Iceland 2019. Andy's rehabilitation tour.

Warning: Word heavy!
A little bit of a back story first, if you just want to go straight to the trip report you can skip this bit!
It was around 37 years ago,1982, when I first met Andy. We were both racing AMCA motocross in the Greater Manchester centre, at a particularly snotty track, during a memorial race for a rider who had died of a heart defect. Only our class were eligible for this trophy, and I fancied my chances, until I got cross rutted at the end of a straight and fell off. I was riding a 500cc Armstrong (CCM), which was easy to start, if you got a full swing on the left hand kickstart. As where I had fallen was full of deep ruts, this became something of a struggle. Firstly to get the bike where I could get a full swing, and secondly to be able stand up at the side of the bike to do so. Adrenaline is a wonderful thing though, and I got the bike up and running. Just as I’m about to swing my leg back over, there came the unmistakable sound of an out of control two stroke. To be fair, if I had swung my leg over a millisecond earlier, I would have connected with his head. As it was he clipped my front wheel and down I went, again. Happily for our future friendship, I didn’t find out who it was until the next meeting!


Aforementioned Armstrong, on a dry day.

Since then we have done quite a lot together. We both packed up motocross within six months of each other, through injuries. Andy introduced me to water skiing, I introduced him to Jet skiing. We went on holiday together with our respective girlfriends, who then became our wives.



Gods we were young then!

We went to each others weddings, christenings, birthday parties, barbeques.. Kids, and kids activities meant we saw less of each other for a while, until I started enduro racing in the early 2000’s. Andy soon joined me, and we fell back into our previous pattern of weekends racing, with the odd hospital visit. As well as frequent green lane rides, we raced the original timecard events, multilap hare and hounds races, but our favourites were the UK rallies. It was at one of the events when he learnt of my impending divorce, one of the first people I told. He had often tried to persuade me to go with him touring in Europe, but at the time my wife and I didn’t do separate holidays (perhaps we should have?) .
“What’s your excuse now?” he asked.
That was early 2005. With the divorce settlement agreed, I went out and bought my first road bike, a shiny new 1200, and took him up on his offer. It was also when I joined this hallowed forum.



Andy is also a keen mountain biker, and for the last few years has been a regular on the Thursday night rides in Delamere Forest with myself and a group of others, some of whom are also motorcyclists.
On June 26th 2017 Andy rear ended a car whilst we were in the Dolomites, momentary lack of concentration severely punished. (see “Ill fated Alps trip” in the trip reports)His left arm was badly broken, but it also took out his mojo. The arm didn’t heal properly (still hasn’t) and resulted in early retirement from his job. His Triumph was written off, he sold his track day bikes, only keeping his KTM 530 because it was in bits in the garage.



He started cycling again to try and regain some fitness in the New Year, and re-joined the Thursday night group in March 2018. Soon we saw the initial caution give way and after a few weeks he was back to his normal self, flying down our usual trails with the rest of us. During our frequent chats, he admitted to a complete lack of interest in motorbikes, and even feeling anxious if one passed him on the road. This wasn’t right. One day he happened to mention that the only thing that he would have liked to have done was one of Tim’s trips to Iceland……….

I first met Tim when he was leading a TRF ride out in North Wales, probably late 2002/ early 2003. I spent most of the time trying to convince him that my race numbered Husaberg could be ridden at trail riding speed, and that I wasn’t just some hooligan looking for places to ride. I bumped into him again at Rhug, shortly after I bought the BM, and then more often through the forum. Following him round Morocco for three weeks in 2007 cemented our friendship, and we have ridden together in all manner of ways since. Roads, trails, classic trials etc. Andy has ridden with the pair of us more than once, so Tim was well aware that he was a kindred spirit.
So in around July of 2018, I rang Tim, and told him about Andy’s comment, and my idea for his “rehabilitation”.
“Hmm,” he said, “leave it with me for a couple of days.”
Tim had already got half a plan for an Iceland trip in the summer of 2019, but this was an added complication. Andy may not be able, or want to, ride for long periods. Tim rang back with a route idea that would enable optional short days, or even missing out some days but still being able to meet up at camp sites along the way. As much, or as little riding as Andy could manage. There was another complication. Neither I nor Andy are fond of camping….
With this plan in mind, I started to drip feed little snippets to Andy whenever I could. I had already checked with his wife that she didn’t mind me trying to get him back on a bike, but she was as keen as I was. Slowly but surely he began to take it on board, and when I picked up my mount for the trip (see “525 touring”) he was getting quite keen. I invited him to ride in a trial in November on my step-daughters bike, after checking that Tim was also going.



Andy managed a full day on two wheels, and barraged Tim with loads of questions about the potential trip. After I dropped him off that night, I rang Tim. “We’ve got him!”
There was one last minor detail. Andy was still “Under the Doctor” as it were, for his non healed broken arm. This would need to be signed off before he could sort out insurance. The specialist didn’t see a problem, as long as he was sensible. Andy had sent his 530 engine off for an overhaul, as the last time he had used it had been as a Supermoto at Oulton park! He set about rebuilding the rest of the bike with a view to the trip, even fashioning a rack and set of pannier frames. We compared notes on camping set ups, and what to take and not take. With insurance sorted, and the 530 mot’d and taxed, the first ride on the road since the accident was on Saturday 18th May 2019. Nearly two years!



