We did a whole stack of filming during our Icelandic adventures which we've now put together into a short film. There's a fair amount of footage of the beauty that Iceland has to offer, plus some insights into our experiences there.
Please check it out at Vimeo! (link below)
http://www.vimeo.com/5366567
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Sunday, 28 June 2009
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
The end of the road...for now
Our most generous of Icelandic hosts, Vidir offered us a ride to his place on the remote west coast of Iceland, giving us a realistic opportunity of heroically cycling into Reykjavik within our remaining 3 days. Furthermore, he suggested we take the coastal route we had intended on tackling (rather than the convenient highway 1) in order for us to see some of the most isolated communities in the north. Our gratitude increased as we motored over the dirt-road mountain pass that we'd contemplated cycling, and powered into the ridiculously isolated fishing town of Siglufjordur. The most northerly town in Iceland, Siglufjordur was a boom town in the mid 20th Century thanks to a thriving herring industry which was eventually over fished. Girls covered in fish guts were common back then as they came from across the land to make their fortunes gutting fish throughout the long summer days. Yum.
After hours traversing the north coast we arrived at his home in Kroksfjardarnes, a cosy old house looking across an island dotted bay (one of the islands was Bjork's private island for escapism). Our house used to be accommodation for the workers in the neighbouring abattoir and was apparently haunted. Whilst we failed to encounter either beast or man ghost, the place was certainly haunted by our poor bbq-ing skills as we shamed our Aussie origins by serving up some rawish steaks to our surprised hosts. Damn.
Our final 3 days of riding required dedication so as to get us back in time for departure and enjoy the satisfaction of powering ourselves into the capital. An 80km stretch confronted us the first day which included our final epic mountain climb known affectionately by the locals as "the hill". Feeling more and more like seasoned cyclists we tackled the hill if relative ease in comparison to our previous mountain climbs, though constant headwinds which had been forecast to be tailwinds infuriated us all day as they sapped our energy. The highlight of the day was prompting herds of horses to run next to us on either side of the road as we sped through the lonely countryside. A beautiful sight uniformly galloping across the plains.
Our 2nd last day was a miserable rainy affair that had us unenthusiastically hiding in our tent. To enhance our misery we were confronted with an unappetizing donation dare involving the bizarre Icelandic cuisine Svid (sheep's head cut in half, usually bought frozen) which we were to strap to our helmets for the day's riding. In aid of our fund raising we could not ignore the generous donation on offer and so we reluctantly took up the foul challenge. More will be said about this in our dares for donations report which will be posted here soon. For now, let's just say it was an unpleasant, slightly humiliating assignment which was compounded by the thawing properties of rain. Our rainy ride concluded in a majestically cloud strewn fjord in a warm farm house, just 80km shy of our destination. To complete our Svid challenge we cooked up our now well acquainted sheep heads for an evening feast.
Our final day was all about blue skies and tail winds as we happily powered into Reykjavik. 50km of peaceful fjord riding ended when we re-joined the main northern artery into the metropolis of over 200,000 (more than half the country's population). From there it was a stressful ride buffeted by winds amongst the heavy traffic that we had happily forgotten about during our countryside meanderings. Loudly ting-ing our bells and announcing victorious Woo Hoo's to the city skyline we rolled into our destination with pride, relief, manly smells and aching limbs thinking of few things but beer, showers and bed! The snails had made it.
Siglufjordur, most northernly town in Iceland
The Icelandic love affair with the fish is not a mutual one
The bikes enjoying the feel of speed
Time to ponder in the remote west
The locals were disinterested in our arrival
Rock star horses keen to hang out
Not even a rain song and dance could make it go away
Freaky foul food
Facing the rain with sheep on the brain
Our last day. Sun. Tail winds. Heaven.
Success!!
Weather beaten, greasy and lacking fluffiness, the mascots were happy to be back
Enjoying all the comforts long forgotten with Hana in Reykjavik
After hours traversing the north coast we arrived at his home in Kroksfjardarnes, a cosy old house looking across an island dotted bay (one of the islands was Bjork's private island for escapism). Our house used to be accommodation for the workers in the neighbouring abattoir and was apparently haunted. Whilst we failed to encounter either beast or man ghost, the place was certainly haunted by our poor bbq-ing skills as we shamed our Aussie origins by serving up some rawish steaks to our surprised hosts. Damn.
