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Iceland by bike, a solo trip

There are simple journeys, others complicated, others impossible, those that leave you with something and those that just make you want to go home. Some people dream of certain trips and want to do them at all costs, and this is one of those stories. Have you ever seen pictures of Iceland and fallen in love with those places? That’s how it was for Steve too! Do you want to know how it ended? He rode his bike 3000km along the coast of Iceland on his solo bike.

It all started when I was a kid, among atlases and National Geographic, imagining photographs of Nordic landscapes. I immediately felt a special attraction for the island below the Arctic Circle: Iceland.

Thanks to my parents, I grew up with a strong connection to nature, and over time I became more and more passionate about the world of the outdoors, mountaineering and also photography. During my university studies, I dedicated all my free time to the mountains, sleeping in tents so I could always choose the best view to wake up to. Over the years I have bought and tested a lot of equipment to understand its advantages and disadvantages in different weather conditions, particularly rain, wind and snow. Once I graduated, I alternated between a long working week and a short weekend at high altitude, but after three years of this routine, I felt the need for a change, to immerse myself even more in nature, to get away from it all and go in search of something unknown that could improve me in depth. Inevitably, I thought: Iceland. I remember that evening well: a cup of good coffee, a softly lit lamp, the map unrolled, the guidebook in hand and, in the background, the track Only the Winds by Olafur Arnalds.

So I started marking the stages, thinking about how to tackle my first trip. The final decision: solo Iceland with tent and mountain bike. Free to face any situation without being limited by anyone. In a month, using all the time available after work, I mapped out and estimated the route: 3000 km to cover in an indefinite amount of time. In March, I bought a plane ticket to Keflavík on 2 June and, without hesitation, resigned from my permanent job. Once I had equipped my Wilier Triestina with heavy-duty luggage racks and waterproof bags, I started training hard every day. The big moment came quickly. The night before the start I couldn’t sleep a wink because of the adrenaline in my body. In the late afternoon, after saying goodbye to friends and family, I loaded my luggage into my brother’s car. He and his girlfriend drove me to Milan Malpensa airport. At midnight on the dot, the plane took off, thus beginning my first unforgettable journey.

On the road

Alle 2:30 del mattino, dopo quattro ore e mezza di volo e con due fusi orari in meno, dall’oblò intravedo la prima alba irradiare i ghiacciai e le nere coste islandesi: al nord, in estate, il sole rimane sempre sopra l’orizzonte. Atterro a Keflavík e trovo 7°C con pioggia leggera. Ritiro i bagagli e mi dirigo all’esterno dell’aeroporto dove, in una cabina attrezzata per i biker, monto in tranquillità la mia Mtb. Sono carico e pronto a pedalare. Studio un attimo la mappa e inizio col sorriso il mio percorso sotto la pioggia, allontanandomi man mano dalle strade principali. Ogni cosa mi è nuova: paesaggi spogli, la terra scura vulcanica, l’odore di zolfo di alcune pozze termali, il cinguettio di uccelli tra le rocce, i cavalli islandesi dal particolare ciuffo sulla criniera, i coloratissimi fari, le caratteristiche chiese e il profumo del pesce essiccato. 

Arrivo a Valahnúkamöl, una grande scogliera, sulla quale le onde dell’oceano si infrangono sorvolate dai tipici uccelli dal becco colorato: i Puffin. 80 km più avanti ecco la prima cittadina, Grindavík. Mi fermo alla stazione di servizio per acquistare una bombola di gas da campeggio e al supermarket prendo un po’ di cibo, tra cui lo yogurt locale Skyr. Pedalo ancora e, dopo una decina di chilometri, trovo un posto desolato per accamparmi. Monto la mia fidata tenda Ferrino da spedizione ed inizio a cucinare la cena. Nel frattempo metto in carica le batterie della macchina fotografica grazie ad un piccolo pannello solare. Alle 22:00, con il sole ancora alto in cielo, mi addormento per la stanchezza. 

Al risveglio in terra islandese preparo un caffè con il mio fornellino, mangio lo yogurt, smonto la tenda e risistemo le borse sui portapacchi. Mi dirigo verso le alte scogliere Krisuvikurberg, dove incontro Michele, un biker dalla Sardegna. Leghiamo fin da subito e decidiamo di pedalare assieme per un paio di tappe. Il meteo cambia in continuazione e, dopo molti chilometri nella nebbia, montiamo le tende a Selfoss, in un campo circondato da alte siepi riparati così dal forte vento. 