This was a mainly tarmac ride, though we did manage a couple of green lanes at Andy’s request. He confessed to being nervous at the start, but by the end of the day he said he felt as if he had never been off the bike. We planned a more testing ride for the week after, just to be sure, and a ride to the Adventure Bike Warehouse chilli day on the Saturday. Then the bikes needed some parts swapping before the trip, only a couple of weeks until they were to be loaded into the container.
Mark

Day one. Wednesday
A 3:00am start, and I drove over to pick Andy up. Overestimated the traffic, as there wasn’t any, so I was 10 minutes early! Watched by three urban foxes, we left for the airport, Andy at least now knows what bothers their cats.
Landing on time at Keflavik airport, courtesy of Easyjet, we rushed through the terminal to get the bus into Rekyavik. Sadly we were too late for the 8:30, so waited for the 9:30. This gave us a little time to acclimatise to the somewhat damp and windy weather before we were joined by the rest of the crew! Geoff I have ridden with before, he had to endure a month of my company on an Alaska trip. Steve I have trail ridden with once before, and Jamie I first met as we dropped the bikes off in Hull.



It’s a 40 minute ride to the bus terminal, where we were met by Tim with a friend of his who had generously offered to ferry us to the warehouse on the docks. The bikes and gear had already been unloaded from the container and were waiting for us in a secure area.


We swapped clothes for riding gear, filled camelbacks, adjusted panniers and generally faffed about until by about 12:00 we were all ready to go. First stop was to be for fuel, then food, before 100 kms or so of tarmac to our next point of interest. I had taken the words “minimal fuel” for the container a little too literally, and ran dry 30 metres from the compound gates. Andy came back with his jerrycan to rescue me and then we stocked up on essentials at the supermarket next to the café, as we would be camping in the middle of nowhere tonight.



Setting off in convoy through the suburbs of Rekjavik and it is just like any other city, busy with traffic and junctions which aren’t immediately clear. Once we join “route 1”, or the ring road, things calm down and we settle into the 50 mph speed limit (or thereabouts) as we head South East. The weather is wet and windy, early test for how well my gear works. The headlight/screen combo that stayed solidly mounted through Welsh trail riding comes loose, thus directing rain under my chin and the headlight at the sky. I push it back into position at the side of the road, whilst trying not to get blown over. Just before Hveragerdi and climbing over our first “mountain” (contentious issue, hill over 300m?) means we are in the clouds, so can see jack. This stretch does at least have crash barriers, as we descend on a frustratingly twisty road, with zero visibility. I pass a car towing a minibus, except the rope is very slack, and getting slacker! Winding the bike on a bit gets me safely out of the way. On the other side of the mountain the weather is a little drier and clearer so at least we can see the countryside.
We stop at Hvolsvollur to fill up and grab a coffee. Steve’s fuel pump is leaking, so he and Jamie have a look at it while Andy takes pictures of the balloon tyred 4x4’s that have come in to fuel up.



Turning inland from here we very soon leave the tarmac behind as the road turns to gravel. Up ahead I see Tim pointing at an animal that darts off into the field to the right of us. An Arctic Fox? Could well have been, but sadly it was too far away for the GoPro to pick it up! The road gets rougher, and I’m pleased to find that my bike set up appears to work well, no loose luggage, no bottoming out of suspension, everything seems to go pretty well where I point it. It isn’t the quickest turning set up, but that isn’t what I aimed for. Let’s not get too giddy though, a long way to go yet. The landscape starts to get otherworldly as we pass hundreds of waterfalls tumbling down the steep valley sides. Large patches of snow have yet to fully melt, if indeed they ever do, and numerous small stream crossings are their legacy. At the next photo/fag/faff stop I ask Andy how he is getting on. I don’t need to, I can tell from the grin that he’s ok.









We were climbing now, above 500m and either the mist came down or we went up into cloud. Whichever way, visibility dropped to 20 metres or so which was quite disorientating. The surface had turned to ash, or black sand, and needed positive throttle to keep the front light, whilst peering through the murk for the next yellow post. After what seemed an age, it finally cleared and we were able to see the plain we were riding on. I spotted something colourful amidst the grey off to my right, which turned out to be a couple of hikers. Just as I was pondering this fact we came to quite a wide river crossing, where there was a 4x4 just about to cross. (First vehicle we’ve seen for 90 minutes) It didn’t look too deep where he had gone, but it felt a lot deeper to me! With us all safely across, albeit with damper feet that a few seconds ago, Andy and Tim got chatting to the couple in the 4x4. They turned out to be the support vehicle for a bunch of hikers. This crossing was also at the junction of a popular hiking trail.


Doesn't look too deep.


Does now! Photo credit Timolgra.




