Distance: 66.31 miles

Time: 6:00:26

Average Speed: 11.0 mph

Elevation Gain: 2,862 feet

There had been another cyclist in the campsite last night, German from the Rhine valley, he had first passed me when I was taking photos near Lake Myvatn, and I’d seen him at a distance in campsites since, but this was the first we’d talked. He was on a tighter timeframe than me, starting from the airport at Keflavik, travelling anti-clockwise around the ring road in 13 days, before finishing in Reykjavik on Thursday, the same day as me, and also flying out on Saturday morning.

When I awoke, the next morning, his bike was leaning against the wall outside the kitchen, looking like it was ready to go. But after making use of the very pleasant fjord-side hot tub, the bike was still there. It was hours later that I realised that it was no longer his bike and an American cyclist had turned up that morning. Telling me that she usually was on the road at 5 o’clock in the morning, and had been surprised to see the other cyclist leaving as late as half past 9. I pointed out that I hadn’t gone anywhere yet and it was 20 to 1. ‘Oh, I thought you were just passing through’, she said. She told me to think of her as I went over the climb that day, one that she had eventually managed to push her bike over in the 20 mph winds that had been blowing me the other way.

Struggling, up the kilometre hill back to the main road, fatigue had set in, and the wheels had officially come off, this could be a long day. My plan was to breeze along the 9 miles to the next food stop and have lunch. Except it wasn’t a breeze as the road climbed away from the fjord.

Arriving at the N1 petrol station, I decided it must be time to give one of their burgers a try. Opting for the N1 Special, a cheeseburger with bacon jam, pickles, tomato and bearnaise sauce, it was pretty good, probably my second favourite burger from an Icelandic petrol station!

The afternoon started when an unwelcome sign warned me that the next section of higher ground peaked at 407 metres and was 37 kilometers long, it had started raining, the temperature ‘felt like’ 6°, and there was a gusting 20 mph cross-headwind. Great.

Struggling up to a bridge at just over 200 metres, I stopped to take some photos, and as I looked back, ready to set off again, I saw a peloton of riders racing up the hill behind me. It was a family of four who’d camped across from me in the site at Varmahlid the other day.

As I pulled away, from the side of the road, I started to think, was I about to be passed by other cycle-tourists on the road? Had that ever happened? No I didn’t think so. Bikepackers, yes, with their minimalist kit. When I’d stopped to take pictures every 2 minutes, yes. Because, I’d taken a 2 hour lunch break, for sure. Because I was still in camp at two in the afternoon, all the time!

So, with new found impetus, I attacked the slopes, maybe my legs weren’t so tired after all. Pushing over the top, at just over 400 metres, it looked like I’d given them the slip, so, relaxing on the way down, I stopped once, to take some photos, I stopped a second time, then I was feeling peckish, so stopped for some food. And that was when they caught me. I heard a hello hello, as they swept past, but that was fine, I was off the road.

Giving me a little carrot to chase, I kept them in my sights for as long as possible over the plateau, and I was thankful for the diversion, something to concentrate on other than tired legs. Eventually, as the road dropped down the other side, along the Nordura river, the scenery required a little more attention, and they drifted off into the distance. The area was a hugely vegetated lava-field between what looked like a wide glacially-formed U-shaped valley.

Battling the last 10 miles to Borgarnes, in yet more bleak conditions, I arrived at the campground just as the family of 4, bereft of their kit, were cycling back out of the gate, I presumed in search of food.

Taking one look at the campsite – the quagmire of a camping field, the small toilet huts on an exposed rock promontory, and the barely-covered shelf that made up the kitchen facilities- I headed back out the gate as well, with all my kit, I’d come back later. Much later.

Discovering that there was a 24 hours Olis petrol station along the road, I made for there. Home to Grill 66, and the Countryside burger, dinner was chosen in a flash, and, as it was 10 to 9, I figured that if it arrived quickly, I could make it along to the swimming pool for a soak before 10.

Just as I was finishing, the family rode up, looking drenched, having failed to find anywhere else to eat in town. They’d come further than me today as they’d also planned to go to the campsite with the poor reviews the previous evening, then when seeing it had no dining area, headed back, when I went forward.

Having made it along to the pool for a half hour soak in the hot tubs, and just as importantly, a shower, I went straight back to the petrol station, where I’d be hiding out to avoid the campsite long into the night.

The family – from Utah – were still there, though the boys were just leaving to ensconce themselves into the cramped 4-person tent before their parents tried to squeeze in. They were on their annual family holiday, except that the two younger kids were at the grandparents, they had the joys of this to come. The previous year they’d done some cycling in Norway, starting in Oslo, before making their way up to Tromso and over to the Lofoten islands, not all by bike, I hasten to add.

‘We were just talking about how you seem to have it made’, food at petrol stations, straight to the hot tub’. That’s probably the first time it’s gone that smoothly, I told them, I usually arrive after all the shops have shut! But finally, on my penultimate day, maybe I did have Iceland figured out, food from petrol stations, local pool hot tubs, for a trip like this, what else did I need?

Distance: 75.4 miles

Time: 5:56:10

Average Speed: 12.7 mph

Elevation Gain: 3838 feet

I had high hopes for an earlier start today. My hopes were soon dashed when a German lady who had camped nearby came over for a pleasant chat. She was cycling parts of Iceland with her son, who had just left school. It was his first cycle tour that didn’t involve cycling along a mid-European river path, and they’d just taken the high gravel road from Reykjavik. After a rest day here they would take the bus to Akureyri, then head back west to the Snaefellsnes peninsula.