In the following days we visit the attractions of the Golden Circle: the Þingvellir National Park, the fault between the two tectonic plates (American and Eurasian), the Öxarárfoss, Brúarárfoss, Gullfoss waterfalls and the two geysers, named Geysir and Strokkur; the latter after a couple of minutes of boiling erupts upwards a jet of boiling water.

From Flùðir we travel south, covering 80 km mainly downhill, to join the main road: the Ring Road n°1. At the end of the road we come across two incredible waterfalls: Gljúfurárfoss, which can be reached through a large crack in the rock, and Seljalandfoss, which can be crossed by a small path behind it. Nearby we camp at the charming Hamragarðar campsite, where I take a hot shower. The water, coming directly from underground, has that unmistakable smell of sulphur. We have dinner and then slowly fall asleep lulled by the sound of the two waterfalls, which even if they are far away, make their presence felt.

In the early morning I say goodbye to Michele, who is already leaving, while I decide to visit the area calmly. I am attracted by a small shop where a girl sews by hand the last part of a Lopapeysa, the typical Icelandic wool jumper. I put it on, it fits perfectly and I buy it. With my warm new purchase, I pedal to the Skógafoss waterfall. I am impressed by its strength: the impact of the water on the rocks is so strong that it makes my heart tremble.

Nei giorni seguenti visitiamo le attrazioni del Circolo d’Oro: il Parco nazionale di Þingvellir, la faglia tra le due zolle tettoniche (americana ed euroasiatica), le cascate Öxarárfoss, Brúarárfoss, Gullfoss e i due geyser, nominati Geysir e Strokkur; quest’ultimo dopo un paio di minuti di bollore erutta verso l’alto un getto d’acqua bollente.

Continuing along the southern side of the Ring Road, I pass from the volcanic sand of Sólheimasandur to see the wreck of the Douglas DC-3 plane, to the steep dirt road that leads to the Dyrhólaey headland.

Here, before the arrival of a thick fog, I can see the arctic colour of the ocean merging with the anthracite grey of the beach. I go down to Reynisfjara, where I spend almost an hour sitting on a rock and admiring my surroundings: the roar of the waves coming closer and closer to my feet, the columns of basalt rock behind me and, on the horizon, the two huge stacks guarding the ocean. After a strenuous climb to get around the shoulder of the mountain, in the pouring rain, I start to descend at full speed towards the campsite in the town of Vík í Mýrdal. Fortunately I manage to put my wet clothes in the boiler and after a refreshing shower, I have dinner and retire to my tent.

When I wake up the temperature is below zero. I pick up my dry clothes, but there is no trace of my gloves. Nervously, I immediately remedy the situation by putting on two alpaca wool socks that I usually use for hiking in the mountains. Riding my Wilier I pedal about twenty kilometres but, because of the rain mixed with gusts of wind, the socks on my hands begin to crystallize. I continue through the afternoon, stopping briefly at the impressive Fjaðrárgljúfur canyon, and then camp at the Kirkjubæjarklaustur campsite. Here, in this small village, I meet two generous Polish bikers who, at the sight of my chapped hands, give me one of their spare pair of gloves in exchange for a good beer at the local bar.

The next day, as I pedal with warm hands, I catch a glimpse of Europe’s largest glacier, Vatnajökull, in the distance. I arrived at the beautiful Skaftafell National Park, where I pitched my tent and made friends with Adam, a boy from the USA. We both walk under the Svartifoss waterfall, decorated with columns of basalt rock. Here, before returning to the campsite, we bathe in the midnight sun.

Fully rested, I have breakfast and say goodbye to Adam. Another 60 km, we go around the snow-capped volcano Hvannadalshnjúkur, and arrive at Jökulsárlón, a glacial lagoon bordering the Vatnajökull National Park.

The usual morning routine and I am ready to tackle 160 km. Along the asphalt road, surrounded by a windswept landscape, I take a dirt road that leads me to the edge of the immense Dettifoss waterfall. Here I sit down for lunch, admiring the wonderful double rainbows. I took the Ring Road again, passed Hverir (a geothermal site with mud pools and active fumaroles) and, after the last big climb, sped down to the campsite on the volcanic lake Mývatn. After dinner, I wash my laundry and hang it out to dry. At midnight I fall asleep with the sunset setting the horizon on fire with a thousand shades, repaying all the efforts of the day.

