After having set camp, we followed the river a bit upstream. It came out of a little canyon and someone had marked a trail to the top. Surprising enough, we did not walk far when we heard the typical rumour of a waterfall and saw the accompanying spray. Here it was, and it was not a small one that we had encountered so unexpectedly.
I think it is time to confess that it was me who had talked Steve into the adventure of riding to Landmannalaugar. Sure, we both had seen the pictures of this site and were eager to see it ourselves, but on the one hand officially the road was still 'closed due to snow' and riding on more or less unimproved gravel, on the other hand, is never really fun: you have a combination of all the negative aspects of cycling and cannot enjoy its benefits like having the freedom to look around because you have to watch out for potholes, loose sand and all kind of other obstacles on the road all the time. I was convinced that the sign 'closed' was an exaggeration since I had ridden the equally closed road in the Gullfoss area and there were hardly any traces of snow left. To me the purpose of the sign seemed to be to keep tourists out to make it easier to do some necessary work on the road. In any case, even if there was snow left, you cannot get stuck on a bike (But riding can be nevertheless quite difficult. I remember several passes I crossed on my bike although they were closed due to winter conditions. Ride, walk and carry! Have you ever tried to carry your bike, loaded to more than 40 kg, through knee deep, wind packed snow?) Anyway, Steve is the last person to complain about anything. Once a decision is taken, he makes the best out of every situation and never loses his refreshing humour. He finds a joke under all circumstances.
When we carried on the next morning, the road was a mess. You could have walked faster than we could cycle, a constant fight against sand, wind, rocks, hills. Still, we were optimistic as we thought it was now only a question of some hours to reach Landmannalaugar: hot springs for lunch! Again, we were wrong. After about an hour of struggling we came to the first ford. A ford cannot stop a mountain bike, but if you are on a longer trip you try to avoid getting too wet. This time we were lucky: they had built a bridge for pedestrians nearby. Later we encountered some more river crossings, but they were hardly worth mentioning. A more serious obstacle was a very steep hill - unridable for us - ornated with a barricade of snow. This was certainly unridable for all bikers of the world, but we still could push, so it was not too bad. After that, the slope became slightly more gentle and at least we could mix walking and riding the bikes. The area was now completely without any trace of vegetation, only black sandy hills. Pretty impressive, especially the contrast to Steve's bright yellow Goretex jacket. Finally we reached the top. Like all cyclists we normally like to have a break at the summit. This time we were doing without it because we lacked every kind of shelter against the wind, although the view would have deserved more than our hurried stopover.
Now comes the downhill! Well, not really. Yes, we lost some elevation, but not too much and do not ask how. Soon the piste was covered again and again by last winter's leftovers and we were pushing hard to come down. This was not too bad yet. Unfortunately we came to a plane soon, perhaps a riverbed, several hundred meters wide. It was all packed with snow, not a trace of our road - well, yes, luckily some kind of vehicle had crossed it and we could guess by its tire marks where to push.
Somewhere in the middle of this snow field a signpost confirmed that we were still on the correct way. It was pretty wet, the sun was already doing a good job in melting all the white stuff and when we came to cross the river, there were not too many passable snow-bridges left. Steve was not surprised that his good old cycling shoes got wet, I was slightly disappointed that my brand new Goretex boots became soaked as well. One more proof for my thesis that all these fairy tales of waterproof and breathable are nothing but lies (at least on the field, it might work in the lab). The one and only wearable waterproof material is rubber (those who have ever been wearing a rubber jacket when biking know that this is no solution either: the rain cannot get in, but you become wet from yourself. My advice: wear as little as possible (and always quickly drying fibres); you are not freezing when actually biking - if so, push harder! Change for warm and dry clothes as soon as you stop. Dare to do so and you will see it works as good as Goretex or better!). In the end we reached the other side of the snow and found a bit of open road - again not rideable as the melting water had transformed it into a swamp. I am not sure if it is easier to push through almost melted snow or through mud, both is quite ugly. We continued for a while, pushing through snow or swamp, lost the track of the vehicle, turned, came to a hill again, saw an even bigger snowfield and in the very distance traces of the road. It was already early afternoon, we had enough, a look at the map showed that in the best case we would have to push another 20 km, in the worst almost 70 to the next ploughed road. 70 km of pushing equals some days. The only reasonable way out of this we knew was the way back, and I think it was a wise decision to go back. Although I would not class it dangerous to carry on we did not attempt to make a survival trip. So we took a farewell-picture, had a Snickers bar and turned. I am glad we did so, because I felt responsible for the mess we were in. But as I said, Steve would never complain.
The way out of the snow was very similar to the way in. We had the advantage that we could follow our own tracks but the disadvantage that the snow now was really soft and that the uphills clearly outnumbered the downhills. Anyway, finally we came to the last snow barrier and had lunch therer. Surprisingly enough the place was sunny as well as completely sheltered from the wind - what a relief! Steve, ready to joke again, took a rock and wrote in man high letters in the snow: 'DON'T CYCLE NORTH! YOU WILL REGRET IT! WE DID!' I wonder if anybody could read this warning before the sun had sent it to nirvana.
