Þórsmörk to Reykjavik

Rested, relaxed, and well fed from our time in Þórsmörk, it was time to return to Reykjavik and hop our outbound flight to Spain for more cycling on the Camino De Santiago through the Basque Country. The trail back to the coast consisted of a a quick jaunt over the hill from Þórsmörk to a large glacial valley which we would navigate westward to the main highway back to Reykjavik.  

Again presented with some slow-going and challenging terrain of glacial till, the rubble left in the wake of glaciers movement.  The methodical process of  picking our way through the moraine induced more daydreams of longing for my fatbike. 

We had to back-track East into the valley for an hour or two in-order to find a section of river that could be safely crossed.  Low hanging cloud cover obscures the view of surrounding peaks and massive glaciers. 

Local wild life, offered some momentary entertainment as I stalked some ground birds trying to snap a picture or two.

Surreal contrast of greys and greens. Numerous river crossings on this section from the melting glacier that flanks the valley to the south.  Again, the best and only way to gauge the depth of the murky water was to watch the massive lifted trucks drive through, assess the risk, then spend 20 minutes or so walking up and down the bank to find a navigable and survivable ford.  This water was ice about 20 minutes prior to feeding into the streams and would numb the legs about half-way through each crossing.

The vistas were breathtaking, but the glacial river fords were chilling us to the bone.  We had had a taste of the good life in Þórsmörk, and with a point of contrast of dry clothes and hot showers fresh in our minds, our resolve was wearing thin.  Where as the previous week of freezing rain, hail, and snow had just become a way of life, integrated as a normal and expected aspect of our existence.

We came upon a couple of backpackers from Spain and Holland who asked us where we were biking from. "Þórsmörk and Landmannalaugar"  we replied.  The back packers were ecstatic, and it their broken English exclaimed "We also trekked from Landmannalaugar.  We have been following your stamps all week.  We saw your tire stamps in the dirt. We wondered how anyone biked up those mountains and through the snow."  "Well we didn't ride our bikes, we pushed them." I replied with dry humor.  The girl from Holland was staring at us, grinning ear to ear as she promised not to take our pictures, for a moment I felt like a celebrity.  Time to press on.

"Glaciers are soooo beautiful." I sighed with pained sarcasm.

Sooo beautiful.  This stretch of land was quite remarkable in the abrupt volcanic formations of bright green and deep grey accented with countless waterfalls from the melting glacier hidden in the clouds above.  reminded me of my time in Kauai on the Napali Coast only I was freezing cold.

After our 7th river crossing that day, we were phyisically and emotionally drained by the conditions of the trail, there was not much riding to be had due to the frequency of the rivers.  Ultimatly in surveying our next ford, a Toyota Hi-Lux pulled up, and older man got out waved hello, pointed at our bikes, and then pointed to the back of his truck.  Nodding in agreement we loaded out bikes for a ride in a truck and a welcomed escape from the suffering.  We were given a ride through about 15 more river crossings from a very nice older couple from the North of Iceland who didn't speak more than 5 words of English, we communicated by pointing to maps, smiling, and nodding to gain a ride to the nearest town to make camp for the night.  

After a hearty meal of a gas station hamburger, we discovered an inexpensive bus ride back to Reykjavik, that would allow us a full day to pack and catch our flight the following evening.  Opting for the luxury of a bus trip over an assuredly hurried and stressed  ride on the shoulder-less and busy highway, we threw our bikes in the cargo hold and spent the last of our cash on a bus ride; our cash barely amounted to the cost of one and a half tickets, but being that Icelanders are the nicest people on the planet, the driver waved us aboard with a smile.

Packed and ready for Spain.
 One bike on my back the other in tow.

The airport is full of other people touring Iceland by bike, masochists whose punishment of choice is freezing rain and perpetual headwinds; all of the cyclists we met were riding or had ridden the  primary road system throughout the island.  I was thankful we had gotten off the beaten path and experienced landscape typically reserved for multiday guided treks and done so in relative solitude.

I felt a very special connection to the land and to the people of Iceland, it is a magical place.
There is a harsh beauty of the land and genuine warmth in the people, both unique, rare, and endearing.

Day of Rest in Þórsmörk

After the two day trek across the Lagaveur Trail with a final 14 hour push through some of the most breathtakingly beautiful landscape I have ever seen, we were ready for some down time and much needed rest.  After all, this is supposed to be a vacation; Þórsmörk ended up being the best place in Iceland thus far to relax.

Spent two night here in a lush valley in the shadows the Myrdalsjökull and Eyjafjallajökull glaciers.

Woke up at 11:00 to a backpacking gourmet breakfast of dehydrated fruit and maple almond butter burritos.

After some hot showers we headed to the lodge to get some time out of the rain, I never realized how soaking wet I was from the previous 4 days of biking until I entered a dry structure.  

Still ravenously hungry we from the trail, we attacked this basket of fresh baked bread like a couple hyenas.  

Thick Icelandic butter, vegetable soup.

With a short break in the rain, I took advantage of my renewed energy to clean the bikes a bit.
Tourists pay big money for jars of volcanic ash, I was cursing it as I attempted to scrub it from all our components.  I shudder to think what my bearings look like.

Volcanic mud and sand turned the rims into grinders to quickly wear down the break pads to almost nothing during the previous day's descent.

