The weather this year (2012) has been horrible. It started on the first of January with gales and rain and continued all winter, with little in the way of snow and no sunshine. Come the spring we got a hint of a change with a week of sunshine which ended on the second day of our tour of the Western Isles beaches, returning to wind and cold rain. I actually bagged my annual spring motorbike trip during this sunny week, doing my usual run up to Durness and back but in two hectic days involving closed roads, missed ferrys, diversions and much fast A road riding. The highlight was getting to cross Loch Carron on the wee turntable ferry that normal serves Kylerea on Skye. The main road round the loch had been bleutered by a huge landslip thanks to the horrible weather and they were running this ferry from the old crossing as a temporary measure. Many times I'd ridden past the sign saying 'Strome Ferry, No Ferry' and now there was!
Thereafter it got worse with every single day seeing torrential rain. I managed to avoid it on May bank holiday weekend by heading north and west to the Isle of Skye and much sunshine. Not what you would expect as its usually worse here and odder still were the dry trails. This gave a hint of the strange weather system that would dominate the country all summer.
For reasons that even Meteorologists were confused by, a massive high pressure was sat to the northwest of the UK, centered on Iceland, and showing no signs of moving. Whilst England, Wales and Southern Scotland got day after day of rain, this high pressure was baking the north west of Scotland. By stunning coincidence I'd planned a bike tour in Iceland and got roasted; whilst the UK drowned under more and more rain. The high had crept into Southern Scotland a couple of weeks before this trip. By chance we were off to Glencoe during this dry spell and I used it to test my gear out. I pedaled up from home, camping in a roasting hot campsite north of Strathyre, then got thoroughly sun-burned following the West Highland Way to Glencoe. We ended up swimming in the river coe by the campsite!
Sun on the three sisters of Glencoe
This high pressure seemed to be covering pretty much everything north and west of the Great Glen and showed no sign of moving. Typically this fact wasn't advertised as it would have heralded the best tourist season the north-west had seen for a generation but Visit Scotland, in characteristic style, totally failed to cash in on this rare event.
I did, but more by good luck than good management. After getting colossally lucky in Skye and Iceland, I pushed it further by heading up to Applecross for a weekend in July. I was meeting a couple of pals up there who were on motorbikes. My plan was to do the Bealach na Bar sportive route on the road bike one day and then bag a few trails on the fat bike the next. Thereafter I would be heading for Aviemore for some more fat biking as well as helping my mate swap the chassis on his land rover.
I got up to Loch Carron early doors and was riding by 9.30. There isn't much to report on the ride, its around 85 miles and hilly including the famous Applecross road, as well as many other climbs round the peninsular to Shieldaig and on to Torridon. The road bike has a 53/39 chainset and it took a bit of heaving to get it up the steep bit of the main climb. Thereafter it was just a case of getting your head down and pedaling. One of the reasons my love affair with road bikes is on the wane as its impossible to ride them slowly and take in the views. Five hours and 20 minutes later I was back at the car. I drove back over to Applecross campsite, and pitched my tent close to where my pals were staying. We chatted in the sun for a bit (no midges, that's how dry its been!) and then inevitably went to the pub for food and much beer.
The next morning I headed round Applecross bay on the beach aiming for a track that went up by the Applecross River. I was on a hot tip from Bruce Mathieson AKA Coastkid, him of fat bike fame, who has posted a vid of this trail the previous year. The track climbed up the glen and then narrowed to a good made path after a few miles.
Applecross river with Skye in the background
Soon after it climbed steeply round the shoulder of a hill. This would be my first real test of techy rock riding on the Mukluk (apart from what I'd done on the beach of course!) and it passed with flying colours, the big tyres gripping limitlessly and rolling over rocks that would have fired a normal tyre out from underneath you. Thereafter the trail was more straightforward climbing steadily to a junction with another possible route over a higher pass to the coast road. It looked a lot less well defined than the one I was on so I figured I'd stick with the lower level route which would also cut down the road riding. It was absolutely bone dry.
