Are there any other cyclists who’ve ‘been round’, I’d asked Bob the night before. ‘Sure, there’s the guy from North Carolina’ he’d responded. Oh, yeah, is he from Raleigh? ‘No, he’s not from Raleigh, he’s from Charlotte’, Bob responded. Aah, I spoke to someone who was flying back to Raleigh. ‘Oh, he could be flying into Raleigh, they’re only 150 miles apart!’

‘Yeah my wife ain’t too happy about the 3 hour drive’ responded Chris, he was flying into Raleigh, and he did live in Charlotte. He was a retired cop, who now worked as a security guard in a school, and had previously cycled the TransAmerica across the States. He’d been at the campsite for three days already, having used a rare tailwind to power through 115 miles on his last day. 

It had been over a week since I’d met Chris – going the opposite direction just outside Hofn – but it seemed so unusual, that on a cycle tour, we could meet going in opposite directions, and yet still find each other at the end. Because it was a ring road yes, but also because Reykjavik was small enough that everyone cycling it, would finish at this one campsite.

After I’d had a brief sortie into town, I returned back to find another one of my comrades from the road just about to head off. The German cyclist from the Rhine valley, Benjamin, had made it into camp the night before, maybe only half an hour before me, and although I hadn’t seen him there, had also camped at the Borgarnes quagmire the night before that. He was just about to cycle out to the airport before his own early morning flight the next day. His entire Iceland escapade fitting neatly into a two week break. 

The family from Utah had made it as well, I caught a glimpse of them trudging through the site after a tough day on the road. There were others too, a French cyclist on a €6000 bike, bought for cycling around the world before Covid brought his dreams crashing down, he’d been cycling some of the rougher roads, including the F35 gravel road through Iceland’s mountainous heart. Another who had taken the higher road was a Swiss cyclist – with Scottish family connections, who’d had to return by bus, from Varmahlid, as she’d hurt her back on the rough roads.

Finishing the trip as I began, I packed my possessions long into the night, struggling to comprehend just how many things I’d given the tour of Iceland. It was 2 AM, before I settled into my tent, setting my alarm for 04:15, before my 05:00 transfer. Waking at 05:18, panic set in as I bundled my camping equipment over to the dining area and phoned the bus company. They were able to get me on the next bus to the bus station – at 6 AM – but the onwards bus from there was over-full for my bike. Luckily, the next bus wasn’t too far behind, and after a dash through the airport, I managed to make the flight. 

As I settled in for the short hop back to Edinburgh, I couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction when I thought about what I’d achieved this time. 976.88 miles, 15 days, 65.1 miles per day. A full 7.5 miles per day higher than my average for Land’s End to John o’ Groats had been. On that trip, I’d been blessed with excellent weather, on this trip the wind had battered me – almost to submission at times – and I’d just got on with it.

The route had felt almost unique in its simplicity and its ubiquity. One full tarmac road encircled the country, and if you wanted to travel around Iceland you’d be using it, and therein lay its beauty. When I’d cycled LEJOG, there were so many possible variations or permutations of the route that I hardly met anyone else who was attempting the same thing, and I missed the camaraderie that I’d experienced when I’d cycled the Pacific Coast Highway.

It had been while sitting in the Samuel P. Taylor State Park, just north of San Francisco, that Iceland had first been placed on the map for me, as a cycling destination. I was riding with new friends Matt and Joe, and we were sharing a camping area with a couple named Kelly and Dan, who had cycled the 30 miles out to the campsite, from San Francisco, as part of a training ride for an upcoming trip to Iceland. At the time, Iceland seemed – not only – like such a distant land, but also such an ‘out there’ travel destination, that I would never have imagined that I would cycle there myself. But now, here I was, memories overflowing from my time on the road; volcanic plains and glacial winds, towering falls and steep-sided fjords, gushing geysers and bubbling mud pools, Gullfoss and Godafoss, and glacial lagoons. Hot dogs and hot tubs and irate Arctic terns.

Other than the weather, the largest obstacles I encountered in undertaking this challenge were logistical, with long stretches between facilities; up to 100 miles between settlements, and 70 miles between campsites. I quickly learned that I was going to have to resupply at every given opportunity, just to make sure I didn’t run into difficulties.

It was also necessary that I remained self-sufficient in maintaining the bike, there were maybe only two or three towns in the whole of Iceland that had bike stores, having to reach one in an emergency would probably have derailed my Ring Road attempt, and likely have required a lengthy bus journey. Indeed, when I’d been at the campsite in Svinafell, I’d seen another cyclist who looked like he must be having a rest day, but, I later discovered – from Ken – that this was a 20 year old Canadian, who had a gear shifter problem and was waiting for the bus to take him the 170 miles back to Selfoss.

Luckily, the work I’d undertaken to get my bike to the start line, had stood me in good stead, and the bike performed well. The new wheels and tyres held up well to the rough roads and the gears had stayed – largely – in working order. I’d actually completed the tour without the use of two gears, one at either end of the scale. I didn’t use the lowest gear as my rear derailleur was hitting off the spokes, a hangover from the bent derailleur hanger sustained after my Pacific Coast tour, and I didn’t use the highest gear as the screw I’d employed to attach my rear rack was too long and would impede the chain. Looking back, in climbing the 15% switchbacks at Vik without my lowest gear, it perhaps showed that my cycling form was better than I realised.

In four tours, The Pacific Coast, the Ho Chi Minh Trail, LEJOG, and the Icelandic Ring Road, I’d cycled 5,379 miles in 92 days, an average of 58.5 miles per day, with no rest days. I didn’t know how I’d done it, and I didn’t know why, what was wrong with a rest day, you’d have to ask?…

Thanks for reading,

Michael

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