Less sand, but more streams to cross until finally Tim calls a halt. We left Rekjavik seven hours ago, but we’ve been awake for seventeen. Here, in the middle of nowhere, is a grassy patch in a valley with a trickle of a stream meandering through it. Not many flat patches, but we managed to find six that would do and set up camp. Jamie and Steve had a more in depth look at the fuel leak on Steve’s bike while the rest of us offered advice, encouragement, or just took the proverbial.






Yes, that is snow!



Over our rehydrated dinner, I asked how Andy’s aches and pains were. He said they were no worse than after a session on the mountain bikes, although his thumb was giving him grief. Odd, as that was one of the few bits he hasn’t broke? Making a brew after my food, I tried to pour the milk, from the plastic pint bottle with the green top, to find that it was in fact yoghurt. Schoolboy error. Not ideal, but guess what I’m having for breakfast? Thankfully Tim doesn’t laugh too hard, and has plenty, having bought a litre of milk, in the purple coloured container. Geoff has also bought yoghurt, so I don’t feel quite as dumb. Small flies are a bit of a nuisance, they don’t bite thankfully, but neither do they taste good. Glad I brought my mossie net.
Mark

Nicely written ride report. Makes me almost think that I was there.

Great tale, keep it going

Love it! I'm in

Tim recounted some small snippets when we joined him the week after you! Will be good to get the full story

Day 2. Thursday
I wouldn't say I slept well, but I did sleep. No problem with comfort, just the strangeness of being under canvas. Packing away the camp didn't take long, especially after my nutritious pint of yoghurt breakfast. Tim led us back the way we came for a couple of miles, and then further East on more ash and black sand tracks. Some of the views we couldn't see yesterday were now visible so I tried to capture some of them on camera.



It was like being in a black desert, with steep green mountains poking through it. At one point there looked to be a track leading off to the right that Tim wasn't too sure of. It soon petered out, and didn't show up on any satnavs, even though it did seem to be headed in the direction we wanted. U-turns all round. A bit further on we came to a river crossing on the edge of a small waterfall. The bottom was quite uneven and slippery but we all managed to get across with dry feet.






Where's Tim striding off to?


Don't know if I'm breathing in, or got wind?

The track following was rocky and fast all the way to Holmsafoss waterfall.



Tim had mentioned that we had a few miles on tarmac to ride to get fuel before returning to re-join the gravel. The tarmac was in fact the ring road again, and we set off towards Kirkjubæjarklaustur and fuel. After a few miles, Jamie's Husaberg FE400 stuttered to a halt. The bike has an extra fuel tank and has plenty of fuel still left, but isn't playing the game. Having had one myself, Jamie and I brainstorm solutions to no avail. After a while my mobile goes off, it's Andy checking where I am, and am I with Jamie? I explained our predicament and where we were, which turned out to be only ten minutes from the services. Andy asked if it was airlocked, which indeed it was! A minor modification to the fuel pick up line in the auxiliary tank cured the problem. Bikes refuelled we set out refuelling ourselves. A family of Chinese tourists in front of me surprised me with their rudeness towards the staff, so much so that I over exaggerated my "please" and "thank you". The young lad behind the counter rolled his eyes towards the Chinese and said that they were all like that. Who would have thought?
Steve at least acquired a mug for his coffee, having left all three of his at home. Tim tries to convince Ange over the phone that he'd seen an Arctic fox, I helped by saying I thought it was a sheep!
Back on the tarmac to where we joined it, then onto fast gravel tracks again as we now headed North.


Things get interesting after one of these signs.

Tim had an idea to visit a lake, then take a track he had found on the map. There were a couple of river crossings, then the surface turned to ash and black sand again and we started to climb up to nearly 700m. The weather started to turn a tad damp, and by the time we reached the lake it was chucking it down. You could see how picturesque a spot this could be, in the right conditions. At the moment, it's rather bleak!







There is however a toilet block, and a potential camp site for future reference.
The new track Tim has found is all black sand, but quite a bit more technical than previous. I'm really enjoying it, and so is the bike. Andy has a grin on his face too.


With a better camera/photographer, you would be able to see that the stuck up rock left of centre was giving us the finger.

Things get a bit more interesting when we come to a river crossing. It's quite wide, and flowing quickly from left to right. Tim walks in to check the depth, and by halfway it is only up to the top of his boots, so he walks back and gets on his bike. When he rides across though, the last few metres are quite a bit deeper. I go next, and give it a handful to clear the deeper bit, nearly too much. Andy comes next, then Jamie, but just before the exit he loses traction and gets stuck. Steve rides across and nearly comes a cropper, filling his boots in the process. Geoff puts in a textbook ride, and we turn our attention to freeing Jamie's bike from its watery grave. Andy and I stood either side, and with my tow rope passed through the Husaberg subframe and over our shoulders we were able to both lift and pull from dry land, while Jamie pushed from the water. This did the trick and after upending the bike to empty the exhaust it burbled into life as though nothing had happened. (For those that don't know Husabergs, note the lack of airbox to fill with water)


So near, yet so far.


Should we just leave it there?


Waiting for the next victim.

