THE ICELAND WESTERN DIVIDE
A gravel-road bickepacking trip through the western highlands
June 2022
At the end of the page, find links to the roadbook details and packing lists as well as the complete photo album
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After a long week-end preparing the bike, the gear, the supplies, and several weeks of busy work my energy fades out with the start of a flu or maybe it’s just a small burn-out, anyway, bad timing! Usually relying very little on medication, I might have to make an exception. It will keep me up and running for an intense hand-over day at the office. |
The ride to the airport is a breeze, despite being right in the middle of evening rush-hour, sitting at the front of the van-taxi, having a cheerful chat with the driver, my bike-box taking up all the rear space where the seats have been stowed away.
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First flight since the beginning of the COVID 19 pandemic, haven’t been missing it to be honest. The airport chores were stress-free and carried out at a fast pace, but so un-human. Flying wasn’t my initial choice. The plan was to drive my own van to the north of Denmark where a regular two-day ferry service links Europe to Iceland. However, the prices were crazy and dates not appropriate, so I decided to pack my bike in a big cardboard box and pay small fee requested by the airline, local bike rental not being an option. I’d rather have my trusty and reliable set-up for such a trip.
We leave Paris-Orly runway at twenty past ten and start winding in the air and back in time, the dusk just never ending, actually even reverting, and at forty minutes past midnight the sun rises again above the horizon… Gone Is The Day, Gone Is The Night |
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After landing in Keflavik, Iceland’s International Airport, I catch a shuttle bus to my hostel. Some research I did before leaving mentioned a possible bike ride to Reykjavik. The sky is not dark but low and grey, it’s 2am, there’s a drizzle and heavy wind…
However, the cycle path and its alternatives to avoid the dual carriageway could be interesting to explore, once I get used to Icelandic weather.
As I store my luggage in the dedicated room at the hostel I take a quick look at the bike-in-the-box to see if it made it through the airport handling then head-off to bed at nearly 4am… I haven’t seen dark skies in nearly twenty-four hours and that’s just the beginning… Gone Is The Day, Gone Is The Night
A day-off in the center of Reykjavik, sight-seeing and some utility shopping, one item being industrial rubber gloves recommended by Gaetano, an Italian fellow cyclist with whom I chatted at the hostel this morning. These could be life-saviors when fitted over cycling gloves to avoid the rain and wind digging deep in the flesh.
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Having spent the end of the afternoon setting-up my bikepacking rig again, I’m told by the hostel front desk manager I can just leave it in front the building, “nobody will touch it”, he says …
- “Seriously?”
As I bring it to the bike-rack on the pavement, I feel like a shepherd bringing his favorite lamb to the butcher.
As a matter of fact, when you think of it… it never gets dark here! What we fear, to some extent, is the dark, not seeing, possible crime “at night”, when it’s dark enough to hide mischief … But there’s nothing like “night” here in the summer season. Gone Is The Day, Gone Is The Night
I guess I’ll get around the concept in a couple days.
Ten past eight next morning, which is ten minutes past my initial schedule, I set off, the bike fully packed. Two hundred meters further I stop to adjust the saddle height, then a little further my route is blocked off by road works finalizing a brand-new cycle path, but for the time being I’ll have to take an unpleasant detour along the dual carriageway up to the next crossing where the cycling path becomes the norm again and will be right up to the bus station where I am heading to catch the morning ride to Akureyri, the capital of the north. The ride through the green east-Reykjavik suburbs on a dedicated cycle path is an enjoyable ride, far away from motor traffic and mingling with the locals riding to school and to work.
Having spent the end of the afternoon setting-up my bikepacking rig again, I’m told by the hostel front desk manager I can just leave it in front the building, “nobody will touch it”, he says …
- “Seriously?”
As I bring it to the bike-rack on the pavement, I feel like a shepherd bringing his favorite lamb to the butcher.