Torridon hills from near the end of the trail
The trail remained a peach right out to the road and the descent was ace. I had a go at a short cut on another path but this was non-existent on the ground after a promising start. So instead I cruised round the road, only pausing to check out a beach with some nice dunes.
Then it was back to the campsite for more chat, more good food and beer. The next morning I had a leisurely drive to Aviemore and spent the rest of the day and the next helping Rob with his chassis change. Interestingly as soon as I passed over the great glen the weather changed dramatically and became much damper. Rob took some time off from his project to check out a route in the Northern Corries (of the Cairngorms that is) on the fat bikes. It was actually a nice day but rivers were up and any bit of the trail that wasn't rock (not much to be fair) was pretty muddy. We ground up the ski area access track and then cut across into Corrie an Schnechda picking any suitable line through the boulder field. We stopped for a while taking in the views then rode out on the equally entertaining path back down and round to the Cas car park.
That evening I drove home back to work and rain, rain, rain.
Four weeks later I was back up to Aviemore, this time on the motorbike. It was looking like another stunning weekend in the North West and the plan was to do some walking and boating. That's right, we were going pack rafting, something that Rob and Iona had been doing for a couple of years and I was keen to try. The next morning we drove up past Ullapool, turned off on the Achiltibuie road and cruised along to a suitable parking point a few miles past Stac Pollaidh.
Boats were inflated, rucksacks strapped to the front and off we went paddling up Loch Bad a Ghail in the warm sunshine. We followed this loch up to its furthest reach, jumped out, shouldered sacks and carried the boats under our arms, still inflated. A couple of hundred metres later we were back in the water in Loch Lurgainn. This was a bigger body of water and a bit choppy in the breeze. I was on a fairly steep learning curve paddling one of these things and I was keen not to fall off it! It was incredibly relaxing however and it made a change for me to be using my arms for forward motion instead of my legs.
Stac Pollaidh passed slowly on our left and then we beached just after Linneraineach. This times the boats were deflated as we had a bit of a walk ahead. This went straight up the hillside on a steep trail which was hard work with the heavy load (not actually that heavy - the boat, paddle and bouyancy aid weigh about 5kg in total) and the hot sun. Topping out revealed a stunning panorama - the wilderness of Sutherland.
We marched down the hill into this wild land, Cuil Mor just in front and Suilven in the distance. At the bottom we got the boats out and up and put into Loch an Doire Duibh. This was fairly short with a river of dubious provenance linking it to Loch Sionasgaig - a large body of water filling a wide land between us and Suilven. The river was short and not deep enough to paddle so we hopped out and carried the inflated boats for a bit before taking to the water again.
Progress is fairly slow in these things so you have to have fairly modest plans, distance wise. After a fair bit of paddling we approached a small group of islands. Eilean Mor had been Robs planned stopping point but lo and behold, someone else had beaten us to it. Not that surprising given the weather. Instead we beached just across from another small island and pitched up on an exposed shoulder of ground that would hopefully catch enough breeze to keep the midges at bay.
The breeze came and went so a bit of running around was needed setting up but we managed to cook and eat tea sat outside.
The next morning was quite breezy so we had a midge free breakfast before packing up and paddling off. Hmm the wind was in our faces and the waves on the increase. The problem being we had to cross the Loch to avoid a long paddle round its north shore. "Lean into the Waves as you paddle!" says Rob. Easy for him to say, he's into white water. After a few nervous wobbles I got into the rhythm of it and we progressed across to the south shore which was sheltered and much easier. At the end of the loch we hopped over a small sluice, paddled another wee loch and scrambled down a wide area of braided burn lines and a waterfall. Then it was one last lochan before we deflated the boats and trekked up to the road. This we stuck to back to the car. What a fun trip! The potential of packrafts, particularly in this part of Scotland, is huge. There are multiple lochs and rivers which a keen eye could thread a route through, avoiding horrible schleps across trackless rough moor. Hmm guess that's something else on the shopping list.
