Distance: 82.00 miles

Time: 6:39:46

Average Speed: 12.3 mph

Elevation Gain: 1,536 feet

It was a busy little site at Svinafell, and the proliferation of charging devices throughout the dining room reminded me that my power banks were running low and in need of attention. Luckily, the heavy persistent drizzle in the morning gave me plenty of opportunity to do so, I was going nowhere.
Reluctantly I started to pack up, it was still raining and my tent was soaked through.

Then, at nearly 1 pm the rain stopped and I made a run for it. I had 80 miles to go, but, Dan had told me – the previous evening – that it was relatively flat, and he would know as it’s his route to the supermarket.

The route continued over the volcanic plains, occasionally punctuated by glacial runoff swollen by the recent downpour. After 12 miles, I came across an N1 petrol station, and making for the cafe, was delighted to find an actual cafe not just a fast food restaurant in disguise. My selection was their Thai-spiced Coconut Curry soup, and very nice it was too.

After 20 miles, the road turned, and I picked up a glorious tailwind, whisking me along at 16 mph on the flat as I passed by the captivating glacial outflow from the icecap. This was cycle-touring, this was Iceland, this was just the best.

Then, 22 miles in, the weather changed in an instant, I was being battered by a fierce cross-headwind, attacked by rain, and my speed had dropped to 8 mph. Plummeting down to the drops on the handlebars, I wrestled the bike to keep it on the road. This was cycle-touring, this was Iceland. This was just the worst.

As I struggled along, I reevaluated my estimated finish time, a mile ago it was 10 pm, if this wind kept up it surely wouldn’t be before 1 am?

Then just when I didn’t think it could get any worse, I heard an aggressive squawking overhead, looking up to see an irate Arctic Tern preparing to dive bomb at my head. Continuing to wrestle with the bike I tucked my head even lower and pedalled furiously away. I felt the bird make a few swoops but, thankfully, it missed its mark.

Soon, the road turned once more, and my speed skyrocketed up to 13 mph, now this was more like it. Seeing cars parked up ahead, I remembered that this was the day I was to pass Jokulsarlon, and, looking through a gap between some low earth mounds to my left, I was sure I’d seen the ghostly spectre of icebergs floating in a large glacial lagoon.

Making my way between the mounds, I emerged to an indescribably majestic sight. If one moment was to make this whole journey worthwhile, this was the one. Icebergs floating and bobbing slowly out to sea, seals amongst them, enjoying the frigid temperatures.

I carried on along the road, stopping at the main visitor area where the spectacle only improved, huge blocks of ice floating just offshore, cloaked in an icy mist. Then, after I’d stayed for a while, and visited the cafe, the sun came out and I had to take my photos all over again.

I was only 32 miles into an 80 mile day, but the day had already been made. All I needed to do was pedal another 50 miles. I was soaked through, but if I kept pedalling, I kept warm, and there was a tailwind most of the way.

After 65 miles, I met another cyclist stopped by the side of the road, Ken. I’d chatted to him briefly as I was arriving at Jokulsarlon and he was leaving, so I knew that he had been on the road since 8 in the morning. He was a retiree, and had been living in Victoria, British Colombia, for almost 40 years. He had cycled right across Canada 22 years ago, and more recently Taiwan in early 2020. He kept a very active lifestyle between the cycling and frequent hiking trips to Nepal. We were able to compare notes on cycling down BC’s Sunshine Coast in the pouring rain.

We were both heading to Hofn, so cycled in together. Cue another violent wind reversal, Ken explained that it was glacier winds from passing near the end of the glacier. Soon the wind dissipated, only to be replaced by another violent bird attack. ‘They like you’, Ken yelled after me. Evidently, it would appear.

Finally, reaching the campsite at Hofn at 10:45, we were surprised to be able to visit the petrol station shop and check into the campsite before they closed for the night.

While I cooked dinner, I talked to a Brazilian couple, now based in Germany, who were most interested in my trip. They were following the Ring Road too, by campervan and had had a great day between trekking on the glaciers and canoeing in glacier melt water. I sat up til 3 o’clock chatting to Ken as we draped all of our wet gear across the various radiators in the small dining area.

After a while, a Korean cyclist, whom Ken had met back down the road, turned up to make some breakfast. Having arrived at the site at 1 o’clock the previous day, he’d apparently had too much sleep! It may have been his breakfast, but that didn’t stop him doling out Johnnie Walker for us all.