As a matter of fact, when you think of it… it never gets dark here! What we fear, to some extent, is the dark, not seeing, possible crime “at night”, when it’s dark enough to hide mischief … But there’s nothing like “night” here in the summer season. Gone Is The Day, Gone Is The Night
I guess I’ll get around the concept in a couple days.
Ten past eight next morning, which is ten minutes past my initial schedule, I set off, the bike fully packed. Two hundred meters further I stop to adjust the saddle height, then a little further my route is blocked off by road works finalizing a brand-new cycle path, but for the time being I’ll have to take an unpleasant detour along the dual carriageway up to the next crossing where the cycling path becomes the norm again and will be right up to the bus station where I am heading to catch the morning ride to Akureyri, the capital of the north. The ride through the green east-Reykjavik suburbs on a dedicated cycle path is an enjoyable ride, far away from motor traffic and mingling with the locals riding to school and to work.
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I had been told that this bus line, as well as a couple other long-distance services, has bike racks to accommodate the tourists that are looking for an alternative travel option. But I wasn’t expecting a standard car hitch bike-rack that can fit only three of them…
I am slightly skeptical at what is offered, but they do it every day after all… “don’t they…?” So, I’ll trust them… Even though I add two straps and a bike-lock to the initial rig that already boasts three heavy duty rubber attachment points for each bike … You’re never too safe! Should it go wrong, the entire rack will fail, not my safeguarding job. |
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After 370 kilometers traveled in just over 6 hours on the Number One coastal ring-road, we arrive at the terminal point of line 57 in Arkureyri, Iceland’s main northern town at 65.48°N latitude, the furthest north I have ever been on our planet. In other times I would have said “another box checked” …
Akureyri is a laid-back formerly fishing town that welcomes a decent number of tourists due to tours leaving to various sightseeing destinations. I’d be tempted to say “site-seeing” ... After flicking through a couple brochures, I conclude that tourism is mainly seeing sites that are marketed as places-to-be or places-to-see should I say. As a good old friend said, the “been there, done that, got the t-shirt” syndrome.
Later on, I’ll meet up with two Americans, bikepacking gravel-style in the area, as well as one of the hostel staff-members which is also a mountain-biking guide. I gather information about cycling the remote areas of Iceland. I get confirmation of what I already knew, the F26 route I was going to ride is closed… But “it is doable” they say…
Looking up various sources, such as the Iceland Road Information service and FATMAP, I figure out that last season’s late snow falls are pretty much out of my way but that I may encounter muddy terrain and very high and intense fords to pass. Adding to that, the fact that most F-roads being closed, rescue services cannot access. In France, where I live, public rescue helicopters fly out to rescue anyone pretty much anywhere. It doesn’t really happen that way elsewhere in the world… In Iceland they’ll gladly bring you on a heli-ski drop-at-the-top for a premium fare (which, by the way, is forbidden in France) but there are no overland efforts put into place to rescue you, moreover if you’re in a forbidden area.
Taking a closer look at the maps, I decide to shorten-off the initial stages which will also give me a back-up option. Instead of F26 all the way, I will go on F821 to Laugafell and decide there If head west on F752, or try falling back on F26 a bit further south.
