Around Iceland
The story of JayBiking Iceland begins the night before the flight. I ran into a few minor issues while packing my bike, which caused some delays. So, we decided against driving to Düsseldorf that evening to check in my luggage. The result: no sleep and a 3:00 AM departure for the airport. Then: smooth sailing, plenty of time. And off to Iceland!
Unfortunately, there was no way to store the bike box at Keflavík Airport, so I had to assemble the bike, strap the box to my back, and head to my accommodation (4 km away). Anna (my host) was incredibly friendly; I was allowed to leave the box in her garage, and I’ll be staying at her place again on my final day. Anna also advised me not to go all the way to Reykjavík to get fuel for my stove, since the right kind was available right there in Keflavík... Well, after a bit of back-and-forth, I bought Aspen 4 - not exactly what I’d originally wanted, but it should do the job.
I took a short walk by the sea in the evening, made a quick trip to the supermarket for dinner, and planned to hit the hay early... Or not...
Richard (I hope I’ve got the name right - I’m terrible with names, and it’s been three weeks...) and his wife had also checked in; they were a couple from Australia. Richard mentioned that they usually travel by bike... We had plenty to talk about...
Finally, I made it to bed at 9:30pm...
Stage 1
The time change is taking a bit of a toll on me; by 7:30 a.m. local time, I’m pretty much ready to head out - I say a quick goodbye, ride to the supermarket for breakfast, and then I’m off.
First, the city... Then, over the first crest, and I’m out in the open countryside - a huge grin spreads across my face; it feels amazing to be on the road again!
And Iceland is simply stunning... One moment it’s black and barren, the next it’s green and vibrant... The first day throws a few tough climbs my way right off the bat, but the stage goes really well regardless; I reach my destination by around 3:00pm.
It’s a super cozy campsite in a lovely little town - which, naturally, I explore a bit after dinner...
The campsite has a kitchen, so the petrol stove test gets postponed until Day 2.
Stage 2
The campsite is already stirring early; some people have already loaded their cars by the time I head to breakfast at 7:00am. Time to pack up and hit the road...
The day gets off to a good start - no issues, a great road; what more could you ask for? However, the road becomes a bit of a trial over time; there is little room to pull over or take a break. The scenery is stunning, but the road itself is "boring." Some cars overtake with only centimeters to spare, while others swing so wide they nearly endanger oncoming traffic...
The first waterfall on today's route: Seljalandsfoss.
Next stop: Eyjafjallajökull. Does anyone remember that name? It’s windy at Eyjafjallajökull again this year, though this time the wind is coming from the right direction.
My campsite is located practically right next to Skógafoss, a fantastic waterfall.
Since I arrive at the campsite quite early again, I go for a short hike (5 km, 200 m elevation gain). 527 steps lead up to a platform above the waterfall, offering a magnificent panoramic view. If you follow the trail along the river, you are rewarded with even more waterfalls: Hestavaðsfoss, Fosstorfufoss, Steinbogafoss...
The wind persists through the night - I’d almost call it a "storm" this evening, though that would leave me with no way to describe the even stronger winds yet to come. My tent shakes but holds firm without any issues.
Stage 3
It was a pretty intense stage. Drizzle and a light wind in the morning.
That morning, I reached the incline where my gears had failed ten years ago. Two kids in a car driving past me on the slope (12% gradient) cheered me on.
By midday, the sun came out and the wind picked up. At first, I had a tailwind, but by the afternoon, the wind - which was strong at times - was coming from the side; it was not entirely without risk...
I also had to contend with an ash storm that day. Nevertheless, I arrived at the campsite in good spirits.
Stage 4
The fourth stage was short, and the weather (at least in the morning) is fantastic. That’s a great reason to really enjoy the day and make a few detours to see some "sights": Stjórnarfoss, Hamrafoss, and Fossalar.
