Lost in the Wind

OK, OK....

So I promised that I would post about Iceland. It has been hard to get over the writers block that has slowly melted like the mouth of a tidewater glacier. The journey was so profoundly personal that it is almost hard to talk about the solitude as if by sharing I might contaminate the deep loneliness that I enjoyed for three weeks.

There is a story of a group of explorers that hired local porters to carry their gear for an ascent of Killimanjaro. After several days of swift marching to the foot of the mountain at a typical climbers pace the porters refused to go any further for several days. The interpreter struggled to convey the meaning of why the porters refused to carry on. It came out something like this. "They cannot go on now because they are waiting for their souls to catch up."

After eight years in Philadelphia, I too needed some time and space to reunite with my soul. For years I had really missed it as I toiled through the drudgery of finishing my training.

Iceland is amazing.

I frequently felt like "the bicycling mute" as many days I spoke less than a dozen words to anyone.

I spent the majority of the time in the remote west fjords region and crossing the central highlands. There is alot of pavement in Iceland and quite a few good roads. I tried my best to avoid them.

The waterfalls are incredible and frequent. The mountains are rugged, but not by Alaskan standards. The weather is horrific or absolutely fantastic. Never just bad or good. The wind is not ephemeral and gasseous like in most places... It is made of concrete...almost impossible to ride a bike through. Of course it is cold.

After two weeks of riding I felt my mettle and gear was up to the task of crossing through the central highlands. I was 100 miles or so way from the nearest pavement and much farther than that from the nearest human outpost when I found out that my bike was not exactly up to the task. It broke. I was riding along late one evening looking for a spot to stop for the night when my back wheel locked up. My hands were no where near the brakes. Anyone who has spent any time on a bike knows that's a bad sign, that sickening skid to a halt. The two days that I had planned to get back to the hospitable world turned into six. I managed to turn my 27 speed cruiser into a one-speed clunker. Not exactly ideal for touring in rough terrain with full camping gear on heinous dirt tracks. I was pretty hungry by the time I reached the "Highlands Hotel" I did not even mind paying $32 dollars for the two cheeseburgers that I had for lunch that glorious day. I have heard Amercans that travel through Europe complain that Euros stink and don't shower enough...well I can say that after more than a week of hard riding, walking, and pushing a fully loaded dead bike across the Sprengisandur that I'm pretty certain that every single European who came through the hotel that afternoon has a much worse opinion of how bad Americans smell...sorry....

Enjoy the pics. I enjoyed taking them. You really have to go there. I can't come close to describing how glorious and beautiful it is. Or how bad the wind can be...If you click on the photos they get bigger.

Some of the houses are very quaint.



All that snow and ice has to go somewhere after it melts.



As long as the sun was shining and the wind was not too stong, the black lava rocks make a nice solar power heated seat.



The continental crack. North America to the right with Europe to the left.



Crusing through the west fjords.



Don't look now Andrea, it's worse than the Jenner Grade.



This road can only be passed at low tide. I had to push for a while through the loose cobbles.



Don't get out the roto-tiller and pea seed just yet Ray. I can't see the horse.



Just a few more hours of climbing to the top of the fjord.



I climbed all day for this view!?! The fog rolled in JUST as I hit the summit.


The last shot of my bike before disaster struck.



Things were bad after this.



No bike repair shops behind any of these hills...trust me I looked.



After twenty-four hours in a tiny tent riding out a storm how good did you think I would look?



Houston this is tranquility base...over...



Does this shot need a caption? I dont think so.



Home sweet Kentucky home!