Iceland 2019. Andy's rehabilitation tour.

Day 10 ......a bit more

The disappointment at the first cafe we came being closed in the morning wasn't only because I'd miss out on another coffee but more because Andy "really" needed a dump, he would have to wait a little longer

I'd asked everyone I could think of if it was still possible to take the old road out of Isafjordur and had looked at it each time I'd been that way, some said maybe, others mentioned a rockfall and landslides blocking but as Mark mentioned, it was possible on a bike but certainly not with 4 wheels.
What Mark thankfully didn't mention, possibly because he was in front at the time was me looking at the scenery, hitting a big rock and ending up on my arse!
Andy came to the rescue and somehow helped pick the bike up without taking a photo. Result!

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Mark near the end of the old road

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The second and unsuccessful track Mark mentioned had been described to me by several locals over the past couple of years and I was desperate to try and get to the top as from there the whole peninsular is flat and we'd be able to get some great views. Locals describe the tops of many of these big fingers of land in the West Fjords as being cut with a cheese wire. It wasn't to be.....this time.....I say this time because I've since been told of another way up there :)

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Another great dirt road brought us to this remote spot. I believe it's here where one woman lives in totals isolation for 3 months during winter.

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Heading back

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Round the head of the Fjord to Pingeyri and Bakerman drops his ice cream but that's not going to stop him

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Evening trail to follow :beerjug:
 
Day 10 .....later

We've already had a 'pretty full day' but the next trail must be ridden in reasonable weather and it was set to deteriorate the following day, so we pitched tents away from the main campsite and set off.

I've described this trail in detail on previous reports so will just add a few photos. The trail now though has been slightly improved and widened in places for I presume safety reasons!

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Andy, well and truly rehabilitated!

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Mark with a BIG smile

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My sweetheart

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Day 11. Saturday.
A gloomy looking morning, we broke camp and then headed into the village for coffee. An old Norwegian house has been converted into a coffee shop called Simbahollin, which does amazing waffles. Tim was having trouble with his phone, but their wifi sorted that out while we chilled for an hour.

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On the way out there was a track up to the radio masts, which gave a great view of where we had camped last night. In some places the track sloped away on either side, and the illusion that it was narrower than it was gave cause for concern, but everyone got up, and down safely.

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That's where we camped, down on that pointy bit!

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And that's the way we rode back from the coast ride last night.

The main road South was well graded gravel, and climbed quickly up to nearly 550m. The cloud started at 300m though, so reduced visibility, water droplets on your visor, and unbelievably, dust from the vehicle in front conspired to make it a cautious ride. I noticed a Skoda estate at the side of the road, and my spidey senses tingled. Sure enough, he pulled out just before I got to him, completely oblivious to my approach. Just as I was thinking of gunning it past him, a Swiss GS passed us both, making me jump. So much for my spatial awareness!
Turning left along the side of a fjord a waterfall was visible at the far end, which Tim and Geoff had both warned us was far bigger than it looks from afar. The weekend had obviously brought out lots of tourist traffic, and as the road was none too wide, approaching coaches gave a few nervous moments.

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Go pro still, notice waterfall in the distance, and approaching 48 seater!

At a temporary bridge, a set of traffic lights changed to red just as we got there. Steve went to put his right foot down, but the leg of his waterproofs had slipped over his kickstart and he crashed to the floor. Trying not to laugh, although it must have really hurt, we helped right him and the bike whilst directing the traffic around us. Quick check that everything is ok, then he swings his leg over and bugger me if he doesn’t do it again!
Dynjandi is the name of the waterfall that we are heading for, and the car park is quite full when we get there.

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For scale, car park is to the right.

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The falls themselves are spectacular, as thousands of gallons of water cascade down the hillside. There is a path to get closer, but I am quite happy where we are. The bikes attract a lot of attention, including one wise guy that says “KTM’s, have any of them broke down yet?”
I wish a voodoo hex on him, hoping he hasn’t wished one on us. Leaving the falls behind us, we travel further South over some fast gravel roads, with plenty of turns and elevation changes to keep us occupied. The low cloud is ever present, and we are beginning to get filthy.

