serendipity #1

Reading the blog of our friend Chris, who cycled in Iceland a few years ago, he described an experience that he felt was the highlight of his journey here.  He'd had a tough time fighting the weather and the arduous highland routes across the island.  He was on the second of these crossings when a four-wheel drive pulled over and someone handed him a Mars bar.  

I liked this story.  It brought to mind the advice our friend Andrea gave us in 2009 when we told her we wanted to travel by bikes.  She has a huge experience of bike touring in remote places and her advice was simple:  "Cycle touring is not in the legs, it's all up here" (pointing to her head).  In other words, no matter how physically difficult it gets, any struggle can be overcome with the mind, with positive-thinking.

Chris was cycling around Iceland mostly on his own and we think that's hard.  It's a demanding country.  We have the comfort and luxury of sharing the hard rides and the wind-blown lunches, of feeling like we're being hunted down by those approaching rain clouds.  If one of us is feeling low, the other one can cheer us up, or at least out-moan us. 

On this day we leave Holmavik and head southwards, having decided that we don't have the energy or the time to cycle the Western Fjords.  We're happy to have made this decision, if not a little disappointed not to explore a part of Iceland that fewer tourists visit.  Leaving late, hoping the southerly wind will die down, we set off along a decent road that climbs very slowly up to our first pass.  We have to pedal down the other side to the western coast (because the wind has not died down) and cross a loooooooooong causeway that bridges quite a wide and deep bay.  The tide is shifting and there's a strong flow of water through the gap under the road, letting the water drain out into the sea.  We pass through some farmland - our first real sight of farming beyond the few isolated ones on the south coast.  There are no vegetables being grown.  It's all hay for cows.

you can't win them all - nice road, lousy views

We turn a bend and head into a tight valley with dark clouds gathering above.  It looks like we'll get soaked but the rain holds off.  We begin our second pass of the day - an easy climb through a narrow valley - and at the top we consider camping.  There are sheep about, and there's some shelter from the wind, but it feels a little too cold and high for comfort.  We wrap up and start the descent, before pulling into a lay-by where there's a waterfall view.  There's a camper van parked in the lay-by and I get the distinct whiff of fresh coffee as we pass by.  

Dan and Char and their cosy camper

Before we have time to discuss camping options, the door of the van slides open and a man steps out.  "Hey guys, do you fancy some hot coffee?"  He's smiling broadly at us and I want to kiss him.  Even Gayle says yes, and she can't stand the stuff.  Before we know it, we're snugly ensconced inside the van chatting with Dan and Char about our journeys.  They've come from California on their way to Europe and hired the van for a couple of months to fully explore the island.  When they asked the rental company for suggestions of where to go in that time they were met with blank looks and an apology.   The longest rental the firm had ever had was for two weeks.  I have to tell Dan that the offer of fresh coffee from travellers in a camper van is a dream rarely realised.  Char brews up some tea for Gayle and we stay for an hour.  It's a moment we don't want to end - that chance meeting with lovely people, their kind offer, some respite from the weather outside. It's our Mars Bar Moment.  

Before we leave, they thrust a couple of beers into our hands "for later".

ahhhhh

washing your dirty laundry in public

People sometimes tell us how brave we are.  It's not a characteristic I often think of, but it crosses my mind as I walk into the mens' toilets at the service station.  It's Sunday lunchtime and the place is busy with people on the road.  We've had a great ride this morning, with the sun out and a big blue sky and a blustery wind on our backs pushing us southwards. It's been fairly effortless, but now the road turns northwards, back up along the other side of the inlet towards Holmavik.  We think we're due a break.  Inside Gayle catches up on uploading her photos to Flickr while I use the available hot water to wash down all the dirt accumulated on the bikes while we crossed through the highlands.  In one rainy afternoon they got caked in mud and grit.

Now I'm standing at the sinks washing my socks, boxer shorts and a t-shirt.  There's a handy soap dispenser and those Dyson hand dryers that blow the water up your sleeves, no matter how careful you are.  Small boys and old men look at me out of the corner of their eyes as they come to wash their hands.  But I remain unashamed.  I'm out and I'm proud.  I'm cycling.  I'm allowed to do this kind of thing. I'm washing my dirty laundry in public. 