What’s best, the route leads towards the Svínafellsjökull glacier all day long - a magnificent sight. Around midday, headwinds and crosswinds pick up again. The crosswind causes my first (and only) crash of the tour when a gust pushes me onto the gravel beside the road.
During my last break (about 10 km before the campsite), a woman asks if I need anything - water? food? Very kind, but unnecessary.
I spend the afternoon and evening enjoying a small, cozy campsite in 18°C weather and brilliant sunshine.
Stage 5
By 6:30am, queues are already forming for the showers; I’m glad I don’t need them in the morning... I set off after breakfast; even before I reach the main road again, two kids and their mother are standing on the dirt track in front of a holiday home, cheerfully cheering me on.
This day is also a great example of how much the wind affects speed. In the morning, with a tailwind, I easily hit speeds of up to 33 km/h on flat stretches, whereas in the afternoon, facing a headwind, I manage barely 18 km/h.
For my lunch break, I stop at Jökulsárlón Glacier Lake / Diamond Beach - one of the most picturesque spots in all of Iceland. Since I arrive at the campsite quite early again, it’s a bit annoying that I didn’t take in more viewpoints along the way, but there’s nothing to be done about that by evening. I ride the final hour of the stage in light rain, and the campsite reception isn't staffed yet. That’s not a big deal in itself - but the showers require coins (100 kr/2 min). I ask at a nearby caravan if they have any coins; the answer is, "Sorry, no..." but two minutes later, the woman comes over to me saying, "I found two..." :D
Stage 6
I got a later start today. As I was loading up my bike, I struck up a conversation with the family camping next to me - they were from Hamburg. I spoke to the dad first, but the young son (aged 8-12) was the one who really wanted to know everything: "Where are you from? Where are you going? What do you do when you aren't cycling? Why are you doing this?"
Then I set off for my "beach day" in sunny 18°C - perfect day for cycling. I rode along the coast for most of the day. Along the way, I encountered a tunnel. I found myself wondering: am I allowed to ride here? I hadn't seen a sign, so I just went for it. Unfortunately, the battery in my rear light had died earlier that morning, but I improvised: phone flashlight on, phone tucked into my cycling shorts, and off I went. The final 15 km turned out to be really grueling, with constant ups and downs. Between the 90 km and 95 km marks, there were some steep, punishing climbs; the terrain leveled out a bit after that, but then I had to contend with a headwind... No matter.
The campsite, located right by the sea and the harbor, made the struggle worthwhile.
Stage 7
The campers at this site seem to be long sleepers. When I have breakfast at 7:00am, no one else is up yet; many are only just getting out of bed as I set off. It is cloudy and windy. The route takes me 20 km into the bay and then back out again. After riding 40 km, I am only 1.5 km - as the crow flies -from the campsite.
At first, my mind reacts negatively to this - but then again, those were 40 km through wonderful scenery (even if I was riding against the wind in both directions - how is that even possible?). Who cares where yesterday's campsite was?
Of the day's 122 kilometers, nearly 80 km were ridden against the wind, but the final 40 km had a tailwind.
I also encountered my second tunnel of the trip that day. It was 6 km long and - unlike the tunnel the day before - had no shoulder... Naturally, I hadn't managed to get a new battery the previous day. But I know how to use my phone. For this tunnel, I even download an app that makes my phone screen flash red; I hope this will make me more visible. Still, I have an uneasy feeling, and I’m relieved when I see the light at the other end.
As I sit by my tent in the evening, looking over the route for the next day, I begin to have slight doubts about the plan. The original plan (Option A) covers 125 km with 1,660 meters of elevation gain, including 28.5 km on what Komoot classifies as "firm gravel." On my tours over the last few years, Komoot’s trail descriptions were usually very accurate. In Iceland, however, I discovered that not everything Komoot labels as "firm gravel" is actually rideable; sometimes the gravel turns out to be loose and very deep. And covering 28.5 km with over 200 meters of elevation gain in these conditions? I’m skeptical.