Our final 3 days of riding required dedication so as to get us back in time for departure and enjoy the satisfaction of powering ourselves into the capital. An 80km stretch confronted us the first day which included our final epic mountain climb known affectionately by the locals as "the hill". Feeling more and more like seasoned cyclists we tackled the hill if relative ease in comparison to our previous mountain climbs, though constant headwinds which had been forecast to be tailwinds infuriated us all day as they sapped our energy. The highlight of the day was prompting herds of horses to run next to us on either side of the road as we sped through the lonely countryside. A beautiful sight uniformly galloping across the plains.
Our 2nd last day was a miserable rainy affair that had us unenthusiastically hiding in our tent. To enhance our misery we were confronted with an unappetizing donation dare involving the bizarre Icelandic cuisine Svid (sheep's head cut in half, usually bought frozen) which we were to strap to our helmets for the day's riding. In aid of our fund raising we could not ignore the generous donation on offer and so we reluctantly took up the foul challenge. More will be said about this in our dares for donations report which will be posted here soon. For now, let's just say it was an unpleasant, slightly humiliating assignment which was compounded by the thawing properties of rain. Our rainy ride concluded in a majestically cloud strewn fjord in a warm farm house, just 80km shy of our destination. To complete our Svid challenge we cooked up our now well acquainted sheep heads for an evening feast.
Our final day was all about blue skies and tail winds as we happily powered into Reykjavik. 50km of peaceful fjord riding ended when we re-joined the main northern artery into the metropolis of over 200,000 (more than half the country's population). From there it was a stressful ride buffeted by winds amongst the heavy traffic that we had happily forgotten about during our countryside meanderings. Loudly ting-ing our bells and announcing victorious Woo Hoo's to the city skyline we rolled into our destination with pride, relief, manly smells and aching limbs thinking of few things but beer, showers and bed! The snails had made it.
Siglufjordur, most northernly town in Iceland
The Icelandic love affair with the fish is not a mutual one
The bikes enjoying the feel of speed
Time to ponder in the remote west
The locals were disinterested in our arrival
Rock star horses keen to hang out
Not even a rain song and dance could make it go away
Freaky foul food
Facing the rain with sheep on the brain
Our last day. Sun. Tail winds. Heaven.
Success!!
Weather beaten, greasy and lacking fluffiness, the mascots were happy to be back
Enjoying all the comforts long forgotten with Hana in Reykjavik Happy days near the top of the world
The brief taste of city civilization in Akureyri was hard to abandon but the road north was calling and our snails pace had left us little time to explore it. Aiming for a 7:30am departure we achieved our most impressive start by leaving at a respectably 8:30am. A 37km stretch stood between us and an 11:30am ferry to the northerly island of Hrisey where we had been invited to stay by Vidir, an Icelandic mussel farmer Dom had met months earlier while hitch-hiking. We were again reminded never to trust a motorist's interpretation of distance and topography, as the flat 15km road described to us in town turned out to be a 37km roller coaster of bumps and dips that were rather noticeable to the novice cyclist. Nevertheless we completed the task in under 2 hours of solid riding, perhaps a sign of our maturing cyclist abilities?
Hrisey, positioned at the mouth of a dramatically deep fjord, is a flat grassy island of 160 inhabitants, though no more than 9 were visible at any one time. We were met off the ferry by Ziggy (an employee of Vidir), and after pitching our tent in their front yard we keenly volunteered to assist him with some de-bearding of mussels down at the factory. Our brief but enjoyable stint working in the mussel industry was celebrated with a delicious sampling session of our little mollusc friends,.. apologies to the little guys but we were informed that they were some of the tastiest in the world! That evening after devouring a fantastic bbq feast (something we had grown very unaccustomed too) we made cultural exchanges by partying with the locals, eventually resulting in a 1am swim in the tingly Arctic Ocean which was promptly followed by a crazed dash up the hill to the sanctuary of their hot tub, complete with mountain vistas.
As vidir had suggested we were taken out on the water for some fishing and hopeful whale watching. Whales were not interested in being seen and the fish had better offers elsewhere but cruising the fjord with its mighty mountains and abundant bird life was adequate excitement for us land-based humans. More water fun followed in the form of jetty jumping aided by flotation suits to minimize the stinging pain of the icy waters.
