Tyre prints in the Ash.

In my last post I had promised an image illustrating my travels in Iceland.  When I created this heat map I was on one hand amazed at how much I had visited in the two years (blue lines) but equally happy to note that I still had quite a bit to explore should I decide to return.  It does need to be said that this beautiful island keeps calling... but not this year.

Homeward bound - Saturday/Sunday

After such an exhausting day on Friday, I managed to sleep until 9.30 before the campground noise woke me for real.  Breakfast.  It would appear that these last days have taken their tole on my calorie intake as I seem to be eating like a locust.  I mean two muffins for breakfast!

Pingvellir national park is a beautiful place to be.  Historically this is the place where all the judgments as to who was banished or not were decided.  Pingvellir is the seat of the original judicial service of Iceland.  If you ever get a moment read up on this fascinating system. It seemed that it was an open dialogue between criminal, victim, judge and the general public. But I've probably made a simplistic assumption here. 

Apart from the glorious green valley that it sits in the only sad detail regarding the campsite was the cold showers. But the day was warm enough and I had been spoilt by piping hot steamy showers all week. 

The cycle back to Reykjavik was uneventful but quite poignant. I rode through the lupins, past lakes, over wildness and slowly descended into the cycle lanes of the town.  These well kept paths weave and wind their way alongside the busy thundering ringroad. Riding these lanes makes a perfect alternative to the traumatic exploits to be had on the N1.  Don't get me wrong, the ringroad is brilliant as long as you are out of the city.  It's just intense and congested in the suburbs. 

As I arrive at the campsite I feel a completion to my circle of adventure.  Was it really only 10 days ago that I started this journey?  This is always a moment of wonder to me as a travelling soul.  You return a different person from the one that left and there is always a sort of 'knowing' air when you glance around at those about to begin. 

Anyway, showers were calling but sadly my poor wee tired bike would have to wait till we were at home to be restored to its shiny clean self.  It looked like I felt!

The locust was beginning to demand attention and, as I had been given a recommendation for an eatery Svarta Kaffi which served a soup in a bread bowl it seemed a great way to end the week.   Thanks for the tip Harriet!

Many would be participating in the Glacier Wine or the Danish Porter but I was very happy indeed with the cup o tea.   

And it was off to the airport.  This time rather than hanging around the campsite till the very early hours I decided to be a student again and go sleep at the airport. And I don't mean in a hotel, but the actual floor of the airport lounge. It reminded me of attending a Meat Loaf concert in London and sleeping in Euston Station! Oh to be a student again. But this time I will have you note  I was upgrading my accommodation with my Thermarest inflating may.  As with all good plans sometimes they hatch a problem. 

 I managed to find a quiet little hobbit hole and hunkered down but alas security found me. It might have been  the huge pair of feet seemingly sticking out behind a solitary bike bag that gave me away. Apparently I am allowed to make myself comfortable on the floor if there are no seats but "Madam, you are NOT allowed to sleep" this had me smiling.  But I concluded that if I was smart I could prop myself up to look tidy and snooze between security alerts.  I managed a good four hours before the throngs arrived. Still, it meant I could be well ahead with this blog. 

So here I am. About to set off and say goodbye to Iceland.  Will I return? Probably not. She has seen the best and the worst of me and I have watched her toss and throw me left, right and centre. I feel broken and rebuilt.  So why do it? This was a nagging question that kept running through my mind whilst on the way to the airport.  The intuitive sense is that I came to Iceland to pitch myself against my inner Viking and pay homage to the earth mother, Gaia.  Some may say it was a futile quest and perhaps best left to lads on Fat bikes. There is a little part of me that thinks that too when I count the bruises on my legs in the morning. 

But honestly? for me I felt I left with the hand of Gaia laid gently on my shoulder turning and directing me back towards civilisation.  I have made my right of passage. In many ways I came back to Iceland to conquer some of the the fears left behind from my first trip but in doing so I found much more this year. Unconsciously I have helped a lost spirit in a lonely place and witnessed rainbows in the face of adversity. So If you wish to doubt the sanity of my quest please feel free but just to say in my opinion it's been one pretty damn cool adventure.