Our illustrious guide
Later that month I took the motorbike to the Manx Grand prix and experienced the worst weather I have ever camped in, anywhere. Fortunately my tent was a four season one so was one of a very few in Peel campsite that survived the gales and torrential rain. We ended up leaving early it was so bad....
Finally in October we got some better weather across southern and eastern Scotland. The scorching weather that had blazed across the northwest returned to a normal mix of sun, wind and rain. I actually managed a couple of great day rides in good weather during this month. One was a circuit starting in Blair Atholl going north across the Minigaig pass, over to the River Feshie, up this and across the Geldie to Glen Tilt and down back to Blair Atholl. Its a great route being around 50 miles and all off road. The trails were pretty wet but the infamous Feshie was the lowest I'd seen it....
The other was a bit of exploration north west of the Spittal of Glenshee. I was on the fat bike again as I knew there would be some off piste work on this one. I went up Glen Taitneach then scrambled up a narrow defile to a wee lochan. From here I crossed over to the Slopes of Carn an Righ and got right up to the summit thanks to an unexpected path and the short turf you tend to find about 750m which the fatty rolls across without issue.
Cairngorm panorama
Descending was harder but I eventually reached the track out of Fealar Lodge, rode this to Enochdu and then over the Cateran trail back to the Spittal.
That was it. In November the weather went pear shaped again, right to the end of the year, barring one blessed snowy weekend (So I finally got skiing in 2012!). I hope 2013 is going to be better!
Sometime towards the end of 2011 my friend Iona phoned up to see if I fancied doing an Iceland Tour in 2012. She'd been twice before and was keen to explore more of this dramatic island. I'd always fancied it after hearing Iona's tales so instantly accepted. That new year I was up at their place as usual and we discussed options. A traverse across the interior was the most appealing but our planned date for the trip - early June - would likely mean the high roads (the infamous F26 or F35) would be snowbound. Also we'd need to get a bus from Reykjavik to the north side of the island to make such a trip practical within our notional timescale of a week and a bit. Something in the southwest of the island seemed a bit more practical and would still provide opportunities to touch the interior of the island without having to arrange transport or worry too much about snow.
During that (extremely wet) winter we kept in regular touch about plans and gear. I'd already got the bike - a rigid On One inbred 29er which, with the right tyres, would be ideal for the mix of gravel roads and tarmac that we'd encounter. I was starting to amass various bits of bikepacking kit so a frame bag / seat pack / bar roll set up seemed ideal for what we were planning. I stressed about tents for a quite a while. Iona described some of the exposed sites she'd used previously and the need for something suitably windproof. Eventually I got a good deal on a Force 10 nitro which looked to be strong enough, roomy enough for some comfort on a 10 day trip, and at 1.9kg, not too heavy. Iona was going with her trusty Terra Nova Voyager which was heavier still but stronger.
In the April myself, Iona and Rob did a 4 day tour of the Western Isles on the fat bikes which gave me an opportunity to test the tent. And test it I did, especially on one wild night where the wind nearly had us all off Eriskay and into the sea. A weekend trip up to Glencoe allowed me a final kit and load out check. My previously much loved Brooks conquest did not make the cut as it ripped my backside to pieces. Fortunately I already had a WTB speed V gel which I'd used on the beach tour so went with that instead.
Finally on the 31st May I headed through to Glasgow airport. I hate flying, not because of any fear of crashing, but entirely due to the massive hassle involved in parking, checking in, getting through security and getting on board. In the event it all went well and the flights were direct thanks to a new route by Icelandair to Keflavik.
Flying in revealed much sunshine and a landscape unique in my personal experience. Leaving the tiny airport was a cinch and we were picked up by the owners of the hostel we were staying at (Hostel Alex).