Distance: 46.68 miles

Time: 3:54:29

Average Speed: 11.9 mph

Elevation Gain: 886 feet

I was awoken early by commotion from the campsite pitches next to mine. The family who had arrived and set up their campervans while I was in the shower late the previous evening were on their way. After they’d left, I tried to get back to sleep, but my back had seized up during the night and I couldn’t get comfortable.

Luckily as I was in a bustling metropolis of, at least, 150 people, the town had its own municipal outdoor swimming pool, with a 15m pool and two hot tubs.

Stepping into the 40 degree hot tub was absolute bliss, instantly soothing my aching muscles. Better still, the hot tub had outstanding waterfall views, I had the whole place to myself, and there was free coffee on the way out!

After first breakfast in the campsite, I moved on to second breakfast at the petrol station, after too many burgers I opted for that other Icelandic delicacy, Schnitzel.

Rolling out onto the highway, it felt like the wind might actually be on my back for once. The feeling passed quickly, but it was nice while it lasted. The road undulated slightly, a high rocky escarpment providing the backdrop to the left, to the right it was pancake-flat as far as the eye could see.

Stopping at Foss a Sidu, I chatted to an Australian who was also following the Ring Road, but in the opposite direction, and on a long board, with walking poles and a sizeable rucksack. It had taken 30 days for him to get this far, and he expected it to take another 8.

The road swept down past the dramatic basaltic columns of Dverghamrar, followed by the icy thrust of Fossalar, before dropping onto the volcanic plains once more. The rocky escarpment to my left ended abruptly, to be replaced by the outer extremities of the Vatnajokull icecap. The road carved its way through the black desert in front of me, so there was nothing more to do but ride.

After miles and miles across the volcanic wasteland, the road veered left, heading straight for the Skaftafellsjokull glacier which had captured my attention for the last ten kilometres or more. Performing a pronounced u-turn in front of the glacier, the road tracked along the front of it, finally reaching the picturesque little hamlet of Svinafell.

Being only 7 pm, the night was young, but I had a reason to arrive here early. My friend had been in touch to tell me that his friend Dan (who we had previously enjoyed a canoeing trip down the Tweed with), was now living here, under 200 metres from the campsite.

After I’d showered, he popped over and we shared a beer. He’s an outdoor instructor and mountain guide, who has been working here – off and on – for the last 8 years, but living here permanently for 3 years. He was currently teaching groups glacier travel, and back in April had guided a 20 day expedition across the entire icecap. It was great to catch up with him, and such a pleasant surprise to see a familiar face in such an unfamiliar place.

Distance: 48.08 miles

Time: 4:27:06

Average Speed: 10.8 mph

Elevation Gain: 1,301

As I went for my shower at 10 o’clock this morning, I noted the fact that it hadn’t been any darker when I’d cooked my dinner at midnight the night before. It was a fairly grey day. Following the shower, I spotted a pop-up cafe in an old school bus just beside the site, so went to check it out. Their sole food provision consisted of bagels, so one peanut butter and Nutella bagel it was, and a latte, then I headed back to the tent for some porridge.

Vik had seemed like a nice little town when I’d swept down into it the night before, so I decided to have a look around before moving on. I struggled up the hill to the quaint church, a great viewpoint for the area, before heading down to Reynisfjara black sand beach, where a group were horse riding across the sand. The horses they were riding were Icelandic horses, apparently the purest breed in the world as they were brought by the Vikings in the 9th century, and no other horses have been imported since.

After a third breakfast – of a giant pastry from the shop – I finally felt ready for today’s proceedings, it was 4 pm. Nothing else for it, it’d be a late one again. As I pedalled off, I lamented the lateness of the hour, but at least I wasn’t the only one travelling around late in the day. At half past 7 the previous evening – at the Skogafoss Hotel – I’d overheard an American couple discussing how far they still had to drive to make their accommodation for the night; 3 and a half hours… It felt like a lot of the other road users were also struggling to keep up with hire car itinerary mileages of up to 300 km a day. Now that sounded like a feat of endurance!

I knew that there wouldn’t be much in the way of facilities for the next 45 miles, but there wasn’t much of anything else either. It was 45 miles of long straight roads across different textures of lava fields. After 16 miles I was excited because someone had been generous enough to put in a picnic bench sheltered by some bushes, and after 27 miles I was even more excited that they’d provided a toilet facility in the middle of a volcanic desert.