Whilst this was going on, Steve was lying on his back doing a dying fly impersonation to empty the water from his boots, forgetting the milk carton in his rucksack.........
From the last picture of Jamie's 'Berg, the river opened into a lake, with a hut at the shore which seemed to be occupied by a family on a fishing trip. There was a well used track leading off to the left, but Tim headed straight on towards a pretty decent sized hill climb. This had obviously been used by vehicles, but as it was loose ash it was going to be fun! Tim had taken the left hand rut, Andy the right, and I was currently undecided. Tim's less aggressive back tyre, and depth of rut conspired to bring him to a halt halfway up. I heard Andy wind more power on his 530 and followed his example, swerving into the right hand rut and flying up to the top.
"Wait there!" I shouted at Tim as I passed. Jamie had also got up with no trouble so the three of us walked back down to help Tim. We soon realised that once stopped, forward motion could not be regained, so we helped turn the 640 round so he could ride back down and try again. This run was successful, closely followed by Steve, but Geoff got cross rutted and came off. He was pretty winded and suggested one of us ride it up, Andy and I were looking at each other wondering who was going to volunteer first when Jamie stepped in. His first attempt failed, the added weight and milder tyre not helping, so we unloaded some of the luggage. Second attempt got further, but a slight kick from a rut sent the bike sideways, third attempt worked though and Jamie flew up to the top. All we had to do now was drag the luggage up after him......


Tim memorising the right line for next time....



Thankfully from here on the tracks got easier, and a little faster. Unfortunately it also started to rain. 20 km later and we re-joined the main track and headed West. Part of today's itinerary was to ride to Ljotipollur, a lake in the rim of an old volcano, but when we got there the road was closed.


Yes, we could. But we won't.

The rain got steadily heavier so Tim suggested that we take the campsite at plan "B", which was nearer to where we were, about another 20 km away. This was universally accepted, though the prospect of putting a tent up in these conditions was less than appealing. The site, Landmannahellir, had a number of huts for rent, but these were all booked. We sheltered in a small barn with a German couple, them cooking their evening meal, us waiting until it abated. Sure enough, half an hour later the rain eased enough for us to pitch tents for the night. It had been quite a day!


Denise and her daughter bought me the comedy eye mask, to help me sleep.

Mark

Great start Mark, glad you 'enjoyed' the camping right from the start

I didn't take a camera but will add some phone shots from the story so far

Shortly before the trip I eagerly watch to find out if some of my proposed route is open yet, if not I would have probably reversed the entire journey. So following much research with help from contacts in Iceland, occasionally being told no you can't do that on bike!, using routes I knew well and some that had been lurking in the back of my mind for a few years we had a rough plan. Time to go.

Luckily just a few days beforehand all the stars aligned, roads opened, we had a great bunch of riders all on decent bikes all we needed was Mark and Andy to come to terms with their accomodation for the next 13 nights... which they did and do believe they really enjoyed the camping especially as there were many wild camps.





The rivers turned out to be particularly low this year following an almost drought in the west of Iceland, despite that care was needed at times.



Mark/Earthmover's first proper river here. I regularly compete in trials with Mark and he's a better rider than me but also more competitive so I'm sure he was a bit miffed to have taken a 'dab' here. Better safe than sorry!

My philosophy, if you can call it that, regarding rivers is they're great fun....until they aren't!!



We covered miles and miles through thick mist in the wet lava sand.



Geoff on his gorgeous big bore KTM



We take a little used track away from the main route, cross a few small rivers and arrive at our first camp which was a bit special





Before bed though, Jamie gets stuck into Steve's bike.
The carb has been leaking fuel via the float valve to the point where despite having a huge tank it was probably doubling his fuel usage! Float valve and seat were removed and cleaned best we could and eventually it caused no further problems.

Mark's covered much of the second day so I'll just add a little more.

The mist has cleared, we make our way back to the main track and onwards!



After a long ride through wet sand and many streams we need to find civilisation for fuel....and more coffee.....it's this way.



Given we all had suitable bikes I thought to add a big loop which at times proved to be quite testing for Geoff and I on the heavier bikes, I think there were a few times we both yearned for an enduro bike, my mind certainly wondered to the KTM 520 sat at home!

Anyway, we arrived here in the sleet and freezing wind.
We take shelter behind a wooden toilet block, Bakes has a dump.....despite the strong cold wind and muffs over our faces the wafting stench forced us back to the bikes and we set off on an even smaller and unknown trail.

To say it was bleak here is a massive understatement!!



More sand and then the river incident where part of the bed was like quick sand



I saw the steep hill in front thinking oh fuck, if we can't get up that then we'll have to retrace our steps.
Again my mind thought of the 520 at home as the soft sand only allowed once chance at speed or else it was back to the bottom for another shot at it.



It looks simple enough at the top now there's a firm surface



Onward.



I've ridden with Geoff many times in Iceland, Morocco and on the Trans American Trail and had often see his smile when I led him off into the unknown, I asked him "are you ok with this mate?" he relied, "I'd follow you anywhere mate" ...... top man as it was a challenge at times (I didn't mention I'd taken the easier of two possible routes which we all may have struggled with, phew ).