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Another waterfall, not quite as big!

Turning generally Northwest, we drop back down to sea level and follow the convoluted shore of the fjords towards Bidudalur. It has now started to rain, which at least washes the worst of the muck off. Tim pulls in at a small petrol station next to a cafe come grocery store, the Vegamot Bidudal. We claim one of the outdoor tables under an awning and sit down to eat. Geoff and I choose the blue cheese burger, while the others have fish and chips. The burger was excellent, but I’m envious of the fish and chips, especially when Steve asks the chef how he has made the batter. We stock up at the store for tonight’s meal, and there are cans of pilsner in the fridge cabinet. Chef, who is also the storekeeper, looks disdainfully at our choice.
“That is like, how you English say, piss!” he laughs, and offers us some Gull lager from under the counter. Better tasting, but significantly dearer. “Yes, it is expensive to drink here in Iceland!” he laughs again, as if we hadn’t sussed that out already.
Further West we go for another half an hour on a great track with the sea to our right. Past a beautiful yellow sandy beach, in a small cove, where the sand has blown onto the road in places. Nearing the end of the track is a small museum to an Icelandic artist, who made sculptures out of concrete. I’m not a great art fan myself (heathen, yes I know) so don’t take any pictures. We are intending to camp nearby, but the toilet block opposite is out of order. The water supply has burst somewhere, which is of more concern to us. Looking after the museum are three generations of one family, Mother, daughter and grandchild, who are there for a week on a voulantry basis. They are more than happy to fill our water bottles, and even offer us a slab of cake to take with us. A couple of hundred metres further on the track dwindles to nothing and we pitch camp. The rain has stopped, but the cloud is low over the cliffs inland. There is obviously quite a bird colony up there from the noise. We don’t get to see them though.

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Inadvertent selfie. Not my best look.
Mark
 
Day 12. Sunday
The lack of toilet facilities meant some “return to nature” type experiences for the majority of us. I just hope there was a high tide before anyone else walked on the beach.

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Stay away from small piles of rocks, with footprints leading to and from them!

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The clouds hadn’t lifted much in the night, so we still couldn’t see the top of the cliffs we had camped next to. Making our way back towards Bidudalur it did at least start to get brighter, so better opportunities for photos.

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So, how was the beach Geoff?

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Turning inland again, we headed Southwesterly on a tarmac road that climbed swiftly up to a peak of around 500m, before dropping back down to sea level again. This of course means bends, and the edges of the knobblies got a little more hammer than usual. Towards the top there was what looked like a track leading off to the right, but it soon petered out to nothing. Great views of where we had just come from though.

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We turned to ride through Talknafjordur and back on to gravel, Northwesterly this time. After a few kilometres Tim turned up a nonedescript path which led to a small hot pool. There was a campervan parked nearby, with an elderly couple who had obviously been in the pool, and had done all their washing in the outlet. This was strung on a line from the wing mirror.
All bar Andy we dumped our bike gear to go for a soak. Etiquette requires showering first, and I am having a quick swill under the very hot water. Steve decides it’s too cold stood outside in his shorts and announces that he is joining me. All very innocent I assure you, and no, nobody dropped the soap!
Andy is on the phone, and the rest of us are enjoying the peace and quiet when a car rolls up. Out clamber Mum, Dad and their two young children to splash about. Then another car, with a family of three. Starting to get a bit full. I had spotted a small yacht near to the shore as we rode up, and lo and behold six people in full sailing gear walk up and start to get changed. As they were getting into the pool, I thought it about time that I got out. It was starting to get a bit human soup like in there. The small changing room reflected the diversity of the guests, with a very strange collection of clothing!
Refreshed, we headed back round the fjord and South across the foot of the peninsula to Patreksfjordor. Here we stopped for fuel for both bikes and ourselves. The diner staff seemed a little surly, and the coffee took ages to refill. Perhaps we had caught them on a bad day? With no other alternatives close by we sat down to eat. This time I went for the fish and chips, but I wish I hadn’t.
After stocking up for tonight’s campsite at the grocery store in Patreksfjordur, we set off South again. Tim had been told of a place called Raudisandur, Red Sands, that he felt we should explore. On the way, we passed one of the tourist landmarks, a beached fishing boat.