"These sinks are for hand-washing only" - the sign is in English only.  Presumably the locals don't come here to shave or catch up on the laundry.  I'm not being brave.  I'm just having to shake off my natural inhibitions.  My parents didn't bring us up to do this kind of thing.  Mind you, I'm sure my mum'd be happy I'm wearing clean underwear.

another quality stop courtesy of N1 services

We sit outside at a bench to have lunch and meet Alice from England, cycling in the opposite direction.  Tereza and Jakob arrive.  Tereza looks happy to see us but also a bit peaky.  Jakob explains that she's not feeling well.  We're surprised that they've been behind us.  The last time we saw them was before the heavy rain in the highlands.  They tell us how they managed to outrun the rain.  They've since been around one of the peninsulas we've just crossed - and they've had to fight this northerly wind for two days.  Now Tereza just wants to sleep - their hard riding is catching up on her.  We follow them northwards up the coast and wave to Jakob when we pass their campsite for the evening.  We push on a bit further and then drop down to a river that has carved out a gorge in the land.  It takes us out of the wind.  There are nesting birds nearby that get a bit annoyed with us  and the sheep also look a bit disgruntled at our appearance.  Tough - we have some shelter and we're not budging. 

the bridge was long gone

the F35 beckons

glorious lupins

The spray from the waterfalls is flying up out of the gorge beneath us before we even see the falls themselves.  The sun is low and there are huge shadows now.  Amazingly there are still several cars in the carpark and a couple of camper vans.  People are heading along the boardwalk and down the steps for a closer look.  An attendant at the paying toilets chats to a friend.  A man is putting up a tent on the edge of the carpark.  The falls are wide and big and there's a roar of falling water into the gulley below.  It's about 11pm and we are still sight-seeing.  And then it's time to camp.  We ride on, not far, but indecision and poor choices mean we backtrack until we finally settle for a ledge below the road.  At midnight we finally lay our heads to rest.

with the spray from Gulfoss falls in the background

In the morning it's raining.  It rains til 3 in the afternoon when we finally emerge and get ready to ride on.  We've caught up on our sleep, and as we only have food for four nights, we want to cover at least a few kilometres.  We're heading into the highlands - the interior of Iceland - along the F35 dirt road that crosses south to north.  It's a gentle beginning - the road is asphalted for further than our map indicates and the climb is very gentle. 

In fact we lose altitude before hitting the dirt and crossing a low river on a bridge and starting to climb steeply.  We push a bit and finally hit the pass just as the clouds start to look threatening again.  Undaunted we c0ontinue down onto a flat plain with surrounding mountains in the distance.  The route is taking us between two of the country's smaller ice fields.  At the bottom of the descent we come to a long bridge over a raging river.  The wind is up now, blowing strongly and we seek shelter behind an emergency hut.  We're cold and it's windy.  Hang on.  Isn't this an emergency?  A moot point - the hut is locked tight.  Undecided, we cook our dinner in the lee of the hut.  While doing this two more cyclists arrive. A Polish couple who look quite cheerful and energised and who plan to reach a place off a side track further on.  We wish them well and eat our tea.  Gayle has her eye on a distant barn.  Another cyclist turns up, but he too has plans to get further along the road.  He's a bit more macho than me, I can tell, not put off by a bit of weather.

All alone once again, Gayle reconnoitres the barn.  It's in a small enclosure but it's open and empty.  As the wind is still gusting and the skies look dark and forbidding we don't hesitate.  Within twenty minutes we have everything inside and the tent set up for the night.  There are signs that another tent has been set up on the dirt floor inside.

the worst view we ever had in Iceland

After a fairly peaceful night, disturbed only by the arrival of a car camper who parks next to the barn, but doesn't come inside, we emerge to another windy day.  We greet the neighbours and then pedal off along the dirt road, wrestling the bikes in a big sidewind.  A few cars pass us slowly.  One parks up ahead and the passengers get out for a walkabout.  As I cycle past I crash into the car.  The wind is so strong that I am having to lean against it.  As soon as the car provides some shelter, I veer straight into it.  It reminds me of the joke about the stupid dog that likes to chase parked cars.