I rest until late and in the afternoon I take a 60 km dirt road to Húsavík, the undisputed location for whale watching. Lots of dust and sheep along the bumpy road and around 10 pm, with the fresh air blowing in from the bay and the hot sun still high in the sky, I arrive at the town. I buy the ticket to see the whales the next morning and along the harbour I stop to eat a fish and chips, enjoying it on a wooden terrace. With shining eyes, I admire the snowy peaks and the sailing ships reflected in the Greenland Sea. Happy, I head for the campsite.

At 7:00 a.m. I refresh myself with a quick breakfast and board the sailing ship where I spend four unforgettable hours. Puffins fly overhead, followed by some dolphins in the distance, and suddenly I hear puffs and see whales finally emerge. This is the first time in my life and I am amazed at their size. After a whiskey with the captain, we return to the harbour. I say goodbye to the staff and pedal to the immense Goðafoss waterfall in the late afternoon. Nearby I set up camp to rest.

The next stage was a lot of hard work. I pedal uphill to the rhythm of “one, two, three, go” without putting my foot down and without leaning back to avoid lifting the front wheel. After the long mountain pass, I descend at a speed of 90 km/h with a view of the snowy peaks, reaching Akureyri. In the centre of the town, I eat some delicious Pylsur (local hot dogs) in a food truck, leaving a small space for the delicious sweets from the nearby bakery. Before going to bed, I enjoy a cold beer in the Bikepackers Pub.

Waking up around noon, I decide to move in the direction of the northern fjords, because the strong wind makes the road to the west impassable. I pass through Hauganes, seeing some whales in the distance, and through three tunnels I arrive at Siglufjörður. A strong storm forces me to set up my tent in a small park without shelter. Here, another tent pole breaks, but I manage to repair it with the last splint.

In the morning I follow the beautiful coast in a continuous up and down, stopping briefly in the village of Hofsós to get some food. Later in the centre of Sauðárkrókur I stop in a pub where I meet Johannes, another biker with whom I make friends.

Between beers, talks about our lives and a thousand laughs, we immediately realise that we have a lot in common, especially the spirit of adventure, and we decide to ride together. We passed Varmahlíð, Blönduós and rode 70 km in the pouring rain through mud and waterlogged puddles. We arrive at Hvítserkur, a basalt cliff on the east coast of the Vatnsnes peninsula. We set up our tents and spend the whole evening laughing.

After sharing a delicious breakfast of porridge with fresh blueberries, we stop at a small restaurant nearby. The manager offers us, in addition to coffee, a taste of the typical Hákarl: shark meat left to rot inside buried wooden crates and then dried in the wind so as to lose all the ammonia present. To remove the nauseating taste from our mouths, the owner kindly gives us a whole bottle of Brennivín, a local brandy, to take with us on our journey. We say thank you and get back on the dirt road. At a certain point, a herd of wild horses descends from the ridges of the hills, accompanying our pedalling for many kilometres. Once in Hvammstangi, I go to a workshop to get new splints cut for use in case of need. At the supermarket I pick up a couple of beers and some lamb meat for barbecuing. Once at the campsite we have dinner and, at a certain time, we set up our tents.

We sleep until late morning to regain our strength and be ready to tackle the F586 Haukadalsvegur, one of the most beautiful and dangerous dirt roads, which involves crossing four fords. We glance at the Veður app on our smartphones, which allows us to see the accessibility of the road, and we read the red text ‘impossible to pass’. In search of adventure, Johannes and I set off. After the long initial climb, we skirt the various canyons from above, the sound of waterfalls echoing inside them.

We get through the first three fords fairly easily, and around 11:00 p.m. it’s time for the last, most dangerous one. We take our panniers off the rack, strip down and throw everything on the other bank. With our bikes on our shoulders and the water freezing at our belly buttons, we cross the river with determination. Having succeeded, we dry off quickly and pedal enthusiastically to the Guðrúnarlaug geothermal pool. After a well-deserved hot bath, we set up camp nearby.

It is July and we take the Vestjarðavegur, the road to the western fjords, where the distance to the towns and the strong winds from the Arctic Circle make it more difficult. We spend the night in Reykhólar and then pedal 140 km along the coast, camping when we need to.