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The signboard tells of the history of the vessel, launched in Norway in 1912 it was originally a whaler, then a Herring fishing boat, and passed through several hands until being deemed unseaworthy in 1981. I have seen many pictures of this boat before, and make no apology for adding mine.
Continuing on towards Raudisandur, the road crosses another ridge at 360m, but it does it on the most glorious of gravel switchbacks. We had some fun riding over them! The Red sands are actually golden, and aside from that, there was little to do. That meant we had to ride back! Excellent!

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Retracing our route past the fishing boat we joined a tarmac road Eastwards for half an hour to Engey and the ferry port. The coffee shop opposite the harbour sells the tickets, and endless coffee, and gradually filled up with fellow travellers. A fine drizzle had started as the ferry appeared on the horizon, looking no bigger than the beached one we had just passed. Turns out it isn’t small, it was just far away, as numerous vehicles pile in for the trip South. We are leaving the West Fjord region and cutting out a lot of tarmac, sailing to the Western region at Stykkisholmur. (Go on then, how would you pronounce it?)

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In the queue to board, Steve’s bike won’t start, and after trying to kickstart it fruitlessly for a few minutes, he pushes it down the ramp. The crew hand us ratchet straps with the instructions to fasten them to the sides of the hold. With the bikes secure we set ourselves up round a table for the three hour trip, with a short stop at the island of Flatey. More passengers board here, they all seem rather damp. Looking outside it seems the drizzle has turned to heavy rain. As the tannoy announces that its time to return to your vehicles, one of the crew looks at us in our bike gear and says “Good luck!” with the kind of smile that suggests we’ll need it.
Steve’s bike starts without fuss, and we ride out into the now persistent downpour. Our first call is at the nearby campsite to get water for tonight. Rather ironic, given the quantity falling from the sky. Bottles and camelbacks filled, but Steve’s bike won’t start again. After he’s kicked it over for a few minutes, I offer to have a go. His kickstart is at a funny angle though, and your foot slips off before you have given it a full swing. Closer inspection reveals that the base of the lever has split, so it is next to useless. Trying to bump start it doesn’t work, and Steve at least gives us all a laugh as the famous waterproofs slide down to his ankles as he runs. Our only option is to swap my kickstart, which I am a little concerned about. I have had mine loctited on, as the bolt had vibrated loose before now. Taking it off breaks the bond, but we don’t really have an option. My toolbag zip jammed, as a combination of dust and water had got between the teeth. I managed to fix that, swapped the kickstart onto Steve’s, which started after a team kicking effort, put all the tools away, and then my bike wouldn’t start. I’d left my phone plugged in to charge, not expecting us to take so long, and it had taken just enough juice out to mean I needed my kickstart back. Because I have been doing this with my helmet off, water has now seeped down my neck.I think I may have had a sense of humour failure at this point. Tim has seen this phenomenon before, and was backing away, out of toy throwing range. I put the kickstart back on mine, hoofed it into life and went to put the ratchet with the allen key socket in my pocket for future use. Only the socket was missing. Thankfully it had only fallen on the floor next to the bike. I went to put my gloves back on, but they are saturated with the water that has run down into the lining.
“Oh well” I said.
Or something similar.
I thought I had heard it was only five minutes to where we were wild camping, so I stuffed the gloves in my pocket and rode without. Thirty five rather nervous minutes later, in the darkest light all trip, on very wet roads, with no gloves on. Not ideal. The rain eases as we head into another lave field, and thankfully stops in time to throw the tents up. My sense of humour is restored by the prospect of food and soon all is well with the world again.
Mark
 
Day 11..... a tiny bit more

Steve and his infamous waterproof trousers

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Following a good days riding gravel roads we wild camp at the end of my favourite Fjord.

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Day 12 .... additional

The morning cloud lingers on the mountains

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Onwards in the morning

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I call this photo the six old wrecks (not including riders and captain)...NB. Mark's awful jokes seem to be rubbing off on me :D

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We needed a proper wash so at the hot pool over looking the fjord it's mandatory to take a shower before shedding debris in the pool but Mark hadn't banked on Steve joining him...........or had he?