After chasing it for several weeks we finally caught up with the midnight sun. On Hrisey we were only 40km south of the Arctic Circle and with the summer solstice only days away the sun was giving us a near 24hr showing. Cheers of excitement filled the midnight air as we celebrated the sun's brilliant shining face, it's persistence having allowed us so many late evening rides, glorious sunsets and the freedom to not fear the dark whilst on the road. These celebrations continued into a midnight football match with the locals which tested our tired and buckling limbs till we were reduced to lumbering old men reminiscing over days of youthful manouvering.
Our ever generous host, Vidir (at one time the only mussel farmer in Iceland), offered us a ride to his place in the west of Iceland that we simply could not refuse. So, with the clock ever ticking, we reluctantly left Hrisey bound for the west to a destination unplanned and via a means unexpected. Setting ourselves up with a final meander into Reykjavik over 200km away and with just 3 days to do it,.. the end was within sight!
Approaching Hrisey, a gentle island quietly existing between towering fjord walls
Testing our skills and strength in the mussel industry
Our spirits were not broken by the heavy lifting and back-breaking work
Feast of kings! A rare treat for us
Literally chilling in the north. 1 AM in the Arctic Ocean
Flying flotation-suit fun
Getting used to island living. Tris introduces himself to the locals
Mussel farming in the fjord
Midnight sun celebrations!
Fulfilling a dream after months of anticipation, ready to tick it off the "life to-do" list
Football with locals under midnight sun
Ready for the next adventure on the ferry back to the mainland Sunday, 14 June 2009
TriSnail on Water
If this were a water related charity drive we would have definitely filled our quota by now. We've seen lakes, glaciers, glacial lakes, rivers, the Arctic Sea & Atlantic Ocean, snow, hail, rain and waterfalls a plenty. Apart from the main waterfalls at tourist destinations, you can find them strewn through so many hillsides across the country. It's often been hard to fathom how such a volume of water can be constantly pumped down from what are often relatively small hills. Our cycle down into Seyðisfjörður was the most spectacular example of this, with waterfall ribbons creeping down the mountainsides around us in silvery slivers to help frame the nestled fjörd town below.
Speaking of water, if you turn on the a tap here the cold water is absolutely delicious. It tastes fresh and completely untainted, not surprising considering its probable glacial source. Meanwhile, the hot tap fires out a seemingly endless supply of geothermal salvation. It's been much appreciated on the road and we quickly adjusted to the sulphurous (eggy, farty) stench that comes with it...a stench that we now draw much comfort from, as strange as that might seem.
Speaking of water, if you turn on the a tap here the cold water is absolutely delicious. It tastes fresh and completely untainted, not surprising considering its probable glacial source. Meanwhile, the hot tap fires out a seemingly endless supply of geothermal salvation. It's been much appreciated on the road and we quickly adjusted to the sulphurous (eggy, farty) stench that comes with it...a stench that we now draw much comfort from, as strange as that might seem.
Friday, 12 June 2009
Accepting all dares for donations!
Please dare us to do whacky, fun, risky and amusing things on our last stretch of our Icelandic charity cycle! Taking all dares (that wont land us in prison ;) )!
A donation must be promised in order to successfully book a dare! The bigger the dare the larger the donation, you know how it works :)
The Snails await your challenges!
A donation must be promised in order to successfully book a dare! The bigger the dare the larger the donation, you know how it works :)
The Snails await your challenges!
Mount(ain)ing the East
While in Höfn, we snails had to decide how to make the most of the next region on our plates- the Eastfjörds. Unfortunately, most of the fjörds were a side-trip away from the less scenic surrounds of the ring road. So, we decided to make a compromise and take a bus up to where we could cycle a 30km stretch to the isolated fjörd town of Seyðisfjörður that was about to hold their annual Seaman´s Festival.
We checked at the local information centre and were told a "gentle slope" awaited us. What followed was a few hours of intense pain as the "gentle slope" took us from a valley town right up to the snowy top of a nearby mountain range, quite exhausted and freezing in our t-shirts. A similarly dramatic descent awaited us on the other end of the mountain range, where we enjoyed the fantastic views over the fjord town of Seydisfjordur and rocketed down the mountain for well deserved hamburgers.