A quick note on the F-roads. They are actually more-or-less ridable mountain tracks, open to serious off-road vehicles. Compared to France and mainland Europe once again, there is nothing like forbidden roads for motor vehicles here, it’s all about your responsibility, if your vehicle can handle it, you can cross the “fat of the land”, on the track that is. Leaving them is forbidden, even by foot, for evident nature-preserving reasons. So little plants grow here that the few that make it need to be safely guarded
So, the entire F26 as well as part of F821 and F752 are closed to “all traffic”, due to unusual water levels in the fords, rivers and glacier streams. The snow falls were intense and late last season and it’s all melting now. I’ll still take this assessed risk: 90 kilometers on “officially closed” roads…
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Next morning, I make a couple of last tweaks to my bikepacking rig, that has once again, stayed outside the whole night, unlocked. As I was having a beer last night, the mountain-biking guide at the reception told me that the “history of crime is a failure in Iceland”. I have brunch then buy a small flexible camera tripod and finally pedal-off towards the Iceland Highlands at noon. |
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Leaving Arkureyri is a breeze, two large cycle paths are laid out on each side of the main road and lead me directly up to Hrafnagil where the cycle path stops and traffic gets lighter, the few vehicles still driving to the countryside leave a large distance with the poor cyclist fighting against an average 20-knot headwind. I stop regularly to take pictures and start really getting a close feel of the land. The bus ride gave me the views, now I’m touching it, and slightly fighting it. After visiting one of the last genuine turf churches in the country, I heat a mug of water for an instant coffee. Not really in my habits, I usually tend to indulge freshly-ground slow coffee. I still get the caffeine-shot I was after, so I’ll take it. |
After 30 kilometers on tarmac, I am now riding on a gravel road, a frontier between civilization and the backcountry, making you feel you’re starting to get into the thick of it. This is where the Highlands start!
Another 10 k’s and I spot a welcoming grassy patch of land to pitch my tent. Once all set-up I enjoy Icelandic dried fish as an appetizer and carry on with freeze-dried chicken curry, both are a delight.
After a lot of hiking and ski-touring in the Alps as well as sailing a couple single-handed multi-day boat races, I have acquired decent experience in expedition foods. There are actually two categories in freeze-dried food, A-class: they cook real meals with fresh quality produce then freeze-dry it. On the other side they throw freeze dried ingredients individually in a pouch and hope it will provide a decent result, which usually ends up disappointing…
The evening is spent reading and “gazing out of the window”, my trustworthy Hilleberg Una, 4-season free-standing solo-tent allowing for multiple opening configurations.
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I sneak into my duvet wearing an eye-mask, the sun sets after midnight these days and rises at 2am again. Gone is the Day Gone Is The Night…
As I awake and remove my ear plugs, I can hear drops falling on the tent fabric, however stepping out for my morning relief I find out the rain is lighter than expected.
Green tea, dried dates and the first of my nine identical breakfast packs: scrambled egg with cheese and onions. Decent but not A-class. Today’s plan is to go ride up to Laugafell, a hut located 35 kilometers south on a volcanic plateau past the closed road.
Before that, the first move will be to ride up to that first decision point. I’m on a holiday pace and I take it easy having another cup of tea as I gaze out at the drizzle and enjoy being in a remote land, away from the city rush. I reflect at the fast-paced industrial life we’re all going around in, and promise myself to travel around the world at a slower pace from now on. Maybe, should I consider coming back here one day, I could sail across the ocean rather than flying. Slow-touring seems to become evidence… Let’s see what else this trip has for me down the road, this is just the beginning, after all.
I sneak into my duvet wearing an eye-mask, the sun sets after midnight these days and rises at 2am again. Gone is the Day Gone Is The Night…
As I awake and remove my ear plugs, I can hear drops falling on the tent fabric, however stepping out for my morning relief I find out the rain is lighter than expected.
Green tea, dried dates and the first of my nine identical breakfast packs: scrambled egg with cheese and onions. Decent but not A-class. Today’s plan is to go ride up to Laugafell, a hut located 35 kilometers south on a volcanic plateau past the closed road.
Before that, the first move will be to ride up to that first decision point. I’m on a holiday pace and I take it easy having another cup of tea as I gaze out at the drizzle and enjoy being in a remote land, away from the city rush. I reflect at the fast-paced industrial life we’re all going around in, and promise myself to travel around the world at a slower pace from now on. Maybe, should I consider coming back here one day, I could sail across the ocean rather than flying. Slow-touring seems to become evidence… Let’s see what else this trip has for me down the road, this is just the beginning, after all.