It's a long slow grind because of the wind.  The dirt road itself is not too difficult to ride, but the terrain is difficult to read as it's completely barren and indistinct and it's hard to see where we are heading.  We meet another couple cycling from Switzerland just before we stop for an early lunch in a spot of shelter.  The sun emerges and we start to feel more positive.  Over in the distance we can see one of the ice fields coating the mountains in the east.  We eventually crest the pass and the road ever so gently begins to descend.  By now the wind seems stronger but it is right behind us.  For what seems like an hour we are quite literally blown along a rough washboarded road at a ridiculous speed of over 20 km an hour, without even having to pedal.  All we have to do is avoid the big rocks and keep upright.  It's amazing, thrilling and frightening all in one.

Our reward for this wearying slog are the hotsprings that are about 3 kilometres off the main track.  Here we find the Polish couple Jacob and Tereza already preparing for a good long soak.  The Swiss couple arrive soon after us and look ready to stay a week.  There's camping here, but as jakob points out, why pay for camping here when we can ride 500 metres along the road and camp for free.  Mr. Macho is also here. We all congregate in the steaming outdoor hot pool and the hot waters quickly soothe the aching muscles.  Our cycling colleagues have brought along a taste from home - and the bottles are passed around.  There's a shared feeling of camraderie and entitlement as we look over this hostile landscape and think about the effort required to get here.

Before dark we head off with Tereza and Jacob and find a rock garden to camp in.  It takes a while clearing space for the tents, but it'll do fine.  The wind has dropped.  We can sleep soundly.

big country, big sky

The next day starts well with sunshine and little wind.  We are eager as we know it will be easier today - all downhill isn't it?  It seems so, although the road is sandy in places.  

when we moaned about the wind, Jacob pointed out, it's better than being in the office

We stop at another hut for lunch and then get going into what might be greener country - except it's not.  There are sheep about but we've no idea what they can be eating.  Jakob and Tereza fly off - they're much quicker than us - obviously not carrying a load like ours.  Mr. Macho soon catches up with us and chats to us for a while.

it's difficult to capture the views when the distances are so great, but this sums it up

 And then it rains.  And rains.  And rains.  We have to remind ourselves that what we are doing is just like all the tourists in cars, but slower.  Ha!  The road turns to mud and we can feel the rain penetrating our waterproofs.  It's dismal.  We push on and realise that the rain is actually following us.  It's moving across a vast landscape but almost staying exactly above us, like a cartoon rain cloud.  Finally we reach tarmac.  We're drenched, but now the road drops down into a valley and lookee here, there are trees!  This looks like a great place to camp.  And then the clouds break, the sun emerges, we dry out, pitch our tent and we all live happily ever after........

pause

We ride into Hvolsvöllur from the pleasant back road which has taken us past a few farms.  It's a lovely quiet rolling road and it gives us a view of the village hidden under a canopy of trees.  It's a weird and wonderful sight on an island that distinctly lacks trees. On the way out of the village, back on the ring road, we pass a large stand of new trees.  We take a look.  It's a perfect camping spot, so we stop early.  In fact, it's such a good camping spot we stay for three nights.  The weather is blustery and wet, but more importantly there's a service station nearby with free wi-fi.  It's time I started writing this blog and Gayle wants to upload her photographs to Flickr.  
 

a rare modern church in a small village

We take it in turns to sneak out of the woods and back along the main road to the petrol station.  It's one of a national chain, N1, and they're located all around the ring road.  They're very useful for us - we can do laundry, plug in and charge while we're using the wi-fi and we don't have to spend a penny because they're usually busy.  They are staffed only by children, most of whom are producing deep-fat-fried fast food.  The cheapest item on the menu are hot dogs and quite a lot of the customers are chewing on these.  

classic hand-knitted jumpers go for £200

Now we really do feel like hobos.  We could live like vagabonds here for a year probably, without being discovered.  It's a good opportunity for us to have a break from the cycling and gird our loins for the next stage - the highlands.