We'd booked this well in advance for our first and last nights. Its close by Keflavik airport, offers free transfers and bike bag storage. It looked like a warehouse but was actually quite posh inside. And a bit pricey however Iceland's recent total bank crash had meant we got an excellent exchange rate making prices overall pretty reasonable. That afternoon was spent building up the bikes outside in the warm sunshine, followed by a wander into town to check out the place. Food outlets seemed to be either American style cafes selling junk food or very expensive restaurants selling local delicacies. There's a very strong American influence on the island thanks to the US having an airbase there. This dates from the cold war but they refused to leave after it was all over and the Icelanders seem powerless to turf them out....
The next morning dawned bright and sunny and after a diversion to get gas we headed roughly west on route 425. The plan was to follow this along the south coast as far as we could. Iona's map seemed to suggest a lot of it would be gravel but my more recent map suggested more was tarmac. Whatever, the gravel roads all looked to be motorway standard so no bother.
The landscape was desolate - volcanic ash covered with moss and the odd bit of scrubby vegetation. We passed the first of many power stations driven by the geothermal heat that is an integral part of Iceland's highly active geology. Basically if you drill a hole in the ground, at some point a jet of superheated steam will blast out. All you need is some kind of turbine and you've got power.
This narrow defile marks the line of the major tectonic plate join that makes Iceland so volcanic
Turning east lead to a stiff tailwind but the sun was now baking. Neither of us had thought to bring sun cream and we were getting fried as a result - who'd have thought it.... Bits of the old road still existed beside the new surfaced alignment and one longish section looked worth a look. Its not as if there was any traffic on the main road but we were there to ride gravel and not in any rush so made the most of it.
Our timing was perfection as we rolled into the first town since the start at lunchtime. This was Grindavik and typical of a small Icelandic settlement. Lots of low tin and timber houses, well spaced out streets (all with cycleways) and a garage cum shop / cafe in the middle. This supplied further junk food for lunch and food for that evening.
So we progressed, the landscape slowly changing from barren volcanic ash of all hues (think West Lothian pit bings) to scrubby grass to farmland. Our agreed destination was a small community named Selvogur which revealed itself as a cluster of spread out houses and a couple of farms. A campsite was marked on the map and sure enough a sign indicated one of the farms. The site was a small field surrounded by sheep, with a picnic table, a small toilet block and little else. Best of all it was free but a shower was 60kr (about 20p). We'd done about 85k which seemed plenty for our first day. The wind had done a 180 for the last few k so further distance was pointless in any case. Tea comprised hot dog sausages and couscous, something we would be sick of by the end....
Local Sheep
The next morning dawned grey. I'd slept incredibly well, a rarity for me in a tent. Iona was up and breakfasted already so I made a quick brew, had some more sausages and packed up. We continued east but the landscape was changing. The grassland was getting richer and richer and we passed many farms. Ahead was a different story - low bumps of hills capped with white. We crossed a long bridge over the river Olfusa and then shortly after the main road turned inland.
Black sand beach. The line of surf is breaking on a former laval flow that would have cooled as it flowed out to sea.
We followed a lesser road which then turned to gravel. This gave me my first experience of washboard. As vehicles drive along a gravel road, the suspension starts to vibrate up and down. This forms small dips and ridges which get progressively bigger as more vehicles pass by. They can end up around 2" high at about 12" centres and riding over them is hellish. In a car the trick is to drive fast to float over them. On a bike you try and keep to the edge or middle of the road to avoid them.
The surrounding farms all seemed to have fields full of Icelandic ponies. This, the flat grassy plains and the snow capped hills in the distance looked like pictures of Utah and Montana. As we headed east the hills became clearer and bigger. It was tremendously exciting knowing we would soon be in amongst them. At the river Thjorsa we headed inland and joined the main A1 coast road.
Typical Iceland river fed by glacial melt water. Makes the Avon look a bit lame, even when its in flood.
