I promised to provide some numbers about the epic trip I just completed. It’s a fiddly business; but below is what I have found out.
OVERALL TOTALS (Boring to Dull via Iceland):
50 days of cycling (52 days from Pacific coast)
Miles cycled: 3861 (from Pacific coast)
Feet of ascent: 108,648 (from Pacific Coast)
Time in the saddle: 296 hours 40 mins (from Pacific coast)
Average miles per cycling day: 74.3
Average speed: 13.0 mph
MILAGE BY REGION:
NORTH AMERICA – 3,716 (45 DAYS)
(of which USA 3,459 miles over 42 days and CANADA 257 miles over 3 days)
ICELAND – 145 miles (3 DAYS)
SCOTLAND – 223 miles (4 DAYS)
For a more detailed breakdown week by week, I have copied in the table below from a spreadsheet. I would point as a highlight to 21 to 27 August, easily my most prolific week, when I averaged 104.4 miles each day at a speed of 14.3 mph in extreme heat. After that, nothing was quite so challenging until I was defeated by the Icelandic wind and took evasive action in the face of cataclysmic Scottish rain, when an ark might have been of more use.
Today was an auspicious day. 12th October 2023 marked the tenth anniversary of the first celebration of Boring and Dull Day. What better time, then, to be arriving at the culmination of my long and almost certainly unique cycling adventure. We had 22 miles left to go and a fine, if rather cool Scottish morning in which to enjoy the magnificent scenery.
Things got off to a start in Killin, our last overnight stop, where we stayed in a rambling old hotel beside the River Dochart. It had plenty of character. The lift, serving all five floors, was at least 100 years old. If you treated it nicely, and fully closed both mesh doors, it would deliver you to your room in style. Long may it live on. The breakfast was impressively large and wide-ranging and on another day I might have seen that as a challenge. But today I had an early lunch appointment and I held back. A little.
Killin is a pretty place. Jenni, who has spent less time than me in these parts, thought it was reminiscent of a Lake District village. I could see what she meant. It was indeed “a bit like” Coniston, if you’ve ever been there. Right down to the tall shop fronts and the dark green paint. But Killin is quieter. Our hotel was busy enough with retired folk up for a walk in the mountains, or so it seemed. The main draw in the village, however, is the Falls of Dochart, just above the point where the main road crosses an old, narrow stone bridge. It is less a waterfall and more a series of cascades and frothy channels where the river churns its way through narrow gaps in the rock. In the past, I have watched children – including my own – play safely on the rocks here, hopping about in between the various streams. But today, after all the recent rain, it was a raging torrent of dark, fast moving water. Impressive, but no playground.
Our ride today took us along the southern shore of the extensive Loch Tay, on a tiny lane that described itself as cycle and walker friendly, which it was, except when an occasional motor vehicle came along in between passing places. The views out across the water and over to the mountains on the opposite shore a mile or more away were never boring or dull, even today when the cloud remained stubbornly low on the mountainsides. I knew they were there because I have seen them before. And they are big. A year ago, I rode along here in the sunshine on my way from Oban to Aberfeldy, one of many wonderful days criss-crossing the Ordnance Survey maps of Britain (in numerical order). But that was in the early stages of another adventure. Today was about reaching the finish point on a single west to east line, spanning two continents. I was very close.
Our cycle-friendly lane undulated along the banks of the Loch for perhaps 18 miles, passing some amazing Grand Designs- style properties with exceptional views and eco-friendly living roofs. Eventually, it reached the eastern end of the lake and the village of Kenmore, whose whitewashed buildings and small marina sat prettily by the water, looking up the length of the loch with the misty mountains tentatively emerging on either side. We passed an old hotel and crossed a fine stone bridge over the broad, fast-flowing River Tay as it emerged from its lake. And hereafter, we stayed close to its banks, all the way to Dull (and indeed for 20 miles beyond to catch a train).
We were now in countryside that was filled with large country estates and castles, with the associated lodge houses, mature trees and estate villages. It was very attractive. The road was quiet and we sped along, mindful that we had an appointment to keep. And then, suddenly, there it was by the roadside: the “Welcome to Dull, Paired with Boring, Oregon, USA” sign. We weren’t yet in Dull, not quite, but the tiny village of Dull, such as it is (population 80), lies a little up the valley side on a quiet lane and nobody would see the sign unless it was here, close to the turning.
I paused for the obligatory photographs and then we toured the small collection of buildings, sitting quietly by the old chapel and the ancient Sanctuary Cross. It felt like a nice place to live, if you don’t mind being a few miles from local shops and services. There is one business to visit in Dull, however: Highland Safaris (which was signposted from much further away than Dull itself). And that was where we needed to be in three minutes time!
