Wednesday: Holaskjol is party central

We set off today to complete a large loop around the Holaskjol area which started with a long drag back up to the foot of the huge descent we had enjoyed the previous day. The climb was mostly without incident, it was just a marathon slog up a very big hill indeed which took us around an hour to complete. Todays riding would, unfortunately, tipify a great deal of the riding in Iceland, stunning scenery but it didn't change very quickly so after you had had your fill of taking in the beautiful scenery, you were left with the long dull doubletrack to stare at. By now I've probably put you off Iceland completely, but seriously go, you will love it. It's like no place you've ever ridden before, I can guarantee you that, and I mean in a good way. The landscape is completely unique and you really get the feeling you are riding in a completely alien landscape to what you are used to. Just don't go expecting awesome trails, enjoy the different culture and the strange landscape. We spent a great deal of the early morning discussing Mark's attempts at mixing it up with one of the local guides, a friend of Helga, the night before. As we rode around the lake we did find a technical section of singletrack which gave us a chance to test our skills which hadn't exactly been pushed thus far.

Waiting for the rest of the group to tackle some tricky singletrack beside the lake.

Our excellent guide Niels tackling the singletrack.

The Power Rangers make their move!

Following the singletrack we took a short break to regroup. I decided to try an arty shot from on top of a large boulder as the group rode past and having spent a good few minutes getting ready for the shot I then preceeded to take the finest collection of blurred photography ever taken in Iceland, well worth the effort of having made my riding companions stand around in the cold wind for a few minutes! We were to climb over a hill and then tackle a beast of a descent down to a lava garden where we would stop for a brew. The descent was fantastic. A five minute section of arm vibrating, wheel kicking, hanging over the back wheel, grin inducing fun! As these white knuckle sections were rather spread out, the temptation was to hammer it which led to one or two close calls, I mistimed a corner and had to drop into a huge rock stewn rut and ride out of it, almost going over the bars and down the side of the hill via the 'off piste, sans bike' route in the process. That was a close one, the sort of moment where you instinctively look behind you as you can't believe you got away with it, looking in any direction other than straight ahead obviously not helping your recovery! I took some pictures at the foot of the decent. I seem to remember James going over the bars, although he was fine and laughed it off.

James tackling a very technical section of jeep track. This was probably one of the more technical sections of track on the entire holiday. There was not much from a technical riding point of view that a novice rider couldn't handle. Iceland is brilliant, but it's not about the riding it's more about the culture and the people.

Alan and Cath were ex time triallist's and they didn't hang around, even though they were riding fully ridged bikes in the rocky conditions. They must have been battered and bruised by the end of the trip. Still, if they had been with us in Spain the previous year their bikes would probably have vibrated to pieces.

We stopped for a break amongst a lava rock garden. As with most places you stop for a break and some random stranger turns up, in this case it was a local ranger who was visiting one of the remote mountain huts in the Fjallabak.

Following the welcome break, Niels took us to what he called a real challenge, his notorious "Hill of Death"! A half hour climb up a very steep hill, made worse today thanks to the Icelandic three hundred and sixty degree localised hurricane. It started off ok, we were all spinning along together and chatting but for the latter half it was every man and women for themselves as we crawled and weaved our way up the hillside, teased by a mercifully sharp false summit, which had our legs burning before we even saw sight of the actual summit. A good test, everyone got up cleanly and enjoyed it, comparing notes and enjoying the views at the summit when we eventually arrived, albeit a little strung out. Having the jeep on hand to provide a brew and some snacks was a definite motivator on the final pull!

After climbing the "Hill of Death" for twenty minutes we were treated to a cairn, a great view of another waterfall and Mark breaking wind...nice.

Following the hill of death we were treated to a few kilometres of rolling descent which became gradually steeper before hitting the flat and a huge jump which, hit on the sweet spot, could give you some serious air! We gathered at the foot of the hill taking photographs and grinning from ear to ear at the little secret at the foot of the descent. We headed back to Holaskjol and I for one was feeling the long day in the saddle, particularly as we had done a lot of climbing today. A few kilometres from base we hit a final river for the day, a particularly wide and extremely cold river which we spent about twenty minutes crossing, then drying ourselves out, mocking other people crossing, offering less than helpful advice and howling with laughter at any slight hint of a complete soaking or cheering anyone who made it look particularly easy. Niels was a real star as our guide, he spent a bout fifteen minutes in the river helping people across and must have made the approximate hundred yard crossing at least three times in total. As the water was particularly clear it was clear that the water was coming off one of the glaciers, so it was extremely cold...it was certainly not somewere you would want to hang about. No wonder he takes part in Icelandic Ironman competitions.

