Iceland 2019. Andy's rehabilitation tour.

Day 6 + just a few pics to add to Mark's

Others from earlier trips will recognise this, I always seem to stop here!

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On the more technical track Mark mentioned I made a mental note not to bring any big bikes this way as poor Geoff had taken a tumble.

Horsey pics

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We'd run out of time to take the big detour Dori had suggested, that would have to wait.. for now.

At our camp I had a good soak in a one of the hot pools, feeling rejuvenated we could turn our thoughts to the rattle that had developed on Jamie's bike.

It was here we met a young German lad, Sam who had been living in Iceland for 3 years finding work wherever he could and now lived on a farm in the West Fjords......he had a Yamaha WR450 but knew very little about bikes and planned to ride it home this year. His naivety and enthusiasm was endearing, so arranged to meet up in a couple weeks so he could join us old timers for some trail riding, he was so excited!

Time for bed

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This trip looks rubbish.

Please don't post any more.
 
Sorry Spout, but the good news is there won't be any more from me after this for a couple of days. Off to collect the bikes tomorrow!
My photos for the next day were all marred by something on the lens of my camera, so I hope Tim's are up to scratch. :green gri

Day 7. Tuesday
The late revellers got up pretty early and had packed up and left before we did. Made for quite a wait for the bathroom. Jamie’s bike wouldn’t start, so while he adjusted the tappets, Andy and I rode on to the petrol station around 15km away to see if I could find replacement bulbs. A couple of young tour guides came over to admire the bikes and we had a chat until they had to take their passengers off on their adventures. The other four bikes arrived shortly after, and with them fuelled up we set off North, on the opposite side of the fjord. Over 100km of fast hardpack, sometimes tarmac, led us to Holmavik and the Icelandic sorcery and witchcraft museum.

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The cafe there was to be our lunch stop. The fish soup was very tasty, albeit a bit lacking in fish? I would have had a look round the museum, but Tim had promised us some stunning scenery that afternoon.
Sure enough, a cold but clear afternoon saw us hugging the coastline on a mixture of tarmac and gravel tracks. Around an hour later though, Jamie called a halt. His bike had started to vibrate badly. He daren’t switch it off in case it wouldn’t start again. As we were heading out into the middle of nowhere, he opted to ride back to a campsite at Holmavik to investigate, where at least he would be near civilisation. Hopefully it would be something simple, and we would be able to meet up again the next day. Tim’s promise came good as we rode around another 100 km of coastline, the landscape more dramatic around every corner.

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What you doing chaps?

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Oh, nothing.....

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Djupavik, a small fishing village at the head of a small inlet, looked rather familiar. The rotting hulk of a fishing boat , the concrete walls of the processing plant, and the waterfall backdrop. (None of which came out on my camera.) It had been nagging me for a while, until the other night, when virtual step daughter persuaded us to watch "Justice league" again. Lo and behold, this is where Bruce Wayne meets Aquaman. It also houses the Hotel Dujupavik.

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This quirky hotel serves free coffee to travellers, so we had stopped to avail ourselves of this. We were met by a very “manish” woman who seemed to be in charge, she having a distinct Adam’s apple, and fairly wide shoulders. When Steve told her he was a Master Baker, she replied that she had been looking for one of those. Needless to say we didn’t stay too long! The track from here clung to the sides of the fjord, with twists and turns and elevation changes aplenty. Great riding, just watch the edges! Turning inland to cross a peninsula and through some mist/low cloud we carried on to Nordur, where there was a marina with fuel. Tim rang Jamie to see how he had got on. The news wasn’t good. He had found a collapsed cam follower bearing, but only part of it. Even if he could get the parts (unlikely), open engine surgery on a campsite with limited tools wasn’t something he fancied. He had made arrangements for the bike to be collected the next day, his trip over. We were all absolutely gutted for him.
Backtracking a few km we turned away from one coastline, rode over a short steep hill then back down to the shore on the other side. Following the track through an abandoned factory we skirted the edge of the fjord on a track which got gradually less used and rougher. Another Arctic fox ran in front of Tim and disappeared into the rocks. After what seemed an age, a house appeared, with a couple of cars outside. Surely they don’t use this track? A river crossing stopped us. Tim said the track continued for a couple of miles, then just ended. The land North of us was uninhabited. We were pondering the wisdom of trying to cross the river to explore this track, as a drone flew overhead. A drone? Must be from the house checking us out.
Consensus of opinion was to camp near the beach a little further back. Tim walked up to the house to check that it was ok, and the owner pointed out the toilet block they had put in with fresh water. There was an “honesty” box inside for payment, whatever you felt it was worth.
Four of us pitched on the grass, but one of us wanted to be nearer to the sea. This annoyed the Arctic Terns, who were there first.

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Non avian annoyiance camping.