Luckily, since Dull is not large, we made it, and as we climbed off our bikes a grey haired man with a fine moustache called to us across the car park. It was Tommy, lifelong Dull resident and my best and only contact here. We went inside the cosy cafe and he treated us to coffee, soup and herb scones. Then we chatted at length about Boring and Dull, how the pairing came about, visitors from overseas and other amusing stories. Tommy was happy to reminisce and we could have stayed and chatted for much longer. An hour flew by. Reluctantly, we had to leave. We had a train to catch. And Tommy had a house to decorate. So we made promises to exchange more information, took more photos (of us pretending to pan for gold!) and waved goodbye.
The ride down the Tay valley continued to be a delight. Dull is in a beautiful location. And we will surely return. The nearest train station is at Dunkeld and we were delayed just short of arriving by a closed cycle path. There was no way past the high fences keeping people away from storm-damaged trees. The only alternative was a small and rather hairy riverside path next to the swollen, angry River Tay: tricky stuff, and we shouldn’t have made the train. But it was running late, so we did! Seamless, as ever. Just the way I like it. By the end of the evening I was catching up with my little brother in a convivial pub in Edinburgh.
And that was that. Another grand adventure completed. What next? I don’t know. But watch this space in the next day or so for some final trip statistics and reflections on Boring to Dull.
I awoke to a dim morning on the southern shores of the Firth of Clyde, with the sound of the lapping waves drifting through my open window. After the terrible storms of the past week, I was expecting a brighter start. This was a concern.
There wasn’t time for breakfast ahead of taking the 8.20am passenger ferry north across the Clyde to the village of Kilcreggan (other than a bacon sandwich carried aboard from Sainsbury’s Local in the high street). The ferry was quiet as my bike was bounced over the gangplank and its handlebars hooked over the railing. In the water below a large flotilla of Eider Ducks bobbed about. The day held promise, but it was chilly and breezy. And then I realised. The sun was yet to rise. In a sign of how far north I had travelled in this time zone, the first October rays only appeared over the eastern horizon as the boat pulled away from the pier. It made for some rather special light conditions.
This ferry route was one of the very few of Calmac’s services that I didn’t use in my UK cycling adventure in 2022 and today gets me closer to a full set. Kilcreggan sits at the bottom end of a peninsula flanked on both sides by large sea lochs. My route took me several miles up the west shore of Gare Loch, looking across at Faslane Nuclear Submarine Base, which is a massive complex that resembles part-shipyard and part-university from afar. It is an incongruous sight.
From the village of Garelochhead, whose location you can guess, it was up and over to the eastern shore of Loch Long, which is well named. It feels quite fjord-like and penetrates well into the higher mountains close to Loch Lomond. Near the top of the loch were magnificent views up to the distinctive sharp, rocky twin summits of The Cobbler, shining in the morning sun. Down in the valley, on the narrow, quiet road, I was just starting to warm up, too.
At the top of Loch Long is the is the village of Arrochar, which had a few large, handsome old hotels and not a lot else to detain me. In any case, I was on a timeline to catch a boat a couple of miles along the road in Tarbert, on the Bonny banks of Loch Lomond, at 10.30am. The road was quiet because this was the lower portion of the A83, a mountain pass known as Rest and Be Thankful, that remains closed to traffic because of the heavy rain and mudslides of the past few days.
When I got to Tarbet I could see three boats moored off-shore, but nothing by the pier. I ventured into a small building by the car park, which contained a coffee shop. Inside a number of German tourists were asking about the 10.30am ferry. It was almost 10.15am. The coffee lady was very helpful. She explained that the boat was running from a different pier today because the pier at Tarbet was currently underwater after all the rain. The boat would leave from Inveruglas, five miles up the loch, instead. She phoned the boat and they agreed to wait. I got a head start on the Germans and rode as fast as I could. When I arrived, the Germans were just boarding and I was last on with my bike. Phew!
It was calm out on the loch and the leisurely cruise took us over to the opposite shore at Inversnaid Hotel, where I got off. This manoeuvre saved me many miles of riding around the lake on main roads. On the boat I had time for a coffee and a Tunnocks Teacake – a Scottish speciality – while listening to the commentary from the captain. He was quite amusing and even attempted to convince the assembled tourists that the hydroelectric power station on the nearby mountainside was a haggis factory! The sun shone, the autumn colours displayed all around, and there were rainbows in the distance. It was all very pleasing.
A brisk climb took me away from Loch Lomond and along a remote lane to the shores of beautiful Loch Katrine. I arrived at Stronachalchar Pier just in time to see the historic Sir Walter Scott steam ship leaving on a tour of the lake. Lots of cyclists had arrived on her. Most of us had the same idea: to ride around the loch on the lovely traffic free cycle path to the opposite eastern end of the lake. But first, I, for one, wanted some brunch. And I got it! I was treated to the “Full Strony”, which I enjoyed right by the water in a glass extension to the pier cafe.