"Take a passion... And make it happen"

I will add one last post to show my journey on a map. But until then fellow travellers and readers I bid you farewell until next year.  

Iceland it was good to be here. 

Kaldidalur Corridor. - Friday

The plan having been hatched, the wind god was not with me for the first 30km and this was just to the start if the pass.  

Last year I had cycled past the signpost at the end of the 'Kaldidalur Corridor' and thought, that looks interesting. I hadn't ever considered up to this moment coming at it from the other direction. Corridor is an apt description because the route traverses between two glaciers via a narrow valley.

The problem with this pass unlike the Kjolur is that you are totally on your own. No cafés, no campsites and not many people let alone cyclists. But you have got the emergency shelter at 35km if your struggling. This has a phone and a place to shelter if the weather turns. But remember, I have my tent and sleeping bag on my bike so if all goes pair shaped I can hunker down anywhere. Not that I was aiming for a hill top vista to wake up to.  

I set out after stuffing myself at the fantastic bistro in Husafell. My cunning plan to squirrel two extra pieces of pizza into my back pack proved to be a master stroke.  Two cups of tea to wash it all down and I was ready to roll.  It wasn't early, about 2.30 but I guessed about 5 hours should be enough. That's if it was doable. 

When I reached the turn where Tarmac turned to dust and rocks , I did stop and ask Why? But there's no answer at all to that one other than it was something I felt I simply had to do. 

I had lodged my GPS position with the Icelandic safety service so that was covered. Having checked the weather all was good and with the wind now a northerly at my back I was good to go.

A man sat in his truck looking at me hesitating gave a huge laugh as I shouted out to his enquiring gaze, "mad...mad... But it has to be done" He cheered me on with good luck. 

I pushed the bike over the first 1km as the ash and sand proved too deep to cross.  I was sure it would get better. The first 5km were tough and nasty and then it started to drizzle. Great.  I shook my head at myself and as if by magic I was given one of this signs I keep wittering on about. 

You may remember in Iceland V1 my rainbow moment? So you will know that once again I took faith and pushed on.  

This was hard.  This was really hard. I even had a small doubt as to whether I was going to make it at all. This was not helped by the cars that stopped to ask if I knew what lay ahead. Oh yes said I, cheerfully and full of optimism. Bit really  I was on my own on this one. 

Three hours later and I'd reached the plateau at 25km.  There was a lot of pushing and some scuffling called mountain-bike--scoot-along.  But I got to the top.  

It was desolate.  Really empty.  The rain had stopped but the temperature was cold up here.  The only good thing I knew was that it was all down hill for the next 25km.  I stopped only long enough to take the pictures and then I headed down the road. 

Going down had it's own problems.  Whilst I knew I couldn't ride up the sharp inclines because of the road surface, going down I had a white knuckle ride or scoot depending on the road.  It's not really suitable for my poor Shand's 35mm cross tyres.  But apart from a fat tyre bike I doubt even a mountain bike would like this terrain.  I kept on.  

The wind was bitter and althought it was at my back I could feel it's bite.  Fortunately my beanie and my camelback, filled with water, gave me a good insulation against it.  Even then I was wearing a crop top, base, shirt, rou baix jersey, jacket, raincoat and a wind proof to top it all.  Just as well all this riding slims you down. You need to loose pounds just to wear all the clobber. My legs did not feel the chill at all. (Thank you Sarah L the leg warmers came this year too). I kept checking in with my sense if well being every half an hour to make sure I was ok. 

The time disappeared and I realised I had to stop to phone home, an unspoken agreement that seemed to work well.  I found a really big rock to hunker behind so as not to loose heat whilst stopped. The warm sound of Charlie on the other end filled me with encouragement. I didn't say much other than I was still on the road with an hour or so to go.  Signing off and getting back out there was a challenge but I was beginning to get fed up of this wind. 

My heart really soared when I spied the emergency hut.  I was safe.  If all else failed I could simply retrack to this point and take shelter.  But I knew I was within spitting distance of where I needed to be. Pushing on another 5km and I came to my signpost. 

This time there was no car to witness my journey and strangely I didn't feel like taking a selfie. I wasn't looking my best! You look like kermit the frog after 6 hours in this wind! 