I set-off once all the night and food gear are packed up, fill-up water at a stream and push further towards the Highlands, the farms getting sparser, until I hit the closed road. I have just crossed three small streams, cycling or by foot, and managed to stay dry until now.
I read the warning sign: ALL TRAFIC FORBIDDEN. TRESPASSERS WILL BE FINED.
- “How much would they fine me for that?”
- “How would they even know?”
- “Is it safe for me to go ahead knowing that there is very little rescue?”
- “Why would I need rescue?”
- “I don’t even know if cell network reaches out this far”
So, I pedal ahead…!
- “Is a bike actually considered as traffic?”
- “What If I push it and walk besides?”
I smile at how we trick ourselves to support our decision-making with our very personal take on rationality.
One kilometer past the gate, I start understanding the reasons they kept the road closed. I walk a large ice-cold stream, can’t avoid getting wet this time, then another one that I manage to cycle, then another I need to walk again, and a final large and tricky one where I use a lot of caution, feeling the icy water flow through my shoes.
Those crossings have sucked-up quite a lot of my energy and after a steep climb I stop for a warm out-of-a-pack lunch.
After my digestive tea, I ride another five kilometers then face a crucial decision: the track is completely flooded by a 100-meter-wide stream rushing down from the mountain.
After my digestive tea, I ride another five kilometers then face a crucial decision: the track is completely flooded by a 100-meter-wide stream rushing down from the mountain.
- “And what next…?”
I have a look at the map and see that I will potentially meet another three of those… And it’s raining…
- “I’ll never get my stuff dry overnight”
… and those are just the smaller streams that were not supposed to be an issue, at Laugafell, there is an actual river to cross…
- “What will that one look like?”
The late snowy season is still melting all over the place. Time to be reasonable and head back…!
Back across the seven icy streams again, the rain drizzling and the wind that was pushing me until now, blowing at me… I’m disappointed, I’ll not be going through the thick of the Highlands. However, I keep myself happy at the feelings captured by my mind and the views captured through my lens.
The way down is rather bumpy and I need to re-route one of the straps holding my sleeping pad on the front rack so that it pulls it down to the fork crown. That makes for a much steadier ride. I pedal through the afternoon, slightly past the point I slept last night and find a decently flat space to spend this night. The wind has picked up quite a lot since noon, so I place large stones under the guy-lines to relieve the tension.
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As I awake next morning the wind seems to have grown in intensity and the rain is still falling. It’s noon by the time I get through my morning duties, a little writing as well as mending my shoe that I had to tear off last night from the cleat fixing it to the pedal. I couldn’t unclip my right shoe having to unlace it, leaving it on the pedal, then carefully removing the cleat plate. Once free and having inspected the system, it seems that the pedal clip got somehow tightened to the max over the two first days. Strange. |
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I’m pedaling back to Akureyri under dark skies with heavy and cold headwind, but when I reach the tarmac again, the sun comes out, the wind stays as strong but I no longer feel the chill.
I check-in at the Backpackers Hostel again, they have a bed for the next two nights, I’ll take, it allowing some time to get over the frustration and plan an alternative trip. As one can guess, looking back at the Highlands from the comfort of the dorm, I can’t avoid thinking:
- “What if I would have given it a little push further…?”
- “Will I get to experience those landscapes I’ve been longing for since so many years…?”
As I look carefully at the maps and the weather forecasts, and combining public transport options, I finally conclude I’ll do the F35 route from north to south and then decide if I push to Gulfoss on tarmac or take a turn right making me head west, keeping me in the Icelandic outback. Co-adventure-cyclist Gaetano, back in Reykjavik, told me he would be riding F35 from south to north, “a little rough but totally doable”, he said… depending on the wind…! And he had no suspensions at all, where I have a fork and frame suspended rig.
Reading the news at Berlin Café, best spot for breakfast in town by the way, I see that the VENDEE ARCTIC ocean sailing race that departed from the west coast of France and due to go all around Iceland has been stopped due to severe conditions over south Iceland. Suddenly, I feel quite safe and no longer regretting my decision to turn back.