It was a relaxing hour, but it had to end. I left when the sun was at its brightest and the sky at its bluest and had a magnificent time cycling alone, up and down, on a tarmac surface around stunning lake scenery, with an ever changing mountain backdrop. When I finally reached the Trossachs pier, the Sir Walter Scott was tied up there, looking picturesque.
It was a very quiet ride into Callander through Brig O’Turk and alongside small, pretty lochs. I had time to see the flooded park in Callander, by the swollen River Teith, before successfully achieving a rendezvous with my wife, Jenni. She appeared on her bicycle from the east, having travelled from home to Dunblane by train today. We called in at a pub to recharge her battery and then set off north into the mountains along national cycle route 7. It was a pleasant ride, albeit with some unexpected steep hill climbs involving switch backs. The views, however, were excellent, and it beat cycling along the main road.
And so, eventually, we arrived in Killin, our home for the night, at the western end of Loch Tay. It was still light; but the nights are definitely drawing in. A good thing, then, that tomorrow is the final day of this cycling adventure. It began in early August on the pacific coast of America. I am 22 miles from Dull, at the other end of Loch Tay, and I am expected there at 11.30am.
It is Sunday evening, I am still at home after five days, but I now have a plan to get to Dull. It involves getting a train (three, in fact) from Hathersage to Gourock on Tuesday, then an early ferry on Wednesday morning, and then cycling all of Wednesday and Thursday morning to reach Dull around lunchtime on Thursday 12th October, the ten year anniversary of the first Boring and Dull celebrations. That feels right. It also feels sensible in light of the recent apocalyptic Scottish weather, and the current forecast.
Timing is everything, especially for the long distance adventure cyclist. I had glorious weather for weeks as I slowly approached New York City, and then two days after I arrived they suffered terrible floods and wet weather. I made it to Ireland just in time to arrive in Islay by boat in good weather; but not in time to reach Dull from there. Now I have just enough time to reach Dull by 12th October – my aim when I set off from Boring on 9th August – without getting comprehensively soaked or blown away (I had enough of that in Iceland).
I’m happy that I should now be able to complete this big cycling trip in an enjoyable way. Attempting it over the last five days would have been really unpleasant and inadvisable to the point of dangerous. While I have been enjoying unseasonably warm and sunny weather here at home, Scotland has been suffering rain in biblical quantities. There have been floods, road closures, mud slides, helicopter rescues, many train cancellations and police warnings not to travel. Rivers are at dangerous levels. Some areas have seen a month of rain in a day!
Yesterday both railway lines between Scotland and England were closed, as was the main line between Glasgow and Edinburgh. There is a further weather warning in place for Tuesday, not because the expected rain is likely to be excessive; but because everywhere is already completely sodden. But overall, starting tomorrow (Monday), things calm down and dry out significantly. Cycling, it seems, will once again be a possibility. Hopefully by Wednesday things may have returned to something a little closer to normal.
So, I made a good decision to come home! It has also been a chance to see family, mow lawns, catch up with a couple of friends, cycle a bit in my own local area and generally enjoy some sunshine while the chance lasts. It’s weird; but after Iceland and Islay, the Peak District feels lush and almost summery still. Autumn has yet to take hold. Who knows how Dull will feel after this week. I suppose if it is above water we should all be thankful.
I reluctantly made a big decision to leave Islay after just one day on the island. The weather forecast suggested that today, Tuesday, would be the only half-decent day in Scotland for the foreseeable future – and that the next three days (at least) would be very wet and windy. Yellow weather warnings had been issued. I had no desire to be a victim of all that. My golden rule always stands: if it isn’t enjoyable, I stop.
My first step was to get up and out of my Bnb early enough to cycle 18 miles to Port Askaig to board the first Calmac ferry to the mainland, which departed at 10am. Miss that and I would be stuck until mid afternoon. It is quite an exposed ride around Loch Indaal and over a few hills to the Sound of Islay, and I didn’t find the going as swift as I hoped. It was very wet and windy when I awoke; but by the time I was cycling, the only water was under my tyres. The ferry was discharging its vehicles when I arrived; but there was plenty of time to buy a ticket and board. By now I was starving, and ready for the Calmac big breakfast, which is not for the faint hearted. For the under-nourished adventure cyclist, however, it is just the thing. I watched the wild, rocky coast of the island of Jura glide past the windows as I cleaned my plate, reliving past cycling adventures there.
