The campground in Reykjavik proved to be very noisy, even late at night: early in the morning. First a group of Germans arrived about 11 PM and set up near my tent. They finally quieted down about midnight. To be fair, the sun hadn't set yet, but still.... Then at 2AM I was jolted from sleep by the arrival of a whole troup of French scouts. The were yeling and stomping and some young woman was shouting orders as they put up their tents. I even got out of the sack to try to ask them to keep it down. Eventually they did and I was able to get back to sleep. Ah, the enthusiasm of youth. I was probably just as unthinking when I was that age, and I probably though old guys were just cranky kill-joys, but age has dimmed my memories of my former self.

I dismounted the tent and packed up late in the morning, after going to a bakery/cafe for breakfast. I had to turn in the bike and trailer and drop of my gear at the guest house I had booked for two nights of decompression. I left the bike at the rental agency just before lunch. The owner was in a good mood, butthe mechanic was less enthusiastic after he learned where I had been and heard the brakes squealing. My guess is that the bike that had been new when I left for the first time was now in need of new brake pads, a thorough cleaning and greasing and maybe a new chain. I got into the guesthouse about three in the afternoon, and promptly fell asleep for an hour or two. Dinner in a restaurant downtown somewhere, then back to the guesthouse and sleep. The next day I went whale-watching, which was pleasant and prepared myself for a 4:30 bus ride to the airport the following day.

Lessons learned: 1. NEVER underestimate the weather in Iceland. Even after all I had read (mostly on various web sites) I was not ready for the violence of the wind. My lack of a wind-proof tent (or a sturdier tent) put a big hole in my plans. 2. I'm not as willing to take risks as I used to be. I thought I could tough out anything, but even though I wasn't hurt by the collapse of my tent, I was spooked. No longer an immortal, I fear. 3. I'll never tour without my Brooks saddle again, if I can avoid it. Sad to say, but my butt HURT after several days on the road. Not enough to make me quit, but enough to force (relatively) frequent stops to stretch my gluts.

Would I do it again? Probably not. Iceland is beautiful in its own way, but having seen it once, I'm really not in a hurry to go back. I know there's a lot of the island I didn't see, but frankly the sceenery is either volcanic, or volcanic. Thus there is a certain monotony to the landscape. My next tour will be in France, where its less windy, more varied, and greener.

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