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After a stunning gravel switchback road it's time for the beach.

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It's Sunday, although not being a bunch of God Botherers we go to church.

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Heading back and it's clear from Andy's body language on the bike he's well and truly rehabilitated :beerjug:

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On board the ferry to Stick is Holmur (Mark ;) ) Steve gets another cigar reading for the passage.

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After the incidents Mark described involving pissing rain, two flat batteries, a broken kick start and Steve's waterproofs falling down we make another wild camp in a lava field at around 11.30pm.

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I read every Iceland report every year and they just blow my mind, what an amazing country and incredible scenery. I done a solo Spanish Pyrenees TET trip a few weeks back when the temperature hit the mid 40s but I really want to do one of these 'cooler ' trips with a small group at some point...5 seems like a good number.

I have to ask Mark something, do you have a total recall memory ( altitude, distance, place names, how long you stopped etc ) or do you just keep a very detailed diary ?? Bloody impressive detail :D

Mike.
 
I have to ask Mark something, do you have a total recall memory ( altitude, distance, place names, how long you stopped etc ) or do you just keep a very detailed diary ?? Bloody impressive detail :D

Mike.

Thanks for the kind words Mike. I do have scribbled notes, more photos than are shown here, go pro footage, and maps to remind me. I do have a strange memory, I can remember every turn and bump of a special stage, but not what I was supposed to do when I get home. Great memory for faces, but shit with names. :nenau
As Tim has alluded to, I also recall really, really bad jokes.
Mark
 
Thanks for the kind words Mike. I do have scribbled notes, more photos than are shown here, go pro footage, and maps to remind me. I do have a strange memory, I can remember every turn and bump of a special stage, but not what I was supposed to do when I get home. Great memory for faces, but shit with names. :nenau
As Tim has alluded to, I also recall really, really bad jokes.
Mark

:D
Excellent :thumb2
 
Day 13. Monday
Up early, and tried to pack my gear away without it getting too wet. As I hadn’t been able to see much of the campsite last night I rode back a little way to take some photos. There had been a couple of camper vans in the prime spot when we arrived, that had just left. This is almost completely hemmed in by walls of solidified lava with a flat grassy base. One of the few times we were beaten to the best pitch.

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Heading Westwards on gravel for fifteen minutes, then onto tarmac. The road has been extended across the neck of Kolgrafarfjordur on a low earthworks with a bridge near the end, cutting out a few miles. This stretch is our first taste of the wind today, as it gusts across the open water. A few minutes later a tank bag cover whips past me doing its very best kite impersonation. Both Geoff and I u-turn to catch it, eventually pinning it down before returning it to Steve

At Grundarfjordur we pull in to the excellent visitors centre and café for coffee. Nearby is a small harbour which brings tourists in to visit the most photogenic mountain in Iceland, Kirkjufell. Sadly for them, and us, low cloud is hiding its magnificence today.
Caffeine levels restored we make ready to leave. The bikes do attract a good deal of attention, and today is no exception. An American couple ask us about our trip, and how we fare on the roads. They wish us good luck and ask if we would like to swap for their hire car. An older Austrian lady is admiring the bikes, and tells us how much her son at home would like to see them. We gather round for a picture, and Tim and I suggest she sits on his bike for a photo, to see what her son thinks of that. This makes her giggle like a schoolgirl, and she walks round each bike deciding which one she prefers. Geoff’s looks the biggest, and Andy’s the smallest . Funny how they can tell these things.
Yet again, there are waved away by a crowd as we set off further westward!
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Skirting the base of Kirkjufell, still shrouded in clouds despite the strong wind, we pass Kirkjufellsfoss. “Foss” means falls in Icelandic, and there is a coach parked at the side of the road and various hire cars jockeying for a parking space. Glad to be past them we cross a spit of land onto the North facing coast, only to get the brunt of the wind. Sitting on one side of my saddle, leaning into the wind, works for the prevailing but not the gusts. Not the most enjoyable 30 minutes riding sees us at Olafsvik, where we stop to refuel. The first petrol station we come to has an electrical issue and the pumps won’t work, but thankfully the next one is only down the road. Pressing on along the coast for another 20 minutes or so we turn South into the Snaefellsjokull National Park, home of the mountain and glacier of the same name. Apparently this is where Jules Verne started his “Journey to the Centre of the Earth”, through a passage in the side of the volcano. Tim says “Welcome to Mordor.”