 But the temperature had lifted now that I was down out of the glaciers and I could make haste to my campsite 25km further on.  This was easier travelling as the road had now joined with another and was slightly better maintained. I started to sing to myself. 

"Take a passion, and make it happen

You can have it all when you are 'cycling' through your life!" 

This got me down double quick. Flash dance is a film of adversity and dancing against the odds to become a ballerina in steel toe capped boots.  I knew the feeling.  

Two hours later just before midnight I rolled into camp.  Tent up, hot chocolate brewed and two delicious pieces of cold pizza to fill the hole.  What's not to like. 

I have a plan - Thursday

The truth is the weather in the North is way too cold for my liking.   I woke to descending fog, drizzle and a core temperature of just above zero.  Sorry but I don't have the clothing to manage theses temperatures let alone the will to ride in them.  Whichever way I looked at it I was going to have to climb out of the valley back along the route I had come.  I had already bought a beanie and didn't need a second.  So bus here I come.  

Sat in backpackers cafe in Akureyri ( worth a visit great food and fab relaxed atmosphere) I had a good meal of local fish and peas (oh joy) and hatched the plan. 

I hate this part in the trip.  Too little time to go gallivanting for miles and too much time to waste sat in cafés.  The thing that I love the most about this country is the extreme solitude.  I am not good in the busy campsites and tend to shy away from the crowds.  So I have decided to  use Friday to cycle down the Kalididalur route from Hasafell to Pingvalla.  Camp the night there and then finish the trip riding back in to Reykjavik on Saturday.  That way I am avoiding the N1 and using the time to explore the full route that I called the Kalahari dessert from last year.  The only thing to scupper this plan will be the weather.  Having checked I should be into 10-15 degrees with some sun.  What's not to like.  So fingers crossed and sorry but looks like the forthcoming pictures and going to be bleak again.

Off to Mysvatn - Wednesday

Yes there is a day missing. I spent Tuesday resting washing and catching a bus to Akyuraire and from there ride to Myvatn.  The idea being that it was a glorious sunny day and I needed to recharge the batteries.  And this time it wasn't the iphone or Garmin. But this meant plane kilometers could be covered by bus and I could adventure again fresh. 

The draw to Myvatn was simply because it is considered a gem of the northern fiords.  There is also a natural spring bath akin to the blue lagoon but not as touristy. The draw to the thermal pool was huge. I could do with a good soak.  

So Wednesday I set off to cycle the ringroad, the infamous N1. The view from he road of Akureyri was beautiful. 

At every turn there was something new to see and I had to keep stopping just to take pictures. The badlands had indeed been bleak in comparison to this landscape. 

I was amazed to see the simplicity and clean designs in Icelandic architecture that I toolk were used as tourist huts. 

But I had miles to cover so I needed to stop happy snapping and get on with some cycling. But I have been aware that you loyal readers have been starved of anything but rocks and dust these last few posts. 

There were some notable long climbs to get over some of the passes but to be honest the surface of the road was such that it didn't phase me it was simply matter of time over distance at a steady 8%. That was doable rather than tragic. 

But on top of one if the passes the weather was bitter. I came to a sign and was informed that it was indeed 3 degrees. No wonder I had my winter gloves on. In fact at the next stop I purchased a glorious new wool beany. Now I don't add to my kit unless it's necessary so you can see it was indeed cold. 

But the kilometers passed and once in the valley I could see why this was considered the gem.  It was stunning and yet unusual. A perfect blend of lava fields,  lakes and fumeroles.   I just had to keep stopping.  

And then at the end of another long day I pitched my tent, put wistful to bed and headed off to the baths.  I was not disappointed. This place stays open till 11pm and even whilst it's nearly freezing I spent an hour soaking in the lagoon. 

This and the next picture were both taken in natural light at 10.30pm. Just wanted to give you an idea if the crazy night light here. 

And finally to show you the steaming springs of Myvatn. 

Pasta pesto and a bit of blogging and I'm sleeping with all my clothes on and a beanie on my head. My goodness it can be cold here but thankfully my sleeping bag is well cosy. 