As I walk to and back from the supermarket to fill up for the second leg of my trip the wind just goes crazy. I stay at the hostel doing laundry, writing, reading… A cozy Sunday inside goes by before catching Bus 57 again, heading back and stopping in Blonduos where F35 starts, or ends, depending if you see it from my point of view or Gaetano’s.
The bus drops me off just after noon and when unloading my bike from the rear rack I have a quick but pleasant chat with a Canadian female cyclist touring on the main ring-road as I help her to secure her bike at the back of the bus.
After lunch, coffee, a quick technical inspection and a chat with a German fellow cyclist, I head off south on the F35 that will be the backbone of my itinerary for the next four to five days. The wind forecast announces twenty-four hours of moderate tail-wind, then shifting to a more “entertaining” set-up. As daylight hardly fades, I plan on cycling as much as I can this afternoon to keep the push granted by the wind.
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10pm, I’ve been grinding since the beginning of the afternoon, with a couple stops for snacks and pictures, the sun is still up and I would like to get some more behind me, but I had a poor night at the hostel and feel I can take a rest. I set up camp near a reservoir, just off the beaten track, serve myself with diner at 11pm as I watch the sun slowly fade and recall the 65 kilometers of enjoyable and sunny ride I just accomplished.
Today was the longest day of the year, and the shortest night, not that it really seems to make difference up here in summer. But still, it’s the point at which days will now become shorter again up until the winter solstice, and so on, the cycle of the seasons, and of life. Thinking of it, there are only two seasons up here really, mild and freezing!
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At the hostel I had been looking at a couple brochures announcing backcountry-ski guided tours towards the winter-end and I fall asleep with sweet dreams of powdery snow packs in this same area in six months’ time … sailing from fjord to fjord, disembarking, skinning up and free-riding back down before a well-deserved beer and meal… The pinnacle of slow-touring. |
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I raise my eye mask… guess what…? It’s daylight…!
It could be any time of day or night… It’s actually 6am and by the time I had tea and packed all the stuff again it’s 7.30. I want to take advantage of the couple hours of indulgent weather ahead of me. I ride 15 kilometers up until the Afangi guarded mountain hut where I have coffee and an Icelandic version of the Lintzner tart, chatting with the friendly couple in charge of the place.
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We exchange cultural points of views and I share my itinerary, future and past. When I mention my attempt at the Laugafell hut from Arkureyri, the guy tells me I would have had to turn back there anyway as the river is an approximate six-feet-deep right now… We finally overview the weather. The forecast is indeed spot on time, he tells me in just under two hours I’ll be in for a twenty-four-hour “Icelandic Experience”.
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I ride another 5 kilometers with gradually increasing winds until I get hit off to the side of the road by a gust and consider it may be time to take shelter.
I set up the tent meticulously ballasting the pegs with heavy rocks and adding another set to relieve the tension on the guy-lines. The tent is now surrounded by twelve large rocks, to which I add another one under the bike as an anchor. Wouldn’t want my bike to fly across the volcanic plains of central Iceland! I’m happy that it got laid out quite flawlessly regarding the conditions, I think the several free coffee refills at the hut put me in a very focused state-of-mind. A couple minor adjustments and my home for the storm looks pretty sturdy.
In my little cocoon sheltered from the elements, I have forty-eight hours of water supply for drinks and food re-hydration. I read, listen to music, podcasts, write, look at the maps, make plans for the end of the trip… Watch the tent swaying from side to side… Making plans for after the trip…
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Around 11am, I heat some water for a drink in the tent vestibule and I can see a tent peg lying there…
- “Oh well, that’s one down…!” I put my shoes on and step outside in the hailing wind, stick the peg back in, check all the other ones and wander off to grab some pictures as well as indulging the feelings generated by the storm. A midnight dinner is ready a little later and I soon fall asleep with the mandatory eye mask and ear plugs. |
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Later next morning, I start to feel an urge for movement. I step outside, the wind is a little colder now and rain doesn’t seem far. The wind has shifted, but not completely and the pace is still intense. I’ll have to wait a couple more hours. As I settle back in the tent it starts raining, then snowing!
