a maypole, folk musicians, the somewhat strange dancing frogs dance, and everything in between.
In a way, we were back where it all began – on that pre-ride coffee spin, in a sense of shared connection. I asked several riders what they valued most from the experience. The answer was clear: the community. Among the participants, but also with the volunteers and everyone who helped create Midnight Sun Randonnée 2025. The epic landscape as icing on the cake. And the rain? That memory had already begun to evaporate.
A Humble Suggestion You can absolutely ride the Midnight Sun Randonnée by the book, as a proper brevet. Registration for the 2026 edition opens October 1st. But if you’d rather ”Save your cake and eat it too” (old Swedish saying) you could also ride it as a long bikepacking adventure over five to seven days. That’s exactly what we’re dreaming of doing ourselves one day in the future.
The gear
Flawless function all the way
The backside of the ride, a collection of sadles used by the participants
Our participation in MSR 2025 was made possible by Västerbotten Sweden