Spooky goings on.

Do you remember the mountain hut I had stayed in on Saturday night? Here's a reminder just in case. 

Craig informed me of the history of this small hut and I have to say my legs turned to jelly when he told me. 

Apparently this is the oldest hut in Iceland and is looked after by a warden Arnie. They had met Arnie as they had pitched their tents there the night before I had got there.  Arnie stays in the hut but the night I was there he had had to go to meet a member of his family so it was empty by chance rather than design. 

Now this hut is not a popular place with the Icelanders as it is haunted.  Apparently there is the spirit of a young girl haunting the hut and she appears especially to female campers and even more so if they choose to sleep in the bunk on the west wall.  She is said to have them dreaming of a young girl carrying two pales ( buckets ) oif water from the nearby river.  

Now let me tell you my side of the events.    I hadn't intended staying at this hut but as the previous one was actually a derelict building I had had to push on to this one.   When I looked inside it hadn't appeared spooky just a little unloved. I stood in the middle if the room and chose my bed.  Of all the bunks in the room I chose the one on the west wall even though the plastic mattress was not particularly inviting.  As I was sitting musing over the pasta cooking I looked around and idly thought of having to carry my two buckets of water from the river in order to survive living there.  It was a wierd thought and as such I had logged it as just odd and probably more to do with my OCD need to clean the hut.  So you could say that's just me. 

In the middle of the night I woke with a start in a cold sweat. My heart was racing ten to the dozen but next morning I put this down to being in a strange place. Rest assured though I kept my eyes closed and didn't look out from my sleeping bag into the shadows.  

Finally, and this is the odd bit.  As I made to leave the next morning having placed everything as it should be I was about to close and bar the door when I stopped. I turned back into the little hut and stood in the centre of the room. I put my hands together in a praying pose and bowed to the room thanking it for sharing it's space with me and wished it Namasta. Those familiar with yoga will recognise the spiritual acknowledgment of that action. I closed the door and left.  

You can put all this down to coincidence but sadly I won't be agreeing with you. My philosophy of synchronicity and the divine is such that I knew I had had to be at that hut that night.  Did I dream? Indeed I did but it was a deep and notable dream that I would rather not publish here. Sorry about that but let's just say I have lots of food for thought. 

And finally.  Craig produced his copy of the same guide I have on Iceland and showed me the entry that told you about the haunted hut.  I opened my copy to the exact same page and I had a description in the exact same words minus the part about the haunting. Well you couldn't make it up... But this is Iceland. 

When I get home I shall do a bit of research and see what the history shows. So check back in a week or so and if I find anything to add I shall. 

Crumbs from the Campsite - Monday pm

I'd like you to meet Craig and Dom 

When I arrived late Monday they took one look at my exhausted face and asked? Would you like to share our food?  Rule no 1 of these journeys, park the English polite response and go with the gut instinct. Yes please! The next question threw me, Are you Vegetarian?... I was afraid it was a trick question so after several dumb brain ticking minutes... I eat vegetarian food? That was it confirmed my head was starving and would not be happy if I mucked up the invitation. Craig smiled knowingly and Dom replied, We know what it's like to have a hard day. 

There followed an evening of swapping stories and tales of tragic roads as they too had been loured along the Kojulr route. In fact I had been tracking a set of tyres in the dust and I reckon it was theirs.   Anyhow I learned a few important things that I hadn't known before.  

The actual route had literally been closed because of the winter conditions  right up to the day I arrived in Iceland. I had looked a few weeks before but hadn't considered it would be a problem. I had been lucky obviously. 

Appatently there is a cycle touring festival in Clithero  next year as this Aprils had been a great success.  Speakers workshops and a coming together of like minded adventurers on two wheels. So I think that may be worth a sticky note on the calander. 

Craig was pleased that I too had known that the Apollo astonaughts had trained in the badlands in preparation for the moon landing.  Cool! And sorry I forgot to tell you about that.  

The next morning I bade the merry pair farewell as they headed off to the west fiords with the hope that we would meet again in Clitheroe. Safe journey peeps. 