Option B, however, comes to 141 km - not exactly an appealing prospect either, especially with strong winds - though it involves only 1,450 meters of elevation gain and just 6.5 km of "firm gravel."
My options are set. I decide to ride as far as the crucial junction, check the condition of the "firm gravel," and then make a decision on the spot.
Stage 8.1
Things turn out differently anyway. A fierce storm rages through the night. I start to doubt whether I’ll be able to carry out either of the two options. I check the weather forecast. Wind speeds of up to 50 km/h are predicted for the day... Do I have another option?
The nearest major town is Egilsstadir. It’s 35 km away with an elevation gain of 600 meters. From there, there’s actually a bus that could take me close to the finish of Stage 8, or even to the end of Stage 9. However, it only runs once a day at 8:30am, so the decision is one for the evening or the next morning anyway. First, I have to tackle the 35 kilometers to Egilsstadir.
Things actually start off quite well given the circumstances; I manage the first 5 km in 30 minutes. I’m facing a headwind right from the start, and the climb begins after 2.5 kilometers. It’s a 6.5 km stretch with a 4% average gradient, though it’s significantly steeper in the middle section.
Then a drizzle sets in; I’m spared very little of what makes cycling unpleasant today. On the bright side, I do spot a rainbow or two :D
A truck pulls up beside me and asks if I want a lift. Things are going pretty well, so I politely decline - will I regret that later?
The climb gets steeper, the wind intensifies, and the drizzle turns into hail. Should I have gotten into that truck after all?
On top of the headwind, there are frequent, sudden gusts - sometimes from the right, sometimes from the left. At times, I have to push the bike because riding is simply too dangerous. There are moments when even pushing is impossible because the bike is barely controllable.
I grit my teeth and push through. After about 15 km (give or take) of uphill riding, I reached the day's high point, and the next 10 km were mostly downhill. Naturally, the higher speed made the bike more stable, allowing me to make reasonably good progress. To avoid being blown off the road by gusts of wind, I rode well out toward the middle of the lane; most drivers seemed to understand this.
Once I arrived in the village, I faced a dilemma... Should I really take the bus the next day? Or should I perhaps postpone my rest day by a day and ride the remainder of today's stage tomorrow?
After making my decision, I popped into the supermarket - I decided to treat myself to a beer today. As I was leaving, someone called out to me... Richard and his wife were sitting in the supermarket, having coffee. They were off on a day trip to an island. It really is a small world (or rather, a small Iceland).
Later that evening, as I sat in the campsite’s kitchen/common room (it was too windy in my tent) surfing the web (since Wi-Fi and power were available), a couple I had briefly chatted with the day before approached me. They had overtaken me in their car earlier that day but were nonetheless hugely impressed by my effort on the climb... They had originally planned to camp elsewhere that night but were advised against it, as their tent might blow away.
Stage 8.2
The night was stormy; there was no sign (or very little) of the predicted easing of the wind...
In the morning, I start wondering again whether my decision was truly the right one or if I should take the bus after all. Oh well, it’s worth a try.
So, no bus; the rest day is postponed, and the plan is to tackle the remainder of yesterday's route.
It was clear that the first 20 kilometers would be tough. Mostly uphill and straight into the Northwind.
I run through various scenarios: where do I need to be by a certain time? Under what circumstances would I turn back and take the bus tomorrow? I tell myself, "Oh, once the route turns west, things will improve..." And when the route did turn west, things *did* get better - not by much, but better.
The question of what to do at the turnoff for the "solid gravel" section is also still on my mind. Do I take the longer route along the road, or the shorter one involving more elevation gain via the 28.5 km of "solid gravel"?
After my feet grew increasingly cold throughout the morning, I’ve been wearing zip-lock bags over them since midday; it helps at least a little.
I had thought the highlight of the stage would be the double climb after about 80 km: first a 5 km stretch at a 6% gradient, followed almost immediately by a 2 km stretch at 5%.