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Misty mountain hop?

The wind abates slightly as we head inland and West, but as the cloud is at around 200m we won’t be seeing very much. The track peaks at 700m, where you should be able to see for miles around. Not today though. As we climb the wind returns with a vengeance, bringing with it horizontal rain. There is a point on my go pro footage where I am laughing maniacally in my helmet. This is not because I have remembered a joke, this is laughing in the face of appalling riding conditions. This is battling the elements, and by simply being there, I am winning. We pass a couple of hikers, who give us a round of applause. I would have applauded them, had I not had bars in my hands that needed to be kept straight. After 15 minutes of this, which felt a lot longer, Tim stopped at a junction which was doing an impersonation of a river.

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Photo credit Timolgra.

Here we turned more Southerly, and we climbed over the highest point past banks of grubby snow. As we started to descend, the wind dropped but the cloud closed in, giving visibility of a few metres. I was glad someone else was leading, and simultaneously felt sorry for them. Half an hour later we rode out of the cloud and down to Arnarstapi, a huge sense of achievement for all of us. Sounds silly typing it now.
There is a touristy feel to the place, fast food vans and coaches, so just like the tourists we are we dive into fish and chips, with free coffee!

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To counter the high adrenaline levels we go for a walk to the nearby cliffs to watch the sea battering the lava formations, past the statue of Bardur. This the mythical half man, half troll who was supposedly the first settler of the area. Looked like Gimli the dwarf to me, another “Lord of the Rings” reference.
Tim warned us that it was a tarmac slog for 120 km to our campsite for the night at Borgarnes. First East, then South, with very little traffic to bother us. The bikes probably didn’t enjoy sitting at constant throttle for long periods, but none of them showed any ill effects. My seat had the longest period with my arse on it for the whole trip, and proved it was worth the money!

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A pretty little campsite on the shores of a tidal lagoon is our destination. Steve makes the mistake of pitching just off the hardstanding, while Tim claims the high ground on a grassy knoll. Andy and I make a quick run to the nearby supermarket to stock up for what is to be our last night under canvas.
Mark
 
Perhaps the guilt of more bike problems the previous evening in the rain prompted Steve/Bakerman to cook breakfast for us... ......but I doubt it.
Apart from being a caring and generous soul he also knows the way to a man's heart and that's through his belly. I don't know how he does it, but he has a knack of turning a bacon and eggs roll into a feast :drool

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With full bellies we battle our way along the north coast of the Snaefellsnes Peninsular in strong crosswind stopping for coffee in Grundarfjordur.

We take my preferred trail over the end of the peninsular which 'should'... no....'could' reveal some stunning views.
We turn inland and begin climbing, it's going to be grim!

It is.........(Mark will get the pun here, because it's so bad)

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We stop briefly at a junction where the visibility has improved to around 30m and suggest we all stay within close sight of each other. There's no one else up here and a problem up here could soon escalate.

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Although I've ridden this trail several times, it would be easy to become disorientated! I keep the speed right down peering into the gloom looking to keep on the track, for bends or even a 4x4 coming the other way with only the engine note letting me know if we were climbing or descending.

It takes an eternity for us to descend through the cloud and when we did the weather was fairly clear, dry and no wind!

There's a popular campsite nearby at Anastarpi where the last time I camped I knew we might get a coffee but now it's been developed for tourism so only a few minutes later we entered a whole new world.

....and could you believe it!?

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The coastline is stunning here but since my first visit it's become much busier with walkways and barriers to help prevent suicidal Chinese tourists taking selfies as they plummet into the sea :rolleyes:

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Had the weather been kinder we perhaps would have taken more trails but it wasn't to be so pressed to the lovely camp just outside Bourganes.

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Day 14. Tuesday
Icelanders like to party. Well the ones on the campsite certainly did! I woke a couple of times but at least managed to nod off again. Steve was less lucky, being only a couple of metres away from them.

