Distance: 65.74

Time: 5:43:47

Average Speed: 11.5 mph

Elevation Gain: 1,928 feet

So it’s pretty hot in Iceland, which pretty much renders half a pannier of my stuff redundant, but I guess that may change down the road! It certainly makes packing in the morning painful, but I did try and leave the campsite a little earlier. Rolling out of the gate at 9:40, I made it 100 yards before I had my first stop of the day; to see the geyser at Geysir, and not Geysir as you’d expect, but Stokkur, as it’s much more tourist friendly. Conveniently erupting every five minutes, almost frequently enough for the endless stream of tourists.

Breaking one of my golden rules of cycle touring, I took a 12 mile out and back detour to see Gullfoss waterfall, I think it was probably worth it, but I’ll let you judge for yourselves…

Quickly wolving down an excellent piece of toffee and apple tart, I turned back in the direction of Geysir once more, being dismayed that the onwards junction was another 3 miles further still. Setting off along a pan flat valley, on the bearing I’d be headed for the next 30 miles, I was mightily disheartened to encounter a stiff headwind, it was bound to disrupt proceedings…

Reaching the Fludir turn off, I carried on into Reykholt instead as I’d been recommended Fridheimar, an organic farm shop for a farm that grew tomatoes, and that’s what they sold. My lunch consisted of tomato soup with a herb ciabatta, tomato cheesecake, and an iced tomato latte. It was all good but the tomato cheesecake was amazing, the tomato element being a compote on the top.

Backtracking slightly and making for Fludir, I couldn’t resist the temptation to hunt for the secret lagoon while I was there. Having found it, I spent a blissful 45 minutes in the naturally heated water, a boiling spring cascading into the pool at the far side.

With over 30 miles to go, I clearly wasn’t too worried about time at this point, and for the first 5 miles I enjoyed the pleasant valley views.

But, the chilling headwind sapped my strength and I started to flag in the early evening gloom. After 20 long miles, I finally reaching the junction with route 1 (I was officially joining the ring road, it was now one road all the way to Reykjavik). I was dismayed to see that it was still 12 miles to Hella where I hoped to get some dinner. Powering on as best I could with dwindling energy levels, I finally saw the tell-tale neon sign of a petrol station shining like a beacon in the distance. I hadn’t reached Hella yet, but it would have to do!

Deciding to make for the campsite at Hella, I arrived at the location the entrance appeared to be on Google Maps, but if it had been a campsite, it wasn’t any more. Now 9 o’clock, I resigned myself to having to cover the 8 miles to Hvolsvollur before I would find home for the night. But, having stopped by the Hella petrol station – hoping another Countryman burger would start to close down the day’s calorie deficit – I started to make my way out of town and quickly found a sign to the campsite, I’d be staying in Hella after all.. And, as I pedalled the last stretch towards the row of campers on the horizon, I was extremely relieved to be done for the day.

Distance: 63.33 miles

Time: 5:48

Average Speed: 11.5 mph

Elevation Gain: 2,481 feet

Campsite Etiquette; not something I’ve considered much in all my years of camping – other than don’t pinch other people’s stuff and say hello as you walk past people in the site – but yesterday I found I was wrong, there are plenty of unwritten rules I try and follow and now I know what some of those are!

The key ones are: 1) in a large scarcely populated campsite, don’t pitch your tent within a metre of someone else, so close that you hit their tent with your poles when dismantling; and, 2) if someone has positioned their tent beside a picnic bench which they intend on using, don’t move said picnic bench over beside your own tent and leave all your possessions all over it!

I would add: if you’re a large group in a large empty campsite planning to build a large party tent and stay up half the night, try not to camp next to other tents, but that’s more of a guideline! Of course, I’m probably just being unreasonable…

Unfortunately, this morning I was delayed in starting as I didn’t have a picnic bench beside my tent to cook my breakfast and pack my kit on. So, it was half past 12 before I finally got my act together and pedalled out of the site. The route followed some quiet roads, my loaded touring bike feeling like home as I hit an excellent network of cycle paths to head out of the city.