It had been a long day and we weren't going to make my intended camp without missing out some very special areas so used plan B to camp in a beautiful place where my wife Ange and I had once stayed.
The weather had turned foul so we took shelter in a barn waiting for it to clear before making camp.

Bakerman breaks out his first cigar.

Day 3. Friday
A slight breeze had got up overnight so tents were dry, and some of the riding gear was well on its way. Except Jamie’s boots. We left the campsite heading South West, on a minor track, through a lava field. This is far too small a phrase for a mind blowing place. The track skirted around what had very obviously been a wave of molten rock that had lost its momentum for whatever reason. The surface had patches of red shale amongst the black sand and ash, and plenty of elevation changes to deal with. Some very unforgiving rocks at the side of the route made sure you paid attention. Pictures really don’t convey the gravitas of the landscape, and imagination struggles with what must have been going on here not that long ago.





Climbing up the sides of Hekla, a volcano which last erupted in 2000, we reached 930m before the track ran out. The last bit of the climb was quite technical, so I was very glad to be on a lightweight enduro bike. The skies had cleared giving us stunning views towards the Central Highlands, which is where we were heading next.




Andy had a pushbike called a Heckler.

Descending to the foot of Hekla without incident, the tracks got faster, and busier. Andy and I stopped for a photo at a signpost and lost sight of the others. I knew where we were headed, but wasn’t prepared for the hidden dips and twists of the track, Just big enough to hide a Merc 4x4 in fact. I skidded to the edge of the track to avoid becoming a bonnet mascot and thus chastened, we made our way slightly less quickly to where the rest of the group were waiting. In a small car park sat a particularly secondhand Land Rover. T-cut was not going to be enough.
We turned North east onto 26, which was a wide gravel road mostly, and very windy! This was where we joined the notorious long distance route known as the Sprengisandur, the F26.
My headlight came loose again (because I didn’t fix it last time) and my tyre repair kit fell out, so a quick u-turn to retrieve that. Fuel and lunch wasn’t far away so I promised to fix it this time. The road turned to tarmac for a few miles, and we came to The Highland Center Hrauneyjar, last fuel for 150 miles. The Lodge requires you to change to indoor footwear, or to put on disposable overshoes if you want to use their restaurant. It is worth it though as the food was very good.
Finishing mine quickly, I rummaged in my pannier for some cable ties to fasten down the headlight, and tried to tighten up my chain guide which I noticed was loose while filling up. The threads in the swing arm were stripped, and the guide itself had taken a beating from the back tyre, so I decided the best thing to do was leave it in the bin with my disposable overshoes.
Setting out with brimmed tanks Northwards on the F26 the tarmac soon turned to gravel, and I started to worry about my bike. Tim had set off at 40-45 mph, but a vicious cross wind was making me nervous, along with the feeling that something wasn’t right. Did I have a flat? No. Has taking the chain guide off altered something? I was down to 30 mph and Andy stopped to see what was wrong. Turns out his bike felt nervy as well, so I carried on slightly less concerned.



The combination of the wind and the track surface combined to make the first hour less than fun. We were climbing steadily towards 700m and at least had clear views for miles around. After 60km or so we pulled into a small parking area for a break. Everyone commented on the road surface, and the wind. Tim nodded, and said it was like that each time he had ridden it. The wind meant he had to avail himself of my electric lighter to have a smoke, as his wouldn’t catch.
“It gets better.” he assured me.





He wasn’t wrong. Without me actually noticing when, the wind eased, the track narrowed down to a single lane, the surface became rockier, and I started enjoying myself again! Stream crossings became more frequent, with more twists and turns and elevation changes. Our next break was at Nyidalur, where there is a cluster of huts for travellers on the Sprengisandur, or the nearby Vatnajokull National Park. We got chatting to a Canadian couple who were walking the route. When we asked them why, they said it had seemed like a good idea at the time! We were now in the Northeastern region of Iceland, having crossed the boundary from the South region a few km back. The river crossing just after the Nyidalur is one of the more notorious, melt water conditions can make it fast and powerful but it was in benign mood and we crossed it easily. The landscape was back to moonscape now, black ash and next to no vegetation.





Tim had promised us a campsite with a hot pool that night, turning West towards Laugerfell (Renamed for our amusement, Lagerfanny, with apologies to Bungle and Zippy) Sure enough, about 40 km later we pulled up at the parking area where there were a couple of huts, a toilet and shower block, and a natural hot pool. The bikes weren’t allowed onto the grassed camping area, but we were only a few metres from them. Tents erected and we all made a bee line for shower then the pool, to soak for a while. In view of the exposed nature of the site, Andy and I surrounded our tents with loose rocks that were scattered around, just in case. There weren’t many other guests, but as I was to find as the trip progressed, other people seemed to stop later than we did. Tim had already sussed this, if you wanted the best pitches, you got there early. Sure enough, by 9.00pm when we were thinking of our beds, the parking area had a few more vehicles on it, including a 30 seater coach full of “young people”! Thankfully they hadn’t brought a disco with them. They did however, appear to have brought an awful lot of gear for what turned out to be just one night. They all left before we did in the morning. A lone GS had appeared overnight, but he too disappeared early. Just as we were about to settle in, the campsite warden came round for payment. I asked if it would wait until morning, as Jamie and Geoff were already in their respective tents, but she was having none of it. We must look untrustworthy?
Mark

Also Day 3

It's a clear morning hooray!