Þórsmörk was bustling with people, as there was an ultramarathon running the same route we had biked the previous two days, this meant intertaining conversations with people from all over the globe who had come to Iceland to run the iconic Laugavegur trail.  

This years winner in 4 hours, 48 minutes, 8 seconds.

55 km, total elevation gain of 1900 meters (or 6233 feet) and total descent of 2200 meters (7218 feet) which took us a total of 19 hours of trail time on bikes, 5 hours the first day, 14 the second. 

We took advantage of all the special amenities provided for the racers, most notably massage and a fresh roasted Icelandic lamb feast. 





Ate dinner with some racers from Canada who had finished around the 6 hour 30 minute mark, who called us "crazy" and were equally amazed that we had completed the trek with bikes and were still on speaking terms with one another, and called Monica "hard core".

 Paradise camping; Sauna; Hot Springs; Yoga Yurt.

Barrel sauna and a dip in the hot spring pool.

Chillaxing under some fine needlepoint work of famous paintings.

The Lagaveur Trail, Landmannalaugar to Porsmork

Unforeseen blessings of keeping a late night into early morning riding schedule continued and our arrival to Landmannalaugar afforded us an opportunity to soak in the volcanic hot springs in solitude. Rare during the high season of July/ August, and a luxury typically reserved for mountaineers who brave the mountain routes during winter months.

Scalding water from the geothermal vents spills out of the hillside formed by an ancient lava flow into a cold freshwater glacial river mixing to a tolerable temperature. 

Travers brought by Landcruisers on 40" tires and mega off-road busses crowd the spring during the day.

The first blue Icelandic sky of the trip roused us from our tent at 11:00.  Over a meal of powdered eggs and soy chilli, we discussed the next stage of our trip with our newly acquainted friends Siggy and Halli.  Two men native to the area and longtime mountaineering buddies who had just finished bagging some peaks.

Siggy was a strong proponent of the Lagaveur trail, connecting Landmannalaugar to Pórsmörk to the south (pronounced "thōrsmōrk"). 

"My favorite. The best. Beautiful!" he affirmed with manic zeal. Then came intense queries into our  route traveled to Landmannalaugar the day before, and an inventory of our gear (to ensure we were equipped to survive what lay ahead). Once satisfied, Siggy began excitedly sending GPS files to my iPhone and recommending apps (GPS Kit, wikiloc) downloaded by piggybacking on his 3G signal.

The iPhone has served well as an all in one travel tool: GPS, camera, photo editor, web browser, and communication device.  Call it the 'Blog-O-Matic 5000'. Maintaining consistent power thanks to my Shutter Precision dynamo hub from IntelligentDesign Cycles and BrightBike Revolution USB adapter, all surviving the abuses of the road and terrible weather thus far. 

Despite Siggy's enthusiasm about the Lagaveur; Halli expressed some skepticism regarding the viability of such a feat on a bike. "It's good for hiking,  I don't know how anyone would ride a bike, but I'm not a biker", he shrugged and lent us his map of the area.

The trail didn't look impossible from the topo-maps we studied over coffee, but the steep and immediate altitude gain as we left the oasis of Landmannalaugar was readily apparent.

After 30 yards of single track, the trail disappeared into a wall of solidified lava.

Some hike-a-bike is to be expected.

Still coping with an injured left shoulder I had to modify my typical bike carrying technique. Hook saddle over right shoulder, support weight of bike with right arm, gripping right chainstay, lift with legs.  Good training for cyclocross.

Modern Chivalry has many forms. 

Rewarded at the top with technical single track snaking though a lava flow of blue-black obsidian boulders.

 Rhyolite is the mineral responsible for the mountains' sunset hues. The single track emerging from the lava field can be seen in the bottom left to give a sense of scale.

 

The trail continued to climb through alternating smooth moderate track and sections of steep loose hike-a-bike.  The terrain was accented with vents of sulfuric steam and boiling spring water, adding an element of otherworldly magic to the slog.

Progress was further slowed due to my constant pauses to take pictures, I have never been so enamored with a landscape.   

Old snow; older lava.

As we moved into the higher alpine environment, the unintended mantra became, "I wish I had my Surly Moonlander; This would be great on a fat bike." 

Red sandy earth and black volcanic rubble gave way to glacial snowfields.  I pedaled 2 inch trenches in the snow for as long as my pride and burning legs would allow.

Memorial near the summit imbued a sense of gratitude for the fair weather.

Gaps in the snow were filled with unridable cobble of sand and volcanic stone.

This is why god created fatbikes.

Fatigue from the sustained efforts of pushing up through scree, snow, and steep sandy pitches overshadowed the fleeting moments of joy and freedom that came from the fast winding single track I had savored several hours ago.

Finally a somewhat sustained descent.  With pent-up desire for speed, I bombed the final rocky section of trail. The 650b x 2.1 tires  and titanium frame of my Merlin doing their best to soften the bone jarring texture of the mountainside. Howling brakes ensured that my arrival was well announced, greeted by gawkers with looks of bewilderment at the sight of a mountain bike.  Monica had better sense and choose to walk down this final slope.  

I was glad to pay the 4500 Kronur fee for a warm place to sleep and attempt to dry out my shoes. 5 hours of trail time and only 1/8 of the distance covered; food enough for one more day of travel.  As I tried to sleep, sweating in the 80 deg F. hut, heated by a nearby geothermal vent, survival anxiety set in.  We still had more climbing ahead of us, and the forecast was not favorable.