Bikepacking Iceland - Part Two

The wind blew all night. Violent gusts felt as if someone was outside throwing fist-sized rocks at my tent. An eye-shade over my eyes, I managed to get a few hours of sleep. It was Tuesday morning, July 30, 2019 and we were craving coffee. The enclosed kitchen and shelter at the campground was packed full of people dressed head to toe in rain gear. Every time someone opened the door the wind would smash it against the building. Sideways rain was drumming on the windows, creating an amorphous lens through which to see the misery happening outside. No way in hell were we going to ride in this. Back to the brewery it was.

We sat out the day in Vik, giving me time to arrange for my sister to be my back-up medical contact for my father for a few days as we headed into the highlands. While hanging out at the brewery we met some tour guides and shared our route with them. One of them shared a bit of a secret with us, if only we would be able to find it off our route. Rather than ride 25 miles straight into the wind on highway one, we opted to take a bus to Kirkjubaejarklaustur then ride back several miles with a tailwind to the intersection with F208. It was now the morning of July 31, we got off the bus and were grabbing some food at Skaftarskali Grill.

The wind was still blowing from the northeast and we hit the paved highway with a massive tailwind towards F208. The landscape was incredible and it felt great to be pedaling again.

The turnoff for F208 is where the real adventure would begin. Stories about dangerous river crossings, steep climbs, and washed out roads haunted us and excited us at the same time. This next segment of the trip would be a riding experience unlike any other. Within minutes we encountered what would be the last bridge before the highlands.

The water was terrifying, and had us wondering what we were getting ourselves into. We would have to cross these rivers by foot further up in the mountains. In a matter of a few miles the pavement would end. Malbik Endar.

It was a beautiful stroll through lush farmlands, with cows, and eggs for sale.

At first the gravel was pretty gentle, and there was a heavy fog mist in the air. The road meandered through farmlands with thick soil, the mountains lingering in the background through the fog. Soon the road started steepening, and after a sharp left the mountains suddenly stood there in front of us, brooding through the fog and covered in sharp lava rocks. It was one of the most aggressive walls of a road that I had ever seen.

This climb meandered for what seemed like miles, washed out and ever menacing. Near the top we ran into a couple with a low-clearance rental car. Clearly they were tourists, and likely had not read the memo about the F208 road being notorious for eating bumpers. The river crossings up in the highlands can be brutal, and are unforgiving to vehicles not suited for the task.

The wind had eased slightly, we were not quite halfway into the route for the day, and it was late afternoon. No worries though, August in Iceland brings light until nearly midnight. The gravel surface had turned into chunky granola, making for dramatic photography as it sliced through the neon green landscape. It was starting to feel like we were entering a different world.

It was slow going with these long climbs and intermittent rain. Cold blasts of wind would hit us to remind us not to take down our guard. Despite the long climbs on loaded bikes, our bodies were feeling good. Our minds were wondering how many hours and miles it would be to Álftavötn, the secret place we were supposed to be looking out for. This was turning into the most beautiful and uplifting slogs of a bike ride I had ever attempted.

The more we climbed, the more dense the fog became, constantly revealing scenic surprises as we traversed the ribbon of slow, abrasive gravel.

The heavy fog was darkening the skies, while increasing the damp coldness of the ride. We were very wet, and staying outside in this did not sound one bit pleasant. The tour guide in Vik told us to look out for a sign that says Álftavötn. The further we rode, the more anxious we got in our pursuit of that sign. Finally, there it was, peeking through the fog with a stoic indifference to the elements.

For a moment it felt like a scene from The Goonies, where we were about to be discovering something mystical. A lore had been built up about this place, as we pedaled for hours through adverse elements to find it. We were told to follow the sign to what would like like a dead end. Just as the road ends we were supposed to follow the sheep trails through rock crevasses and just trust that they would lead us to “the place.” Sure enough, we found the sheep trails and pushed our bikes over huge rocks, around sheep dung, and through some very narrow passages. My rational brain was asking me what the hell I was doing, then I looked up and right before my eyes was a fictional scene of beauty. A hut with a small a-frame outhouse was waiting for us at the bottom of the moss covered valley. Unreal. Would there be any trolls or Huldufólk down there?

It took several minutes of more hiking, and a brief standoff with some sheep to reach the hut. It truly felt like we had discovered a treasure in the middle of nowhere.

Having a warm, dry place to stay after a long day of riding in cold rain and wind was amazing. We were both ecstatic, taking in the scenery around the hut and in somewhat disbelief of what we were seeing. It really felt like we were in some fantasy world. It was time to enter the hut and get changed into dry clothes. We would be the only Huldufólk here for the night.

We dried out our gear, made dinner and sipped on some Brennivin as the skies darkened outside.

What an incredible day of riding it had been. We covered 43 miles through extremely harsh terrain, with multiple small river crossings.

Everyone had been talking about a significant crossing along this route. Our map wasn’t clearly indicating where this might be. Would we be able to cross it? Would we run into it the next day? Exhausted from the day, we tucked into bed not exactly knowing what would come next.