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Slightly after noon, I decide to pack. Once I’m nearly done the wind shifts back to a north-south flow, spot on time as the forecast mentioned it. Just what I need to push me further down F35. I put the rubber “Gaetano” gloves over my biking gloves to keep the snowfall off my hands and pedal off. |
The scenery is now starting to evolve and I forget the icy rain as the landscape rewards me with dramatic views. I’m finally living the experience I was expecting.
The wide-open rocky volcanic desert all around me fuels all my senses and puts a smile on my face and mojo in my legs, the road is now rougher but the wind is still favorable.
The wide-open rocky volcanic desert all around me fuels all my senses and puts a smile on my face and mojo in my legs, the road is now rougher but the wind is still favorable.
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At the top of a hill, I indulge the sight of the vast emptiness of the land and gulp at the lonesome feeling that the mineral desert displays before my eyes. I can’t avoid thinking at what happens if you get stranded here...
The sun starts peaking out from the grey clouds and as it fades towards the horizon ever so slightly, the sceneries get ever more dramatic. I keep clocking-in the miles, traversing the sand and rock desert on F35 between Iceland’s second and third largest glaciers.
By 10pm, just before the last mountain pass of the region, I figure a perfect spot to set camp, partly sheltered from the wind. 77 kilometers today, that’s going to make the daily average look a little better.
Easy morning with strong tea to tackle the mountain pass. Once I am up there, mixed feelings entangle, ones of leaving the volcanic desert, and those of heading towards new horizons. I have a look back and dream of touring central Iceland with a more appropriate bike. Then I look ahead where I will have a couple choices down the road. The gravel soon becomes asphalt again, and therefore just becomes “road 35” losing the “F” that puts it in another class, one of wilderness and adventure. Suddenly, surges the proximity of industrial civilization again. After the long descent from the pass, without hesitating I turn right on F358.
“F” is back, gravel will lead the track! It was a B-plan to stay into the wild if the weather allowed. I haven’t checked the forecast since Blonduos and I don’t want to, I want to live the elements as they come, as they might be thrown at me. I need to get more of the wilderness, the rocks, the dust, the sand.
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I will however have a civilization marker as companion for the next two days, a massive double high-voltage power line crossing the country from east to west. I suspect this gravel road having been laid out just for the purpose of building and maintaining this infrastructure. |
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The first leg of this new route reminds me of Arizona and New Mexico. The sun is out, the rocks are red, the wind is intense but warm. I have lunch and a nap in the sand under a large scenic rock formation and then push further where I will have to cross a river by foot. I take the option to not take my shoes off as the weather is decent, unlike the two Belgian hikers I meet. After a quick chat, they cross the opposite way with their flip-flops and I head west.
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A couple miles further, I come to a steep section leading to a vast glacier plateau, I won’t be able to climb all of it on the bike. Without luggage I would have made it, not with the panniers. Finally up there after a long push, the scenery changes altogether and I have the impression I have landed on the moon once again. I now ride along a black sandy path that soaks up a lot of my pedaling energy. |
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I start seeking a place for the night, knowing it will take some time, the terrain is hostile, dark and cold sand as a base scattered with rocks of all sizes as far as my eyes can see, hardly any flat and naked patches are available. I end up spotting a place that is miraculously totally sheltered from the wind. After a land-shaping job to make the place welcoming as well as setting a bunch of rocks to replace my pegs that are useless in the sand, I snug in the tent for diner and the first night without ear plugs, it is absolutely silent and the tent stable as never.
