An Icelandic Saga

A worrying chatter was coming from my bike's headset and the steering was erratic as I tried to control the beast down the steep corrugated surface. This was our first real encounter with the harsh, black volcanic roads stretching into the hinterland of Iceland. Halldor, our Icelandic leader, had spotted the problem, and at the next campsite my bike was whisked away by Brian, our trip organiser.

With a rush I was after him. "Where are you taking my bike?" was met with "I'm taking it to the 'hammer-shop', don't worry"

Well, I was worried! Elie, Halldor's 11 year old daughter was to be heard singing as loudly as she could, but could not drown out the sound of heavy banging made by her father's hammer. Several members of the group were rolling around in the grass laughing; others made comments like "the operation will soon be over" and some playfully restrained me. Soon my bike was brought over to me, I tried it out, and it worked.

We were on a CTC tour into the interior of SW Iceland, roughly following the line of the great Icelandic rift. This is a major geological feature called "the mid-Atlantic fault" which cuts through Iceland and we would be encountering geysers, hot pools, giant waterfalls, roaring steam jets and a more than a hint of adventure.

Apart from a few nights in fairly simple accommodation we would be camping in our own tents and cooking our own meals although we had the use of a mess tent put up at each campsite by Halldor and his assistant Tony. We concentrated on pedalling our 30 to 45 miles each day whilst most of our luggage was carried in Halldor's backup vehicle.

Riding conditions

Although the distances were not large by our usual standards, the conditions on most Icelandic B roads were rather harsh. Many of these roads, which are open only a few months of the year, are made of graded and compacted black volcanic ash which looked like crushed cinders. During the short summer season the surface becomes rutted and very corrugated from the tyres of 4WD's. This makes cycling in many places an uncomfortable, slow process even on the wide-tyred mountain bikes recommended for cyclists. It is a constant search for smoother patches of surface anywhere across the whole width of the road; so you end up weaving from one side of the road to the other in order to get a smoother ride. There was very little tarmac on our route but plenty of 'rough stuff'.

In Iceland filling stations sell everything you would need en-route, so we always stopped for our much needed supplies for the night. Knowing the very high price of alcohol on Iceland, Halldor had thoughtfully brought a plentiful supply of cut -price beer along for us to buy from him. Nursing a half litre can of beer, it was very relaxing to sit in a nearby hot pool at the end of the day gazing at the landscape, chatting to other members of the tour. Wonderful!

The Blue Lagoon

Iceland's most famous tourist attraction is hidden away among the lava flows just off the road from Keflavik to Grindavik in the south, our second campsite. The Blue Lagoon owes its existence to the nearby geothermal power station, which channels the hot water from its condensers into the large artificial lagoon. The waist deep milky blue waters, hovering at a temperature of 37 to 39°C are rich in mineral salts and fine silica mud, supposedly good for the skin, and so the place is very popular with hundreds of visitors who wade or just sit in the water.

The lagoon lies in a surreal landscape of black lava and sheets of steam waft slowly across the surface of the water. With the roaring steam vents of the power plant as a backdrop, the place feels like a scene from a sci-fi movie. We all spent an hour or two in the water before reluctantly cycling back to our campsite.

Volcanoes, geysers and hot springs

As we increased our outward distance hot springs, evidenced by the steam above them, became more numerous. There was also a noticeable sulphurous smell in places coming from ground rifts, which after a while caught at the throat and chest.

We were heading in the general direction of the volcano Hekla and would go beyond it into the spectacular highlands. Before that we had several touristy type places to visit. The first was Thingvellir, the ancient site of the parliament that was founded in the year 930 and has been meeting ever since.

Cycling on through pleasant country with lots of greenery we gradually ascended to the village called Geysir to see (as you might expect) the world famous geyser. This erupted regularly about every few minutes ejecting a great gout of white foaming water about 100 feet into the air. It had now come on to rain quite heavily that night so many of us gave up the idea of sleeping in tents and slept indoors instead.

We stayed two nights at Geysir, giving us the opportunity to see the surrounding countryside. Most of us chose the easy option of visiting the enormous waterfalls of Gullfoss (Golden Falls), only 12 miles round trip, but a few athletic ones cycled the 45 mile trip in the rain to see the Langjokull (Long Glacier), Iceland's second biggest ice cap.

The Thunderstorm

Next day we pushed on to what appeared on the map to be another campsite but this turned out to be wild with no facilities. This was unacceptable to most of the party and led to Halldor phoning frantically farmhouses around the area trying to locate another site. The rain came on heavily and we were now pushing our bikes steeply uphill for several miles. It began to thunder as we crossed a level heath. Brian pointed out a distant building, and told us to hurry up. We didn't need any prompting and set off as rapidly as we could with the rain coming down in 'stair-rods' and the time between lightning and thunder down to zero.

We were in deep trouble. Each one of us thought our time had come. Lightning bolts were seemingly striking all around us. We cycled along the track as fast as we could, probably setting a speed record, parking our bikes against the wall and crashed in through the front door into the vestibule, dripping water everywhere. It turned out the place was a guesthouse jam-packed with groups of Icelanders and Germans complete with crates of drink and obviously preparing to have a fine rowdy night.