our home sweet home

Gayle gets an e-mail form her sister, who has been here a couple of times.  She writes in response to a comment from Gayle about how most tourists just seem to drive around in their vehicle, stop, take a photo, then drive on.  Her sister points out that we are doing just the same thing, but much slower.  "It's just the same, but slower" becomes our catchphrase over the next couple of weeks, as we struggle with the elements that make Iceland a challenging place to cycle.

waterfalls

the campground dog looking for food

Skogafoss are one of the falls that appears on the tour itinerary for every tour group heading along the southern route.  We arrive early as the clouds are lifting, but the place is already heaving.  The village has a youth hostel (dorm bed £50 each per night - member's rate), a small shop (a butane gas cartridge is about £20) and a campsite that ranks as one of the worst in the world.  For about £30 you can camp in the carpark of the waterfalls.  You will be surrounded by visitors walking around your tent going between toilets, falls and vehicles.  And there's little shelter from the wind.

going to see the top of the falls

We brew up to one side of the carpark and have breakfast before having a little look at the waterfalls and moving on.  Neither of us is particularly comfortable with the volume of people.  However. it is fun people-watching.  Further along the main road we take a turn off along a track to a place up a small side valley.  After a short walk along a rocky path we come to the swimming pool mentioned by the Russians.  It's spring-fed by hot water and it seems that it is well-known.  Despite the rustic set up (a tiny blockhouse for changing and nothing else) theres a steady stream of people coming and going.  I am disappointed.  The water is not so hot.  However, we do get a free wash, albeit without soap.  The pool is fantastically dark green and sinister.  The surfaces are soft and furry with algae.   After a good soak we dry off and move on.

hanging on for dear life at the deep end

Not far away are more falls.  Same big carpark, same long line of tourists completing the triangle of vehicle-toilet-falls.  The twist to these falls is that you can walk behind them as a path cuts into the rockface behind.  I am feeling a bit blase about these places now.  It's all so ho-hum-ha.  There's got to be more to Iceland than these 'honey pot' places.  Gayle checks out prices at the food van in the carpark.  Twenty quid for a sandwich and cake.  The van is staffed by teenagers.  Where are all the adults?  Gone somewhere warm for the summer?

Determined to break off the ring road we follow the side road northwards.  It soon turns to a dirt track that suddenly becomes a ribbon of loose rocks.  It's barely navigable.  However, there is an old bridge crossing the huge wide river beside the road.  There are large rocks placed to stop vehicles using it, but we can see from tracks that locals still do.  We check the map.  On the far side is an an enormous open plain.  Except, in the near distance, an isolated hill, the larger brother of the one on ourside of the river.  These two hills are the rocky incarnations of legendary figures mentioned in the Icelandic Sagas.  Or so I imagine.  I really don't know.  While I'm trying to invent some myth about why they are located here, separated by the river, Gayle is halfway across.  On the other side we camp beside the dyke which is preventing the river from moving even wider across the plain.  After only cycling twenty minutes off the ring road we are suddenly in a quiet empty place. It's wonderful.

In the morning we continue north along a rocky dirt track that brings us to Glugafoss.  These falls are little visited but are quite unusual as the water has formed a chimney into the rock and then worn 'windows' into the chimney.  The water gushes out of three separate windows.  Not a coach tour in sight, too.

the call of nature

We're happy to reach Vik.  It's at the southernmost tip of  Iceland's south coast and when we've been looking at the weather it definitely seemed to be the point at which we would start getting sunnier days.  So of course we expect the rain as we close in on the village.  We don't expect to see David stood outside a campground along the road.  We thought he'd be well ahead of us now.  He's smoking a cigarette and looking a little disheartened.  Who wouldn't be.  Cycling here is tough and it must be even tougher on your own.  Nadine, the cyclist we met on the ferry, has written saying that she now calls the island Scheisseland because she's had so much rain and bad weather - lots of headwinds.  After a brief hello and goodbye we leave David debating whether to stop at the campground or not.  "He probably didn't smoke before he got here", Gayle comments.

shabby chic

Outside the supermarket are four loaded bikes.  It's drizzling but one of the cyclists chats with us.  They're Russians.  Aha, we think.  "Where did you camp last night?" we ask.  Er, just over there, at the end of the street, Ivan tells us sheepishly.  "A lady told us it wasn't really allowed, but it was raining....."  Ivan is happy to share some tips - free hot baths along the route and in Reykjavik too.  They've been battling the headwind going east but of all the cyclists we've seen, they look the most determined.