Two hours later I was back on the mainland. The port at Kennacraig, on the Kintyre peninsula, is just a harbour at the end of a sea loch. The nearest settlement is 5 miles north east in Tarbert, a pretty fishing port and sheltered sailing haven that opens out onto Loch Fyne. Tarbert means isthmus in Gaelic, and it straddles a narrow neck of land between two sea lochs. It is a pleasant place to pause and watch the colourful activity in and around the harbour, and I had about half an hour to kill here before taking my next ferry. I found a cafe and enjoyed a pot of tea and that Scottish speciality, an Empire biscuit. These are a layer of jam in between two shortbread biscuits, all covered with white icing and perhaps a glace cherry on top. When in Rome (although apparently they are very popular in Winnipeg, too, where they are called Imperial Cookies!).
The small vehicle ferry across Loch Fyne takes 30 minutes to reach the sailing resort of Portavadie and from there, on a narrow strip of concrete road, the most demanding part of my day’s cycling commenced. I was now on the Cowal Peninsula, “Scotland’s Secret Coast”, and the tiny road roller-coastered its way up and over the forested hills to drop steeply down to the water’s edge at lovely Tigh-na-Bruich, overlooking the enchanting Kyles of Bute. The top part of the large island of Bute reaches a hilly point near here, and the narrow strip of sea water that separates it from the mainland on three sides provides excellent sheltered sailing in beautiful surroundings. Along the waterfront are handsome stone houses. I have been here before (in all weathers) and thought how lovely it all looks. Living here may be less idyllic than it first appears, because you are a long way from most essential services, and lines of communication are anything but straight. But as a place to stop for lunch, or indeed watch a game of shinty, as once happened to me, it is a delight. I paused for long enough to remove my waterproof jacket and go down to shirt sleeves, and to drink. I knew what was next.
Next, since you ask, was a long, hard climb. It was every bit as tough as I remember. Jenni and I came this way last August in my Riding All the OS Maps adventure, and it is the only sensible way to get further east (which I was always trying to do); but you have to work for it. As well as the climb (for which you are rewarded with glimpses of the stunning view below), the quiet road takes you many miles north to Ormidale, to cross the river that flows into the Kyles of Bute, and then takes you back again along the eastern shore, almost parallel to the way you just came. It is circuitous; but the descent – and the scenery in general – makes it worthwhile.
Finally, a turning took me up – and very steeply down – more hills on narrow, winding roads with passing places (where I was passed by the occasional big logging truck) around the top of Loch Striven and up the side of Loch Tarsan reservoir. It is lonely, remote feeling country; but after all this effort I enjoyed a long, sweeping descent into the village of Clachaig and suddenly I was on a main road on the fringes of Dunoon!
Following the water’s edge along the shores of Holy Loch, I was presented with the most gorgeous vistas across the sparkling waters to Cove, looking east, and further away to the south, across the Firth of Clyde, to Gourock, with green hills looming on every horizon. Colourful boats, large and small, were criss-crossing the water. It was all very pretty. How quickly things had changed. A few minutes later I was waiting to board my third car ferry of the day over to Gourock, and 20 minutes later I was looking at the same views; but this time from the south as I pedalled along the promenade to Gourock railway station, at the end of a line out of Glasgow.
It was nice to see all of this under bright skies. But in the days ahead, these views would be quite different. I needed to be somewhere I could sit out the bad weather – ideally somewhere a little sunnier where I could regroup and make new plans. And since I had made very good progress, and caught the 4pm ferry from Dunoon, that place could be my home in the Derbyshire Peak District. I would now comfortably make the 6.40pm train from Glasgow Central, upon which I had a bike space reserved. This (with one change) would dispatch me all the way this evening to my home village of Hathersage, before 11.30pm. Since there was a train strike tomorrow, all of that mattered. I had set off from Islay as much in hope as expectation that I would make all of my connections today. But the plan had worked.
And so, some hours later, I slept in my own bed for the first time in almost four months. It was all oddly familiar and comforting, like I hadn’t really been away for very long. I made a cup of tea in my favourite mug and decided to wait until the morning before considering my next move. I will complete this journey to Dull just as soon as the terrible weather abates in Scotland. My ride to Gourock kept me on track – no miles were wasted. I can pick up exactly where I left off.
The most recent weather forecast looks worse than ever. The weather warnings have now been extended to the weekend! So I will remain poised for the next window and grab it when it arrives. I need two clear days – that would suffice. In the meantime, it’s really rather nice further south!
Having arrived in Port Ellen the sneaky way, from Northern Ireland, at 11am, I was perfectly positioned to embark on a tour of three of my favourite whisky distilleries: Laphroaig, Lagavulin and Ardbeg. They are a mile apart from each other along the coast road out of Port Ellen (with a brand new fourth distillery currently under construction even closer to the village). Each has whitewashed walls facing out to sea, upon which its name is emblazoned in tall, black letters. Anyone arriving by boat from the mainland would have no excuse for not knowing where they were. These tiny dots on the map bear world famous names and yet they sit in the quietest, most unassuming of locations. Nevertheless, people come from far and wide to visit and today was no exception. I shared these hallowed visitor bars with people from China and Germany, Australia and London. Some of them must spend a fortune on tours and tastings and bottles of limited edition single malts.