As I pushed on for the last 15 miles, it started to drizzle, and a bleak day became yet more bleak. Arriving in the pleasant little hamlet of Kirkjubaejarklaustur, at half past 9 in the evening, I concluded that much as the map suggested, it really was two nice little places with nothing much inbetween. But, I’m fast approaching the Eastern fjordlands so the road may not stay flat for long…

Distance: 63.61

Time: 5:31:38

Average Speed: 11.5 mph

Elevation Gain: 1,290 feet

Yesterday had been tough, in the post-match analysis, I knew I hadn’t eaten enough, some porridge, soup and an apple tart was unlikely to fully recuperate the 5,500 calories I’d been expending. I’d been caught out thinking that the pleasant amble in the sunshine would continue and when the bitterly-cold energy-sapping headwind came along, I was ill prepared. I knew that Iceland had some lengthy stretches without facilities, I would have to start carrying more food. But not food that required cooking, I don’t remember ever having the patience to whip out my stove to help me deal with a challenging last 20 miles of the day when the weather has turned bad.

It took me a long time to get going this morning. I was awake, but still recovering some energy for the day ahead. I was focussed on making improvements to my setup that would help the cycling part of each day go more smoothly. Most important in that was sorting out my bike position, I’d ridden the last 30 miles of the previous day on the handlebar drops – because the other positions were too high – so I flipped the stem so that it angled downwards and lowered the handlebars as far as they’d go, definite improvement.

I stopped by the supermarket for some supplies, then, as it was now so long since I’d had breakfast, I popped back into Grill 66 for another burger. In my defense, there wasn’t really anywhere else…

Leaving Hella around 2, I knew that I needed to get my head down, but I was comfortable with that. Up until now the cycling had felt more like an impediment to my sight-seeing, as opposed to my reason for being here. The cloud was down and visibility was poor, but the road was pan flat and I soon covered the 8 miles to Hvolsvollur. It had been my intended campsite for the previous night, so I was glad to see that it had even fewer facilities than Hella, It had been a good decision to finish when I did.

Stopping only briefly to sort my saddle position to match my handlebars, I kept pushing on, reaching Seljalandsfoss, I was tempted to pedal on past to save the short detour, but it was one of the very few sights I was actually aware of in Iceland, ‘the waterfall you can walk behind’. Already cold and wet from wearing too many layers to counter the chilling wind and moist air, I opted to change into some dry clothes, instead of creating new wet ones by running under a waterfall, but it did make a great spectacle.

Visibility was poor – as I was enveloped by cloud – but I could feel that the landscape around me was becoming more interesting, with large rock formations dotting the landscape, the backdrop had become more rugged. Mercifully the road continued unchallenged below, straight and flat and true.

Next on the tourist trail was Skogafoss waterfall, after 40 miles, and once again it was a short distance off the road but its quality looked sufficient to warrant a stop. As usual, I elicited surprised reactions from the powered vehicle travellers – because I’d shown up on a bike – and this time even more so as some of them had just seen me at the previous waterfall. I know I’m doing well when I’m ticking off tourist attractions as quickly as those driving!

Although it was now almost 8 o’clock and I still had 18 miles to go, I was determined not to repeat the previous night’s mistakes, so I opted for a proper meal at the Skogafoss hotel. Keen to avoid another burger, I ordered Vegetable Lasagna. It had run out and the other prices were eye-watering, one lamb burger please…

Leaving Skogafoss at half 8, conditions were bleak and the landscape matched, but then at 55 miles and approaching 10 o’clock, the road – which had only just reached the south coast – was turning inland and climbing over the coastal range. A hill, this would be interesting, the road had been pan flat all day.

Luckily the gradient was kind and I relished the challenge, cresting the top to find a glorious 10 percent descent down into the valley on the other side. Scanning the path of the road across the valley floor, it looked like the road forced its way upwards using a giant switchback at the far side. Surely not… But, sure enough. As I passed the 12 percent for 1 km sign, I scoped out the very steep section of road, and cursed my luck at encountering it at 10’clock at night. Then, upwards I went, and conserving as much energy as I could, I kept an eye on other road users approaching – so that I could zig-zag my way up the steep gradients.

Over the top, I was now on a high plateau, gradually climbing higher towards a col on the horizon that would lead me to a steep descent into Vik, and with mountains all around, and clear bright skies, it was then that I really began to enjoy cycling in Iceland.