ICELAND 2017

Me too. I’m sure I’ll be along shortly. Just need to find some motivation!

This should get something stirring for you........

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Day 6
Modrudalur to Myvatn

After a two night stay at Modrudalur, and a couple of long days on the bikes, today is a much shorter ride to Myvatn. Most of today’s route is on asphalt roads, with a few of the group riding conservatively to save fuel. I, on the other hand, have shitloads of fuel left and don’t need to be gentle with my right wrist. I’m just waiting for one of the buggers to run out and ask me for some fuel. Mark M is the first to run out. After his exploits riding solo the day before, and an extra few miles trying to find the group when we got split up, he’s burned more fuel than the rest of us. Luckily, Rupert’s in close proximity and generously donates some spare fuel from his Rotopax container. Then it’s Rupert’s turn to run out. Luckily he’s got enough in reserve to see him to Myvatn.

En route to Myvatn we visit a few touristy hotspots – namely a puddle of bubbling mud, a geothermal power station and a couple of water-filled volcanic domes. All very interesting, but too many people around for my liking. This is our adventure, not theirs!


Talking bollocks



We arrive in Myvatn and head straight to the petrol station/supermarket to fill up with fuel and food supplies – we’ll be going off-grid for the next few nights so we need to make sure we’ve got enough goodies (liquorice, chocolate raisins, spicy sausage, lamb and pastries to keep us going).

Three of us (Mark H, Rupert and myself) spend the afternoon in the sulphuric hotpools above the town. Bugger me… it’s an expensive old do having a bath in Iceland: it cost each of us about £30 for three hours. And if that wasn’t bad enough, there was bugger all totty to perv at. Never mind, Rupert was kind enough to buy us a round of beers which we supped slowly as the 40-degree water eased our aches and pains.

Upon our return to the campsite, we found three very sleepy co-travellers who were all slowly waking from an afternoon slumber. No doubt one or two of them had “ripped one out” as well.

I managed to spoil Mark H’s afternoon by blowing up his emergency jump start kit: I was trying to help three clueless French lads get their dead Citroen running – the dopey buggers couldn’t even get the bonnet open. When they did, they connected the negative terminal on the jump-kit to the positive battery terminal. Much smoke ensued, followed about 10 minutes later my much swearing from Mark H. He was mostly concerned about not being able to charge his phone (he’d run the battery down whilst idling away the afternoon in his tent earlier – nudge, nudge, wink, wink…). At least the French lads had the decency to reimburse us for the damage caused, so all wasn’t lost.


Some well deserved downtime

We finished the day with a few beers in a local bar before retiring for an early night in preparation for the next couple of big days in the saddle.

Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=onAhS_8xtfc&t=114s
 
Day 7
Myvatn to Laugafell

We’re going native today… it’s time to head to the highlands for some proper off-grid action. Our route will take us deep into the Icelandic interior, to the sprawling metropolis that is Laugafell. It’s got everything: rocks, stones, gravel, wind, dust, and space. Lots and lots of wide, open space. It’s also got a teeny, tiny campsite where you park your tent between the rocks (sometimes under the rocks to prevent the wind from stealing it). The campsite also has a hot pool where you can sit and enjoy the unspoilt views whilst sipping whisky and talking shite with your riding buddies. But first you have to get there…

The road to Laugafell is called the Sprengisandur. AKA “The Springer Spaniel”. It’s an historic route, about which I know very little. Fortunately, Wikipedia is on hand: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sprengisandur

We leave Myvatn well rested and ready for some epic riding. It’s “Goodbye tourists, hello Iceland proper”. The road rises high into the middle of Iceland where there’s bugger all to do except ride as fast as you dare. At times things get a little sketchy as the wet, hardpacked route over the very top of Iceland gets extremely slippery. So slippery in fact that our esteemed leader, Tim, has an off on a downhill section. He’s licking along at a fair pace and simply runs out of front end grip. He’s down, but thankfully unhurt. Or so we thought… long story short, he damaged his hand (an injury that’s still affecting his tom-tanking to this day) but, having persuaded his front wheel and forks back into alignment with the old “find the biggest boulder and twat your wheel against it until everything looks about right” technique, he’s soon back on his bike, albeit at a slightly more subdued pace.

The slippery road surface soon gives way to what I fondly look back on as one of my favourite parts of the entire trip – jet black lava-gravel roads which run alongside small streams which bear fruit to the only real colour in this barren landscape: mosses, lichens and short grasses which shine green with an almost luminescent quality. I was too busy wrestling the big bike to take many photos, but fortunately Rupert has better patience than me (and a much better eye for photography) and managed to rattle off a few shots, including some nice aerial photos of the black trails.











I could have ridden in that remote wilderness forever, but all-too-soon we were at the campsite, where everyone set-to in a blur of activity, trying to get their tents set up in some seriously windy conditions. There was a frantic scrabble to clear enough rocks to make room for each of the tents, followed by an even more frenzied scrap to recover the rocks and pile them into a rudimentary wind break to divert the worst of the wind. We thought we were real adventurers at this point, until a newlywed couple turned up on their push bikes – we’d had it so easy in comparison: the headwinds they’d encountered had seriously hampered their progress that day, having covered just 17 miles in 12 hours of hard pedalling.