Starting to feel peckish – as it’d been a long time since breakfast – I came across a Grill 66 burger bar at a petrol station. I had high hopes for the petrol station restaurants as I’d read good things!

Opting for their Countryman burger I was pleasantly shocked! It was probably one of the best flavour combinations I’d ever had on a burger, so I tracked down the ingredient list as a reference!

I soon turned onto highway 36 and started the golden circle proper. A two-lane road with a good surface, it rose gradually beside a mountainous backdrop. Soon the landscape opened out and the endless horizons reminded me of those I’d encountered in the far north of Scotland on LEJOG.

Suddenly I encountered loose stones on the road, lots of loose stones, and I was to encounter long stretches like that for much of the ride. Slightly concerning when I opted for road tyres for this route, if stretches like this continue I’ll be getting punctures in my brand new tyres in under a week!

After miles of gently rolling hills over a vast plateau, I started to drop down towards Lake Thingvellir, then suddenly emerged at Pingvellir. Walking up to an obvious viewpoint and not too sure what to expect, Lake Thingvellir provided a stunning backdrop to the obvious centrepiece, a huge plate rift just below and stretching as far as the eye could see. Just as I was heading back down the ramp, 5 coaches arrived in convoy, a Viking tour group, I made a beeline for the cafe before they arrived.

I was only just half way, but with the long stretch round to the the side of the lake out of the way, the road flattened and I started to put in some miles. Making a brief stop at another petrol station shop later, I had 20 miles to go, then I really got my head down.
I’d been estimating that it might be 9 before I made camp for the evening, but then, at 20:15, I saw a sign reading 5 km to Geysir. 20 minutes to run it I thought, but I’m not that much quicker cycling. I was very pleasantly surprised when the campsite came into view and being only half past 8, it felt like I’d gained some of my evening back!

It’s fair to say I’ve been burning the candle at both ends for the last few days, and possibly a bit in the middle as well. Having decided that I would take my old bike to Iceland, I remembered that I hadn’t been near it for almost a year and that its state of repair was probably questionable. No problem I thought, I’ll just strip it down, replace some parts, give it all a clean and build it back up. It all came apart easily enough, I’ll leave it at that.

Finally, at half past midnight on the penultimate night before my trip, I had what you might call a serviceable bike. All I had to do now was attach the pannier rack, hunt down and check over everything I wanted to take, then dismantle it all and fit it in a box. But I had work all day… It was 2 am I got to sleep before a 07:15 flight. I wasn’t going to start this trip well rested, but I hoped I was well prepared.

Arriving at Keflavik Airport, a pair of shuttle buses whisked me the 45 km to Reykjavik Campsite where I quickly built up the bike and set up camp. Dispensing of my bike box in the campsite’s long term storage room, I set off to do some shopping for essentials, like a gas cartridge – and after having tried to inflate my bike tyres – a new pump.

Luckily, I came across Iceland’s answer to Tiso’s and found these items and more. And, unlike in Tiso’s where I balk at the prices and walk out, here I didn’t know what the prices were, so I just paid them. It only cost me 11,000 Icelandic Krone. Bargain!

Shopping done, and tyres pumped up, I cycled into town to see the one tourist attraction in Reykjavik I knew of, Hallgrimskirkja Cathedral. It had the double appeal of being a stunning building, and also containing a bell tower from which you could get great views of the city.

Pedalling through the downtown area, I passed streets of lovely little wooden buildings and stopped in at Reykjavik Fish and Chips for dinner.

I kept on round the coast a little and out along the quay before retracing my steps back towards the campsite.

Then, realising that there was an outdoor pool complex next door, I whiled away a few hours there in the evening, and after a busy few days, the geothermal hot pots were just the tonic.

Distance: 65.39 miles

Time: 6:27

Elevation: 4200 feet

I awoke early, unsure if it was the cold, or the fear of today’s elevation profile that caused it. The campsite was already a hive of activity, with another two cyclists packing up for the final day of their soon-to-be-aborted North Coast 500 attempt, nearby.

Setting off at 8:45, the day started with an easy mile along the coast, before climbing steeply to meet the main road. The climb hit a 10% gradient for the last few hundred metres, and was made all the harder by the car crawling along behind me on the narrow single-track road.