Having already spent a small fortune this summer, I was happy to chat with the staff and drink whatever free drams came my way. It’s nice to try things you can’t easily get hold of anywhere else, especially if it falls outside your usual price threshold for whisky buying, which in my case is most of what they had!
I whiled away a very content three hours in this way, enjoying an al fresco lunch in the sunny courtyard at Ardbeg. Then it was time to cycle across the island to my accommodation 28 miles away on the far side of beautiful Loch Indaal. I did call in at Bowmore distillery in the island’s tiny capital, with its unusual round church, halfway there, but only the shop was open on a Monday. Perhaps tomorrow. Bowmore has always eluded me in previous visits to Islay (one of which regular readers of my travels will know was during last year’s OS map adventure). But I had planned a free day on the island before I leave for Dull on Wednesday, so anything was possible. Tuesday was supposed to be an OK weather day. I should use it well.
Back to today, the ride around the horseshoe bay of Loch Indaal took me into the breeze past Bruichladdich distillery, with sweeping views back across to Bowmore and further to the Paps of Jura. The white buildings of Bowmore shone distantly across the water in the afternoon sun and it was all very atmospheric.
I got dinner in the bar of the Port Charlotte hotel. There was nowhere else to go on a Monday in October. I had a wonderful Keralan style chicken with rice and green vegetables, and a pint of Finlaggan, an Islay IPA. It wasn’t a cheap evening but it was worth it. I was shown their whisky menu for interest. It covered seven pages. When I look back at most of the other food menu offerings I have been presented with over the past two months, this selection, here in a tiny remote Hebridean village, was a world apart. You couldn’t eat like this every night, of course; but just to be given such appetising and imaginative choices was a pleasure in itself. How refreshing. If this was British eating out, I was glad to be home! It was also conspicuous how many vegetarian and fish options there were. (As a aside, in Ballymoney the night before there was even an entire vegan menu available). So that was all something to celebrate as rain fell in biblical quantities just after I entered the hotel.
On which note, I had other issues to absorb my attention this evening. After tomorrow, my BnB owner pointed out, the met office had issued yellow weather warnings for three consecutive days. Heavy rain and high winds were expected all day for up to three days, starting in 24 hours. I might enjoy Islay tomorrow, but then what? Stormy weather and cycling do not mix well. I was in a very isolated place with nowhere to easily escape the conditions. Should I use tomorrow to make my escape? Was that even possible? I was a long, rather complicated way from most modern transport options. Tricky.
This dilemma called for much detailed internet research of trains, ferries and road mileage to see what made sense. I had intended to visit more distilleries; but I have been here before more than once. Sometimes sacrifices need to be made for the greater good.
In the end I made a plan to leave Islay in the morning on the 10am ferry. I would be doing that anyway on Wednesday. I may as well do it in the dry. What happened after that would be down to luck and how fast I cycled. As always, it pays to have a plan B.
I’ll be honest, this isn’t a journey I have made before, nor even contemplated. But to recapture my straight line from New York to Dull, I needed to find a way to arrive on the west coast of Scotland, ideally the island of Islay itself, and preferably by surface transport. Which is exactly what I did. The fact that I did it on the last possible day of the year made it more pleasing, for sure. The fact that it was a nice day even more so. And the fact that I got a bonus afternoon in Belfast, a city I have somehow missed until now, was the icing on the cake.
Jenni and I left Keflavik airport within 30 minutes of each other but flew to different destinations: she to Manchester and I to Dublin. I seamlessly transferred myself, with my bike still bagged up, onto a fast, cheap bus to Belfast within minutes of clearing immigration and rebuilt my bike in Belfast bus station, as you do. It’s a tricky business; but I’m getting more practiced at it now. Somehow I managed to fit the bike bag in my panniers along with everything else, and off I went.
The weather in Belfast was beautiful, which was almost certainly my fault, because apparently it hadn’t been. I spent most of my time exploring the waterfront development leading up to – and beyond- the Titanic exhibition. It’s really well done and lots of people were out this afternoon enjoying the warm sun and posing for photographs in front of the iconic building. Behind it they have marked out where the Titanic was built, along with its sister ship, and you get a real sense of size. I didn’t have time to do the exhibition justice, so I didn’t try. Next time. I feel sure Belfast has plenty more to offer on a longer visit. But I got a nice flavour of the place and I thought it felt generally like somewhere on the up. Right next to the Titanic are the film studios where Game of Thrones was made, and all along the waterfront are a series of stained glass murals depicting different aspects of the saga. With the sun behind them, they shone brightly. It added to the interest and provided a modern twist to a place mostly celebrating bygone history.