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Avian annoyance camping. Steve's jacket made a lousy scarecrow.

We thought it was funny, until we realised that walking from the tents to the toilets also attracted airborne assault.
“Squawk!” said the Tern.
“F*ck off!” said all of us

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Tim, keeping a close eye on his coffee cup.
Mossie nets were necessary again.

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Apparently they attack the highest point?
.
An American hiker appeared, who was on a 60km solo hike South, having been dropped off by boat. When he claimed not to have any cash for the campsite, Steve good naturedly tore him to shreds about the amount of expensive gear he was carrying. He didn’t stay, and we later found out that it was his drone we had seen. His you tube video here.

https://youtu.be/6A5HY7hDeQA

Surprised we didn’t feature, thought we might have been a highlight? Does give some insight into the scenery, even if he was a tool.
Mark
 
Day 7 a few photos to add to Mark's

In fact an identical one

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We got to this point when I pulled off the track and down to what appeared a perfect wild camp spot which Geoff was very keen on, I suggested we still had a long way to go and the camp would be even better......I hoped!

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By the time we'd got here the guilt of moving on was overwhelming and I apologised to Geoff and said we could go back to the previous spot but as ever Geoff's a top guy and was up for what I had in mind.

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One advantage of stopping off at the lovely Dupavik Hotel is free coffee, I've stayed overnight there on two occasions and written about the place in previous ride reports but never have I seen a transvestite as one of the managers.
Bakerman told him/her he was a baker, 'she' replied in a gruff voice " I've been looking for a masterbaker"

We beat a hasty retreat and headed north once more.

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I decided to have a sort of Robinson Crusoe night and camp next to the beach.
Four hard direct strikes in succession from the Arctic Terns on my head was enough, I carried a stick or something over my head after that!

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Bakerman was giggling as he took this photo (could be one of Gile's) of yet another attack.

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Suitably protected he took a wander down to the edge of where I camped.

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This is a special place up here and threatened by a proposed power plant which is quickly improving/ruining the trail to it.
I found out much more about the place 3 weeks later but after a walk around it was clear there had been a settlement here for a long time.

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I stayed up late drinking whisky, having a smoke and waiting for the sun to set.

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Day 7 a few photos to add to Mark's

In fact an identical one

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We got to this point when I pulled off the track and down to what appeared a perfect wild camp spot which Geoff was very keen on, I suggested we still had a long way to go and the camp would be even better......I hoped!

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By the time we'd got here the guilt of moving on was overwhelming and I apologised to Geoff and said we could go back to the previous spot but as ever Geoff's a top guy and was up for what I had in mind.

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One advantage of stopping off at the lovely Dupavik Hotel is free coffee, I've stayed overnight there on two occasions and written about the place in previous ride reports but never have I seen a transvestite as one of the managers.
Bakerman told him/her he was a baker, 'she' replied in a gruff voice " I've been looking for a masterbaker"

We beat a hasty retreat and headed north once more.

20190710_120236-01-XL.jpg


I decided to have a sort of Robinson Crusoe night and camp next to the beach.
Four hard direct strikes in succession from the Arctic Terns on my head was enough, I carried a stick or something over my head after that!

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Bakerman was giggling as he took this photo (could be one of Gile's) of yet another attack.

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Suitably protected he took a wander down to the edge of where I camped.

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This is a special place up here and threatened by a proposed power plant which is quickly improving/ruining the trail to it.
I found out much more about the place 3 weeks later but after a walk around it was clear there had been a settlement here for a long time.

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I stayed up late drinking whisky, having a smoke and waiting for the sun to set.

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Love that last photo!:bow:bow
 
Love that last photo!:bow:bow

The terns were clearly circling and waiting for their prey to return. They seemed to remember him 3 weeks later when he returned on our trip!!! :eek::D

Great write up guys, keep it coming.
 
Really enjoying the trip report and liked that YouTube clip, looks stunning there.
 
Day 8. Wednesday.
A bright sunny start, but as I am brushing my teeth in the sink, I hear a yelp and a stream of expletives. Andy shouts me, and as I step out of the door he is stumbling towards me, blood running down his face from a gash on his head!
“Christ, those Terns really are vicious!” I thought.
Erm, no. The clumsy sod had stood up to soon from underneath his tarp, and caught the underside of his handguard. I think I prefer the Tern story. My first aid kit gets plundered and he’s good to go.

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Breakfast, complete with protective headgear.

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"Why have we stopped?"
"Mark is still trying to take a decent picture."

Riding back the way we came and Tim sends me off first. We don’t see any stranded Americans, or the Arctic fox, but it is an idyllic morning. The track that was fun on the way here is even more so in reverse, and we are soon back at the Hotel Djupavik. Not because we of any other reason than the free coffee, honest! As we sat admiring the view, a truck stopped and blocked it. Typical. The staff, and some of the guests, then formed a human chain to unload it. I almost felt guilty enough to help. Almost.

