Bikepacking Iceland - Part Three
Light was creeping through the edges of my eyeshade, begging me to get up and out of bed. Overnight the weather had changed and there was abundant light shining into the hut. It was August 1, 2019.
The front door open, a waterfall was visible across the valley. The weather could not have been more perfect for the next push into the highlands of Iceland. My body was feeling well rested, and in need of coffee and breakfast. Breakfast outside on the picnic table it was. Bread, meat and cheese would fuel our start to the day.
Before we left for Iceland, Frank’s daughter made me a plushie that she named “Snorlax". She wanted us to take good care of Snorlax and shoot photos of him enjoying Iceland. Here he is hanging out with us for breakfast.
Packing up and getting moving was a slow process, as the beauty of this wonderful setting was so hard to leave. There was abundant water and sunshine, and some of the most beautiful and surreal vistas I had ever seen. There was just something magical about this place that cannot be put into words. Eventually we started pushing the bikes back up the sheep paths, the way we had come in. Looking back into the valley was breathtaking.
Back to the road we turned off of the day prior, we clipped into our pedals and started spinning our legs. Today the plan was to get to Landmannalaugar - considered one of the most beautiful places in all of Iceland. It would be an exciting day on the bike, as the weather seemed cooperative for all the photos I wanted to take in the areas we were riding in to. Immediately on our minds, however, was that river we had been warned about. Where exactly was it, and how difficult would it be to cross it? Sooner than we realized, there it was.
This was the first legitimate crossing with thigh-deep, freezing cold water and a strong current. We knew these kinds of crossings were going to be common on this trip, so we came prepared with river shoes. The surfaces of these rivers were unstable and full of fist-sized rocks. In addition, we’d have to be carrying our loaded down bikes while a current was constantly pushing us with numbingly cold water. I chose the Chaco Odyssey sandals for the task. The large foam mid-sole and rubber outsole would provide protection and grip, while the strong buckled straps on top of the foot would hold the sandals securely on my feet. They worked perfectly.
Walking across that river was quite intimidating. It was a relief to make it to the other side, put wool socks and my cycling shoes back on to continue the journey towards Landmannalaugar.
It was the beginning of many river crossings along the route. Most of them were rideable, but it was important to read the river before making the commitment to ride it. What we had been learning about crossing rivers was to look carefully for riffles. Riffles indicate shallow spots, whereas smooth surfaces of water are likely deep spots with fast moving water underneath them. Also, crossing at the narrowest spot is not usually the safest, as it can be deep. It was essential to spot the riffles and ride through them.
Sheep are the most common animals you will see while traveling in Iceland. There were many along this particular route, watching us with a close eye from above.
The further we rode into the heart of the highlands, the more aggressive and relentless the terrain was becoming. Steep, rocky climbs made it hard to maintain any speed. The visual drama was escalating, mile by mile.
Colors oscillated between browns and grays, to neon green displays of vibrant moss contrasting substrates of black.
Did I mention the climbing? As the hours passed by, the pattern became: descend at speed, slow down for a water crossing, then climb to the next summit. This went on and on as we took in the absolute beauty of interior highlands unfolding before us.
One of the greatest benefits of bikepacking in Iceland is being able to drink water straight from the streams. The cold, fresh water was always a source of rejuvenation as we wrestled our way through this terrain.
As our elevation increased snow became visible on the north facing slopes. We were really getting deep into the highlands, and the famous Landmannalaugar was not far away.
It was turning into another long day in the saddle, with amazing weather that enabled us to take in our surroundings. We stopped and made lunch by a river, and kept eating the peanut butter fuel we carried with us from the states. Our existence had become very basic, and that felt very good. Along the way, I was wondering how my father was doing. I had intermittent service to my phone all day, and messages from back home indicated that he was still in the hospital. Some important tests were being done, and the future was very uncertain. Nevertheless, we continued forging ahead on this adventure.
Vehicles with tourists were becoming more frequent, and Landmannalaugar was right around the corner. We arrived to find many hikers from Europe and North America with tents set up in a campground, and a small store selling beer. It was time to enjoy a refreshing Einstök Arctic Pale Ale.
People were bathing in the hot springs, the sun was getting low in the sky, and we had to decide if we would keep on pushing past Landmannalaugar or just camp in this campground for the night. The planned route had us on some hiking trails out of this area, but it quickly became clear just how crazy it would be to try riding on these. Rather than keep on going, we opted to camp with the hikers and spend the evening absorbing the stunning landscape around us.
As we were setting up camp, a group of older German men came over to us. They stood there for what seemed like an eternity, awkwardly looking at our bikes and watching us assemble camp from two meters away. After a nod and smile sent their way, they asked us about our bikes. It seemed incomprehensible to them how we could carry our gear on our bikes in such a way. We showed them our kit, how it attached to the bikes, and how we had everything packed. They clearly were fans, and our brief interaction with them had an impact that they would take back home. You could see the scheming in their eyes. This was something they wanted to be doing as well. Our Iceland bikepacking adventure kept getting better and better.
The exhilaration of the trip was tempered by the reality of what was happening back home with my father. All was not well. An anxiety was lingering in the back drop, a sort of emotional whiplash between the world in front of me, and the world back home. The best thing to do was to put on the eyeshade, tuck into my tent, and get some sleep. Tomorrow would be a new day.