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There had been light rain in the night so all our gear was packed away damp. Needless to say, we crept away from the campsite without creating any noise.
Taking the ring road South out of Borgarnes on a causeway across a stretch of open water we then turned off East. Tarmac for 15 minutes or so until Tim found us some gravel again. The track climbed gradually up to 425m giving us some great riding. In some places the surface was in need of grading, which of course made it more fun for us. After an hour or so of this, during which time we crossed from the Western to the Southern region, we rejoined the tarmac. After 20 minutes of following a sinuous single lane road we came out at the rear of the Pingvellir National Park visitor centre, where we piled in for coffee. Pingvellir is one of Iceland’s top tourist destinations, one of the few places on Earth where you can actually walk where two tectonic plates meet. It was also the site of the Worlds first Parliament, in 930 AD. As we were leaving this chap tuned up on his pushbike. Looks like hard work!

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Leaving the visitor centre via the main road we cross over the plate gap ourselves, not noticing any particular continental change. We then turn off to skirt the Western sure of the lake, Pingvallavatn. Turning off again we pass near to a Geothermal energy plant, and follow its pipeline on a brilliantly twisty tarmac road that climbs 200 m in a short space of time. Oh for Supermoto wheels and tyres! In complete contrast it then falls away again on an arrow straight road, directly West towards Rekjavik. We have a slight diversion, as Tim leads us onto some fast gravel tracks, past a picturesque lake where some arse has dumped their pizza box on the floor. I went to water the bushes and one of our lot had picked it up. From here it was a short ride into the suburbs of Rekjavik and the KTM dealership where Tim wanted to check up on a couple of things. We all had a good look at the new 790 parked outside, and a chat about it with the shop manager.

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All too soon though, it was time to head for the warehouse to drop the bikes off. Jamie’s stricken Husaberg was parked in a corner, along with the cases and bags we had left there a fortnight ago. Andy and I had both got a luggage allowance for the way home, so opted to take all our riding gear with us instead of leaving it on the bikes. We also stuffed our tents in the cases so they wouldn’t be left damp for weeks. I had a bit of a lump in my throat as I thanked Tim, as we had achieved everything we had set out to do in pretty comprehensive fashion. We pushed the bikes into their container line astern and left them to the tender mercies of the shipping crew. Except Tim’s of course, as he was due to meet trip two. While we are having a sandwich at the nearby cafe, a minibus pulls up. Steve asked him if he was free to take us to our hotel, which he was, and so we were whisked into the city centre.
After checking in, the receptionist mentioned that it was “happy hour” in the bar from 5.00. Guess what time we are all meeting up.
First order of business was a shower and a shave. I hadn’t bothered all trip and my bumfluff was getting annoying. After Steve mentioned hanging his tent up to dry in the room, Andy and I did the same, leaving puddles of water everywhere.
We convened in the hotel bar at 5.00 for pre dinner drinks, then at a nearby bar at 6.00 for dinner. Tim had walked back from his friends house for our last meal together.
In honour of mine and Andy’s early flight we said our goodbyes not long after 9.00, and had a dry run to find the bus stop. There had been some confusion as to where it was owing to road closures. Turns out it is only 15 minutes walk from the hotel. We booked a 4.00 am alarm call and enjoyed our first sleeping bag free beds for two weeks!
Thanks for reading
Mark
 
Day 14. Tuesday
Icelanders like to party. Well the ones on the campsite certainly did! I woke a couple of times but at least managed to nod off again. Steve was less lucky, being only a couple of metres away from them.

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There had been light rain in the night so all our gear was packed away damp. Needless to say, we crept away from the campsite without creating any noise.
Taking the ring road South out of Borgarnes on a causeway across a stretch of open water we then turned off East. Tarmac for 15 minutes or so until Tim found us some gravel again. The track climbed gradually up to 425m giving us some great riding. In some places the surface was in need of grading, which of course made it more fun for us. After an hour or so of this, during which time we crossed from the Western to the Southern region, we rejoined the tarmac. After 20 minutes of following a sinuous single lane road we came out at the rear of the Pingvellir National Park visitor centre, where we piled in for coffee. Pingvellir is one of Iceland’s top tourist destinations, one of the few places on Earth where you can actually walk where two tectonic plates meet. It was also the site of the Worlds first Parliament, in 930 AD. As we were leaving this chap tuned up on his pushbike. Looks like hard work!