But once I reached the top, I realized that the climb itself was nothing. Out on the high plateau, there is nothing to block the wind, and it’s blowing with full force - from the right, the left, and straight into my face. The decision regarding which of the two routes to take makes itself: given the wind and my setup, I stand no chance on the "solid gravel" path. I grit my teeth; I still have 50 km to go...
It’s going to be a hard, long, and exhausting day...
When I arrive at the campsite, I realize I have no signal. After setting up my tent, I head to the restaurant - they have Wi-Fi, and I want to get in touch with Elea. The server tells me that Elea has already called. Because I had no signal, my live tracking had cut out, and people had started to worry a little - after all, many were aware of the day's adverse conditions.
Thanks for your concern and for following along <3
That evening at the campsite, I meet a Swiss couple exploring the backcountry on gravel bikes; they, too, have had a tough day.
Stage 9
Another stormy and very cold night.
The morning is the same: stormy and cold - you can see your breath. Drizzle...
I’m taking it easy today; it’s only 70 km. It remains windy, but at least it’s manageable enough to ride safely without worrying about being blown into traffic or off the road...
The route takes me past hot springs - how I love that smell of rotten eggs.
The campsite is right by the lake; the water has a decidedly "unnatural" color. I’m just about to take a shower when two American women walk into the building and start talking about "the biker bloke" (they don't realize I'm in one of the stalls and can hear the conversation): "I would never put my tent and all the stuff on a bike, go to a foreign country, and go cycling. I'm mad, but not *that* mad..."
Stage 10
105 km to go until the rest day...
I had already noticed the huge number of tiny flies at the campsite, but what was flying around my ears (and into every single orifice) this morning was simply disgusting - the swarms could easily rival the biggest ones in Scotland, Norway, or Sweden...
By midday, the wind picked up slightly - though nothing compared to previous days - but then it started to rain.
It’s wet and freezing cold! Naturally, the hostel is located on a hill outside the town center, so one last push was required.
After a shower, I made a quick trip to the supermarket, picked up a pizza from Domino’s on the way back, and enjoyed the evening.
Rest Day
The weather on this rest day is still lousy, offering absolutely no incentive to do anything outside the room.
I pick up breakfast at the supermarket (which doesn't open until 10am), and later I make a quick trip into town to buy shoe covers - zipper-lock bags wrapped around my feet are really uncomfortable - and stock up on provisions for the remaining days.
I spend the rest of the day adjusting my route plan. Given my experience with the road conditions and the current weather, I’ve decided to skip the detour to the Westfjords (Vestfirðir).
Skipping this section had been an option from the start, yet I was still a bit disappointed to have to make that call. Otherwise, it was an absolutely boring rest day.
Stage 11
I set off again the next day, feeling well-rested.
It was actually a lovely route - constantly rolling up and down, winding through green hills. Unfortunately, there was fog and poor visibility in the morning, followed by a strong headwind at midday.
The campsite is located at a farm near a (very) small village, right next to the "civic hall" - a building that served as a theater, cinema, and so on. The showers were located there too - though, unfortunately, they lacked water pressure.
Still, it was a nice spot and a great evening.
Stage 12
There was a very strong headwind for the first 30 km - and especially the last 8 km - while the rest of the day’s ride took me through green hills with shifting winds (mostly a tailwind)...
Scenically, it was truly beautiful - just like Stage 11 - though it lacked any real highlights.
Halfway through the day, I met two cyclists from Canada; they were on Day 3 of their trip and riding clockwise - I definitely had the better wind conditions today.
More so than on other days, I noticed drivers waiting behind me when oncoming traffic approached - very commendable. Though, naturally, not everyone did...
Around the 90 km mark, I encountered the biggest asshole driver of the entire tour:
He was coming from the opposite direction and was in the middle of overtaking several caravans. Even as he got closer to me, he made no attempt to pull back into his lane. I actually had to swerve onto the gravel and stop to avoid getting hit by the lunatic.