Its curious. Many cycle tourists go to Iceland purely to cycle the A1, which circumnavigates the whole island. Whilst you get a good view of the scenery, its the only road which sees any significant traffic levels. Given most other roads are nigh on empty, this is daft. Anyway, we followed it ourselves for around 50k as missing it out would involve much too-ing and fro-ing. It was pretty quite to be fair but this was enough. We stopped at Hella for food and supplies and thereafter traffic levels went up - the local rush hour, such as it was. A lot of the vehicles were 4 wheel drives with comedy large wheels - these take tourists on mountain roads and even onto the glaciers. Our form of tourism seemed much closer to the landscape.
The wind switched for the last few k and was again a stiff headwind. Not for long as we turned off the A1 at the river Markarflijot, the mountains beckoning.
This river saw huge levels during the eruption of Eyjafjallajokull last year. We know it for the air travel chaos it caused due to the vast volume of ash blown into the air, right in the path of the main air route from Europe to America. The resulting melting glaciers caused a vast torrent of mud and water to flow out of the river. They deliberately cut through the road embankment to allow more water and mud to escape, without trashing the bridge. A year later the only evidence was a new section of road and a sign board with pictures and info of the eruption.
A couple of k up the road revealed a large waterfall and a campsite. Oddly the campsite was mobbed with locals, all out enjoying the rare hot sunshine, something of a tradition in Iceland. We pitched up away from the crowds in the hope to get some peace and quiet. Although it was mainly youths, they were actually pretty well behaved. I mean they were all wrecked but there was no fighting or vandalism and they were unfailingly polite to us when we encountered them.
Ear plugs allowed a good nights sleep and another lie in. The morning dawned hot and sunny again and it looked like it was going to be another roaster as we left the campsite revelers to their hangovers.
At the old bridge the tarmac ran out and then after a few k the gravel road descended into the river course. There was no construction as such, the road was just a buldozed strip through the volcanic river gravel. This made for hard going - a loose bed of of 2 - 3" diameter stones. We both shared a look - the fat bikes would have been the business for this.....
Malik Endar = end of the tarmac, how exciting!
The distraction was the opening views. The vast Myrdalsjokull ice cap was slowly emerging in front and the cliffs of Eyafjallajokull were building on our right. Occasionally a comedy monster truck came past as well as the odd tourist in a hire car or some post apocalyptic landrover based contrivance. There were regular side burns of varying depths and flows. some were rideable some not. After the easy riding of the previous days this was on the money - mountain roads, rivers, ice caps and glaciers.
Knee length sealskin socks are handy
Rideable!
Tour bus, Iceland style
And speaking of Glaciers, this was my first. This was the main torrent after the eruption.
Worrying sign
Myrdalsjokull Icecap
On our map were two clusters of huts and campsites, all collectively labeled as Thorsmork. The first was over to our left and seemed as good a place to stop as any. We'd been vaguely aware of the main flow of the river a few times. As we clattered across the gravel towards the small cluster of huts we encountered it properly.
It was clear we weren't crossing this. We'd noted a somewhat bent footbridge a ways downstream so this looked like our best bet, although the path on the far side of the flow looked a bit dubious. As we debated a tractor suddenly appeared on the far side and tootled unhesitatingly across the flow, which was around 1m deep and fierce. It pulled up alongside and a young lad leant out.
"You will not cross here" he stated
"What about the bridge?" says we
"It no longer crosses the river"
"Oh...."
"A few kilometres further along, there is another campsite. No rivers to cross"
"Right then cheerio, and thanks for the info!"
Off we went feeling slightly concerned as to what we were getting into. In the event the riding was fine, barring a few more burn crossings.
Around a corner appeared another cluster of huts, many vehicles and a bar. This was Thorsmork proper. A number of walking trails leave here and head further into the interior. Today we were content to pitch up despite having only covered 30k but next time.....
A largeish cloud had appeared but it cleared to leave another pleasant evening. More hot dogs....
Another long sleep and another sunny morning but with more cloud and a stiff easterly breeze. No worries as we were now heading back west. The return along the road seemed to go much quicker and soon we reached the old road bridge.
It was technically closed and somewhat bent but carried our weight fine and meant missing out a return to the A1.