At the campsite we made the nice warm bathroom our own (for lack of any other warm inside areas), with what we like to call a "bathroom party", our stuff strewn everywhere, our dinner boiling on the camp-cooker and us with guitar in hand. Several confused campers needed to ask us whether this infact was the bathroom upon walkin in.
The next day the Seaman´s festival kicked off with a sailing session on a fishing trawler out to sea, where we go unprecedented access to the whole ship and were allowed to wander around the decks, hold, the bridge, and even crew quaters. A display of freshly caught fascinating fish was also on show.
Later in the night one of the biggest parties of the year for the town kicked off, called "The Ball", with weirdly dancing locals, and which carried on afterwards by the sea-side with a guitar (commandeered from ourselves) and sing-alongs till the wee hours of the mornings, which in Iceland means around 9am.
To get back on track we caught a bus up to Myvatn, by miraculously squeezing our 3 bikes alongside 5 others into a small trailer behind the bus via a life-size game of bicycle tetris.
Myvatn is a piqturesque lake in the north of Iceland, which, as we were to discover later, means "Midgie Lake", and for good reason. The midgie is a small Icelandic fly that loves nothing better than to buzz around your head in gigantic swarms and to attempt without respite to skillfully land itself inside your mouth. The lake was completely midgie-infested and had us cursing and spitting late into the night, when they finally take a small break from pestering us.
Some incredible sights awaited us around the lake. There is a moon-like area with bubbling mud-pools and steaming fissures that fascinated us, and we took a midnight hike (as we are wont to do) around surreal vast black lavafields 15km away, that pave the way up to the impressive Krafla volcanic crater which is filled with pure icy blue water.
The next day Dom surprised Tris with a somewhat belated by nevertheless great birthday present of a joy-flight in a tiny Cessna airplane over the lake and heading further inland over the glacier-laden interior that is otherwise inaccessible by any road. The views were stunning to say the least, and the pilot kept us on the edge of our seats by climbing up sheer cliff walls and diving down into glacial craters.
A quick side-expedition via hitch-hiking to the mighty Dettifoss waterfall (the biggest one in Europe) by Dom & Dimitry went somewhat wrong though, as the rides were a bit sporadic, and the last 20km stretch to the falls were on a ride with a lovely old french couple in a campervan that crawled at less than a snail´s pace, making us wonder if jogging alongside the van might not be a bit faster. This significant but awe-inspiring delay caused us to set off for the day´s cycle at a stylish time of 9pm.
We were only too happy to leave Myvatn to escape the incessant Midgies, but they probably had the last laugh as in their last desperate attempt to offend us they kamikaze´d themselves into our bodies and faces as we cycled, and by the time we left the lake behind us one might be mistaken in thinking we were wearing stylish outfits partially woven out of midgies.
Ahead of us stood another mountain-climb, and we arrived at Godafoss (waterfall of the gods?) quite late into the night, suffice to say, although the sun was already rising after a brief 2hr snooze behind the mountains. Mighty sweaty but with a lack of showers at the campsite, we bathed ourselves in the sink and enjoyed a deliciously hot "air-shower" from the hand dryer.
Our next port of call was Akureyri, Iceland´s 2nd biggest town and the biggest in the north. Further up the mountain was the the task at hand, with nature playing its rainy cards once again. Soaked and miserable at the top, we saw some glimmering rays of sunshine poking themselves through the clouds up over the fjord ahead, and a delicious descent flying down the mountain into town was welcome respite, as were the customary hotdogs that awaited us at the bottom. The hot pool in town went a long way to sooth our aching muscles and put a smile back on our faces.
Cannot rest on our larels here though, in quite a bit of a hurry writing this up right now, as we have a long cycle ahead of us to make it to the 11.30pm ferry for the island of Hrisey. Must dash!
Stay tuned for more slapstick mis-adventures from the Cycling Snails!
Battling our way up the mountain to Seydisfjordur
Grabbing a bite to eat
Midnight stroll through the lava fields
Jumping for joy at the Krafla crater (hard to see from this angle)
Stunning arial views over a glacial peak
Catching a road-side snooze while waiting to hitch a ride
Straddling the mighty Dettifoss waterfall, its currents unmatched anywhere in Europe
Picturesque Godafoss
We checked at the local information centre and were told a "gentle slope" awaited us. What followed was a few hours of intense pain as the "gentle slope" took us from a valley town right up to the snowy top of a nearby mountain range, quite exhausted and freezing in our t-shirts. A similarly dramatic descent awaited us on the other end of the mountain range, where we enjoyed the fantastic views over the fjord town of Seydisfjordur and rocketed down the mountain for well deserved hamburgers.