We had to take a decision again: where could we go next? With hardly more than a week left we had no choice but to catch a bus at some stage. We decided to try to make it back to Vik the next day, take a bus to Reykjavik and cycle to the north-western Snaefellsness peninsula then. The rest of the day was easy. We had a tailwind and many downhills. By six o'clock we had come to the junction with the old main road where we had had lunch the other day, followed this old road about two km towards Vik and found a good place to camp. We were sheltered from the wind, had a fresh river nearby and as the only little drop of bitterness loads of sheep shit, well hidden in the grass but not so nice under your tent. When the sun came out later and the wind dropped, we did a short walk as a quiet ending for an exciting day.
It rained a bit in the night and we had an early start, because you never now what the wind is doing and we knew from the first day that even 40 km can be extremely long with an Icelandic headwind. There was only one bus to Reykjavik this day and we did not want to miss it. There was no sun, but the wind was not worse than in continental Europe and we had a relatively easy cycle to Vik. Only on the last 10 km the wind had obviously realized where we were going, changed to a headwind and blew with a remarkable power (again for Europe, not necessarily for Iceland). We arrived at Vik much too early what gave us the chance for one or two hot coffees, writing postcards and doing some shopping. We were making fun of the tourists in cars. They were wearing high-tech jackets, fleece shirts and boots only to make it the five meters from the car to the shop. I had arrived in shorts and a T-shirt ... It is not a problem to take a bike on a bus in Iceland. We had a very comfortable ride back to Reykjavik. What a difference if you sit in a well insulated metal container and watch the country go past like in a movie! We checked in at the Youth Hostel, did our laundry and enjoyed a warm and cosy evening.
The next morning we had a relatively early start. As already mentioned we were slightly short on time and wanted to save a day by taking the ferry over an inlet of the sea, saving more than 100 km on our way to the Snaefellsness peninsula. The first ferry left Reykjavik for Akranes at 9:30 h. We were on this ferry. About an hour later we arrived at Akranes. It was a sunny but again cold and windy day and, superfluous to mention, the wind was not blowing the way we were going but in the opposite direction.
Although Akranes is proud to have the biggest cement factory in Iceland, around this little town you find green meadows and an inviting countryside. More in the background, some 500 m high, sandy black mountains, bare of vegetation, rise. We wanted to go to Borgarnes first, have some lunch there and to continue as far north as possible. Despite of the wind it was not too difficult to come to Borgarness, in fact I really enjoyed this ride. Unfortunately the sun disappeared behind heavy clouds soon and temperatures dropped even further. We did have lunch in Borgarnes, but only quickly and made it just in time before heavy rain to a petrol-station.
There we had coffee. This rain to me looked only like a short shower, Steve was not as optimistic. Especially when it became more and more mixed with snow it was everything but clear if we would ever carry on furthermore north. Instead, we had a look at the visitor centre - hardly any interesting information, only a typically Icelandic joke: 'Tomorrow is our national holiday, so this weather will last until the day after tomorrow!' the lady behind the counter claimed, and she looked very serious. Finally we went back to the station and were killing some more time by having another cup of coffee.- It cleared up a bit, even stopped to pour down. 'Let's go!' said I and Steve agreed. Before we had everything set for riding, the small sunny slot was gone and rain and snow started again but we were off, not wanting to go back in. It was just pissing down, traffic on the main road was heavy and you could hardly see because of the spray of all the trucks. Consequently we almost lost each other at a junction, invisible for Steve due to the meteorological conditions. I was in front and luckily realised soon that I had lost my friend, otherwise I do not know... Once off the main road, traffic was much less and even the rain felt pity for us and stopped for a while. Steve and I have different attitudes to riding in the rain. I have already explained that I prefer to wear as little as possible whereas Steve likes better his Goretex suit. Such a suit is not very comfortable to ride in, so he only uses it when it is really raining cats and dogs. This time, he must have felt a bit like heaven was making fun on him: every time he had put on his suit, the rain stopped, only to restart five minutes after Steve had taken off his raingear. Riding was not much fun in those conditions, but we had one useful piece of information from the Borgarnes' Tourist Information: There was a hot spring waiting for us about 60 km away. I think it was basically the perspective of having a hot pool for the night that kept us going (there also was nothing in terms of a shelter on the road, so it did not make much difference or to carry on or to set camp somewhere). Virtually we arrived at the hot spring after the last shower of the day, the last kilometres even with a tailwind.
This hot spring was an unusual place: a pretty deserted plane, a hotel in the middle of nowhere, some building that looked like a gym, a campsite belonging to the hotel and a fenced in area with a hut, apparently the pool and the showers. I highly recommend this place: it has got perfect facilities and the people who run it are very friendly. The campsite had just opened, we were the first visitors this year and the only ones this very night. |