Niels helping Leslie cross a river. Not many crossings on this day but on a bad day we might cross a dozen rivers.

For some reason Niels appears to be holding some sort of dance workshop in the middle of the river!

On arriving back at the hut we went into the usual routine of showering, taking care of any knocks we had picked up during the days riding (Ibuprofien gel is a god send!) and then tinkering with the bikes whilst we waited for dinner to be served. As we were sharing the hut with a group of around forty french hikers, we had to go through the dining area which doubled as their sleeping area to get to the annexe which was our home from home, a long narrow dormitory which contained six bunk beds, functional but comfortable and warm, especially after a few post dinner beers. The French had decided that they were going to bed at half seven in the evening as they were up early to go walking, which didn't go down to well with us as we liked to stay up late drinking and then get up at a reasonable hour (usually half seven or eight). We were in our room having a few drinks and playing cards and had several visits from the French "head of security" who told us that we should go to sleep, as they had an early start. Possibly due to the majority of the group being English, after a few of these visits we decided that they were probably right, it was half past eight after all. Looking back, it seems even more ridiculous now than it did then!

We were ready for bed when Niels came in to a darkened room to see everyone tucked up in their sleeping bags. "What are you doing? It's a quarter to nine" he enquired and we told him what had happened. I don't actually think it's possible for Niels to be angry, he's far too laid back, but he said that we must ignore them and do as we please, we didn't have to sleep till around midnight if we didn't want to and the living room they were sleeping in was for us to use, if they go to bed early then they have to try and sleep the best they can, that shouldn't stop us from using the room and having to go to bed early. Break out the party hats! James instantly turned on the stereo to a volume which the Ministry Of Sound would be proud of and decided he wanted to sit in the living room where the French were sleeping and did so. Clearly this didn't go down well with the onion bearers, we needed a compromise which didn't result in a fatality. The ranger suggested that we use one of the vacant log cabins for a little party, the guides were up for it and one or two of the more adventurous French were up for some booze fuelled antics. We headed off to a nearby log cabin and within fifteen minutes there were around sixteen of us crammed in, sharing out the booze and having a real good crack.

One of the last people to come to the party was, quite indescribably bizarre. I will do my best to relay what happened in the next few hours, but even though I was there, it was all rather surreal! The final member of our group was the French party driver, who looked like he had been modelling himself on Mick "Crocodile" Dundee for the last twenty years or so. Imagine a very tanned and overtly masculine Icelandic man in his early fifties, wearing too much leather and a large hat obviously, in keeping with the Dundee theme. He had a slightly oppressive, over the top, flamboyant and larger than life character, and he brandished a very big, very sharp looking knife which he would use to drive home points in his conversation particularly as the conversation tended to wear on and if he thought you weren't listening to him talking or if he thought he wasn't doing enough talking. As with all bizarre camping related stories where someone trys to take over and be centre stage, there was a musical instrument involved. In keeping with the weird theme it was a harmonica, naturally it was Mick Dundee's harmonica. His friend had also brought a guitar. As tends to happen in these situations, they had brought there instruments to bear on us and had a captive audience... you will enjoy our show! Good lord, here we go I thought. A few hours of being aurally assaulted at close quarters.

A few minutes in to his foot tapping, mouth organ and guitar enhanced playlist and it was clear that they were both actually decent musicians, and I mean that in a decent enough for us to want them to keep playing, not in a "ok, but only until my ears start to bleed and I start an escape committee" kind of way. Dundee would intersperse his songs by regaling us with stories about his ex-wife or wife and the legendary number of ladies he had loved and left over the year (I really do mean year not years, this man was very busy on that front, the only medication a doctor might subscribe for it might be a bed), all the while jabbing his six inch blade around to make certain points every now and again. You never felt like he was a complete psychopath, but whenever the knife came out, you were glad there were another dozen or so of you around in case his mind unexpectedly snapped. As he went through his "show", James cracked a few one liners and talked during his stories which resulted in more knife waving and dramatic gesticulating from the whirling Dundee as he fought to wrestle control of the crowd from James. Earlier in the day Niels had told of us a legendary character who drove tourists around Iceland on tours who was larger than life, carried a big knife and told infamous stories of his escapades. Dundee was this very man and our little party was one of the highlights of our trip to Iceland. Truly bizarre, but highly entertaining. I don't think anyone wanted the party to break up but it was around two when people started heading to bed, very tired, quite drunk and highly entertained. Not bad considering we originally went to bed before nine. Thank god Niels made us get up is all I can say!

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