At the campsite, I ran into three travelers from Germany again: a Bavarian on a scooter and two East Germans on a motorcycle.
Stage 13
The morning starts with drizzle again, and it is freezing cold! Packing up is no fun at all in weather like this.
A big hill awaits me at the start of the day - a steady climb up to the 25-kilometer mark; up to that point, I’m averaging 15 km/h. The rest of the day is mostly downhill with a tailwind, bringing my average speed for the day up to 21 km/h 😊
The campsite is located in a nice little town nestled between mountains and a fjord.
Stage 14
A large part of the final stage runs along Hvalfjörður.
A tunnel - which would have shortened the route by about 45 km - is closed to me, just as it is to all other cyclists.
There are no major, long climbs today, but - as has often been the case recently - the route constantly undulates between the coastal hills all day long. This adds up to over 1,000 meters of elevation gain.
The weather cooperates today, too; it is the kind of day when you’d want to hop on your bike just for the sheer joy of it, even without a specific project in mind. Around midday, I spot the first cyclist (on a road bike) riding without luggage - someone simply riding for the sake of riding.
The bike path begins about 20 km outside Reykjavík; it is a real relief to get off the main road.
As I approach Reykjavík, I see more and more cyclists and road bikers, yet - as always in a city - progress becomes a slog: traffic lights, cars, and pedestrians...
Fortunately, shops are open this Sunday, so nothing stands in the way of a relaxing evening.
I’m spending my days in Reykjavík doing the usual touristy things.
Day 1: a fairly relaxed affair, featuring a mobile-based city tour (the "Escape Tour" - scavenger-hunt style) and sightseeing.
On Day 2, I treat myself to two boat trips out into Faxaflói Bay: first for whale watching, and then to see the puffins.
Day 3 brings a bus tour of the Golden Circle highlights with our guide, Giuseppe (unfortunately, whenever he explained something, it was never quite clear whether he meant Iceland or Icelanders, as he referred to both simply as "Icelända"): The Golden Circle route includes the Mid-Atlantic Ridge - or the Rift Valley - the area lying between the European and American tectonic plates. This site at Þingvallavatn ("Parliament Lake") was also historically significant, as it was the annual meeting place for Iceland’s wealthiest and most important men.
The other stops were Strokkur (Iceland’s largest constantly active geyser), Gullfoss (a massive, two-tiered waterfall), and finally, the Kerið crater and its lake.
Stage 15
Next came the final leg of my tour; after all, I actually wanted to complete the circuit.
Unfortunately, the weather didn't cooperate that day. I spent the entire day riding through rain that ranged from light to heavy. At least the wind didn't give me any major trouble.
Still, the first 20 kilometers were a real slog, as the route took me through Reykjavík and its suburbs; traffic lights, cars, construction sites, and detours defined this part of the ride.
I was staying with Anna again for my final night - just as I had on my first. I put my bike in the garage, where the cardboard box was already waiting.
Time for a shower and to enjoy one last quiet evening in Iceland.
The next morning, my alarm goes off very early (4:44). A quick (cold) shower to wake up, pack the last few things, strap the cardboard box over my shoulder, and cycle to the airport.
It’s still raining this morning, so both the box and I arrive at the airport already wet.
No matter - I disassemble the bike as much as necessary (pedals, handlebars), let the air out of the tires, and pack it into the box along with the tent.
Checking in the luggage turns out to be a bit of an adventure; the woman accepting my bags and I have to trek across the airport looking for a scale capable of weighing a bicycle. Due to the construction of some scales, this isn't possible everywhere. But even that doesn't stress me out; I have plenty of time before my flight.
The flight itself seems to benefit from a tailwind, and we land in Düsseldorf 20 minutes ahead of schedule. Unfortunately, that doesn't help much, as we have to wait nearly 90 minutes for our luggage.
No matter - I’m back home.
As wonderful as Iceland was, I’m also glad to be back here and to be welcomed by my “baybay”.