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Leaving the visitor centre via the main road we cross over the plate gap ourselves, not noticing any particular continental change. We then turn off to skirt the Western sure of the lake, Pingvallavatn. Turning off again we pass near to a Geothermal energy plant, and follow its pipeline on a brilliantly twisty tarmac road that climbs 200 m in a short space of time. Oh for Supermoto wheels and tyres! In complete contrast it then falls away again on an arrow straight road, directly West towards Rekjavik. We have a slight diversion, as Tim leads us onto some fast gravel tracks, past a picturesque lake where some arse has dumped their pizza box on the floor. I went to water the bushes and one of our lot had picked it up. From here it was a short ride into the suburbs of Rekjavik and the KTM dealership where Tim wanted to check up on a couple of things. We all had a good look at the new 790 parked outside, and a chat about it with the shop manager.

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All too soon though, it was time to head for the warehouse to drop the bikes off. Jamie’s stricken Husaberg was parked in a corner, along with the cases and bags we had left there a fortnight ago. Andy and I had both got a luggage allowance for the way home, so opted to take all our riding gear with us instead of leaving it on the bikes. We also stuffed our tents in the cases so they wouldn’t be left damp for weeks. I had a bit of a lump in my throat as I thanked Tim, as we had achieved everything we had set out to do in pretty comprehensive fashion. We pushed the bikes into their container line astern and left them to the tender mercies of the shipping crew. Except Tim’s of course, as he was due to meet trip two. While we are having a sandwich at the nearby cafe, a minibus pulls up. Steve asked him if he was free to take us to our hotel, which he was, and so we were whisked into the city centre.
After checking in, the receptionist mentioned that it was “happy hour” in the bar from 5.00. Guess what time we are all meeting up.
First order of business was a shower and a shave. I hadn’t bothered all trip and my bumfluff was getting annoying. After Steve mentioned hanging his tent up to dry in the room, Andy and I did the same, leaving puddles of water everywhere.
We convened in the hotel bar at 5.00 for pre dinner drinks, then at a nearby bar at 6.00 for dinner. Tim had walked back from his friends house for our last meal together.
In honour of mine and Andy’s early flight we said our goodbyes not long after 9.00, and had a dry run to find the bus stop. There had been some confusion as to where it was owing to road closures. Turns out it is only 15 minutes walk from the hotel. We booked a 4.00 am alarm call and enjoyed our first sleeping bag free beds for two weeks!
Thanks for reading
Mark

:beerjug:
 
Well done for an excellent trip report.

Looks like it was a great trip & perfect for Andy to get his mojo back.
 
Well done Mark :beerjug:

Day 14 ...... a fraction more.

Still in bed I make coffee, open the tent and contemplate our last day together :(

The weather hadn't improved enough for getting back into the real wilds before heading into Reykjavik, besides we don't need any dramas on this last day.

But of course there's always time for a few more trails :bounce1

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Mark's already pretty much outlined our last day so we arrive back, the lads change into their civvies and I'm sure were soon to feel lost without their bikes.

It had been a wonderful trip with a laugh a minute.....whether that was polite laughter at Mark's awful jokes, Bakerman tripping over his waterproof trousers and so much more, Geoff's dry sense of humour and Andy...well he just laughs and smiles all the time.
I guess the only downside had been Jamie's bike failing before we'd really even got into the West Fjords.

So after almost 2000 miles of everything I could reasonably throw at a great bunch of friends who were up for everything I think the smiles say it all.

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Thanks Mark (and Tim) for taking the time to write that, a lot of effort goes into posting up a trip report so appreciated :)

As well as just fun to read it's been especially useful (as have previous Iceland write ups) as Amanda and I are off in a few weeks and covering off similar areas (in a 4x4) so thanks again ~ Tim, I can feel another call incoming soon........ :thumb

Andres
 


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