Inside Norway's Canvas Telemark, an Off-Grid Hotel for Mountain Bikers

The gravel road narrowed, winding deeper into the Norwegian highlands as the van kicked up a steady trail of dust behind us. Nearly four hours from Oslo, we were following the detailed driving directions but had already managed to get lost at least twice. Finally, we pulled into an unmarked clearing, where a small wooden sign read “Canvas Hotel.” No reception desk, no grand entrance—just an intersection where we left our bags to be shuttled in by boat. From there, it was a two kilometer walk to camp. Welcome to Canvas Telemark, an off-grid wilderness hotel run by Norwegian outdoor brand Norrona.

The trail twisted through sparse pine forest, over muddy planks and slick rock, across a suspension bridge that swayed with each step. As we reached a high point, the land opened. We caught sight of a glassy lake down in the marshy lowlands, with a handful of yurts along its edge, connected by a web of boardwalks. A hint of woodsmoke drifted across the water. Everything was quiet except for the crunch of dirt under our feet and the bird songs.

Welcome to the Norrona Telemark

If you’re picturing the epic fjords and snow-capped peaks of northern Norway, you’d be mistaken. Canvas Telemark “hotel” lies on the shores of Øytjønnane Lake in southeastern Norway—a remote, rugged landscape known more for its rolling hills and forests than dramatic cliffs. Here, you’d expect to see traditional wooden cabins or angular, design-forward huts more typical of Norwegian mountain architecture, so the safari-style Kyrgyz tents look a bit out of place.

But Jan Fasting, the adventurer and outdoor guide who built the property in 2010, was inspired by the Mongolian camps in the 1995 film “Out of Africa” because he was, as he put it around the campfire, “deadly in love with Meryl Streep.” He established the resort as a mountain biking destination with over 120 kilometers (~75 miles) of trails. In 2023, the outdoor apparel brand Norrøna purchased a stake in the property, refining the experience while keeping its rugged, adventure-focused charm intact. Fasting and his co-founder Vebjørn Haugerud stayed on as part owners, and are frequently at camp during the operating season from the beginning of May through early October.

Guests can typically book a weekend stay (two-night minimum) which includes accommodations, meals, and a bike guide. Though I visited as part of a three-day mountain biking retreat led by two mountain bike pros, Rémy Métailler and Geoff Gulevich. Canvas Telemark welcomes riders of all ability levels, which made me hopeful the trip would feel like a laid-back getaway with bikes thrown in. (You can’t visit Norway without ample sauna time, after all.) But with two pros on board, I was worried it would end up being more like an intensive training camp.

After arriving, we settled into our yurts. The rooms were modest but comfortable: mine had two twin-sized beds pushed together under a colorful quilt, a wood burning stove, and a wash basin with a mirror. No running water, no electricity. Outside, saunas and soaking tubs overlook the lake, where the brave can cool off with a cold plunge into the icy water.

With our luggage still en route by boat, I grabbed my book and a snack and sank in one of the green bean bag chairs by the fire. Other guests milled about—some chatting, some taking in the quiet, most with a beer already in hand. Many had arrived in pairs or trios, and a handful of guys came solo. The scene had a slight boys’ club vibe—dingy flannels, faded bike shorts, unkempt beards—but the instructors and staff kept the atmosphere light and welcoming.

Hitting the Singletrack

The next morning, we geared up our first ride of the day. (Typically, you ride early, come back for lunch, and then take an afternoon ride or spend it at your leisure.) I’m a beginner-to-intermediate mountain biker and though I’ve ridden the swooping singletrack in Park City and picked my way across the sandstone slabs of Moab, in this group, I skewed very beginner.

While guests are encouraged to bring and ride whatever bike style they prefer, Canvas Telemark only offer e-bike rentals, a fact that had me a bit skeptical I'll admit. I have nothing against e-bikes, but I worried they’d feel heavy and unwieldy, especially on rocky terrain. However, e-bikes, the staff assured me, were the better option here. The trails here weren’t especially steep, but they were relentless, with a constant up-and-down that could drain even the most veteran riders.

After a quick safety briefing, we split into groups for our first ride. My first few minutes on the powered bike were rough. I felt like a baby deer, wobbly and unsure as I navigated the narrow boardwalks connecting the yurts. The last thing I wanted was to fall into the water, bike and all, in front of a dozen seasoned riders.

Once we hit the trails, though, I started to feel more comfortable. I went with a more beginner group, and the (thankfully) female instructor, Tuija Laitkari, navigated us through a labyrinth of unmarked trails. The terrain was technical, but the extra power from the pedal assist helped me clear tricky uphill sections without stalling out. Rather than adrenaline-filled downhills, the riding felt exploratory—more cross country in spirit—but the variety kept it interesting. While the weaving descents were never very long, they felt smooth and playful, once I got the hang of things. At one point, we got mixed up and rode down a hill that led to an adjacent valley. The e-bike quickly proved its worth—I didn’t need to huff and puff to get back on track.

The next morning, Métailler, who couldn’t bike after a bad crash a few days prior, led a skills workshop for a few riders. We worked on our riding stance and played around on small rock drops before heading back to the lodge for a lunch of cook-your-own burgers. During the afternoon ride, I accidentally ended up in a group with the more experienced riders. They rocketed ahead, unphased, as I approached the main obstacle of the day: a steep, suspension bridge that we had actually hiked across earlier that week.

Trying to tame the heavy bike as it slid onto the swinging wooden planks was too intimidating, so I turned around, defeated. (Full disclosure: I’m scared of bridges.) I separated from the non-motorized riders, and took the opportunity to work on my technique under the supportive wing of instructor and ambassador, Joline Johansson. She was calm, encouraging, and patient as I slowly let up on my breaks and picked up speed down the steep slabs of slickrock. We never went back to the bridge. Phew.

Outside of riding, the common areas were only places with electricity and Wi-Fi, so most people gathered in the main yurt and dining room at all times. Over three days, we slowly got to know one another over meals, rides, and sauna sessions. Because my sauna endurance isn’t on par with Norwegians—who have an impressively high heat tolerance—I took frequent dips in the icy lake to cool off.

At first, my campmates seemed reserved, offering few words beyond what was necessary. Definitely less chatty than Americans who rely on small talk to make others feel comfortable. But once inside the sauna, amidst the sweat and heat, any topic—from politics to bike gear—was fair game. A quick session in there helped to melt away any awkwardness and establish friendships.

The food was equally memorable. Breakfast was a communal cook-your-own spread: pancakes, eggs, bacon, or sausage sizzling on a steaming griddle in the center of the table. Dinner, served late, was a three course affair packed with fresh, local ingredients, all cooked over wood fired stoves in a tiny, dark kitchen in the main yurt. One night, we started with a velvety pea soup with bacon and what the chef called a “shit ton of butter.” Next, chicken braised in a thick, fragrant broth that left it so tender I had to double-check its doneness under the candlelight.

After dinner, we grabbed blankets and moved to the floating fire pit, a circular platform on a pier that fit about 20 people. The staff brought out dessert: fresh raspberries and an airy egg cream. As the sky darkened, the fire flickered and conversation drifted late into the night.

Canvas Telemark is, without a doubt, an excellent mountain biking destination. But you don’t have to be hardcore rider to enjoy it. Once off the bike, the focus shifts: You’ll wake up to fresh coffee delivered to your tent, unwind in a lakeside sauna, plunge into icy water, and share meals with a group of strangers who, by the end, don’t feel like strangers anymore.