As I approached the junction with the main road, the two NC500 ladies whizzed passed up above, soon to turn inland and head for the train. Back on the main road, I kept climbing at a more reasonable rate, and was pleasantly surprised when it topped out at a not-so-lofty 120m, with some free yards on the flat before the descent ensued.

Down into Coldbackie I went, and as I rolled to a stop, about to put my foot down for my next photo opportunity, the wind nudged me gently the other way. I had plenty of time to scope out my landing, but insufficient time to unclip my foot, before tumbling sidewards onto the tarmac. I’d cycled all the way from Cornwall to the North Coast of Scotland, and then ended up in a heap on the road 2 miles later. Luckily traffic was light on this particular section of the North Coast 500 at this time in the morning.

Feeling like a Tour De France rider, I dusted myself down and tried to ascertain whether there was any lasting damage. I’d banged my knee, but though it was painful to walk, mercifully, it didn’t seem to hamper my pedalling, probably for the best with 60 miles still to go until John o’ Groats.

The last climb over to Bettyhill offered a sting in the tail as the road ramped up to 10%, while passing Borgie Forest, and dragged on for almost a mile, up to over 150m elevation.

Reaching Bettyhill, after a very lumpy 12 miles, I looked out over the bay and remembered the German cyclists in Taliouine, Morocco, who spoke of this place in my homeland of which I’d never heard. This is where their journey had terminated but mine still had a few miles to go.

Keen to see how the NC500 was affecting development in this part of the world, I popped into the dated Post Office / Convenience Store, stopped by the ancient toilets, and checked out the dilapidated campsite; which was populated by a few aged static caravans and Google reviews tells me had a toilet block so unhygienic it had recently been demolished. It does look like they’re building a new road, however.

The next hill was the worst, not necessarily because of the gradient, but because of the road surface. A protective layer of stones had been glued on top of the asphalt, and was creating so much rolling resistance that I kept checking my back wheel for punctures. Up ahead, I saw a slow-moving figure labouring up the hill. Quickly making up the ground, I encountered a Spanish girl on a heavily laden bike. She had masses of kit on the bike which would have been bad enough, but the bike itself looked like the sort you’d find in the bargain aisle in a supermarket. All things considered, she was doing remarkably well getting up these hills at all. She too was doing Land’s End to John o’ Groats, except that she’d started in London, in May.

Turning inland, near the stain on the landscape of the decommissioned Dounreay Nuclear Power Station, a short climb led to miles of flat roads over open hillside. I thought I was dreaming, perhaps this day wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Stopping at a cafe in Thurso for lunch, I came across a couple of fellow End to Enders at the end of their penultimate day. They had also avoided the canal paths, and had spoken to someone else who’d had to keep making trips to the Jetwash after attempting those parts of the route. I felt partially vindicated in thinking that dirt paths and gravel shouldn’t feature on a ride suitable for road bikes.

Leaving Thurso, it was 20 miles to go, I climbed back into the hinterland, finding some long and improbably straight roads, before dipping back down to the coast at Castlehill.

A final foray back inland took me far into the distance with thick cloud obscuring the coast. I took a left to Canisbay, and jumped back onto the main road for the final few miles to my finish line, the far north-eastern tip of Great Britain, John o’ Groats. It had been 1035 miles from Land’s End, 18 days, and miraculously only two days of rain. In deciding to cycle the length of Great Britain, I had been prepared for the worst, and had received the best, I had really been very lucky.

After a long journey of their own, my parents were there to celebrate the moment, and to take me and my bike home. No trains this time. They also had the privilege of being my impromptu media team, when some motorcyclists graciously offered us the chance to take some photos with the John o’ Groats signpost, after one of them pointed out that I’d probably worked harder to get there than they had.

On the way home we enjoyed a pleasant evening with friends in Helmsdale, before taking the circuitous route home through the Great Glen and Glencoe, on another glorious day. And I couldn’t help thinking, that as much as I love to travel and explore the world when I can, it really is pretty great at home.