Since watching Al Pachino’s “Insomnia” years ago, I have been fascinated with the Midnight Sun, the phenomenon by which the earth’s tilt toward the sun in orbit creates a twilight appearance during the latest hours of the summer night.

Several weeks into a bike-packing trip across Scandinavia this year, I peddled in Oslo, the capital of Norway, where I bought a train ticket for the 750-mile ride north to Bodo (pronounced “boda,” rhyming with soda). The quiet city of 55,000 people is the European Union’s designated 2024 European Capital of Culture. Snuggled on the Norwegian Sea, Bodo enjoys a latitude of 67.2 degrees north, some 55 miles above the Arctic Circle. For context, Bodo is farther north than Iceland; Juno and Fairbanks, Alaska; St Petersburg, Russia; the capital of Greenland, Nuuk; and the vast majority of Siberia.

The Scandinavian Peninsula, however, is blessed with a more temperate climate than Alaska, Greenland, and Siberia, thanks to the warm Gulf Stream waters that originate in the Gulf of Mexico, flow across the Atlantic Ocean, and into the Norwegian Sea.

Even before my alarm sounds at 12:05 am on July 4th, I am awake. I dress, grab the key to the rented apartment to ensure I don’t lock myself out, and push Heidi — my Swedish bike — out into the 52-degree arctic air. The slight chill and bright Midnight Sun snap me fully awake. The sky is as bright as it was at noon yesterday when I rode east to Loding and even brighter than it was on my return, when I got caught in an arctic shower.

I can’t help but smile as I ride Heidi down past a group of rebel teens at an automatic car wash, swapping stories around one vehicle. Some examine under the hood of a second. A third car revs the engine as it hurries away from the pack. I roll down a hill and turn west under a bridge toward town. I pass closed car dealerships and businesses. The omnipotent daylight is unaware that this is the hour for sleep.

When we reach the train station downtown, a handful of tourists exit a hotel, eager to explore the city under the Midnight Sun. Heidi coasts smoothly through the roundabout and down the empty street toward the harbor. We wind into the port authority compound and come to rest just at the edge of the water. The few ships in the harbor appear to sleep as an eerie stillness rules the night.

A mild sensation of surrealism radiates through me, heightening my sense of awareness. A tiny ship purrs across the tiny harbor so slowly that at first I think it is anchored. With my eyes closed, I can smell the sea’s odor of salt water, fish, and seaweed. Seagulls squeal gleefully overhead.

The serenity is all-encompassing.

A few campers and cars have secured their spots at the front of the line for the day’s first ferry, still many hours away. A driver opens a car door, and out leaps a large brown, furry dog eager to inspect new wonders.

Further in town, a surprising number of cars and pedestrians are moving about, returning from the bars. Tourists walk about mostly in pairs, two young women, several young couples. A small woman in her 40s tilts her head back and purses her lips playfully, inviting a kiss from her much taller partner. He refuses.

As an introvert, I prefer the tranquility of downtown Bodo at this hour. Time creeps much slower, allowing me to enjoy every sight. I spy the harbor through the alley corridors. Breathe in the arctic air. Behold the light blue midnight sky. The arctic spirit permeates my being. For a short period of time, the Midnight Sun, Heidi’s spinning tires, the chilly air, the fragrance of the Norwegian Sea, and I are one.

There truly is something magical and awe-inspiring about Nature’s raw dominance.

Heidi and I cross the threshold from city street to marina and curl gently along the wharf, gazing at the sailboats that are relaxing proudly on the calm surface of the glimmering water.

We pass a single cyclist, a foreigner like me, stopped on the wharf, studying his phone. I greet a tourist couple bundled in coats, lumbering in the opposite direction on foot. I sweep around to follow the dock out into the bay until it reaches, a small skerry, a boulder protruding from the tranquil waters. I park Heidi and wander around on the surface of the stone, mesmerized by the secrets of this corner of the universe.

Today, there is no place I would rather be!

I mount Heidi and peddle back toward the city. At the end of the wharf, another tourist couple amble toward the sea. A young man sits outside an open bar, fiddling with his phone. Further along, a policeman sits in his van, also checking his mobile. I turn east and climb a steep hill, and come to rest at the top to catch my breath and to examine the Bodo Cathedral. A statue of a saint stands open armed in his niche just below the roof. A few blocks ahead, two local boys in their early teens leave their rented scooters in a park and scurry off to other adventures.

Twenty minutes later, I ease Heidi inside the apartment, change out of my riding clothes, send a few photos to loved ones, and wish my cousin a Happy Birthday! At first, I am too energized to sleep until the adrenaline crash permits me to sink into a peaceful nap.

Craig Davis, who was born in Seymour and graduated from Brownstown Central High School, currently lives in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, and works for a U.S. government contractor on school-based violence prevention. He is the author of “The Middle East for Dummies” and is conducting research for a genealogy and social history book in Kurtz and Freetown. You can visit the Living with Cancer weekly blog at marvingray.org and write him at [email protected]. You also can follow his travel blog, “Cross-Country Bike-Packing at 63: SE East Asia,” at marvingray.org. Send comments to [email protected].