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I knew something was up when my friend Hulvar drove up a steep incline and said it was a good training hill because "one tastes blood in the mouth by the end."

Welcome to Norway, where the Protestant work ethic lives in the form of sports with significant elements of pain. I started to second-guess what he had told me about the Birkebeinerrittet, the 88-kilometre mountain bike race that traces the Birkebeiner route, which, according to legend, was the path used by two Birkebeiners who smuggled the Norwegian baby prince away in 1206, thus saving him from the invading barbaric Swedes.

The Norwegians, for all their Scandinavian sophistication, love these cutesy stories. Birkebeiners had "wooden feet" -- in other words, they skied -- and given the history between Norway and Sweden (Norway broke from Sweden in 1905), any occasion to show up the Swedes in sport is very much looked forward to. The Scandinavians have been into mass races for years and think nothing of participating in each other's competitions, especially if they can throw in a little nationalistic dig now and then.

And so this is why Hulvar is talking about blood in the mouth as we make our way to the race that runs from Rena to Lillehammer. With nearly 10,000 cyclists on the start line, it is the biggest mountain bike race in the world. Hulvar -- and thousands of other Norwegians -- do the 71-year-old Birkebeiner 60-kilometre cross-country ski race every year. But this only busts one's lungs in the winter, and so eight years ago, the mountain bike version of the event was added.

There is also a 21.3-kilometre Birkebeiner cross-country running race in the fall. To be a Superbirkebeinere -- which is the goal of many a Norwegian the way owning season's tickets for the Leafs is a goal in Toronto -- one must do all three in one year -- the Birkebeinertrippelen -- and come within 25 per cent of the fastest times in one's age category. Considering that all of Norway either walks, runs, or skis to work and there doesn't appear to be a slothful one among them, they set a rather brisk pace off the start line.

Originally, Hulvar told me, the Birkebeinerrittet wasn't really a mountain bike race. "It is mainly roads with dirt," he said. "Come with my club -- the Konsvinger Cycling Club. We have the Konsvinger Orienteering Club bus for the weekend."

And so I thought, "Why not?" I had been a bike racer in my past life, but only a road rider. Rocks, crevices and narly, slippery roots scare me. Still, if this race was on what I imagined to be the Nordic equivalent of a Canadian back road -- an outing north of Oslo, where I was trying to recover from a broken heart from another Norwegian I met skiing -- it would be just the ticket. I had bought one too many pairs of shoes in the late summer sales of Oslo in my attempts to put the Viking behind me. I had to escape.

And so I started to train. A 20-minute ride up Songsveien, which like most Oslo roads sports a bike lane, brought me to the Norges Idrettshogskole -- the Norwegian University for Sport, which is the start of more than 1,000 kilometres of cycling trails.

Don't arrive without a cycling and ski map. These are winter ski trails, and Norwegians may know how far it is between Tryvannstamet and Linderudseter-Hogdene, but you won't, especially if you're in oxygen debt because there is no such thing as a flat surface in the Norwegian woods. On one of my first outings, even with a map, I was confused. I asked the guy I had been cycling with if he knew where we were.

All Norwegians speak perfect English so these hardy folks come in awfully handy.

"We are fucking lost," he replied in that Scandinavian singsong voice.

The Oslo trails offer plenty of hostels with great Viking-style dining halls and porches. I rode for hours and used my trusty maps to find a new hostel dining hall each day. The food is cheap -- one-quarter the price of Oslo restaurants -- and, like the people, healthy and hearty.

After a few weeks, I believed I was ready for whatever the Birkebeinerrittet threw my way -- until I heard about the blood in the mouth, and the final few kilometres of the race.

During the four-hour (with one food stop) drive to the race, people told me about the ride down the freestyle ski course from the 1994 Lillehammer Olympics. I froze. I have to ride down things that people do flips and somersaults off of? My little six-year-old Rocky Mountain Fusion didn't even have front shocks. I looked around me. These folks had survived past Birkebeinerrittets. But they were Vikings. Their ancestors ripped live chickens apart with their teeth. I was feeling much like a chicken.

I decided it was not yet my turn to die and picked up my race number upon arrival in Rena. We stayed in a typical "sport person's" country house, as the cycling club members would say. This meant it was Norwegian neat and tidy, but mattresses dotted the floors, and washrooms existed in the woods. People brought plenty of food and a huge pot of porridge stood in for both dinner and breakfast.

Cyclists start in age-group waves of 500 to 1,000, 15 minutes apart, depending on their predicted time. I hoped to finish in between 3½ and four hours and got there early enough for a front-of-the-pack position. The first five kilometres are on asfalt and go up. This strings things out, so when you hit the jarring off-road descent -- which was the beginning of numbness in my hand that lasted a year -- you don't have 1,000 other people also flying full-blast into the woods.

Somehow I survived this, and the single track that followed.

Parts of this area were quite muddy and I found it easier to run and carry my bike up hills. I cursed the Norwegian prince many times as I picked through the rocks. All competitors must carry him -- just as the Birkebeiners had -- but our prince is a 2.5-kilogram rucksack. Unfortunately, mine weighed twice that. Finally, we came out onto grusvei, hard packed trails and roads.

My old cycling legs kicked in and I was able to pass those who flew by on the descents with their nifty front shocks. That's pretty much how the whole race went. Whatever I gained on the climbs, I lost in the descents. I didn't fall, but I had the most unusual bruises on my butt later from people's handlebars brushing by.

The dreaded freestyle ski course came and went before I even realized it.

From here, I could see the Olympic Stadium in the distance. There were still plenty of ups and downs before I hit the line and someone weighed my baby prince. Scandinavians take fair play rather seriously. I was happy enough with seventh place in my age category until I realized I missed the top five by less than a minute. If only I had thrown on a pair of front shocks, and not been such a chicken on the downhills. If only I, too, could relish the taste of blood in the mouth.
This year's race is Aug. 25. Apply as soon as possible as entries fill up early. For information, see http://www.birkebeinerrittet.com. Finnair carries bikes free while Air Canada charges $69.50 one way. Efficient, cheap, regular trains and buses leave Gardermoen Airport in Oslo for Lillehammer and Rena. Train or bus takes approximately 2-2½ hours. Bus information: biri.buss@online.no. Rail: http://www.nsb.no. One way first class Oslo-Lillehammer: $45, second class: $35. Book accommodation in Lillehammer now. Ten thousand cyclists take up a lot of room. You can stay in Rena, but have to get back there at the end of the race. Better to throw your bike on one of many shuttles or trains to Rena early on race day and have a bed close to the finish line in Lillehammer. (It's a downhill ride from the Olympic Stadium into Lillehammer). Bed and breakfasts and hostels are clean, but utilitarian, between $55 and $70 a night. Hotel rooms with breakfast included start at $100. A fully equipped cabin that sleeps four in Nordsetter at the top of the mountain in Lillehammer for one week runs about $1,200. Contact: http://www.lillehammerturist.no.