The Kjoilur Route. - Monday

Even though I was late to bed the next morning I was up and ready for the off. 110km to cover if I wanted to be in my campsite that night.  As I had been too exhausted to eat the night before I made swift work of a huge breakfast from the cafe hut at Hveravellir. Whilst making final adjustiments to the odd bag strap or two, Christer, a fellow camper, was remarking on my late arrival and early departure when he stopped to admire my bag work.  Then he spotted that I was riding a Shand. Incredulous though it was, his best friend Is actually a/the frame builder at Shand.  Now that may seem like no biggy but considering this is an artisan bespoke bike builders in a small town outside of Edinburgh the sheer look of amazement on his face was a picture.  Small world indeed.  (Thank you Matt if you were responsible for my Stoater and I hope Christer shows you the pics.) Tweets flew. 

So with a fond farewell to a fab warm tub I head for the hills.  Now my stomach is churning at what may lay ahead.  It was not made happier when I had to cross a river after sinking my shoes into the ash bog. But my feet remained dry as I carried my bike across the river stepping stone by stepping stone. You can take the girl out of Cumbria but you can't get rid of the mountain goat. 

Kilometers after kilometer passed.  The road began to ease as the rocks gave way to cricket balls, to marbles, and eventually to ash.  I began to smile. The thought of stopping at the next mountain hut for food kept me going. I had promised myself a huge lunch. 

As I pushed the gate open on the mountain hut Afangi it all looked a little closed.  But within a moment I was greeted by the face of a smiling Icelandic angel called Asta.  She had been trying to leave to go to the town for supplies but had been delayed as for some reason she had felt the need to wash her truck. "You almost missed me!" I raised a silent prayer of thanks to my guardian angels as she put the kettle on.  Most of you will know that like a wilted flower to rain I will raise my self to full height after a cup of tea.  Give me two (she did) and I will be forever in your debt. Thank you Asta. So if your planning this journey stop at this hut. Don't think it's closed as it's actually one of the lightest cleanest welcoming places to stay. If I hadn't been on a mission I would have stayed and tried the house special rice pudding.  Asta passed me much later on her return journey and stopped to take my picture. Sometimes we only think we are alone and for some reason I felt I had just met a very old friend indeed. I smiled. Bless you Asta. 

Kilometers later I began to realise that this part of my adventure was coming to an end. This was a really, really sad moment. Yes it's been painful but I had been planning this part for a year, quietly and unconsciously but it had always been in my head. I pedalled on in contemplative silence. 

And then the road changed. Like a mirage in the distance I could see a line of what looked like Tarmac. Had I really come to the end?  Within a few kilometers I was literally taken from the barren badlands to the fertile lands of civilisation.  I could have cried. Instead like any good blogger I got THE selfie. 

Just as  I was about to take the picture a rare car came down the road. They all laughed and cheered as they found me jumping up and down waving my arms shouting "whoo haaaa I did it ! "  Witness my pain. It was indeed 'Fury Road'

I just want to show you the contrast of the badlands and the highlands. 

Job Done. Kjolur route I respect you. 

Keep on keeping on - Sunday

This was the mantra for the day. I had 60 km to cover and I was hoping for better roads than yesterday. But that was not going to happen. This was hard graft, really hard graft.   But the views to be found whilst travelling in between two glaciers and volcanoes, was the pay off for all the hard work.  I was only miles away from the two huge Icelandic glaciers. I had originally thought that this was where the volcano that erupted only a few years ago was but alas that was actually further south and is called Eyjafjallajokull. So sorry for any misleading previous posting but it is none the less dramatic for the lack of a volcano. 

The temperature plummeted at the peak of the route and even though exhaustion was setting in, the short respites to push the bike up the steep inclines was a perfect time to stop and look.  It is as I have always thought of Iceland, perfect. 

You can see the glacier In the picture above blending into the skyline and at times it was as if heaven really was touching the earth. Especially when the sun shone on the ice.   You feel very small at this point. You realise how vulnerable we are in the eyes of Mother Nature and that we should respect her because she probably will bite back. You wouldn't want to 'frack' with her. 