Then it was time to jump on a train and head north just over an hour to the pleasant town of Ballymoney (whose station has a brilliant modern foot and cycle bridge that should be more famous), where I stayed the night at a very pleasant BnB. The owners were surprised to learn of the ferry I was taking the next morning, because they knew nothing of it. But they obliged me with an early breakfast so I could cover the 15 miles of pleasant, green countryside to the small port of Ballycastle in time for the 9.30am departure to Port Ellen, the last of the year.
It was a lovely morning to be out, and it seemed odd to be back on the left of the road, riding among tall, green trees and lush fields surrounded by thick hedges. I had one extra treat this morning – quite unplanned and directly on my route. On this lovely clam morning, I found myself cycling through the Dark Hedges, a lane of trees made famous by Game of Thrones. Already at around 8am there were people out with cameras and tripods. It is quite an evocative place; but don’t make a special journey just to see it, unless perhaps you live in Iceland, where there are almost no trees at all.
The small passenger ferry arrived, one passenger got off and three of us got on. My bike was strapped to the back, out in the air, while we sat inside in some comfort. We began by passing Rathlin Island, Northern Ireland’s most northerly point, which lies six miles off Ballycastle and is inhabited by about 140 people and tens of thousands of sea birds. It is surrounded by high cliffs and I saw many sea birds flying out over the sea, including gannets and razorbills.
Then we got out over the open sea and it got a wee bit choppy. The little boat would often slam down off a high wave onto the water below. I found it easier to close my eyes. But after an hour, Islay loomed large and we pulled into the safe haven of Port Ellen harbour, where we unloaded and I sprayed down my bike with fresh water. It seemed none the worse for its ordeal.
Port Ellen’s low whitewashed buildings are arranged prettily around a crescent shaped bay. It was quiet this morning, so I didn’t hang around. I was back on my line from Boring to Dull and there was something of great interest to me a mile up the road: Laphroaig Distillery, one of eight (soon to be more) whisky distilleries on Islay, all of which produce some of my very favourite whiskies in the world. If there is a whisky heaven, I was about to enter it.
Iceland in September is really not a safe, sensible or enjoyable place to be riding a bike across the remote, windswept Sub-Arctic wilderness. I have learned that this week; but at least I gave it a fair try. It was a battle and the Icelandic wind won!
It now falls to me to take a few days out, soak in some of Iceland’s many geothermal pools, and consider alternative ways from here to complete what I set out to do. There are, of course (and always were), many plausible routes from Boring to Dull. Here are a couple that were placed “on the table” this week for consideration:
Jenni offered to drive me and the bike across to the far eastern corner of Iceland, to connect with the weekly ferry to the Faroes and pick up my original plan. That would leave me kicking around with not much to do out there for five days until the ferry departs on Wednesday night, while she drove another 700km alone, all the way back to Reykjavik for her flight early on Sunday morning. A kind offer but a non-starter.
I could take an internal flight from Reykjavik to Egilsstadir, in the far east of Iceland and pick up my original plan (as above). Again, I would have spare time but at least I could spend it somewhere like Reykjavik.
These two options got me thinking why I chose that route in the first place. I had wanted to reach the Arctic Circle, which is at the top centre of Iceland, and it seemed sensible to keep going east from there. The opportunity to ride a ferry is always attractive to me and the weekly connection fit well with my schedule. I have never been to The Faroes, so I was curious to visit. But that was where it fell down, because I still had to take a flight to get from The Faroes to Scotland and the options were limited to Edinburgh twice weekly (which took me past Dull without stopping). Plus, it would mean more days to kill in uncertain weather and I would have to depart in the same place in The Faroes as I arrived. It never felt quite right.
I concluded that all of this was unimportant if I could find a better route. Since the only other way off Iceland would be on a plane, I found a list of everywhere you can fly to from Keflavik international airport, ideally the same date (1st October) and time as Jenni. She is flying to Manchester. Half an hour earlier is a flight to Dublin, in Ireland, the only landmass in Europe south west of Scotland. Interesting…
If you draw a straight line across the Atlantic on a map from New York City to Dull, it passes just above the coast of Northern Ireland and hits the west coast of Scotland around the beautiful island of Islay, famous for its peaty whiskies. A little research revealed to my surprise that a passenger ferry – the Kintyre Express – sails four times a week from Ballycastle on Northern Ireland’s Antrim coast to Port Ellen in Islay. Well, it does in the summer, at least. The last sailing date of the year is 2nd October. Coincidence? I think not.