Approaching the Highlands

With Mt. Hekla on our right, its summit shrouded in dark clouds, we pressed on eastwards. We had plenty of interesting diversions on the way, going off the main road to view an enormous waterfall, later a guided visit to a large hydroelectric power station. We stopped overnight at the curiously named Hraunejar (well I can't say it!) where we had beds in a crowded hostel type building and were served a cordon bleu meal.

Next day we continued our journey on to our final destination of Landmannalaugar (LML), at nearly 2000 feet, up in the colourful, desolate highlands of the southwest. We crossed what looked like black deserts with marker posts placed to keep you on the right track and hillsides that were reminiscent of the moonscapes shown on the Apollo missions. The Apollo astronauts actually trained here as Iceland's topography stood in for a lunar landscape better than anywhere else on earth. Not to miss any opportunity Halldór had us cycle up a track that took us to the very rim of an inactive water-filled volcano were we could look steeply down hundreds of feet to the water. Some of our party, evidently very fit, decided to cycle around the volcano's rim, over a mile in extent and with hundreds of feet of ascent and descent. I decided not to accept that challenge!

Our journey continued on to LML passing through a wild environment filled with massive dormant volcanoes and large lakes, then we crossed over several streams to reach the campsite. This was a very large, unprotected site located in a treeless, stony valley with a wide, deep river close by. It was unusual in that there was not a blade of grass to camp on, only stones. There were piles of big stones scattered all around and we were soon to find out why they were there. It really looked uncomfortable. The trick here was to find a flattish spot without too many large stones on which to pitch one's tent, not at all easy. It was going to be a tough two-night stay with a day off from cycling to explore the area.

Next day Halldór mustered all of us together. We set off up the valley and toiled up the mountainside for about an hour onto a narrow ridge. Scrambling onwards we were confronted by an eerily colourful landscape, whole mountainsides in tints of red, green, orange and other colours. It was well worth the effort. After a hazardous descent on shale slopes we returned to the campsite via the area of hot springs.

The Storm

That evening the rain returned and the wind became much stronger. We saw complete tents bowling along the adjacent, more exposed campsite with their owners in wild pursuit. During the night the gusts became more ferocious and had veered sideways on to my tent, which at times was flattened on top of me. I'd never experienced wind this strong in all my years of camping. Tent pegs hammered in were being pulled out fast and immediate action was needed. Jacketed, I was out into the maelstrom bringing over large boulders, two or three for the guy ropes of each peg. The storm continued and the water seeped through the groundsheet, soaking the sleeping bag.

Morning came at last. This was day twelve and I was not surprised to hear that two of our tents had been destroyed by the storm. Around the campsite dozens of campers had been made tentless and were sheltering in the toilet/shower block. Our group's main thought was to escape from this place. The wind was still very strong and Brian had selected six of us (the oldest) to travel in the van. A quick breakfast and we were off into the teeth of the gale with the others following behind the van.

After about six miles our direction gradually changed until the gale was behind and those on bikes shot ahead at high speed, racing through the many river fords. Stuck in the van and wanting to get out I was envious of what now seemed to be a wonderful wind-assisted cycle ride, a dream ride on the wild side. One of our riders, Gary, reported clocking up 30 mph on the flat without pedalling and covering the whole 44 mile ride to our destination in under 3 hours.

A horse ride

We had now reached Leirubakki, a farm with a large loft over the stables where some of us slept that night, with radiators on which we could dry our gear. The options for the evening were outdoor hot tubs or horse riding. I'd had enough of being slowly cooked and as I'd not ever ridden a horse this was my choice. The Icelandic horse is small and they look quite docile. They stand about 4.3 ft (nearly 13 hands) so are not too difficult to mount.

The girls in charge selected a horse for me that they reckoned was OK for a beginner. After some brief instructions we were off for an hour's ride. Two things soon became clear, 1. the horse was in charge, 2. the ride was cross-country, including wading across rivers. As cyclists we always check the brakes, and how to slow down would be considered vital information. On a horse going fast it was a bit late to find out.

"Where are the brakes"? I shouted to Halldór.

He replied, "Keep going, you'll be alright".

The ride progressed sometimes too rapidly for me across rivers and along well-worn tracks until we got back, me feeling saddle-sore but elated. Well, it makes a change from pedalling!

The final ride

Next day we were faced with a longish cycle ride (45 miles) over the mountains and along roads to a small town called Hvolsv?llur so as to catch a bus at 3 o'clock taking us back to Reykjavik. The strong wind had returned, and we headed east into it for six miles. This cycling was very hard work at 4 to 5 miles an hour along a flat valley.

When our road turned south everyone was reduced to pushing the bikes as it was impossible to steer them with the strong crosswind. Fortunately, after another mile the road turned towards the west and the looming mountain on our left now gave us some shelter. Then we were off at high speed pushed by a powerful tailwind, covering many miles along the high moorland tracks without much effort. Then it was tarmac in heavy traffic for twenty miles or so. Our bus took us in comfort to our final campsite in Reykjavik. After pitching tents we went off for our last meal together.

In conclusion, Iceland is a country of many surprises and rewards. I had imagined it was a place of severe cold with much ice but the temperature in July was mild, the air was very clear and ice was not a problem. I'm wondering about making another visit.

Larry Dixon