By 10pm I was pretty shattered.  So much so that had anyone stopped to offer me a lift to the next campsite I may have said yes.  Which I would of course have regretted.  So it's just as well those 4x4 kept driving right on past in a cloud of dusty ash. 

I arrived to the campsite just after 10pm and after a swift pitch of tent, I climbed wearily into the 80 degree outdoors geothermal hot tub. An hours soak was enough to warm the core.

But sleep was elusive as the wind picked up and whipped the tent with force.  But again I was pleased to find that my tent was indeed safe and sound and most importantly so was I.  Trying to sleep with the knowledge of another 110km of the same again the next day was not the lullaby I needed. Sleep was difficult and I was up by 7.30am next morning to seize the day and keep on keeping on. 

Badlands 'edited' - Saturday

The interior highlands of Iceland are known as the badlands.  In years gone by the judicial system had it laid down that if you committed a crime that was considered significant or you just kept on repeating them, you were banished to the 'badlands'.  (That's those hills in the distance with the glacier between the hills)

Now I don't know what my crime has been but today feels pretty damned banishing to me.  

When I first considered Iceland I wanted to do the Kjolur route through the centre but was put off by the apparent hard core nature if the route.  Well there is plenty of hardcore here and it's pretty much strewn over the whole road and that's on the good bits.  So guess where I am. 

However not content to pitch my tent amongst the crowds of tourists at Geysir I thought I would push on to the next campsite. Mistake? Depends on how you look at it.  And believe me I have looked at it in all manner of ways. 

This 'detour' was only a 15km streatch. But a bit light the daylight in Iceland it seems to go on forever and it took 3 hours to get there. 

If you squint really hard you will see the 'hard core' road.  But if that's no joke? I have to go back that way to rejoin the F35. So what's so special about this campsite? Well actually I'm going to spend the night in a mountain hut. And this is the end if the road today. Phew! I deserve a snickers bar for pudding tonight!

And if I need to get up in the night for the loo it shouldn't be hard to find. 

So quick bowl of pasta and head down in my bunk. This is a first! 

Night all!

Wistful to be sure - Friday

Ha! My own blog I hear you say? Took me all morning to persuade her to share this and if blogging is anything like sharing her tea I doubt you will hear from me. Hey ho you never know. Mind you the view dosent change much for me as I'm sat pillion facing forwards. But she won't let me comment on that!

Escape from Rejkyavik - Friday

The first day is always the slowest.  Assemble bike, pump tyres, pack tent, cup o tea and finally leave the campsite. 

I hadn't intended to go to Rejkyavik but alas plans were changed as the bike box store at the airport closed at 5pm.  Haven't they heard of budget travellers who arrive late in the evening?  So fly bus to the central campsite.  The reason I didn't want to stay there this year was simply because it seems to take forever to get out of the city.  

Anyhow that meant a change of route towards Pingvellir, turn right at the start of the unmade road and head down it.  I mean why make things easy! 

But all along that route I was rewarded with, apart from heavy showers, lupins. Beautiful, majestic blue lupins. They scatter the sides of the hills without effort. Which was more than I was finding till I realised I was still in my 'big ring' DOH! 

Tonight's a fantastic campsite with rewarding hot sulphuric showers. No complaints as the chill after the rain was not pleasant.  I also had to wash 

my bike as the ash had coated everything and I doubt it would be running smooth with all that in it's gears.  People keep talking of washboard roads in Iceland which I couldn't understand until today.  It was like riding over a cattle grid over and over again. I guess this is where the wind has created ripples in the ash.

So an early night after not many miles but  that's the way the first day usually goes. 

Iceland V2

It took all of two months after getting back from Iceland last year to book a ticket to return forIiceland V2. Yes it's a crazy notion given the challenges last year.  But hey! That's never stopped me before so let's go again.  

This year I'm on my Shand Stoater again but I have left the panniers at home.  I have been crafting away these last few weeks to construct a full bikepacking kit. Why? Because I can? Or is it simply that I was aware of how little I used last year because when it's wet and cold you wear everything all the time.  Also let's face it. If you have the room you will fill it. 

But there is always room for Wistful! Who is going to be sporting a very snazzy little number later in the week.  No more plastic bags for me she said.  Quite right too