Day 8
Laugafell to Laugafell via Akureyri
It’s funny the things that stick in your mind. I remember waking up on day 8 thinking, “Thank God the booze in Iceland is so expensive, because at least that means I haven’t got a hangover this morning”. I guess it was the tiredness of the trip kicking in, and the fact that I was a little sleep deprived from a few restless nights in the tent. That, and the fact that riding the big pig demanded total concentration on the ever-changing ‘road’ surfaces.
Today would be the second time we’d leave our tents erected and head off with relatively little weight on the bikes: the planned route – a loop heading north from Laugafell to Akureyri, south west towards Vallholmur and south east back to Laugafell.
Unfortunately, we were down to 5 men for today’s outing – Tim decided he wanted to languish in his bed for the day to see if he could rip one out: he hadn’t managed it during the night because of his injured hand, so he wanted some “Tim Time” to assess the severity of his injury and to determine if he’d ever be able to pleasure himself again.
Himself waiting for us to leave so he can spank the monkey
Before you ask, no, I don’t know if he managed to ‘bring himself about’ and nor do I want to know. He did have a forlorn look on his face when we returned though – I couldn’t work out if he was sad because he hadn’t ridden his bike that day, lonely because we’d gone off without him, or just plain suffering from blue ball syndrome.
Anyway, I digress. Back to the ride.
The trail leading away from our campsite was a cracker – more or less as soon as we’d left camp we were riding down a steep descent on a trail that was littered with large rocks, interspersed with patches of water-logged gravel that the front of the bike tried to bury itself in. I remember there was a fast-flowing stream running alongside, under and over our track which, once we were out of the steep V-sided valley at the top, led us into a wide U-shaped glacial valley which was dominated by lush green grass.
It had been a relatively technical descent off the Spring Spaniel but now we were on fast, flowing trails which meant our speed increased dramatically. As did the wind chill factor. Feck me it was cold. I mean, I know we were in Iceland and not a million miles from the Arctic Circle, but so far on the trip the temperature hadn’t been a problem. In fact, if anything, apart from my journey to the bottom of the river on day 4, I’d been positively toasty most of the time.
Today though was a different matter. No matter, we’d soon be in Akureyri where we’d be able to find somewhere for a hot drink and food. Except… Mark H took us straight through town without stopping. The bastard! I was sure he was going to make a pit stop and I’d told my bladder the same. I was feckin’ bursting. And quietly cursing to myself. Out of Akureyri and onto Route 1 for a while (part of the main ‘ring road’ that the majority of tourists drive around Iceland on) and it got even colder. Essentially we were climbing over a col to get to the next valley which would take us back to camp. So we were gaining altitude and it was getting colder and colder. My dash told me it was 4.5 degrees C, but it felt much, much colder. My bladder could take it no longer, so I pulled over for a middle-of-nowhere-can’t-piss-quickly-because-my-bladder-is-so-full-and-I’m-so-bloody-cold kind of a widdle.
Relieved (eventually) I randomly pressed some buttons on the left hand side of my handlebars until the word “Off-road” disappeared from the display and was replaced by the word “Sport”. Bugger me, having had the bike in off-road mode for the past week (reduces engine power to a mere 100bhp instead of the usual 140-odd and does something or toher to the ABS and traction control) she felt like a rocket-ship. I was soon back with the pack and heading for home.
Mark H leading us down from Laugafell
Mark M
Rupert
The trail leading back up onto the Springer Spaniel was a fast, dusty affair with the odd river crossing thrown in for good measure. Mark H, Mark M and Craig were off like scalded whippets (no doubt keen to find out whether or not Tim had managed to double the weight of his handkerchief) while Rupert and I languished behind. I was loving the solitude of riding on my own in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing. Nowt. Zilch. Just a dusty trail, me and my bike. Bliss. Rupert on the other hand was on some kind of Bill Oddie wildlife expedition – he saw swans, sheep and wild horses (check out his video below) the latter of which had slowed his progress somewhat.
Solitude
I took the opportunity to stop the bike, take off my lid and listen to the emptiness. It was completely silent. Not a bird in the sky, not a breathe of wind and no engine noise. Until Rupert turned up and SPOILED EVERYTHING! I’m joking… we both stood there and took in our empty surroundings. It was ace!
After a few minutes, we re-mounted and caught up with the others who were waiting for us a good 10-15 minutes up the road. We crossed the last few rivers together, and arrived back at camp just in time to spend a few hours sitting in the hot pool, sipping whisky and talking shite.
Yours truly warming up with a well-earned brew before going for a bath
In the tub
Video:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUofDUM5Cgk&t=304s