I wanted to take a route I'd been thwarted on previously with Ange.
Steep in places.



Beautiful in others



No photos as we were enjoying the ride through the most stunning and technical lava field, eventually bringing us to climb onto Hekla volcano where I'd taken a previous group.

This time though, the steep climb through rutted lava sand was in poor condition and I used everything I had to get up it, Geoff also had big problems getting up there and again due to the surface I longed for the KTM 520

We later heard that Wardens had closed the route as it was too dangerous and any big 4X4s would only ruin it further.

Here it's much further on as Bakes, Andy and I reach the highest point for any vehicles.







Once back down to safer ground we're reminded of what happens when it all goes tits up.



Mark's well described the next long slog and we make camp at Laugarfell in roughly the centre of Iceland, it was good to be back I even brought out my flask of whisky to share in the beautiful hot pool.
It's a romantic spot in good weather however when sharing with 5 other guys I would say romantic was EDIT. Was Not! quite the right word.





The early morning mist soon clears, it's going to be a good day.



Right that's me up to the point where Mark left off, back over to you mate

Day 4. Saturday
I had washed some of my smalls in the (geothermally heated) sink yesterday, and left them hung on the communal airer overnight. As I was taking them down a Swiss cyclist came over for a chat. He was on a solo ride doing the Sprengisandur the other way. Think I prefer having a motor!
A relaxed morning saw us leave at around 10.00, after a joint operation to get Geoff’s steering damper working. The first hour or so was the grey moonscape again, as we climbed a little more up to 900m, before starting to descend. The first hint of green appeared as we followed a stream down into a valley, that with many other streams would eventually become rivers and empty into Eyjafjordur.





The weather was bright and sunny with temperatures getting up to 15 C, and the contrast with the landscape of yesterday was startling. The river we were following down from the plateau was around 10m wide by now, and fast flowing over rocks and boulders, with lush green sides to the valley. Imagine my surprise to round a left hand bend to find Jamie, on his bike, in the middle of said river. Steve and Geoff were in the process of dismounting at the side and after a brief WTF moment, I realised what had happened. This was confirmed by Jamie himself, he had been looking at the scenery and missed the bend. His initial though had been to ride it out, but the boulders were slick with algae and provided no grip. No injuries (well pride maybe) and no damage, so as Jamie pushed from the river, we pulled from the bank and soon had him on dry land. His boots had only just dried out too!


After the detour.


Andy does "Man at C&A" while Jamie does "The full monty".



As we were heading North, and down, quite a few people were heading South and up. It was the weekend after all. At the last of the river crossings we saw a group of “older” gents on more road orientated machinery heading on what is obviously a popular day trip. Geoff’s bike had started to stutter over the last few miles, and nearly stalled in the water, so he pulled over to investigate. Head scratching stopped after finding a battery terminal loose, once tightened the stutter stopped too. Wish all problems were as easily solved.



The valley had now opened up, the track turned to tarmac with cultivated fields on either side and plenty of habitation as we approached Akureyri. This town is nicknamed “Capital of North Iceland”, and is also a cruise port. Tim had hinted at a surprise for today, and as Geoff and I were looking for any signs of the others, we spotted Jamie waiting at what looked like the entrance to an industrial unit. Turns out to be the Iceland Motorcycle museum!




We used to have one of these!

After whiling away a pleasant hour looking at the eclectic mix of bikes in there, we rode just down the road to refuel and grab a sandwich for lunch. We ate overlooking the Fjord and the cruise ship moored there, watched carefully by the local seagull population.
60 km of tarmac followed, as we rode up the West of Eyjafjordur, stopping briefly at a small parking area on the side of a cliff, next to a tunnel entrance. People were watching the whale watching boats in the waters below, hoping for a glimpse themselves.





Riding into the tunnel I was surprised to find how cold it was, and how dark, as my headlight wasn’t working. Needless to say, six grown men on motorbikes, in a tunnel, can make quite a din!
Through into daylight and just past Olafsfjordur we turned left and South onto a road which promptly became gravel and very dusty. As the houses grew fewer and we climbed a gentle incline, the pace picked up, until Steve stopped. Tim and Andy were ahead and hadn’t noticed. Geoff spotted it in his mirrors and turned around, Jamie and I were behind so pulled up to find Steve’s drive chain wrapped around the front sprocket. It had snapped.





There are worse places to break down.

