Distance: 67.30 miles

Time: 5:48:24

Average Speed: 11.6 mph

Elevation Gain: 5,538 feet

Overall Distance: 501 miles

Admittedly, yesterday had been pretty grim, but, in cycle-touring, the only certainty is change, and now that the temporary suffering was over, the positives were clear. After 7 days on the road, I was exactly where I had hoped to be, very positive. No injuries or niggles to report. The bike was riding well, with no real mechanical issues. I’d been able to take a shower this morning and all of my cycling kit was now dry. It was a beautiful day and Djupivogur was a lovely spot.

After Ken sorted an issue with his front pannier rack mount, I headed off, planning to visit the supermarket then get on the road. But, on reaching the harbour at the bottom of the hill I was drawn in by the strong fish and chip shop smell of the cafe across the road. Just when I was finishing my lunch, Ken showed up too – cycle-tourists are a predictable bunch – even those carrying 10 kilos of food on their bikes.

Heading back out of the village, the road undulated along the side of a pretty fjord, Berufjordur, the first of several of the route and by far the longest. It was 25 miles before I was level with Djupivogur again but on the other side.

On leaving the fjord, I was now skirting the North Atlantic coastline, altogether wilder and more exposed. The birds seemed agitated all along this stretch, and I felt like I was living out an Alfred Hitchcock film, as I tried to decide just what their bird calls meant. Then there was the ominous click and squawk combination that I’d grown accustomed to. This time I didn’t have to look above me to see the Tern divebombing at my head, with the sun behind me I could see it happening in silhouette.

I turned into the next, smaller fjord, and was keen to reach the small town of Breiddalsvik, it was now 8 o’clock and I hoped to get something to eat. But, the attractive fishing village felt more like a model village for bus tours and nothing was open.

Some bread and peanut butter later, I made my way around the coast to my next fjord. Remote but beautiful, the Glen Torridon-esque hills towered over me on all sides as I thundered down the 12 percent hill to the head of the fjord.

Soon I arrived at the pretty harbour town of Stodvarfjordur, the harbour and corrugated metal church looking resplendent in the evening light.

As the sun went down, another picturesque stretch along the Atlantic followed, before, ultimately, I reached the last fjord, Faskrudsfjordur, and after some challenging climbs along its steep flanks, I arrived at the Faskrudsfjordur campsite, with simple portacabin toilets, and beautiful views, even at half past 11 at night.

Well, after yesterday, today had certainly been a change…

Distance: 65.98 miles

Time: 6:04:38

Average Speed: 10.9 mph

Elevation Gain: 4,475 feet

Still raining this morning, I decided to go to the pool along the road. Ken was up too and heading for the supermarket, but said that he would see me at the next campsite.

When I reached the supermarket, Ken’s bike was still outside. After we’d shopped, we grabbed something to eat together at a seating area at the front of the store. He still had to visit another shop and was now less certain about pushing all the way to Djupivogur that day, so we parted company once more.

Heading out of town, at half past 4, it was drizzling lightly, and conditions weren’t too bad as I rolled along beside the rocky coastline. After 6 miles, I came across another cyclist heading in the opposite direction. He was from Raleigh, North Carolina, and his bike was seriously loaded. All things being well, he would be flying out of Reykjavik on the same day as me, so maybe I’ll see him there.

One thing he’d said that concerned me, was that the weather was much worse on the other side of the tunnel, and, looking ahead, I could now see one just up ahead. The tunnel was uphill and over a kilometre long, and coming out the other side was like the land that seasons forgot. Several degrees colder, persistent drizzle, and a howling wind, was this really midsummer?.

Within half an hour, I was soaked through and my temperature was falling fast. High mountains flanked my left hand side and turbulent air plummeted off the mountain ridges I passed, whipping my bike around and slowing me down to 6 mph.

Soon I climbed high above the sea, black stacks littering the coastline, a splendid vista on any other day, but for now, I was just too cold to enjoy it.

Then I saw commotion on the hillside to my left, some people were running up the steep slopes trying to take pictures of a couple of large caribou higher up the hill.

Eventually, I reached the fjord I was looking for, and the campsite was just the other side, or so I thought until I read the sign, 21 km to go. The road continued like a rollercoaster, the surface becoming loose and rough, I tried to pedal as long as I could but soon I’d had enough. 2/3rds of the way up the penultimate climb, the road steepened and my bike squirmed on the loose stones, and that was that, I pushed it up the rest.

Arriving at the campsite at quarter past 11, I was soaked through and chilled to the bone, desperate to get some shelter from the elements for the first time in 65 miles, I tried to access the facilities building, but was unable without a code.

With frozen fingers on a rain splattered screen, I entered my details on the online booking form, then came the cruel sting in the tail. To complete my booking and gain access to the building, I was required to upload a photo of my tent, which was yet to be built. As the wind whipped around me, I became desperate when I discovered that there was a base of stones just below the grass. 3 pegs were damaged in the process.

Finally, warm and dry and happily ensconced inside, with drying clothes around me, I couldn’t believe it, when at 20 to 2 in the morning, Ken rolled into view. I really hoped you’d found somewhere sooner, I said.

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.