At the campsite we made the nice warm bathroom our own (for lack of any other warm inside areas), with what we like to call a "bathroom party", our stuff strewn everywhere, our dinner boiling on the camp-cooker and us with guitar in hand. Several confused campers needed to ask us whether this infact was the bathroom upon walkin in.
The next day the Seaman´s festival kicked off with a sailing session on a fishing trawler out to sea, where we go unprecedented access to the whole ship and were allowed to wander around the decks, hold, the bridge, and even crew quaters. A display of freshly caught fascinating fish was also on show.
Later in the night one of the biggest parties of the year for the town kicked off, called "The Ball", with weirdly dancing locals, and which carried on afterwards by the sea-side with a guitar (commandeered from ourselves) and sing-alongs till the wee hours of the mornings, which in Iceland means around 9am.
To get back on track we caught a bus up to Myvatn, by miraculously squeezing our 3 bikes alongside 5 others into a small trailer behind the bus via a life-size game of bicycle tetris.
Myvatn is a piqturesque lake in the north of Iceland, which, as we were to discover later, means "Midgie Lake", and for good reason. The midgie is a small Icelandic fly that loves nothing better than to buzz around your head in gigantic swarms and to attempt without respite to skillfully land itself inside your mouth. The lake was completely midgie-infested and had us cursing and spitting late into the night, when they finally take a small break from pestering us.
Some incredible sights awaited us around the lake. There is a moon-like area with bubbling mud-pools and steaming fissures that fascinated us, and we took a midnight hike (as we are wont to do) around surreal vast black lavafields 15km away, that pave the way up to the impressive Krafla volcanic crater which is filled with pure icy blue water.
The next day Dom surprised Tris with a somewhat belated by nevertheless great birthday present of a joy-flight in a tiny Cessna airplane over the lake and heading further inland over the glacier-laden interior that is otherwise inaccessible by any road. The views were stunning to say the least, and the pilot kept us on the edge of our seats by climbing up sheer cliff walls and diving down into glacial craters.
A quick side-expedition via hitch-hiking to the mighty Dettifoss waterfall (the biggest one in Europe) by Dom & Dimitry went somewhat wrong though, as the rides were a bit sporadic, and the last 20km stretch to the falls were on a ride with a lovely old french couple in a campervan that crawled at less than a snail´s pace, making us wonder if jogging alongside the van might not be a bit faster. This significant but awe-inspiring delay caused us to set off for the day´s cycle at a stylish time of 9pm.
We were only too happy to leave Myvatn to escape the incessant Midgies, but they probably had the last laugh as in their last desperate attempt to offend us they kamikaze´d themselves into our bodies and faces as we cycled, and by the time we left the lake behind us one might be mistaken in thinking we were wearing stylish outfits partially woven out of midgies.
Ahead of us stood another mountain-climb, and we arrived at Godafoss (waterfall of the gods?) quite late into the night, suffice to say, although the sun was already rising after a brief 2hr snooze behind the mountains. Mighty sweaty but with a lack of showers at the campsite, we bathed ourselves in the sink and enjoyed a deliciously hot "air-shower" from the hand dryer.
Our next port of call was Akureyri, Iceland´s 2nd biggest town and the biggest in the north. Further up the mountain was the the task at hand, with nature playing its rainy cards once again. Soaked and miserable at the top, we saw some glimmering rays of sunshine poking themselves through the clouds up over the fjord ahead, and a delicious descent flying down the mountain into town was welcome respite, as were the customary hotdogs that awaited us at the bottom. The hot pool in town went a long way to sooth our aching muscles and put a smile back on our faces.
Cannot rest on our larels here though, in quite a bit of a hurry writing this up right now, as we have a long cycle ahead of us to make it to the 11.30pm ferry for the island of Hrisey. Must dash!
Stay tuned for more slapstick mis-adventures from the Cycling Snails!
Battling our way up the mountain to SeydisfjordurFinally at the snow-laden mountain-peak!
Beautiful views down onto the fjord town, with a steep descent to come.