Leaving Vik on one of those steep climbing roads that you always find leading out of coves, we pass the road display board telling us weather conditions on the passes ahead.  The only problem is that we don't know where the passes are on our map and we don't understand the code of the display.  We soon find out. 

shabby

Towards the top of the climb the wind whips up behind us, helping us along.  And then it gusts sideways and pushes us both across the road.  There's traffic in both directions so you can imagine how frightening this is.  The wind is so strong we can't trust ourselves to ride.  There's nothing to do but get off and walk.  And walk.  And walk.  We even walk down the other side, because there's no leeward side - everywhere is exposed to the wind.  We drop into a short valley and ride for a bit before struggling up a short climb at the other end.  It's very tricky and the road is not very wide.  Cars try to squeeze past us and oncoming traffic as we wobble uphill and I snap.  I start shouting and swearing and waving my arms and basically stop the cars behind us.  I am utterly outraged.  They wouldn't come so close if we were pedestrians or motorcyclists - why do we deserve such a lack of care or respect?  I sum my arguments up into some short, pithy and angry curses, which are blown away on the gusting wind as soon as they leave my mouth.  

Over the hill we look out aghast at a wide open plain, not a sign of shelter anywhere in the distance.  It's raining again now, and we can see a turn off in the distance which might lead to shelter behind a mountain, but it's miles away.  Dropping down to the bottom of the hill, we spot a church next to a couple of farmhouses.  So we veer off along the track and hide behind a small outbuilding next to the church.  Relief.  No wind, just a touch of rain.  We try the door handle, no luck.  Gayle goes over to the church door.  No dice.  We stand around for half an hour contemplating the situation.  Maybe we could just camp here in the church carpark?  Gayle goes off to ask at the farm.  The old fella who opens the door doesn't speak English but directs Gayle to the neighbours.  Yes, they tell her, no problem.  Result.  The ground is rock hard and covered in large pebbles but with a bit of groundwork we have a shelter for the tent out of the wind.  Phew.

shelter from the wind

The relief of the evening is not borne through the morning.  The wind has died and the rain has stopped, true.  But after breakfast there is one morning ritual that remains undone.  I am a creature of habit, and after breakfast I am usually to be found, trowel in one hand, bog roll in the other, looking for a quiet spot to 'phone my broker'.  We head off along the road, out into the big open plain, through fenced off fields separated from the road by big ditches.  There is nowhere to hide, nowhere to go.  The call of nature is loud and cannot be ignored.  We get to a roadside restplace, one where drivers can pull in.  These come along every 50kms or so, and they sometimes have a picnic table.  They are always in windswept exposed positions and this one is no different.  However, the road at this point is about two or three metres higher than the surrounding land.  The road sometimes resembles a dyke, and the restplace has a slope out of sight of passing vehicles.  So off I go to answer the call.  I am just finished with the old 'buff and polish' when Gayle calls out.  Perhaps my lookout had drifted off, but her warning comes too late.  I turn around to find a car parked just above me, and the driver getting out and quickly looking away in horror.  There's a whole family in the car and I guess they change their minds about getting out to stretch their legs when they see the view.  I get my shorts back up super fast and dutifully refill the hole.  But oh, the indignity, the shame.

the long empty road

It's now illegal for cars and campervans to camp at the roadside or anywhere other than a campground and the reason is simply that too many tourists were just going to the toilet everywhere.  For some reason no-one has thought to provide more toilets.  What price a chemical toilet at every reststop?   I think I'll write to the Head of Tourism about this........

and the occasional wonderful view

getting warmer

So here we are on the island of 'fire and ice' and we are yet to see a volcano or anything volcanic.  Until today.  We are riding through an enormous volcanic lava flow which comes from the highlands and flows out to the coast.  It is now set solid, frozen in time, a field of black tuff now coated in an irridescent green moss.  Our road cuts across it to Kirkyboojie.  This is not it's real name, but we are struggling with pronouncing Icelandic names and Kirkjubæjarklaustur hardly trips off the tongue.  

