Distance: 73.08 miles

Time: 6:49:17

Average Speed: 10.7 mph

Elevation Gain: 3,572

As is always the case on a tour like this. I was suddenly up early and feeling motivated to get going on what would, hopefully, be my last day in the saddle. I certainly wasn’t planning on hanging around in the Borgarnes campsite for very long, so I packed up and made for the main junction in the town, where three petrol stations, an EV charging point, and three supermarkets, were all positioned in close proximity. Having spent the previous evening in the Olis, this time I made for N1, and it was clearly the main draw here, and where all the coach tours stopped off.

Not having spotted the Skyr bar in amongst the various food offerings, I opted for a panini and smoothie, but worried about the lack of calories, I grabbed a couple of pastries to stick in my panniers.

I expected the day to be a frustrating one, Borgarnes – Reykjavik didn’t look that far on the map, but the shortest route included a 6 km tunnel, and bikes weren’t allowed. The alternative route included a 40 mile detour around a fjord, and as things stood, the whole way back would be into a headwind. To make matters worse, the clouds were way down and it was highly unlikely that I’d be able to see very much.

Still, looking on the bright side, all I needed to do was keep pedalling, eventually I’d be in Reykjavik, and then I could stop.

After crossing the bridge out of Borgarnes, the next stretch was the busiest part of the route so far, I knew the views should be stunning, but with the mountain tops chopped off, it was hard to tell.

Eventually, I reached the turn off to route 47, the start of the long and winding road around Hvalfjordur. Instantly the traffic had disappeared, and soon I met a cyclist from Berlin coming the other way. He had taken the ferry from Denmark to Seydisfjordur in the Eastfjords, so this was him about half way round. There were a few stretches where he was unsure of his camping options, so I was happy to pass on what I’d learned along the way.

Dropping down to an old whaling station, the road continued steeply up over a headland, and, soon I was on a straighter stretch, just along the water’s edge.

Reaching the far end of the fjord, I turned back into the wind and it hit me hard, bringing with it rain and toil, and as I pedalled downhill at 7.6 mph, I knew it was going to be a long 20 miles back to the main road.

Pleasant views followed, gushing streams and waterfalls. At Fossa falls, I met two couples from Montreal, one now living in South Island, New Zealand, the other in Reykjavik. ‘It’s winter back home’, said the lady from New Zealand, ‘and it’s still warmer than here’. Wasn’t it that way for everyone?

The fjord had saved the worst for last, and after several miles of loose stones, the surface reverted back, just in time for a tough climb to start.

Finally back on route 1, after 52 miles for the day, the road was busy, it was nearly 6 o’clock, and if Iceland had a rush hour, this was it. I kept off the road as best I could, finding 6” of tar outside the rumble strip. But 6 became 2, and 2 became 1, and then I found that rumble strips on bicycles, really aren’t that much fun.

At half past 6, with around 18 miles to go, I stopped at the first petrol station I’d seen since Borgarnes, having a toastie to get me through the final few miles. I had 8 miles left on the busy main road, before I could escape to the sanctuary of the Reykjavik bike paths. The bike paths had their own challenges, though, as I attempted to keep on route while the various paths meandered divergently through the landscape.

Arriving back at Reykjavik campsite, after 15 days, and 970 miles on the road, it was much busier than when I’d left it, and I just found time to order a celebratory beer before a coach party of school kids checked into the hostel.

Sitting down at a vacant table in the bar, a man at the next table enquired if ‘I’d just been round by bike’, This was Bob, of Tom and Bob, and they’d just been round themselves. 33 days, ‘counterclockwise’. Bob, now in Kentucky, had previously lived on the Oregon coast, well that would be a great place to live.

Eventually, I made to leave, I had a place that I should be, and, as I soaked in the 42° hot tub at the Laugardalslaug pool for the last time, and considered the beauty, the wilderness, the rough roads and exposed plateaus, the irrepressible rain and unstoppable winds, the lightless days or endless light. Life was tough out here, in the middle of the North Atlantic, but no matter how bleak each day got, weary limbs and tired minds, were restored here by this hot pot.

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