Our route then traced a path north then west, eventually rejoining the A1 at Hvollsvollur which provided food and supplies. The 30-odd k to our turn off passed quickly enough with a strong tailwind and light early evening traffic. The map indicated a campsite a few k up this road which turned out to be a school playing field and a swimming pool. There was no-one in the nearby shop so we pitched up near to a camper van, made use of the changing rooms for showers and relaxed after a 100k day.
That night it rained - a short sharp shower that was not in evidence the next morning - more sunshine - but a definitely cool feel to the air heralded more to come. This was something of a relief as we were both looking like parboiled lobsters after the heat of the previous three days. I'd actually managed to source sun cream by this time so typically it was looking like it wouldn't be needed.
That said it was sunny but breezy as we departed. A bunch of school kids had arrived as we were packing, there to play football. I think of the chances of school playing fields in this country being used for campsites....
We traced a pleasant route north east to Fludhir, passing rolling farmland and timber buildings. Most Icelandic buildings are made of wood (or tin attached to wood), however there are no trees. All of it is imported from Scandinavia at great expense. Stone seems to be ignored as a building material, likely as its all volcanic pumice, ie. porous and weak. The slight downer was the blaster of a headwind, from which there was no hiding. After another junk food lunch at Fludhir, we were back into open country and the wind came on in earnest. The river Hvita was crossed and then we joined another steadily climbing main road, our destination was only a few k off, but thanks to the hard wind, took a while.
More tourism stuff - Gulfoss. Apparently someone has packrafted down this....
Glacier truck.
We had expensive snacks and drinks and then with relief turned back down the hill, hardly having to pedal thanks to the blast of a tailwind. More tourism occurred at Geysir but this was a beauty. You stood a few metres back from this suspiciously steaming pool and then every few minutes it erupted in a gush of super heated water and steam. In the UK, you'd never get within 50 metres of this and the view would be largely obscured by warning notices. The Iceland way is a low rope and a few tiny signs - "Haetta!"
A short tailwind assisted cruise later we reached Laugarvatn, our stop for the night. The campsite was next to the road, and as with all the others, empty and free. We pitched up, showered and then hit the local junk food establishment for tea. I sampled the local lager but this is only available up to a strength of about 2% from such outlets. The hard stuff is only available from a licensed bar or shop, none of which were much in evidence. As we looked across to Hekla (1491m) it was cloudy and cool but again it had remained dry all day. Distance covered 90k. The first 50 took 5 hours....
Hekla - Iceland's most active volcano
The next morning was cool and breezy. We headed further west, our destination Thingvallavatn (vatn = lake). As we crossed a low moor the wind blue clouds of dust across the road.
The sky was darkening and the temps dropping. The lake was like an oasis with rich vegetation and even some low scrubby trees. At the northern end is another tourist trap at Thingvelir - the large fault which cuts right across the western end of Iceland. We'd already crossed this just out of Keflavik but there it was just a shallow channel.
Here it was a large rock face sculpted into fantastic patterns, evidence of its molten past. We spent a while wandering around and then had a conflab in the cafe about our route over the next few days.
Iona's plan had been to push right through F550 to get close to the Langjokull ice cap. The difficulty with this being it would leave a long road ride back round the A1, in order to finish up in time. We decided to set off and make a final decision further up the road where a turn off would provide a shorter route out.
It was cold and breezy with the odd sprinkle of drizzle being blown through as we set off north. Suddenly this was the Iceland I'd been anticipating - large snow capped hills in the distance, threatening weather and utter desolation.
The gravel road was good but the wind was cutting across us. An odd car came past, mainly tourists, and we got some funny looks. Cycling is still a bit of a novelty in Iceland (away from the A1) and overall people were always slightly amazed at what we were doing.
Ahead was the end of the Langjokull icecap, one of the biggest on Iceland. To its left was a low but oddly regular hill (Ok) and to our right another cone shaped bump, all volcanoes of course....