Now it was a case of joining together the dots and working through the logistics. I am happy to say that this journey is possible – just – in the time available to me, and I have made all the necessary bookings. All being well, I will pick up my straight line to Dull in exactly the right place and arrive from the Atlantic, by boat, heading in from the south west. I may be a tad delayed by Islay’s enticing distilleries; but I now have a route from here to Dull that is both interesting, varied, meaningful and true to the spirit of my quest. It feels right. After slowly crossing Islay there will be three more cycling days, reaching Dull around lunchtime on the 6th October, a little earlier than originally planned. But that is a good thing, too, because my son is flying to Japan for five weeks early on 10th October, and I would like to see him before he goes.
So everything is back on track and it feels like a perfect way to end this adventure properly. Bring it on.
After yesterday’s frightening ride over the high plateau in brutal winds, it would have been very easy to pull the plug there and then on cycling in Iceland. This was serious stuff. But the new day arrived with the bluest of skies and a sun that felt almost warm. I had to ride. We had booked to stay the night in Blonduos, the next town up the ring road and another fifty miles north east from our farmhouse stopover. Once again, there was very little in between except empty road, mountains and water. But sunshine can transform a place from foreboding to welcoming, and after a fine breakfast, I was glad to be setting out again on two wheels in this magnificent landscape.
After passing the turning for the Westfjords peninsula (with its main settlement, Isafjordur signposted just 333km away!) I spent the next hour riding briskly along the northern shore of the Hrutafjorder, looking across at tiny settlements and out to sea past towering headlands. The field were a vivid green by the water, which in turn took on a bright blue reflection of the sky above. It was very beautiful. The road was pretty quiet this morning. I even saw two serious looking cyclists heading the other way, enjoying the wind at their backs. The wind, incidentally, had not gone away with the dark clouds of yesterday. It had stayed around to make me work for my miles; but so far it was blowing at an acceptable level, I felt, and I saw no reason to let it put me off.
I had arranged to meet Jenni after twenty miles, at the first petrol station, for brunch. The internet promised waffles in a small cafe, which appealed. In the event, the cafe was about half a km off the main road in a tiny village by a river, called Laugerbakki. I spotted the flags and turned off to check it out. It was closed! Jenni had missed it altogether but we made contact and agreed to meet at the next one, another nine miles away. That was the last opportunity before Blonduos. It’s remote out here.
I started climbing out of the river valley and saw her driving the other way, so I motioned ahead and she nodded. Half a mile later I was at war with the wind. The sun still shone brightly; but the next stretch of road was suddenly and unexpectedly exposed and I was taken straight back to yesterday’s woes, sun or no sun. Once again I was riding at 45 degrees, fighting to stay upright, and trying not to be blown into the path of oncoming lorries and buses, which would momentarily block the wind and then suddenly slam it in my face at twice the force. I braced myself each time. It was truly scary.
Jenni overtook me and pulled in a little ahead in a side road. I paused. We looked at each other. “Do you want to stop?” She asked. I knew I did really; but pride and the apparently ridiculous idea of quitting in this amazing sunny weather got the better of me. It was six more miles to the lunch stop. I opted to continue and she drove away. I was on my own again.
The next six miles were no fun at all. If I needed a reminder of how I felt yesterday, here it was. This was simply too windy to cycle safely, let alone enjoy it. Imagine adding rain to this as well. If I couldn’t manage the elements under clear skies, there was no way I could imagine surviving everything else Iceland might throw at me. This was no place to be on a bike adventure. Not in September. Not here. And especially not with the mountainous country that lay ahead for many more days. There was absolutely nothing to gain, and much to lose, by trying to be a hero. It was time to stop.
And so, in the calm shelter of the North West Hotel’s front door, I climbed off my bike for the last time in Iceland. I knew I had made the right choice, the only real option, and I immediately felt better about the world. Lunch was very enjoyable (Icelandic lamb soup again for me!) and I got into the passenger seat of the car afterwards and enjoyed every minute of the next 25 miles to Blonduos through stunning, but very exposed scenery. Glistening rivers wound their way through wide valleys towards the sea, while mountains looked on from a distance. It was all glorious out of the wind. I could enjoy it again.
Blonduos
I should point out that this is not the end of my adventure. Dull will still be reached, by bike, in an appropriate manner. I’ll be working on that, so watch this space. Adventures like this are punctuated with big decisions and the need to be flexible. It is all experimental and you learn something every day. Today, I learned not only that Icelandic wind and cycling do not mix; but also that Jenni and I could now enjoy a much needed holiday together. In Iceland. In many ways, that is as positive an outcome as I could wish for. We are also free to pursue the best weather available, which is easier said than done. Every piece of tourist literature warns you always to check the latest weather and road advice on safetravel.is and conditions are very localised. It can all change at the drop of a hat. After an enjoyable swim and a soak in the hot tubs in Blonduos, we checked the forecast. If I had the slightest doubt about stopping my cycling in Iceland, this made my decision cast iron. There was, to say the least, a lot of weather around!