"Night-time" in Seydisfjordur, about as dark as it ever gets there.
Grabbing a bite to eat
Midnight stroll through the lava fields 
Jumping for joy at the Krafla crater (hard to see from this angle) 
Chilling at lake Myvatn
Contemplating the hard road ahead.
Trading in wheels for wings for a couple of hours
Stunning arial views over a glacial peak
Catching a road-side snooze while waiting to hitch a ride
Straddling the mighty Dettifoss waterfall, its currents unmatched anywhere in Europe Giggling like a schoolgirl under a deliciously warm hand-dryer shower
Picturesque Godafoss Sunday, 7 June 2009
Ice Ice Baby
Our next destination on the south coast was Skaftafell, a rare lush & green heathland oasis in contrast to the craggy mountains and sparse rocky plains that surround it. The weather was stunning, a perfect day that lead the last rays of the sun off the jagged snow-capped peaks and onto a red-hued moon.
Skaftafell is famous for it´s access to the glacial tongues that stem off the Vatnajokull glacier (the largest in Europe) covering and carving out valleys as they snake down to sea-level. Prior to moving on we took a guided trot over an ice-cold tongue equipped with ice-picks and boot-spikes and looking quite the part. The surrounding mountains looked quite grandiose, and we were told were used to film the opening sequences to the film Batman Begins.
We continued east with only a vague idea of that night´s destination. This is an area of vast glacial outwash plains of black sand and rock, barren and prone to dust-storms.
After a long slog we finally arrived at a glacial lake, Jokulsalon, sore, cold and exhausted, but were rewarded with a striking midnight sunset over the iceberg-strewn lagoon. There was nobody at the lake, just us and a few seals splashing about. Our joy was short-lived however, as we realised the reality of our upcoming rocky sleeping conditions. A long search finally yielded a find of a small patch of soft moss by the edge of the lake that would make a suitable camp-spot, and offered beautiful views to boot. We were rudely awaken early in the morning though, as boat loads of tourists (in amphibian car-boats) drove right by our tent on the way to the lake, smug and amused by our dishevelled lodgings and appearance.
Next came our 80km push to Höfn (our biggest effort to date) as we left the sandy plains of the south coast behind us. This cycle had gotten us past the Vatnajokull glacier that had been hugging the mountain-range to our left since Skaftafell. Our eventual arrival evening arrival in Hofn meant that we had to pedal our bedraggled bodies straight over to the nearest restaurant, a classy joint we could ill-afford, bringing our cycling smells and shabby exteriors in for the meal.
We cleaned up our act the next day though, enjoying a nice soak for our aching muscles at the hot-tubs at the local public swimming pool, often the social hub of Icelandic towns. Thermal bliss!
Skaftafell is famous for it´s access to the glacial tongues that stem off the Vatnajokull glacier (the largest in Europe) covering and carving out valleys as they snake down to sea-level. Prior to moving on we took a guided trot over an ice-cold tongue equipped with ice-picks and boot-spikes and looking quite the part. The surrounding mountains looked quite grandiose, and we were told were used to film the opening sequences to the film Batman Begins.
We continued east with only a vague idea of that night´s destination. This is an area of vast glacial outwash plains of black sand and rock, barren and prone to dust-storms.
After a long slog we finally arrived at a glacial lake, Jokulsalon, sore, cold and exhausted, but were rewarded with a striking midnight sunset over the iceberg-strewn lagoon. There was nobody at the lake, just us and a few seals splashing about. Our joy was short-lived however, as we realised the reality of our upcoming rocky sleeping conditions. A long search finally yielded a find of a small patch of soft moss by the edge of the lake that would make a suitable camp-spot, and offered beautiful views to boot. We were rudely awaken early in the morning though, as boat loads of tourists (in amphibian car-boats) drove right by our tent on the way to the lake, smug and amused by our dishevelled lodgings and appearance.
Next came our 80km push to Höfn (our biggest effort to date) as we left the sandy plains of the south coast behind us. This cycle had gotten us past the Vatnajokull glacier that had been hugging the mountain-range to our left since Skaftafell. Our eventual arrival evening arrival in Hofn meant that we had to pedal our bedraggled bodies straight over to the nearest restaurant, a classy joint we could ill-afford, bringing our cycling smells and shabby exteriors in for the meal.
