Distance: 69.15

Time: 5:41:34

Average Speed: 12.1 mph

Elevation Gain: 3,576 feet

It was a beautiful morning in the stunning environs of Hamrar campsite, the Scouts’ outdoor centre, just outside Akureyri.

Rolling back down the hill into town, on an extensive network of excellent cycle paths, I found it to be a much more welcoming place this morning.

After second breakfast – a slice of pizza and an excellent pastry from Kristjan’s bakery – I made my way out to a large retail park, to find a shop to buy some brake pads. Whilst I was installing them, I heard a ‘is that a B17’ from behind, as good a cycle-tourist’s opening gambit, as ever I’ve heard. For those not au fait with a B17, it’s a Brooks leather saddle, and I’d not be here without mine.

Justin, it would appear, also had one, on his Surly touring bike. He was a student from Texas, who was cycling around Iceland, clockwise. He had previously ridden from Greece to the Netherlands, and was making a documentary of the trip, and carrying a guitar to write music as he went!

Following the cycle path out of town, I started to leave the fjord behind, before skirting around the edge of the mountains and beginning the long gradual climb up the Oxnadalsheidi, the best part of 25 miles, straight into a headwind.

The scenery was fantastic on a bright, blustery day, and I was almost ready for the steep bit at the top.

But, then I realised, I’d lost a shoe back down the road, I can’t have secured my pannier right and it’d fallen overboard. Unsure, how far back it could be, and devastated to be losing the height I’d gained, I retraced my steps for 3 miles, where, thankfully, it sat, right on the edge of the road.

Shoe recovered, I struggled back up, to 40 minutes before, then carrying on, had the steepest section to do. 1.5 miles of switchbacks at almost 7%, I settled into my lowest gear, and gradually ground my way up the hill, refusing to stop, regardless of what my legs might say.

What followed, was a fast flowing descent, as the road spiralled its way down through the valley, opening out onto open plains.

Pedalling fast, I was keen to reach the petrol station in Reykjahlid before they closed, I needed a beer. ‘Yes, no problem’, the attendant said, ‘but you know you have to drink it in here?’ No, I couldn’t say that requiring to drink alcoholic drinks in filling station premises was an Icelandic rule I knew well, but that’s what I’d be doing, so one bottle of Viking, if you please.

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