Freewheeling back down the hill to the petrol station, I spotted some more touring bikes propped up outside. It felt like Varmahlid was a bikepackers’ crossroads. There were a couple from New Zealand, who’d got a ferry over from Denmark, and would be sailing back out of Seydisfjordur in the Eastfjords. They were having lunch with a cyclist from Chicago, he had cycled over from Blonduos in the morning, and was now waiting for a bus to Akureyri, so he could get his bottom bracket fixed. They told me I should have a ‘nice ride, after the hill’, so there must be a hill, then.

One thing I’d noticed, as I cooked my porridge this morning, was that the wind had turned a full 180 degrees, and whereas for the last few days I’d been heading north with a tailwind, it now looked like I might be about to start heading south again, but still with a tailwind. A massive stroke of luck. But first this hill.

Leaving the valley behind, the climb was a long drag, I was battling the wind more than the slope, and gradually I worked my way upwards, reaching the Minnisvardi monument, at over 450 metres.

Descending the views improved, and I was looking out over a lovely valley, when I realised that the route I had loaded onto my GPS wasn’t continuing along Route 1 to Blonduos on the north coast, it was taking a higher short cut inland, and checking my mapping app, I realised it had a 12 mile gravel stretch. Not a risk I was willing to take with road tyres, I committed to cover the extra miles to Blonduos.

Reaching Blonduos, after 30 miles, my eyes were on the clock. According to my weather app, rain was due for 6 o’clock, and I hoped that if I had a brief refuel here, I could get another hour on the road before it arrived. But, after a hotdog, and the largest portion of fries imaginable, I set back off and was quickly accompanied by the rain.

This was the type of irritating Icelandic rain that I’ve encountered on numerous occasions now, light persistent drizzle that feels like it’s just about to stop, for hours, and accompanied by a bitterly cold 20 mph wind, the moisture soon permeated everywhere. As it had started so innocuously, other than my waterproof jacket, I hadn’t put on any of my other wet weather gear, and 10 miles later I was soaked through, and cooling down fast.

But, with a strong tailwind behind, there were miles to be made, so on I battled, into the darkening evening light, trucks thundering past, on undoubtedly the busiest stretch I’d encountered so far.

After 65 miles, I reached my intended stop for the evening, Langafit campsite, Laugarbakki, the weather was atrocious, but the reviews said that facilities were poor, and I’d have a lot of wet clothes to dry. Then I remembered the next place had a Fjord-side hot tub…

It was a long ten miles – to Saeberg Environmentally Certified Hostel, Camping and Cottages – and with the weather only getting worse, I was worried I’d made a mistake as I dropped down the gravel track to the campground’s super-exposed position by the water’s edge.

I hurried inside the campsite’s spacious, lively, and very toasty dining area, and suddenly all hope was restored. After a hugely-rejuvenating and very warm shower, I set about cooking dinner, and draping sodden cycling paraphernalia over the kitchen’s numerous radiators, quietly satisfied at another day survived, and more miles won.

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.

Distance: 54.09 miles

Time: 4:17:29

Average Speed: 12.6 mph

Elevation Gain: ~4000 feet (inaccurate reading due to tunnel)

Last night, as I’d arrived at the Nature Baths, I’d bumped into two other cyclists, Pierre and Jenie, from the Savoie in France, they were going around the ring road clockwise, and so we were able to appraise each other of what lay ahead.

When I’d left the baths, their bikes had been replaced by an easily identifiable pink Trek gravel bike, with Ortlieb bikepacking bags, and the owner had now camped just over from me. Their owner, Sabina, from Poland, but now living in Switzerland, was on her first bikepacking excursion, and was 3 weeks in, having already taken a route through the remote westfjords. She was planning to avoid the ring road as much as possible, and stay off-road entirely when she could.

Leaving the campsite, I made for the fish and chip shop across the road before striking out on the route around two sides of Lake Myvatn. A pleasant river valley followed, the gushing water hinting at recent rains.

The road began to rise, falling slightly to continue along the side of lovely Lake Masvatn, soon, it plummeted down the other side, the wind whisking me along, a little too quick for comfort.

After Laugur, and the warmth of a coffee, I started to look for the climb up ahead, and there it was, steep hairpins started by turning back into the wind. Crossing the plateau, was troublesome too, the wind forcing me sidewards, into gravel just off route. Even more dangerous when lorries passed, wind shadows, pulling me inwards if I didn’t react fast.

Rolling down the hill, I spotted another little tourist attraction up ahead, the waterfall of the gods, Godafoss.

After 10 miles, blown along valley roads, I approached a fork. Left was shorter, but with a tunnel, right was over twice as long… This time the tunnel was 7.5 K, with even more downhill than the other day. I noticed the climate changed on the way through, hot at the top became really quite cool.

The thunderous echoes of vehicles passing was nothing compared to the sound of a giant series of roaring fans, hanging from the ceiling.

Emerging into pitiful conditions in Eyjafjordur, I raced across the bridge to Akureyri, and, dived inside the first place I found, a fast food restaurant, just on the other side.

Battling along the fjord-side bike path, on my way to the campsite, I did have to wonder, who comes to Iceland, this early in summer?