We cleaned up our act the next day though, enjoying a nice soak for our aching muscles at the hot-tubs at the local public swimming pool, often the social hub of Icelandic towns. Thermal bliss!
Snail enjoying a waterfall
The deliciously icy Vatnajokull glacier
That glacier never saw us comin
Quick rest break in the mountains
Rock on Rock!
Sunset at the glacial lake
Cruisin´ the south coast
After a day in Hella we continued on eastwards. A visit to the doctor was necessary in the next town, this time for Dom, who feared a recurring chest infection, but was given the all-clear with a prescription for menthol lollies that worked a treat.
In the meantime Tris & Dimitry hung out at the local Viking convention with lots of burly blokes clad in chainmail sporting large swords and axes, being much friendlier than one should expect from Vikings.
We then paid our respects to the Icelandic obsession with Pilsas (hot-dogs) by getting a photo outside Iceland's premier hot-dog factory with its hot-dog mascots. We´ve happily been indulging in the hot-dog dining tradition as well, as the infamous N1 service-stations that often mark the end of our cycling sessions always have a hot one ready for consumption (and very little else).
The weather was being kind and we made good time, one of our destinations, Seljalandfoss (Seljand Waterfall), eventually appearing on the horizon, seeming like some mountain dental floss in the distance. Lunch at the waterfall made us wonder whether we should laugh or cry, as a sun-hail-shower pelted us while we consumed our soggy tuna & corn sandwiches.
A beautiful evening of riding was ahead though, as four days of horrible cross-winds, rain, hail and snow made way for calm purple skies and the sun setting on our backs as we rode.
This eventually lead us to pull in at a campsite at the foot of the mighty Skogafoss waterfall for some well-deserved brocolli & cheese instant pasta cooked up on the trusty Trangia camping cooker.
Next morning we enjoyed a hike to the top of the roaring rainbow-speckled waterfall and were then off for another disciplined mid-afternoon start for our cycle to our next destination, the town of Vik. It was quite a pleasant ride if it wasnt for our 1st killer hill of the trip just before pulling into town that required 3 attempts to surmount.
In Vik, Iceland´s rainfall capital, we lapped up the uncharectaristically decent weather and took time out to walk down the black sand beach to do some Puffin (an arctic sea Tucan which are almost the very symbol of Iceland) spotting up in the cliffs.
In the meantime Tris & Dimitry hung out at the local Viking convention with lots of burly blokes clad in chainmail sporting large swords and axes, being much friendlier than one should expect from Vikings.
We then paid our respects to the Icelandic obsession with Pilsas (hot-dogs) by getting a photo outside Iceland's premier hot-dog factory with its hot-dog mascots. We´ve happily been indulging in the hot-dog dining tradition as well, as the infamous N1 service-stations that often mark the end of our cycling sessions always have a hot one ready for consumption (and very little else).
The weather was being kind and we made good time, one of our destinations, Seljalandfoss (Seljand Waterfall), eventually appearing on the horizon, seeming like some mountain dental floss in the distance. Lunch at the waterfall made us wonder whether we should laugh or cry, as a sun-hail-shower pelted us while we consumed our soggy tuna & corn sandwiches.
A beautiful evening of riding was ahead though, as four days of horrible cross-winds, rain, hail and snow made way for calm purple skies and the sun setting on our backs as we rode.
This eventually lead us to pull in at a campsite at the foot of the mighty Skogafoss waterfall for some well-deserved brocolli & cheese instant pasta cooked up on the trusty Trangia camping cooker.
Next morning we enjoyed a hike to the top of the roaring rainbow-speckled waterfall and were then off for another disciplined mid-afternoon start for our cycle to our next destination, the town of Vik. It was quite a pleasant ride if it wasnt for our 1st killer hill of the trip just before pulling into town that required 3 attempts to surmount.
In Vik, Iceland´s rainfall capital, we lapped up the uncharectaristically decent weather and took time out to walk down the black sand beach to do some Puffin (an arctic sea Tucan which are almost the very symbol of Iceland) spotting up in the cliffs.
Paying our respects at the delicious Pylsa (hot-dog) factory
Skogarfoss Waterfall
Mucking about above the waterfall
Attempting to fly instead of pedalling
Showin off our custom-made SnailsOnWheels shirts
Our bikes getting romatic above the black sands of the Vik beach
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