Cycling Iceland – Day 2: Borgarnes to Stadarskali

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?