"try not to look so gormless"

 Kirkyboojie is significant primarily for it's supermarket.  But we are also interested in the Hot Pot.  Now, this might come as a great disappointment to all the many visiting Chinese tourists, for whom hot pot is almost a national dish, because in Iceland a Hot Pot is something you get in.  The country has invested heavily into building swimming pools in many small communities and these all have hot tubs and sometimes saunas too.  We are itching. almost literally, to have a wash and a soak.  The day is grey and cool and the pool and tubs are outside, but this adds to the pleasure, as the hot water soaks through our bodies and warms us to the marrow of our bones.  Mmmmmmmm.  It's not busy - a few locals and tourists from the hotel next door. WE chat to a local young man who runs 'adventure tours'.  He complains about rising house prices in Reykjavik and how tour companies are copying each others ideas and itineraries in the new tourist boom.  The currency gets stronger,  the tourist numbers this year are over 2 million, and prices rise.  He predicts a bust in the near future.

most farms look abandoned or only with a few sheep

When it all gets too hot we get out and do a bit of laundry.  There's even free coffee in the foyer.  Then it's back in for that lovely heat again.  By the time we get out I feel like Mr. Softmint.  Over at the supermarket there's a Spanish couple on touring bikes. They seem a little subdued and monosyllabic.  We can tell they've been riding into a headwind all the way from the airport at Keflavik - right in the south-west corner of the island. Duro, muy duro.


Kirkyboojie sits right in the middle of this rather stunning lava flow which came from a huge eruption from a series of vents in the earth's crust in 1783.  It is considered to be the largest eruption of lava in world history and was the largest disaster to hit Iceland.  Over 8 months the gases and ash cloud led directly or indirectly to the death of about a quarter of the whole population and the effects were felt across Europe and North America.  I read later that in New Orleans even the Mississippi froze over that winter.

It's late afternoon and we realise that lava, hot or cold, isn't actually ideal camping ground.  But just as we're tiring and our morale is dipping and the inner warmth we built up from the hot pot is starting to fade, we sense the lava thinning out.  Sure enough, we see a stream and ground that isn't coated in lava.  It looks like a place the road builders dug up and disturbed which has now overgrown.  Behind a hillock we can camp out of sight of the road and just over another hillock is a large slow-moving stream.  That'll do for the day.

...at last

the maddening crowd

It's a glorious sunny day.  Our dampened spirits have been lifted by Margot's kindness and now the weather is perfect for our visit to Jokulsarlon a.k.a. the Iceberg Lagoon.  This is a place where one of the huge glaciers coming off the ice cap here ends in a lagoon.  Huge pieces of the ice break off and float about before heading for the exit out to sea.  And the waves then wash the icebergs up onto the shore.  It's quite a dramatic sight, on the beach, because the sand is black from lava.

We arrive mid morning and there's plenty of activity around.  We realise that for many people flying into Iceland this is probably the most eaterly point they will come to.  And the place is quite a drawcard.  We spend a little time walking around the shore of the lagoon and away from the carpark where there are less visitors.  The beach scene is fabulous.  

When we return to the road we become aware of an increase in the traffic.  This is definitely the endpoint for the majority of tourists.  Thankfully there is a nice easterly tailwind pushing us along, as this is also the stretch of ring road with no communities (shops).   We get a good long close up of some of the glaciers pouring off Vatnajokull.  We turn a corner and ride onto an enormous fluvial plain - a rocky landscape formed by the glaciers carrying rock debris out of the mountains and the huge rivers sweeping out to sea.  It's impressive but quite boring to cycle.  Happily we have some distractions- such as the turf-roofed church in a little hamlet.   And then we meet a chatty Italian cyclist coming the other way.  He looks frazzled and he tells us he's been fighting a headwind all day.  We do our introductions "I'm a man you welly" he tells me.  I look askance.  "Emmanuel" he explains for me with the English pronunciation.  As we have the wind with us we crack on.  The road has been built up on a raised dyke along a large part of this coastline.  It's flat but there's not much of a hard shoulder.  The flatness means we can see quite a long way ahead but even we are surprised that the bridge we see in the distance turns out to be over five kilometres away.