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A couple of hours of fairly smooth swift riding sees us near to the junction where Jamie left us. Here Tim suggests adding a layer, as it we are climbing up to 450m, and it has always been cold on this particular stretch. Geoff curses as he realises his rucksack has been open all the way from Djupravik, and a bag containing his glasses and headphones is missing. Just then a Shogun pulls up behind us and one of the passengers gets out. “Does this belong to any of you?” he says, holding Geoffs bag. They saw us leave the Hotel, and then saw the bag on the floor.
Sure enough, it is cold as we climb. Tim turns off the tarmac onto a well used track, but then turns off again onto one that looks disused. As it wends its way down into a steep valley, the temperature rises so we all stop to shed the layers we added earlier. As we near the bottom I recognise a washed out bridge from pictures of Tim’s previous trips. Sure enough he is ready with the camera, so I am instantly on my guard!

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Smile for the observer/cameraman.


All across without incident we ride on to where there is an intact bridge over the now wider river. Tim and Andy take a track to the right, but both mine and Geoff’s satnavs suggest that it is a dead end. Sure enough, as we ride over the bridge and run parallel to the river, Tim and Andy are on the far bank looking for places to cross. There appear to be numbered fishing pitches along the bank, and one of these looks as though it could be fordable. I point this out to the hapless pair and moments later we are all on the same side. 20km of fast, dusty tracks lead us to the shore of another fjord, and a bank of sea fog. This is quickly passes thankfully, and after half an hour of following the shore, we ride into the Hotel at Rekjanes for fuel and lunch. The Hotel looks as though it was modelled on a Russian Gulag, but it has good food, beer, a campsite, and a geothermal swimming pool. The manager has a very highly specced pick up, and encyclopaedic knowledge of where you can and can’t go. He also has a garage full of “toys” as he described them, with a wry smile. All this leads us to decide we’ll stay here tonight. The manager pointed out that the “keep out” sign on the lower level of the campsite didn’t apply to us, giving us first choice of the best plot.

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After pitching the tent, I did a spot of bike maintenance, swapping the filter skin, topping up the oil (100ml), adjusting the chain etc. Nothing loose, my head light bodge having worked perfectly. Tyres are starting to show signs of wear now.

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With the essentials done, into the shower, then into the pool. Steve makes the sensible move of calling at the bar first, and comes to the pool beer handed. I decide that swimming in a hot pool is too much like hard work after two lengths, and so follow everyone else’s example and float or sit on the benches set into the sides.
Leaving before I turned too prune like, I also took the opportunity to get some washing done. Sure enough, by 9.00, as we were sat around our tents finishing off the beers and talking rubbish, the campsite and the pool had both filled up.
Mark
 
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Smile for the observer/cameraman.

Mark

Armaggeddon Bridge! :eek::D

at least it was as we were going in the opposite direction. You look like you've taken a completely different line off to the side? Is that some wiley old fox trials experience coming into play :rob :D
 
Armaggeddon Bridge! :eek::D

at least it was as we were going in the opposite direction. You look like you've taken a completely different line off to the side? Is that some wiley old fox trials experience coming into play :rob :D

I’m gutted I didn’t do that again. I hope I one has the audacity to repair that bridge.
 
Day 8 ..........but not much to add

Other than a great days riding

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The old lane Andy and I had a look at was suggested by a local offroader who obviously hadn't been there for a long time.
A proper sunken lane in places reminded me more of a Welsh trail, boggy and right in the middle of it lived the only tree in the valley which for my heavier bike did cause me to break into a bit of a sweat!
In places it was hard to make out where the trail was but eventually it lead to the same river the others had crossed by bridge, luckily for us it was more shallow at the crossing point and Mark who could see the exit from his end rode down to show us the way out.

A great soak in the hot outdoor pool and all was right with the world.
 
Day 9. Thursday
Breakfast in the hotel seemed like a good idea, but it wasn’t. Hoping for a full English I was disappointed with a fairly meagre continental. Ah well.
A last chat with the manager, and Andy is wondering why they go to so much trouble with their vehicles, when going “off piste” isn’t allowed? Sensitive habitat means transgressors are severely punished. Turns out they can drive wherever they like, when the ground has enough snow cover to support them. Makes perfect sense now.
We were waved away by a coach load of tourists, quite why I don’t know. Tarmac, up and down fjords for an hour before we stop on a small headland famous for its seal colony, and homemade jam. There are only a couple of seals visible, and my zoom isn’t good enough. They were probably all keeping their heads down to avoid the drone that someone kept flying over them.

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More fjords follow, and I’m just admiring the earthmoving machinery cutting a wider road over a low saddle between two inlets, when I spot a commotion at the shoreline. There are a pair of whales right up against the beach where people are taking photos. For about the hundredth time I wish I had room for a SLR.