Laugafell


Brewing up while the wind blows


The hot tub


In the hot tub

Thankfully the wind abated after a couple of hours, with everyone re-emerging from their tents to sunny skies. By now it was early evening, so it was time for a bath, or rather a three-hour soak in the hot pool: kit off, leg it down the path in a biting arctic wind, and splash… into the naturally heated hot pool which we shared with two Icelandic couples from Reyjavik who were exploring the Icelandic Highlands for the first time in their big-wheel Land Rover. They were part-way through an all-evening drinking marathon (God knows how they could afford to drink so much beer – the cheapest beer I’d found so far was about £10 per pint) and kindly shared a couple of cans with us – good old Icelandic hospitality at its finest!


This is what 2am looks like in Iceland in early July.

Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAbFleptDMw&t=218s

Stay tuned for the next episode... there'll be pictures of six men sharing a bath!
 
Day 8
Laugafell to Laugafell via Akureyri

It’s funny the things that stick in your mind. I remember waking up on day 8 thinking, “Thank God the booze in Iceland is so expensive, because at least that means I haven’t got a hangover this morning”. I guess it was the tiredness of the trip kicking in, and the fact that I was a little sleep deprived from a few restless nights in the tent. That, and the fact that riding the big pig demanded total concentration on the ever-changing ‘road’ surfaces.

Today would be the second time we’d leave our tents erected and head off with relatively little weight on the bikes: the planned route – a loop heading north from Laugafell to Akureyri, south west towards Vallholmur and south east back to Laugafell.

Unfortunately, we were down to 5 men for today’s outing – Tim decided he wanted to languish in his bed for the day to see if he could rip one out: he hadn’t managed it during the night because of his injured hand, so he wanted some “Tim Time” to assess the severity of his injury and to determine if he’d ever be able to pleasure himself again.


Himself waiting for us to leave so he can spank the monkey

Before you ask, no, I don’t know if he managed to ‘bring himself about’ and nor do I want to know. He did have a forlorn look on his face when we returned though – I couldn’t work out if he was sad because he hadn’t ridden his bike that day, lonely because we’d gone off without him, or just plain suffering from blue ball syndrome.

Anyway, I digress. Back to the ride.

The trail leading away from our campsite was a cracker – more or less as soon as we’d left camp we were riding down a steep descent on a trail that was littered with large rocks, interspersed with patches of water-logged gravel that the front of the bike tried to bury itself in. I remember there was a fast-flowing stream running alongside, under and over our track which, once we were out of the steep V-sided valley at the top, led us into a wide U-shaped glacial valley which was dominated by lush green grass.



It had been a relatively technical descent off the Spring Spaniel but now we were on fast, flowing trails which meant our speed increased dramatically. As did the wind chill factor. Feck me it was cold. I mean, I know we were in Iceland and not a million miles from the Arctic Circle, but so far on the trip the temperature hadn’t been a problem. In fact, if anything, apart from my journey to the bottom of the river on day 4, I’d been positively toasty most of the time.

Today though was a different matter. No matter, we’d soon be in Akureyri where we’d be able to find somewhere for a hot drink and food. Except… Mark H took us straight through town without stopping. The bastard! I was sure he was going to make a pit stop and I’d told my bladder the same. I was feckin’ bursting. And quietly cursing to myself. Out of Akureyri and onto Route 1 for a while (part of the main ‘ring road’ that the majority of tourists drive around Iceland on) and it got even colder. Essentially we were climbing over a col to get to the next valley which would take us back to camp. So we were gaining altitude and it was getting colder and colder. My dash told me it was 4.5 degrees C, but it felt much, much colder. My bladder could take it no longer, so I pulled over for a middle-of-nowhere-can’t-piss-quickly-because-my-bladder-is-so-full-and-I’m-so-bloody-cold kind of a widdle.

Relieved (eventually) I randomly pressed some buttons on the left hand side of my handlebars until the word “Off-road” disappeared from the display and was replaced by the word “Sport”. Bugger me, having had the bike in off-road mode for the past week (reduces engine power to a mere 100bhp instead of the usual 140-odd and does something or toher to the ABS and traction control) she felt like a rocket-ship. I was soon back with the pack and heading for home.


Mark H leading us down from Laugafell


Mark M


Rupert



The trail leading back up onto the Springer Spaniel was a fast, dusty affair with the odd river crossing thrown in for good measure. Mark H, Mark M and Craig were off like scalded whippets (no doubt keen to find out whether or not Tim had managed to double the weight of his handkerchief) while Rupert and I languished behind. I was loving the solitude of riding on my own in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing. Nowt. Zilch. Just a dusty trail, me and my bike. Bliss. Rupert on the other hand was on some kind of Bill Oddie wildlife expedition – he saw swans, sheep and wild horses (check out his video below) the latter of which had slowed his progress somewhat.


Solitude

I took the opportunity to stop the bike, take off my lid and listen to the emptiness. It was completely silent. Not a bird in the sky, not a breathe of wind and no engine noise. Until Rupert turned up and SPOILED EVERYTHING! I’m joking… we both stood there and took in our empty surroundings. It was ace!

After a few minutes, we re-mounted and caught up with the others who were waiting for us a good 10-15 minutes up the road. We crossed the last few rivers together, and arrived back at camp just in time to spend a few hours sitting in the hot pool, sipping whisky and talking shite.


Yours truly warming up with a well-earned brew before going for a bath


In the tub



Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUofDUM5Cgk&t=304s
 
Superb write-up and photographs - thanks for taking the time to put this together.

(And excellent grammar too - are you sure you belong on here? :thumb)
 
Superb write-up and photographs - thanks for taking the time to put this together.

(And excellent grammar too - are you sure you belong on here? :thumb)

I is well edukatid. Init

I should reiterate - the majority of the pics aren't mine, so I can't take credit for their quality.
 


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