Eventually we get across the fluvial plain and come to another turf-roofed church.  But this one is on a farm and the gates are closed. We leave our bikes anyway and go for a look around.  The farm is abandoned.  Back at the gates an Icelandic family turn up.  The man cries out "What's this nonsense!"when he sees the 'private property' sign. "This is a national historic site!" he declares, before they all troop up the track.  Just along the road we find another abandoned building and a footpath that leads us to a little rocky alcove that is perfectly sheltered from the wind that has pushed us over the 100km limit today.  This spot is one of Gayle's typical finds.  It's an ideal location but it requires a little more effort - in this case lifting our panniers and bikes over an old fence before pushing up a rocky escarpment to reach it.  Worth the bother?  Of course it is.  There's not a soul for miles.

a warming moment

It's a lousy day - the road crosses a large featureless bay sitting under a grey sky.  The rivers we cross are black and menacing, the mountains seem harsh and unwelcoming.  It's cold, very cold. To our left is the sea, sometimes close, sometimes far away.  There's no respite from the elements.  We put on our wet weather gear before we stop for lunch at a roadside picnic table.  Tourists in a four-weel drive pull in but don't get out, don't say hello.  We gobble down the cheap tasteless bread smothered in, and this is the brightest spark of the day so far, delicious blackcurrant jam. 

but the winner is .... mcvitie's dark chocolate digestives

On we go, the road pushed back out to the coast and around yet another grassy and rocky headland.   We wave to the sheep.  It starts to rain.  And then, the Vatnajokull ice cap comes into view - a large snowy white expanse layered over the mountains on the horizon.  We pause at a pull-in where there are some stunted firs - the first we've seen for a while.  Gayle goes off to explore the lay of the land and reports that it would do for the night, even though it's only mid-afternoon.  Down below us is a farm, hotel, restaurant and museum.  We decide to wheel down to the restaurant and see if we can get dry there.  Inside a coachload of Chinese tourists are finishing off their late lunch.  We pretend to look at the postcards for sale and check the weather forecast displayed on a TV screen.  A young woman asks if we need any help.  We ask her a question, she divines we are cyclists (perhaps the helmets give us away, or the drowned-rat look), and tells us that she too is a cyclist.  Margot arrived here with her partner from Poland exactly as we have done, and stayed to work ever since.  She is now running the restaurant and kindly offers us a hot drink, invites us to sit down at a table and then brings us cake too.  Such a sweetie.  She knows what it's like.  

this is why Gayle usually takes the photos

After drying off we check out the museum, which is a small but fascinating display about the life and work of Þórbergur Þórðarson (in Icelandic the letter Þ = Th), a man who grew up on this isolated farm and then left to become one of Iceland's greatest writers and thinkers.   Around the usual heritage stuff such as the old wooden house he lived in and a model of his study are many quotes from Thordarson's books.  These have been translated briliantly.  It turns out to be a real gem of a place.  Thank you, Margot.

It's about to start raining when we leave, and we quickly ride back to the road and then push into the trees to camp - trying to preserve that bit of warmth Margot has filled us with.

in the morning

where there's hofn

Iceland has one main road - the ring road - route 1.  There are other roads crossing the island and sprouting off to the coastal extremities and these are the ones we want to find.  We are starting southwards and Nadine wrote to us about a dirt road that shaves off a hundred kilometres, misses a tunnel and more importantly, gets us off route 1, if only for a day.  The downside is it takes us over another high pass.  Are we ready after yesterday's traumatic experience?  Yes, of course.  Now we think nothing will be as bad that.

Just after setting off Davide catches up with us.  He stayed at the campsite last night after stocking up at the supermarket, although he observes that another supermarket is only a day's ride away.  We ask him how the prices compare with those of Switzerland.  We remember that many Swiss drive into Germany to stock up on groceries.  Same prices, he tells us, but lower quality here.  We realise that our currency has weakened since the Brexit referendum whilst the Icelandic Krona is strengthening on the back of their tourist boom.  In one year, the pound has dropped a third in value in direct comparison.  No wonder the bread's so expensive.  After reflecting on the egregious state of Sterling Davide whizzes off down the valley and we follow at a more leisurely pace.  