Here, steep climbs and extreme wind force us to push our bikes by hand in some places. The fusion of sunrises and sunsets paints the fjords in a thousand shades, making all the effort worthwhile. At Flókalundur we relax, first entering the hot Hellulaug geothermal pool and then the icy ocean. The day ends in a small restaurant where we dine for free on three plates of heated fish soup.

The next day, after cycling on muddy paths, we reach the foot of the majestic Dynjandi waterfall, characterised by a height of 100 m broken by seven jumps.

We have already seen most of these beautiful fjords, so we decide to buy a ticket for the ferry to the Snæfellsnes peninsula. On the way we stopped at Flatey, an island in the bay of Breiðafjörður, which we visited in a couple of hours.

Around 21:00 we dock in Stykkishólmur, where I share one last dinner with my adventure companion Johannes, before saying goodbye with a warm hug. Then it’s back to my lonely ‘normality’ again and I camp for the night in a nearby meadow.

In the early afternoon I pedal 60 km against the wind and under threatening clouds, stopping first at the Bjarnarhöfn shark museum and then at Grundarfjörður. The weather worsens and in a desolate campsite I try to anchor the tent properly to the ground, using all the equipment I can. At 3:00 a.m., in the middle of a storm, I peek out of the veranda and see the campers almost toppling over because of the wind blowing at 180 km/h. I quickly remove everything from inside the tent, but the force of the gusts breaks other poles. I find shelter in the bathroom of the campsite, where I stay awake until 7:00. As soon as the storm gives me some respite, I go to a bar to repair the damage and have a good breakfast. Here, after a chat with the owner, I receive a gift of a wooden Vegvisir, a runic compass, a symbol of protection for travellers. Finally a shy sun comes out and the wind dies down. I thank the owner for her hospitality and pedal towards a new destination, Iceland’s most distinctive mountain: Kirkjufell. Around dinnertime I stop at the campsite in Ólafsvík, where I manage to catch up on the sleep I had lost the night before, resting in peace and quiet.

At dawn I am already riding my mountain bike and, passing the small village of Rif, I am targeted by a flock of birds. I try to chase them away with the photo tripod and pedal as fast as possible. The passage to Hellissandur is much quieter and I take a path that leads below the Svöðufoss waterfall; behind it, the Snæfellsjökull glacier emerges in the distance, covering the volcano mentioned in Jules Verne’s novel Journey to the Center of the Earth.

I go around the latter and late in the evening I reach an impressive viewpoint overlooking Djúpalónssandur, a wonderful black volcanic beach. I don’t resist the temptation and go down to pick up some pebbles as a souvenir.

Here the weather turns stormy again, but I manage to climb back up quickly. I tie my bike to a fence, take my bags and this time I immediately take shelter in a nearby communal bathroom. I spend the whole night awake, but safe. In the morning a kind ranger of the national park gives me a ride with her huge Jeep to the tourist centre of the Malarrif lighthouse. Here I prepare lunch and then leave my mountain bike at the reception to walk to Londrangar, a spectacular basaltic cliff. I start cycling again under the rain and arrive in Arnarstapi, where I have a delicious fish and chips dinner at a food truck before setting up my tent in front of the pyramidal mountain Stapafell.

When I wake up the sky is strangely blue and the sun is warm. I walk first past the Bárður Snæfellsás monument, a giant stone troll, and then over a narrow, vertiginous natural bridge from which I can see the Gatklettur, an arch of basalt rock along the cliffs. I start pedalling again, accompanied for 80 km by a wind blowing from all directions. I arrive exhausted at the Elborg campsite, where even the birds are struggling with the strong gusts. I decide not to pitch my tent for the night and take advantage of the facilities provided by the campsite. I take the opportunity: I take a shower, cook something on the cooker and rest for a while on a comfortable sofa. The next morning I continue southwards very calmly, only 60 km along the flat road, until I reach the town of Borgarnes, where I camp in a desolate meadow and sleep in total peace.

It’s 16 July and the last and most demanding stage awaits me: 120 km to the capital Reykjavík. I get up with great energy, ready to give my best. I do some shopping and head south where I take the road to the vast Hvalfjörður, the whale fjord.

