Riding in the Fjallabak, Iceland, 2007

Tuesday: Arctic Monkfish Sunday: Let battle commence

Monday: The worst of it and the best of it

Heading out the next morning around 9am, we went back down the long road of corrugated iron from the previous day. In what was becoming a typically Icelandic turn of weather, the wind was now blowing in the opposite direction, but once again directly into our faces. The road section seemed to go on for ever, did we really ride this far the day before? No wonder this last section took so long. We were constantly feeling that we were almost there, just one more corner, one more false summit to climb before we'd see the our turn off and that was exactly how it felt riding back down the road. I had already realised that although Iceland had some fantastic scenery, it was so vast, that you had the same scenery to look at for a very long time so it was fortunate that it was very picturesque.




When we arrived at our turn off we were met by two strange sights. Some German tourists had gotten off of their tourist bus to look at two signs about the natural habitat and local environment. Not strange in itself but when you consider we had met exactly no one on the trails the day before, to then meet an entire group of people just because of a road sign seemed a little odd. Also, behind the road sign in this remote, barren, wet and wind swept location there were two tents so not only had someone decided that this was a great place to stay, someone else apparently agreed with them. The German tourists were very nice and they were amazed as us to discover people exploring Iceland via alternative means.


The mornings riding was hard, hard work. The elements were very much against us and once again, despite the early hour of the day, it felt like the day was closing in and packing up. Not much to look at but the hundred yard view surrounding you in your blanket of mist and light rain, which made the going quite miserable at times. As a group we there was a sense of urgency to push on and get out of the weather or at least maybe above it so we were quite strung out at times and regularly we'd stop and wait for others to catch up whilst grabbing the opportunity to have something to eat or a bit of banter with your riding partner.










We crossed a large river and headed through the wind to a log cabin in the distance where we would stop and have lunch. It was bitterly cold and we were very wet with the river crossing and the rain so space in front of the gas fire was at a premium. You either wanted to get warm or you wanted to dry your clothes but it was hard to do both when there were nine other people jostling for room in front of the fire. Lunch consisted of cheese and ham sandwiches, pate, peanuts, rye bread, some fruit, pretty basic stuff but decent enough and after all that wind and rain you'd pretty much eat anything although I would have chewed through the side of the hut to get at a plate of cumberland sausage, egg and chips. Before we knew it we were putting on our still damp riding gear and heading out again into the localised typhoon which had been following us since we had started riding the previous day.

As we continued through the valley we could see the trail in front of us sprawling out for a good few miles before it reached the end of the valley and climbed over a small hill and continued on to who knows where. There would be a good half hours riding before we reached that hill and then we'd climb that, cross another plain before climbing another hill, dropping down to a lake which we would ride around and then climb another hill before a short ride of approximately seven kilometres to Landmannalaugar, our hostel for the night, some much needed hot food, hopefully some beer and the much talked about river heated by volcanic vents. How good was sitting in that river going to feel after today!


I was following Alan across the first plain and very glad of the wind break to be perfectly honest. Not being a road rider I was unaware of the etiquette involved when riding behind someone either at speed or as in our case, in diverse conditions. I did the odd stint at the front but my knees were suffering in the wind from the sheer effort required to ride head long into it. I should have done more but Alan seemed to be finding it easy and was making good progress, it must have been his time trial background I told myself and just tried to hang on to his wheel. The wind was blowing in all directions including up and was unrelenting and incredibly strong as we crossed the plain, trying to ride around the frequent foot deep puddles in the track. The gap to the rest of the group was opening quickly and we had soon left them behind to fight their own personal battle with the wind which had grown to be so strong that both Alan and I weaved and wobbled across the track as we fought to keep forward momentum and I expected to see one of the sheep grazing by the side of the track get blown over our heads at any minute.

Around an hour later, once we had climbed the hill and crossed the next plain, the terrain suddenly turned into a moonscape (see video below). Instead of the jeep track carving a line of volcanic ash through the green pastures, the grasses disappeared and everything was covered in volcanic ash littered with boulders and rocks as far as the eye could see. I ground my way up the hill, pausing to take the photo below, which if you look closely enough at you can see the jeep and some of the others crossing the plain.




When I reached the summit I continued and dropped down the other side of the hill on fast, steep jeep tracks until I got to a cross roads. I had no idea which way to go, all of the roads looked the same and I couldn't see the lake we were heading for from this point. Everywhere you looked there were mountains and valleys in the distance and more plain to cross to get to them. I hadn't ridden with anyone for a good hour, leaving Alan after the first hill and I hadn't seen anyone for almost 20 minutes. It was cold, I was more than a little wet, it was no longer blowing a gale but was very calm and spookily quiet.

As I stood there contemplating what to do, I suddenly had the feeling that you could get very lost out here for a very long time if you took a wrong turn or ventured off on your own without knowing the lie of the land. Everything was so spread out, with so few people and so few mountain huts I had no doubt that you could die of exposure quite quickly if things went wrong. I was keen to push on but also concerned as to where the rest of the group were as it had been such a long time since I'd seen them. Had they gone a different way? Had someone had a mechanical? Had some had an accident? It seemed unlikely as the terrain was so easy to ride being only jeep or double track but in the climactic conditions anything felt possible. My question was shortly answered when the jeep appeared over the top of the hill followed by a string of riders, much to my relief!


James and I followed Helga's instructions and headed to the lake. By the time we had reached the lake and followed it's perimeter around to the opposite shore the weather had turned again and it was raining and very misty with huge squalls crossing the lakes surface. We waited for Alan to catch us and pushed on to Landmanaulaugur, the last ten miles seeming to take forever in the deteriorating conditions, with no idea where the rest of the group were other than somewhere behind us in amongst the localised typhoon.

When we arrived at Landmanaulaugur we were pretty much exhausted. Landmanaulaugur sat in a valley, one end barren, with red soil and looking like the surface of the moon, the other a green and pleasant land with the river running through the middle of it, steam rising from the river and the volcanic vents surrounding it. Once we had secured the bikes the only thing on our minds was joining the twenty or so other bathers enjoying the eighty plus degree water in the river. We sat talking about the gruelling days riding, the weather and the riding so far whilst drinking beer and vodka with rain beating down on our heads, up to our necks in this natural hot tub. The end of a ride has never felt better!

That evening we shared a very cramped dormitory with around twenty other guests at the mountain hut. The evening meal was mountain stew, very nice and very rustic but it certainly filled a rather sizable gap. Once again, wet clothing was hanging everywhere it could possibly hang. I slept very well considering how many people were in the room including some Olympic snoring from a number of people and shockingly early starts from others.

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