The valley is wide and we circuit around one side of a large and distant lake.   We're surprised at the number of conifer trees but this region turns out to have the most forest of the island.  We read that the government is trying to reforest Iceland and return it to the state it was before the Vikings arrived.  Or was it to before the last Ice Age?  It seems that it's wrong to blame the Vikings for stripping the island of trees - although it's possible they finished off what little was left.  

looking back

Up ahead the valley narrows and the peaks of the surrounding mountains seem to close in.  They are capped in dark clouds and we can see rain in the sky in the side valleys and all ahead of us.  Happily it moves away as we get nearer and when we hit the dirt road and start climbing the sun comes out.  It's a gentle climb but the dirt road is being 'groomed' by a young lad in a big machine.  Basically he is tipping a huge amount of fresh earth over the road and then scraping it flat, thereby filling in all the potholes and leaving a beautiful carpet of thick soft soil.  I'm sure he knows what he's doing, despite his young age, but it makes for a crap cycling surface.  

At the pass a shower catches us and then we have the most incredible descent through a valley with wonderful rock formations.  On both sides the cliff faces of the mountains are tiered in great waves of rock. It looks like petrified lasagne.  And the road drops vertiginously at times like a washboard, pot-holed luge run.  I don't know whether to look up or down.  At the foot of the climb we find an unused track and camp with a view of the fjord we have arrived in.  Easy and thrilling - what more could we want today?
 

the picnic sign is very misleading - there is never a tree, just a single windswept table

Riding on to the next village in the morning and we find the road is rollercoasting rather steeply.  It takes us all morning to ride only 25km.  Are we so unfit, or just not used to that kind of up and down?  We find David at the supermarket brandishing some brocoli. Already we have decided we can't afford meat, cheese, butter, chocolate, beer, wine and most vegetables.  Our lunches consist of bread and jam with crisps and biscuits - a binge-eater's feast.  Dinner is pasta and a simple sauce with onions and One Other Veg. 

crap food, great views

Now we're back on the ring road and following the south-eastern coastline.  This consists of a series of fjords and wide bays with big mountains coming down to the coast.  Sadly the tops are always wrapped in cloud and this makes them featureless and uniform.  If only the cloud would lift.  During the day there's wind and showers but in the evenings the wind tails off.  We find some nice camp spots off the road, out of sight of the regular traffic.  It's permissible for cyclists to camp wild but not for car or van drivers.  Most of the traffic seems to be tourists in small rented vans and these are legally obliged to use campsites.  The campsites we see usually resemble grassy carparks with little shelter from the wind.  They're often by the road and look rather unpleasant.  And it costs £30 to camp. As Gayle puts it "that's an expensive shower".  
 

no services, no charge

The wild camping turns out to be one of the best parts of the day.  It's hardly getting dark at night - the sunset is between 11 and 12 at night - and the weather always seems to improve in the evening.  We seem to get showers frequently in the morning but can wait for the tent to dry out - a short wait if our sheltered spot is not so sheltered.  The worst part is lunch - with absolutely no shelter to be found from the elements - we often eat our jam sandwiches sat on the grass next to the road.  In between there's some cycling - which is quite enjoyable as the traffic is not heavy and the coastline is rather dramatic and beautiful.  We pass lonely sheep farms, some of which advertise accommodation.  It seems an isolated part of the country and we like it.

no drivers spotted these reindeer when we stopped to watch them

Icelandic B'n'B - demand outstrips supply these days

After a short wet day we awake to big clear skies and a gusting easterly wind.  It blows us along towards Hofn with the last shop for 200 km.  There's a busy supermarket where all the staff look about 14 years old.  There's also a quiet tourist office where we can get on-line and check the weather forecast. The fifteen year-old boy working there tells us "Tomorrow there'll be sun and showers." What about the wind?  He taps his keyboard and then pulls a face.  "The wind will be strong and...er...here, have a look yourself."  The wind map on the weather website shows the region covered in a series of randomly pointing arrows.....

After a bit of surreptitious laundry in the bathroom we set off down the road with the wind on our backs trundling us along easily.  It's our first sunny day and the mountains are all clear.  And to top it off we find a great little spot to camp. After a rocky start Iceland is feeling good.