The wind is so strong that it forces me to ride out of the saddle with the bike tilted. I take shelter along the road, at the entrance to a closed museum, to have lunch and, in the opposite direction to me, another biker arrives on his first stage. I don’t remember his name, but I remember his naivety: no cooking equipment, no food, just an old map for fords and a light tent, unsuitable for the Icelandic winds. At that point I show him all my sheltered poles and say: “180km/h man, the speed of the wind”. His smile turns into a worried expression. I encourage him with some advice, offer him half of my food supply and say good luck. I pedal for many kilometres without meeting anyone, in a continuous up and down along the fjord. My only companion is the wind, which is so strong and present that I have to spend half an hour clinging to a signpost. And then finally here is the capital. At 9 p.m. I arrive at the large campsite in Reykjavík. When I enter the reception desk I find myself in front of a wall with a large map of Iceland. With my eyes I trace my entire route, my ‘timelapse’ of the trip. Inevitably, I burst into tears with immense joy. After paying for the pitch for the tent, I take a hot shower, dine on the remaining food and fall asleep with a smile.

The following day, after breakfast, I buy my return flight to Milan Malpensa on 24 July. I pedal through the city of Reykjavík, passing through the main street among pubs and typical shops, following with my sense of smell the perfumed trails of the pastry shops and admiring the colourful buildings along the coast. I visit the Hallgrímskirkja church carved like basalt columns, the Harpa auditorium with its kaleidoscopic facades and the Sólfar, a sculpture similar to a Viking ship, which faces the ocean to symbolise new discoveries.

There is still a week to go before I return home, so I set out on one of the wildest treks in central Iceland: Landmannalaugar-Þórsmörk. I buy a bus ticket to get to the start of the route, do some shopping and go to rest in my tent to prepare for the next day.

In the morning I leave my mountain bike and some of my equipment in a secure area of the campsite, taking only what I need for the trek. On the bus I make friends with two nice girls, Malin and Alexandra. We spend the whole journey laughing and arrive at the Landmannalaugar base camp, located in the Fjallabak nature reserve in the highlands of central Iceland. The scenery here is wonderful, with multicoloured rhyolite mountains, vast expanses of lava rock and steaming hot springs.

Together with my new travelling companions, I follow the path over steep ridges of reddish-black sand. After about ten kilometres, we walk over an immense expanse of snow and ice until we reach the Hrafntinnusker alpine hut, where we cook on our small stoves. In the evening, the sun reflects its amber colours on the white peaks, leaving me stunned.

I stop at the Emstrur hut just to cook a hot soup before setting off again for the last twenty kilometres. At a steady pace, in the rain, I cross several deep fords and a thick blanket of trees and shrubs until I reach the last hut. Finally, in front of me is the majestic Þórsmörk mountain range, situated between the two glaciers Eyjafjallajökull and Mýrdalsjökull. With this incredible view, I camp in a small meadow near the Krossa River and dine on what little food I have left.

The next morning, I return by bus to Reykjavík and spend the few days before my departure fully enjoying this city. On the last day, I easily find a box for my mountain bike in a bicycle shop, so that I can take it on the plane. In the evening, to celebrate my imminent return home, I cook a rib of lamb over an open fire and enjoy some delicious local beers. After a walk in the town centre, I return to the campsite for a hot shower and spend the night in the worn-out tent.

When I wake up, I pack my luggage and take the shuttle bus back to the airport in Keflavík. In the late afternoon I get on the plane, sitting in the same numbered seat by the porthole. The engines are running, it’s time to go home.

As I get further away, I see those unforgettable landscapes getting smaller and smaller and I am moved by everything I have experienced in two months of travel. At midnight I land in Milan Malpensa and I am immediately amazed by the sultry climate and the darkness to which I am no longer accustomed. At the exit of the airport there are my brother and his girlfriend ready to give me a warm hug. During the car ride, while I am telling them about my experience, I look around me, feeling strange about everything: the roads, the traffic, the vegetation, the towns and even my house. My parents are waiting for me under the porch, ready to welcome me with open arms.

That night, now unaccustomed to the comfort of my bed, I can hardly sleep a wink. I think back in disbelief at all that I have managed to do. I have pushed my abilities beyond all limits, I have imprinted in my mind and heart an infinity of moments and emotions, I have achieved a great dream and I feel deeply enriched in my soul.

I put on my headphones, close my eyes and let myself be carried away by that track that still manages to make me relive every moment of this unforgettable journey:

“Only the winds”.

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