Eventually we reached a cross roads with a mountain refuge hut at the junction. It was now late afternoon and to push on would take a while given the wind. It was one of those situations where neither of us really wanted to go on but neither would be the first to say it. A look at the map was a clincher. Turning left would drop us off the plateau and then we could pick up another mountain road if it looked OK which would lead to a lake, another track and then more gravel roads back over to Hvalfjordur. This looked far more interesting than the coast road and would enable us to pick up a few more nice routes thereafter.
Me at the crossroads
Turning west was a relief as we had a stiff tailwind. As we descended into the valley the weather brightened, ratifying our decision. At the turn off for the mountain road (F508) we stopped to have a look - it seemed pretty good and would be a substantial short cut from the 'main' road. Of course it didn't last and climbed steeply away from the junction, the surface made up of loose stones that made riding on our narrow tyres hard and slow going. More fat bike thoughts.... Time was rolling on. It was now 6pm and I was feeling slightly nervous. This seems to relate to my tendency to stop around 4 or 5 on my usual tours. Of course here this was nonsense as it wouldn't get dark, we had plenty of food and our tents. Still; passing over another low moor, on a hard trail, the sky greying again all added to the adventure.
Iona on the climb
And on the descent
The downhill had to be taken carefully due to the loose surface but soon enough we reached the bottom and the track improved. There was a church and a few houses at the end of the lake but no one was in evidence. We decided to take a chance on a track marked on the map which followed the south side of the lake (Skorradalsvatn). It was signed as "4x4 only" so at least it must be passable.
I'm glad we did. It was a mix of grass and gravel with only a few loose bits on the lake shore a check to progress. It popped out on a wide smooth gravel road which climbed up over another pass.
Our map showed a campsite along the road (i.e. the wrong way) but a road side signboard seemed to show another one just over the hill. These sign boards are all over the place and have maps of the local road network showing all facilities. This site seemed a better bet as it would avoid back tracking so off we set over another steady climb. Waterfalls flowed down a large corrie to our right, fed by a big patch of snow.
It had greyed over again but as we dropped into the next valley the sky brightened. After the harshness of the last 50k this valley was lush. The campsite was signed into a golf course but there was absolutely no-one to be seen so once again we pitched up FOC, right beside a line of shrubs which would provide excellent shelter from the wind. The showers were in the club house which was unlocked. As we boiled hot dogs a car appeared towing a caravan. This did a circuit of the field beside us, the occupants waved and then off they went. Odd. K's today = 97.
Morning 6 was once again clear and blue. We pedaled away from our site climbing over one final gravel road and down into Hvalfjordur.
Looking down into the Fjord
Back to the campsite
Hmm. This is the centre of Icelandic whaling and there was a small museum on the subject which we felt honour bound to visit before casting judgement. It seemed to be somewhat unrepentant of what the Icelanders saw as a tradition they must maintain. The bizarre thing is, the vast majority of whale meat goes into huge deep freeze warehouses which we could see further along the road. Effectively they are stockpiling for the day when whaling is finally fully banned, leaving them enough whale meat to meet demands for this (apparent) delicacy....
Anyway we bought food at the nearby shop and headed south along what used to be the main road but is now empty as the A1 misses this whole fjord out via a tunnel. As we made our way south the cloud had been building again and finally, as we turned off the road onto the B48, the rain came in, an all too familiar horizontal dreich.
Fortuitously we came upon what looked like a hotel / bar / restaurant which was totally empty, but unlocked. We wandered in looking for someone but nobody was home. In the end we sat out on a large covered veranda eating food and seeing if the rain would pass through. Of course it didn't so eventually we donned water proofs and headed out on a long but steady climb up out of the valley.
This ended up being the only bad weather we experienced on the bikes. It took a while but as we emerged out of the pass and looked down over Thingvallavatn the rain stopped and the sky showed signs of clearing.
More tarmac took us to a large power station. This was the first narrow and twisty road we had encountered and was huge fun given the total lack of traffic and a tailwind. The main road then turned due west to Rekjavik but we were heading east on another gravel road.