My first thought was that the chain guide had suffered the same fate as mine, and had brought the chain off. As Jamie unravelled it the reason became clear though. The chain was completely shagged, with a number of seized links and enough sideways play for it to be used with derailleur gears.
“But it’s only done one trip!” protested Steve.
“To the effing moon and back?” asked Geoff.
Between us we had a number of spare links and split links, but no means of separating the broken link. Who carries a chain splitter with them? And if they do, why bring it if it is also shagged?
Tim rang to find out where we were, and then he and Andy rode back. I was scoping out a camping spot for the night, but Tim had other ideas. He and Jamie rode down to the nearest farm, borrowed an angle grinder and fixed the chain so we could carry on!
Somewhat gingerly at first, we rode on, flirting with the line between the North West and North East regions of Iceland. The track looped around a ridge and the turned North again, running along the shore of a lake. Stifluvatn is a popular fishing lake, enlarged by the dam for a hydroelectric plant, and very picturesque. A little further on we passed alongside Miklavatn, another popular fishing lake, beyond which is the sea. Just after this, Tim leads us off onto a somewhat narrower track, past a “Road closed” sign. The sign is on the floor though, and doesn’t look very official.
The track is great fun, although restraint is required as it climbs quite steeply and is more akin to Welsh green lanes in its feel. After a few minutes we come to a halt as there are powerlines across the track. Are they still live? It looks as if the new ones are strung from the poles, but who is brave/stupid enough to be first? We are on rubber tyres, but still……
After artfully piling some rocks over the wires, Steve goes first. Nothing happens, so we all look sheepish and carry on. A few minutes further and we come to a halt again, the track is blocked by snow, and the chances of getting around it safely are slim. The views from here are magnificent though.





This was apparently the original road to Siglufjordur, which is where we are headed for tonight. Retracing our steps, I claimed lead spot and enjoyed a dust free ride back to the bottom. (I generally ride at the back, force of habit) Turning onto the main road, a mixture of sweeping tarmac and fast gravel, we are soon in the centre of Sigufjordur. Tim had mentioned camping on the village green for two nights and sure enough, that’s where we pitched. The toilets and shower block were on the opposite side of the road where the caravans and motorhomes were parked for a folk festival.
Andy and I have obviously spent too long in built up areas, as ours were the only bikes chained together.



A few minutes later a black Range Rover pulled up next to us, and Tim introduced us to Dori. A larger than life character, Dori lives in Sigulfjordur, and after a few minutes you felt as though you had known him all your life. The owner of one of what can only be a handful of Husaberg 650’s in Iceland, he was going to join us for a ride tomorrow, if the weather wasn’t as forecast….
We asked his opinion on which bar would be the best to eat in, as by now my stomach was growling. Torgid, he said without hesitation, and pointed across the square. We all piled in and his recommendation was spot on, so we treated ourselves to a couple of beers in his honour.
Mark

Day 5. Sunday
I was woken in the morning by the rain dripping on my tent. Sticking my head out confirmed that a) it was raining and b) visibility was zero. Today’s planned ride was looking in doubt.



Tim, enjoying a morning smoke and a brew, is lucky enough to have a direct hit by a low flying seagull, all over his tent and even in his mug. Nobody laughed, much.
We monopolised a table in the village bakery for a couple of hours, Steve swapping trade tips with the head baker in the kitchen.





The cloud still hadn’t lifted any higher than the rooftops by lunchtime so Andy and I explored the Herring museum. Not as boring as it sounds, and gave an insight into how the town developed. It looked a hard life.
Tim was being pestered by a local kid on a mountain bike, so he helpfully sent him over to mine and Andy’s tent. Kid was full of shit, telling us how he rode his YZ to school, but had crashed it and broke the indicators off. Don’t suppose we were any better at his age.
By now we had all given up on getting any riding done today, so we sat and nursed drinks in the bar until it was time to eat, then nursed some more drinks after. Dori bade us farewell, he was going to Rekjavik to collect his wife and a chain for Steve. He stuck his head round the kitchen door and had a quick word with the manager before he left, resulting in a discount when we came to pay the bill. Exceptionally decent of him!
In the middle of the night I was woken by very heavy rain. Oh joy.
Mark

Day 4 as well!

I didn't want to leave too early as Mark says as my secret surprise of the Motorcycle museum didn't open until either 10am or 12 and I couldn't be sure so a leisurely ride down the beautiful valley where as said, Jamie was so taken with the view he rode off the track and into the river

Just a few more pics from the way down







I spy a German GSer ahead wobbling down the very dusty trail touching his brakes, I can't resist, down a gear and flat out past him closely followed by Bakes. The poor GSer wouldn't have been able to see a thing through the dust cloud.......childish I know but you know those moments when you just have to

My good friend Throstur had at least one of his restorations in this museum



But there was one other special bike I knew which might be there so kept looking....nope





Still haven't found it!







Noooooo....



Here it is!!!! I was so excited

Hilmar's Ariel Red Hunter





The reason for my excitement was 4 years ago I visited the legendary Hilmar Luthersson and was really taken with this bike.
Every Icelandic biker either knows or knows of Hilmar and my day with him was the best non riding day of my motorcycle life

Day 4 as well...continued.

Time was getting on as we'd had a few great stops today and there's still a few things I wanted the others to see this evening as the weather is going to change.

We take the lovely Low Valley (Lagheidhi) which a few years ago Throstur had suggested as a route and I've used it a few times since, Andy and I realise the others aren't with us so head back to find them dealing with Steve's snapped chain.
Mark recounts Geoff's comments to him about his knackered chain, when Steve told everyone his chain and sprocket had only done one trip
I know Mark already told us the reply above but uts worth repeating.
"Where to, the effing moon and back?"