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Two hours ago, I wouldn’t have bet a dime that I would have been able to set up a home-sweet-home out here.
As I keep riding on the unstable black sandy path the next morning, I spot a continuous strip of metal again, sticking out every now and then, I had seen bits of it yesterday too. After a couple thoughts, I stick down to the conclusion that this road allows maintenance of the power lines and it is a guide for winter-maintenance snowmobiles using a metal detector to stay on track. When this place is covered in snow there’s no way anyone can find the path I’m now riding.
By noon I reach the highest point of the path, a snow patch is laid across the road I easily ride it and after stopping for lunch I’m in for a long and fun but rather technical descent. The sand is making my riding cautious and the pebbles giving a heck of a shake.
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After nearly 40 kilometers along the powerlines our routes slowly diverge, the landscape turns slightly greener and I soon arrive to the end of F358 where I grab a refill of water in the stream. Onto a little bit of asphalt as I seek my route and soon again back to a gravel surface. F-roads are the way to go… |
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In the distance the two powerlines part away from each other and take separate routes. I suspect I will meet at least one again…
After fixing my water bladder properly, which I had omitted doing after the refill, I follow the main gravel-road still taking me west and soon the clouds part for a wonderful evening sky, lighting up the lush green and rich lands ahead.
There is a little more traffic on this road and after a quick map study I decide that I’ll take a wilder route again… Wilder it is! After crossing a stream I’m faced with large pebbles on the road surface that make it nearly impossible to climb on a bike. This is no more a gravel road but a rock road… And the climb is long. It takes me nearly an hour to get up there as the sun disappears again covered by dark-grey low clouds and bringing on a feeling of purgatory… my pedal cleats under my shoes slipping on every of the large rounded rocks.
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At the highest point, the surface remains the same and I am now in for an extremely bumpy ride down costing me two spokes on my rear wheel. I meet one of the powerlines again as the sun peaks out, and we both dive into the valley. Flowers are back as well as more and more pine trees and the sun peaks out again. As the descent continues, the skies clear completely and I end in the valley approaching a large lake that transforms the landscape in a Canadian lake-district scenery.
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The path becomes smooth again and I keep grinding at a good pace, I wish farewell to the power line that goes up the hill to another valley and I soon find a perfect place to set the tent facing the midnight sun and the lake.
I enjoy this last morning into the wild as I sip my green tea considering two options, both end on the coast: take a longer pass-route to Akranes slightly to the south or the straighter option full west to Borgranes. I’ll finally take the easier ride along the lake and a couple more farmlands before arriving in the small city of Borgranes.
The last stretch of busier roads and heavy side wind aren’t the most enjoyable but cannot be avoided, especially the dam-bridge over the fjord entrance where the gusts of wind try pushing me onto the Number One ring-road along which rides all the traffic on-route to northern Iceland.
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Fortunately, it’s a short section and after crossing the small city center, I end at the tip of the land where I settle down at the last pub before the ocean, for a well-deserved beer, facing the wild sea and coast-line as the sun makes a come-back for a cheerful day-end.
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After a good night’s rest in a real bed, I add to the Iceland experience a rainy and stormy day spent in the fishing city of Akranes attained after a short bus ride in the morning, breathing in the ocean-spray as I walk around and admiring the light snow-fall sprinkled recently over the distant hill-tops. I settle-down in another cozy hostel for an afternoon of reading and dreaming, before heading out again at 2am to grab a couple pictures of the harbor…
The skies, although grey, still not dark.
Gone Is The Day, Gone Is The Night* …
My late Mom being a geologist, she would have quite surely fancied setting foot on this emerging continent between the American and European oceanic plateaus covered in volcanic rocks and glaciers. This trip is dedicated to Her and my recently passed away grandmother, Nana …
In ár gCroíthe go deo*
(In Our Hearts Forever)
* Track title and Lyrics from the excellent “Skint Fia” album by Dublin-based post-punk act Fontaines D.C.
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