Weedkiller graffiti, weird
Hot pond
Oh dear. The washboard was verge to verge and fierce, making riding incredibly slow and hard work. We only had about 12k to do to a campsite but it seemed to take an age. At one point I wondered if it was better just to get off and push. It wasn't.... So on we crawled clattering over the annoyingly regular bumps. We'd passed a few small communities along here but it seemed strange that the washboard was so bad given the complete lack of traffic. Finally we rounded a corner and saw Ulflijotsvatn, our destination. Worryingly there was no sign of a campsite but we were looking for the usual wee field and toilet block. What we weren't looking for was a large holiday park full of caravans. But that's what we got as we rounded a final corner.
I guess it was a prime spot but after the basic sites we'd been staying at all week this seemed a bit OTT. We also had to pay but only a thousand K (about a fiver). Better still it had a kitchen for campers so we were able to relax in luxury as we made our usual tea. It had waited until we pitched tents but the rain was now coming down heavily so this was a real bonus. Today had been 90k.
What a surprise; the morning dawned clear and blue. I'd been aware of the rain stopping during a nocturnal loo excursion but I'd expected it to be back for our last couple of days. So once again we were pedaling in warm sunshine with a breeze to keep us cool. There was a gravel road option for the next bit but after the bouncing of the previous evening we didn't fancy it. In fact the washboard continued right to the main road.
Following this down to Selfoss was a relief. Here we found a supermarket with a cafe and indulged our selves in cakes and coffee, feeling we'd earned it after the hard riding of the previous three days. Thereafter it was an easy run down to our outward route. We backtracked along here to our first campsite at Selvogur. We'd only done 65k but after a leisurely start this was plenty.
We missed this first time round. On closer inspection it was a bar, despite being in the middle of not very much.
Local jakey juice. The first (and only) real beer of the trip....
Regulation midnight photo
Our final day was sunny. We cruised west along the coast road, a stiff breeze helping us along our way. At Grindavik we turned away from the coast for our final tourist trap - the Blue Lagoon. This is basically a series of large ponds fed by the nearby geothermal power station. The idea is you lounge around in these (which are pleasantly warm) as a way to de-stress after a hard flight from the US. Americans were much in abundance and after the solitude of our previous days this was a total culture shock. That said lazing around in a hot pool is a nigh on perfect way to finish a cycle tour. Its all artificial of course and the white mud, which is claimed to have healing properties, is just sediment that builds up due to the power station evaporating most of its water, so concentrating the mud. It also gets everywhere and I didn't get rid of it all until after I'd returned home.
After an hour or so of this my tolerance for other people in my personal space had been exceeded so we sat in the over priced cafe and had more coffee and cake. It was a relief to get back on the bikes to be honest and best of all, where everybody else was heading back to Reykjavik we took a chance on one more gravel track which would take us right back to Keflavik. This followed a large pipe from the power station and was easy pedaling.
We reached the hostel in the early afternoon and relaxed in the sun reflecting on what had been a fabulous tour. This day had only been 66k but in total, over 9 days, we'd done 740 odd so we felt well pleased. Whilst we'd not done all of the mountain roads we'd originally hoped to, this had been a fine intro to this fantastic place. The weather had made it. Never in my most optimistic moments had I thought we'd be getting sunburned and generally have so much dry weather. The southwest of Iceland is a perfect place for bike touring. There is a large network of quiet roads, plenty of gravel roads for some adventure and a few rougher racks for more adventure. Best of all was the facilities. Campsites abounded (and were mainly free), most towns had shops and whilst our diet was a bit monotonous we survived....
Eventually the bikes were taken apart and packed up. We wandered into town in search of food but after contemplating the upmarket and expensive restaurants, ended up in yet another burger bar. The next morning we were ferried to the airport and all too soon we were landing in a grey and wet Glasgow, back to reality.
This was written in 2019 from notes on a power point presentation I made of the trip at the time.