Everything can be fixed, Jamie and I first call at a farm house in search of an angle grinder, a tall, skinny but muscular grubby blonde answered the door in riding breaches and vest....sigh....after we fumbled for the right words she directs us to a neighbour where we find what we were supposed to be looking.





As Mark says, we tried to take the stunning old road into Siglufjorder but snow was blocking the way.

Great report both

rocky burns said:

Great report both

Click to expand...

You were missed on this one matey

Day feckin 5 too

It's raining cats and dogs...



or should I say... it's raining bird shit

I'd laid out the necessary to make a strong coffee in the morning without needing to get out of bed, all's well as I have the tent open only slightly a morning coffee and smoke while watching the world go by.

Then from nowhere either a Gull or Tern flies full speed at my tent pulling up at the last minute like a scene from 633 Squadron and releasing a full load of fishy shite through the small opening of the tent door, I even heard the squelchy fart.

It's everywhere, in my fecking coffee cup, over my hand, inside and outside of my tent.

The Twat

Great report so far ~ ta for the effort put in to write it up

Andres

Day 6. Monday
Gumi, the campsite warden tells me it’s going to be clear today, after the damp start. Hope he’s right. We grab breakfast at the bakery giving the tents a few minutes to dry out some more. Leaving the town by the road we came in on, it’s cold, but at least the rain has stopped.
Half an hour later, Tim turns off the main road onto a muddy track around a lake. Not going too fast so flip up my visor, just in time to ride into a cloud of small flies. Both eyes full of the little blighters I have to stop, as my contact lenses are awash. They hover above the lake in a dense cloud, and where the track approaches the shore you run into them. A slow moving tractor and trailer holds us up for a few minutes, with no apparent passing places. Tim said he was probably just on Icelandic time, I thought he was being an arse.




Stopping briefly to empty flies out of helmets and ears on a headland overlooking the sea, and sure enough, the weather is clearing. Next stop was at Hofsos, which was an important port for people wanting to emigrate from Iceland to America. Tim spotted another break in Steve’s chain though, so the priority was finding an angle grinder. A couple of minutes further on there is a garage, and the offending link is ground out.





1 cook, 3 bottle washers.

It’s tarmac for 30km or so to Varmahilo (every night I’ve been hugging my pillow?) for fuel and lunch, and to stock up for tonight. From here, to be on the safe side, Steve continues on the main road to where Dori has arranged to meet him with his new chain and sprockets from the KTM dealer. We headed South, onto gravel, and a superb long distance trail that climbed steadily up to 500m. The moonscape was back! With clear visibility a bit of playfulness came to the fore, and it was easy to forget the luggage and ride a little “loose”. Turning West again, we crossed a dam and came to a junction, to stop and giggle at the road sign that some wag had altered.








More fast gravel followed, until Tim turned off onto a slightly less used and more technical track. This was great fun, and showed up just how well the suspension on my bike was working. Descending to around 200m the gravel turned smooth and fast again as we rode through a wide valley. Brake lights all round heralded a herd of 50 or so Icelandic horses being driven down the road towards us. The lead and tail horses had riders on them, trotting with the strange gait that they are famous for. Following the valley wall I was amazed at the scree slope type sides, but with beach ball sized rock!








Are we having fun?

The gravel ran out and we returned to the ring road riding West for 30 km until Tim pulled over into a quaint little petrol station and cafe. The inside was full of old bric a brac, and odd stuff from history. I saw a set of hair curlers like my Mum had, forty plus years ago! There was a box of skulls under a table, which I took a picture of to send to the virtual step daughter, she likes that sort of thing.



As we were leaving, Jamie pressed the start button for the ‘Berg and Tim and I exchanged a worried glance. “Bit of a rattle?” asked Tim. Jamie shrugged it off.
The next track Tim had in store for us was a real green lane. As we were lower down there was vegetation, and this track ran alongside farmland. An errant sheep ran out in front of Andy and boosted his adrenaline levels (not because it was an attractive sheep) and then a couple of hidden ditches caught us all out to various degrees. After one of these, which Andy bounced through, I saw something fly off his bike. Anchoring up, I found his tyre levers lying in the grass, which I returned at the next stop.





Our campsite for the night had another hot pool, and a large communal area to cook in. Steve was already there, having collected his chain and sprocket from Dori. He was now waiting for the farmer to finish his day so he could borrow his angle grinder, as the chain was a few links too long. I had a look at my lights, as I had lost main beam and my brake light. Both of them had blown bulbs, and as I was trying to take the rear out it smashed and sliced my thumb. I may have used a few choice words.



Utilising the communal area Andy and I cooked up the pork steaks we had found at the supermarket, along with some packet rice. It wasn’t cold outside, but it was windy. Shortly afterwards the campsite started to fill up, with a group of people who had obviously planned to have a get together. Masses of food were produced from the backs of vans and cars, and tents started to fill the remaining space on the field. They didn’t make too much noise, just enough though, and until 3.00 am.

Mark