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Pressing on to catch the others I find them stopped at the side of the road a few km further, where there is another whale. We watch for a few minutes, hoping for a better view, until it’s bubble trail heads back the way we came.

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Rounding the next headland we can see a P&O cruise ship anchored in the middle of the fjord, and Isafjordur on the opposite shore. This is a fairly large town by Islandic standards, and for the first time since we left Rekjavik there are groups of houses built in the same style. A bit too regular. There are older houses in the centre that look typical of towns we have seen before though.
Commandeering a corner of a petrol station we fill the bikes, ourselves, and panniers from the nearby supermarket. Tim has an electrical issue, the feed to his instruments keeps cutting out, so he has the spanners out. An older American bloke, from the cruise ship, comes over to talk. He’s envious of our bikes, the trip, and our youth (?) He has had to buy a scooter back in the States, as he can’t manage a bike any more. The cruise was the cheapest way for him to get to his ultimate destination, Ireland, where he hopes to look up his ancestry. Interesting guy.
Further North and the original coast road is closed, a couple of km tunnel having been built. At least I now have a headlight, but only five exhausts bark off the walls. At the next village we turn inland onto a wide gravel track, and then onto a long zig zag track cut into the side of a 600m mountain. The drop from the edges of this track are precipitous, so no feet up drifting around the hairpins! (well certainly not from me!) At the top is an ex US radar station, now Icelandic controlled, hence the well groomed road. We have the benefit of a clear day, so the views are spectacular over the uninhabited area of the Westfjords and the sea towards Greenland. The cliffs on this side are even worse than the side of the road we just came up. Vertigo sufferers would not like it.

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That is a long way down!

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No one lives over there.

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We are headed thataway.

Carefully making our way back down we then took a twenty minute ride on a great little track to a small cove. Here there were a couple of beach huts and a flat grassy expanse overlooking the sea. It’s still early afternoon, but it looks like a great spot to camp. Geoff has already nodded off (resting his eyes) lying next to his bike. So camp we do. This is the most Northerly we have been, just marginally higher than Sigulfjordur. Not quite into the Arctic circle though, that would involve some swimming.

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Andy and I went for a walk up the river to work up an appetite, attempting to get to a waterfall tumbling down from the opposite side of the valley. Geography not being our strong point, perhaps we should have crossed the river at the bridge near where we had camped first? “Opposite side of the valley” being a big clue. Without getting wet, we had no option other than retrace our steps.
It had worked though, we were hungry. Breaking out the lamb steaks we had picked up in the supermarket, Andy’s frying pan was soon getting another hammering. A small dog appeared out of nowhere and took great interest in our feast. We threw it some of the scraps to keep it occupied while we balanced the pans, as we could only cook a small amount at a time.
Shortly after, a family walked down to the river and the dog followed them. Their young daughter, wearing a wetsuit several sizes too large for her, spent a noisy half hour leaping off a ledge into the river. She would then climb out squealing, run up and do it all over again. We had already tested that water, it was freezing! About an hour later another family turned up in a car, to do exactly the same thing. Popular pastime in these parts.

At around 2.00 in the morning I awoke to the sound of voices. I was sure one was Tim, so stuck my head out of the tent to have a look. Steve had his back to me, and it looked as though he was covered in blood! Climbing out it soon became obvious that the sunset had painted everything red.

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One of my favourite photos of the trip.
Mark
 
Day 9 a few more.

I seem to have made it a habit to always buy homemade Blueberry Jam from here

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There's a myth that from here looking west it's possible to see Greenland, it's too far away to really see it but in certain conditions an image of land can be refracted above the horizon.
In the background is the western edge of uninhabited region named Hornstrandir, a couple of days ago we had been on it's eastern coast.

I've researched a possible route to part of it and a local offroader believes it may be feasible since a few years ago they needed to drive a dozer over to the otherside ......so if a dozer can get there, with the right bikes and some planning hmmmm.....

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Geoff contemplates how one big step can change so many things.

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And rehearses how it would be

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The well made road but no place for heroics.

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An idyllic camp.....until Andy starts snoring and the benefits of a free standing tent mean I can easily move it later in the evening :)

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Although Geoff's caught with his pants down I'm sure he's glad not to have taken that leap off the cliff earlier.

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It's pretty impossible to see here this is home to hundreds of sea birds. I sat and watched for hours, later as the sun was setting there was a lot of noise and they all came in to the beach for the night.

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It's a stunning evening again

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Worthy of a little 'edit' ;)

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Great ORR, wish I had been there!
Maybe next year.........
 
Stunning! :bow

I’m gonna have to make it on to one of these trips before it’s too late. :thumb2
 
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.
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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.

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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.

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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!

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Tim pondering tomorrows route back at the campsite
 


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