Day 10. Friday
Breaking camp earlier than usual, we retrace our steps along the track to Bolungarvik. The café that we were aiming for wasn’t open yet, so we continued on the tarmac to Isafjordur and the same petrol station as yesterday. Whilst the bathroom was being over utilised, I got chatting, over the coffee machine, to a couple who were on holiday from their native Switzerland. Turns out she is originally from Wengen, near Interlaken, and whereas she doesn’t actually know my cousin, she has seen his van with the skydiving graphics! Small world! (but I wouldn’t want to paint it)
Our route for today is to follow the now redundant mountain road to the West towards Flateyri. Since the opening of the Vestfirdir tunnel it seems very few people have used the old road beyond its highest point at 620m. Before this there were signs of life, after it less so. Rockfalls had been left where they stood creating a slalom course down the mountain. On the lower slopes there was evidence of some small scale quarrying going on, and a diversion leading back to the tarmac below. Tim wanted to follow the old route though, which was looking more and more like a trials section. Followers of the sport will be familiar with “The pipeline”, a rocky hillclimb in the Scottish. This was downhill, but equally rocky. Steve and Geoff decided to take the diversion, unfortunately I had now followed Tim so far that turning back was harder than pressing on. As he came to a halt for a breather, I carried on, relying on line choice and momentum, and no small amount of footwork, to eventually get to the clearer path beyond. The track was so little used that the exit wasn’t obvious, so I was glad to eventually reach the main road again. By now I was keen to remove some layers, as I was sweating from the exertion, and a frisson of fear! I didn't take any pictures worth adding, so unless Tim has some you will have to imagine it.
Pulling up at a café in Flateryi, Tim pointed out some of the interesting little quirks of the village, which I had a wander around after coffee. Then we had another track to explore. This went up towards the top of the cliffs to the North, just outside the village. As the track became more overgrown, and steeper we came to a gate. Steve and Geoff opted to stay here, while we clambered up an increasingly difficult path. As we climbed the vegetation thinned out making it easier to see, but looser under tyre. Momentum was the key, if you stopped it would be difficult to get going again. Eventually we came to a rockfall that blocked the path upwards to anything other than a mountain goat. Fridge sized rocks also blocked another path to the left, that wasn’t marked on the map or satnav. We would be going no further. The descent could be too much fun if you let the bike get away from you, but it proved uneventful and we were soon back with Geoff and Steve.
You shall not pass.
Retracing our steps we then headed South on tarmac, over the base of another peninsula, before turning North West onto a single track tarmac road. This led past quite a large hotel before changing to gravel. The hotel seemed a little out of place, as there didn’t seem to be anything around to justify its existence. The track however was a gem, 25 km of winding twisting switchbacks, climbing up to 520m before descending again to shore level at a pretty little cove.
After a break here, we unfortunately had to ride back the same route. Damn!
I spied my chance to take the front again and clean air. Halfway up I was stopped by two young lads in a small (rental?) 4x4, asking if the track led to a beach they could drive on. Yes, it led to a beach, but whether they could drive on it, who knows.
After a thoroughly enjoyable half hour on gravel, then another half hour on tarmac around the shoreline, we arrived at Pingeyri. This was our destination for the night, but first fuel, and to stock up for the evening. As we were drinking coffee at the petrol station we could see where we had just ridden from on the other side of the water. Two Dutch guys in a Land Rover 90 came over for a chat, surprising us with the fact that they washed their car three times a day. Weirdos.
The campsite was at the back of a swimming pool and leisure complex, with excellent showers and a communal kitchen. There is a mock up Viking settlement next door, in memory of Gisli, one of the famous warriors from the Iceland Sagas. This does sound like a Jeremy Kyle show when you read about it, but in the 10th century I suppose things were very different. One of the staff came out to ask us to pay at the swimming pool, and to let us know that they are filming Iceland’s strongest man there at the moment if we want to watch. We would, but Tim has promised us a trail ride before supper.
I have seen pictures of this ride before, so am looking forward to it. We have set up camp, so the bikes are lighter and more manageable without camping gear. Tim leads us to the start of the track running anticlockwise around the end of the peninsula, then nods at me to lead. “Off you go, but be careful!”
Heeding his warning, which the reason for soon become obvious, I make my way around the twists and turns that have been cut into the side of the cliff. This was once a goat track, and someone drove a bulldozer down it to make it wider. It is only one lane wide for the majority of its length, with fresh air to the right hand side. This helps restrain any foolishness!
As the track turns more westerly, there land is flatter, but there is still the odd place to catch anyone riding too quickly. In a picturesque little cove there is a camper van, a wild camp spot for future, and two young lads jumping off ledges into the sea. We wait while one of them sets himself up for a backflip, which he pulls off to a round of applause. Around the corner is their car, I’m sure it’s the ones that asked me about driving on the beach.
As we ride further, as well as admiring the scenery, I’m starting to get worried. I’m wandering, and don’t feel connected to the bike. I slow down and try to concentrate more. Is this dehydration, general tiredness, hunger, sensory overload? Combination of the above?
I make a concerted effort to empty my camelback as I potter along, and then around the next bend my attention is taken by the sight of the track dipping to the waterline. Here is the undercut cliff that we had seen in previous photos, and heard so much about. After taking a few pictures we had a break, and I dug the packet of trail mix from my rucksack for what would hopefully be a quick energy boost.
Something did the trick , as I felt fine afterwards. Crossing the stretch of large rounded stones was pretty easy on the lighter bikes, I think a laden GS might find it challenging though. We turned off onto a minor track which started climbing up the sides of a fairly steep valley. Ten minutes of a little more technical riding saw us at 550 m, aiming for a saddle between two peaks. Tim was stood at the side of the track, so I took it that we were going to stop here. Just as well, as there was a blind right here that could have spoiled your day. The view was breathtaking, and my pictures do not convey this, unfortunately.
Surreal moment came when I heard a text notification on my phone, and was surprised to find I had better signal here than I do at home. The text was from my daughter, so I rang her back briefly, then my father.
“How’s Grimmy getting on?” he asked.
“Oh good, back to normal.” I said.
“Grimmy was never normal.” he replied.
Andy was still chuckling at this comment as we started our descent, a brilliant trail ride back down to Pingeyri on a mixture of surfaces. Just before the camp site I diverted to call at the petrol station we had been to earlier. Missed by me, the others had picked up a couple of cans of beer each to wash our meal down with. When I went in and asked for beer, the woman behind the counter said they don’t sell beer. Now I’m confused. I see the cans and point them out.
“Oh, that’s not beer,” she says “that’s pilsner”
Turns out it is low alcohol, and it’s all I’m going to get at this time of night without going into a bar.
It did a satisfactory job of washing the dust from my throat, after one of the best day's riding I've had for some time.
Tim pondering tomorrows route back at the campsite