My new plans will unfold in the next day or so and I will share them as they form. I will consider all options and stay true to the original idea of Boring to Dull. Something beautiful will emerge. And in the meantime, we are heading back to Reykjavik tomorrow to see what the south of the country has in store for us. If I’m lucky I might even manage to get my hair cut. The last time that happened, I was in Seattle!
After overnight rain, the Icelandic day began with bright skies and the prospect of a dry window for cycling my next 50 miles. The tall range of mountains to the east of Borgarnes was clearly visible, unlike at the end of my ride yesterday, and I felt ready for another bracing day in the saddle.
My ride today would take me north, straight along the next piece of the ring road, through nowhere very much. This is barren, empty country. There was a small place, Bifrost, 20 miles ahead up the road, and then nothing. It promised a petrol station and a hotel and I envisaged a warm lunch. There was a cold breeze from the north east again, due to increase in strength during the afternoon, so I needed to get on with it. There wouldn’t be much else to stop for in any case!
As it happened, there was another petrol station after just nine miles, and by the time I reached it I was ready to stop. Never pass an open cafe. So I paused gratefully for coffee and a hot dog and sat inside for twenty minutes. It was a wise move. The next hour to Bifrost was more of the same open highway with farms dotted around and a scattering of summer houses just off the main road. The remote, square buildings of Bifrost University were incongruously set against a spectacular mountain backdrop that had been visible for miles and I could see the flags of the petrol station fluttering at the top of a hill past the main settlement. I decided to get the hill done before I stopped and was rather crushed when halfway up the stiff climb a small sign for the cafe had a big red cross through it. Agh!
Expecting nothing else all day, I turned around and absolutely whizzed back downhill with the wind pushing me all the way. It was a reminder of what l was up against. I followed the signs to the Bifrost Hotel and restaurant to find it looking decidedly not open today. I could get into the hotel porch area out of the wind, but no further. It was all a bit eerie, like a ghost town. I ate the sandwiches I had with me and got going again back up the hill.
All around this area the road passed through a lava field. It was fascinating and rather beautiful to see how the plants and lichens had begun to reclaim it. This created a bizarre juxtaposition of soft autumnal colours on stunted trees and bushes among a wasteland of sharp, black rock, with small craters rising above on one side and a broad river plain on the other. It looked like nowhere I have seen before.
A few miles later I passed a sign in Icelandic that appeared to be warning me about the section of road ahead, which, whatever it was, would last for 37km and reach 407m. I reckoned I had about 37km left to ride. I passed through gates that could be used to close the road and over a cattle grid into a bare, uninviting, upland world. The settlements died away and the road followed a river valley with waterfalls, then ramped upwards onto the high plateau. I could see the headlights of cars miles ahead. It was a lonely world.
And then the wind really got going. Sometimes it was a wall into which I was riding directly. Sometimes it came at me from the side. Always it was brutal and often it was quite frightening. I began to wonder seriously whether it would blow me off my bike, or into the traffic. At times I was leaning close to 45 degrees into the wind to stay upright. It was a battle. There was nowhere to hide and nothing to do but continue. I stopped to put on my rain coat as the dark sky began to spit occasional raindrops. My hands and feet were starting to feel the chill of the wind. I have said many times that I am only interested in continuing with my adventures if they are enjoyable. This, most definitely, was not. Far from it, in fact. I was learning about September Icelandic conditions the hard way.
Eventually I reached the highest point and then the road began to swoop downwards away from me. I could see a long sea inlet far below in the distance and I knew that was the end point of my ride today. No more climbing. If I could stay on my bike, I would get there. Soon after that, a car pulled in ahead of me at a roadside pull off. It was Jenni. I stopped and spoke through the window. She looked alarmed. Even driving a car in this wind was not easy. I could have bailed out right then; but I chose to see the ride through, since it was dry and I had five miles of straight downhill. I could see my destination. I told her to put the kettle on for me.
I finished the ride quite quickly, all things considered, and collapsed into a chair at the farmhouse BnB where we were staying. Two young Colombians were running the place and helping on the farm. It’s a small world! I warmed up with several cups of tea and a hot shower and felt much better. This is the dangerous part, when you start to forget just how unpleasant your experience was. They say the same about childbirth, I am told.
A short distance up the road was a large petrol station with a restaurant and we decided comfort food was in order. You can’t beat a large bowl of piping hot Icelandic lamb soup, and my spirits were significantly revived by the time we were settled back in our comfy room for the night. Jenni had had a lovely day swimming and visiting stunning waterfalls in the lovely autumn surroundings. Had it really been so bad?
