July 27, 2020
Day 9 - Insane wind, black beaches and the mighty Vestrahorn
Fossardalur to Stokksnes
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Day 9 - Fossardalur to Stokksnes - 74 miles
I set off from the campsite and walked around the waterfalls along the descent which I had been too exhausted to pay much attention to yesterday. Indeed, Fossardalur translates to 'waterfall valley'. One thing I love about Icelandic names is how literal they are at describing the place- Vík means 'bay', Höfn is 'harbour', Akureyri is 'sandbank field', and Egilsstaðir whimsically means 'place of Egill' who was the first known man to farm the area!
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Rounding the remainder of the fjord was much calmer than yesterday, and then BOOM, it was like hitting a wall. Turning towards Hamarsfjörður and the wind was ridiculous, some of the strongest I've ever felt, let alone had to cycle in. I spent 20 minutes wobbling along at walking pace, but every unpredictable gust would sent me straight into the verge. When a motorhome or truck passed, the wake would almost knock me off completely. It felt too dangerous and my strength was getting sapped so I resigned to pushing the bike. Even that was a struggle, the large surface areas of the panniers acted like a giant windsock and unbelievably, I couldn't even manage push the bike at times. Shoving a heavily-loaded bike uphill is painful for my back at the best of times, so you can probably guess that I didn't much enjoy the next hour or two. I must've looked light a right sorry state on the roadside, and I was actually quite surprised no one stopped to ask if I was alright like in previous countries I've been to- I would've taken a ride in the back of a pickup truck in a heartbeat. Normally I want to cover distances solely human-powered, but this is a sightseeing trip against the clock rather than an epic point-to-point, so I think I could've allowed myself that motorised luxury if the opportunity arose!
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Mercifully this fjord wasn't nearly as long as some of the others, so I was able to get back on my bike and cycle when the road turned back on itself. As a shortlived reward, I got the most insane direct tailwind I've ever had, and I literally didn't have to pedal on the flats at all to maintain a speed of 20+ mph. The feeling of getting blown straight up a hill without having to do anything is so strange- I wonder if this is why there are so many long-distance motorcycle tourists around the world? All too soon, it was time for the next fjord and I dismounted my bike to confront the roaring gale. It was shaping out to be one of my worst cycling days ever; I wasn't sure how many more hours of dragging the bike into the headwind I could mentally take. Daydreams of warm, comfortable world touring on the seat of a motorbike swirled around my mind, and then... the wind just seemed to subside. It was like the guys controlling the weather in The Truman Show had pulled the plug and decided it was enough for one day. Something which I was debating in my mind is the premise of the <i>Hedonic treadmill</i>, studied as "the observed tendency of humans to quickly return to a relatively stable level of happiness despite major positive or negative events or life changes". Would I have just adapted to not care about the wind if that was all I had for days on end? I suppose I can't complain too much considering the overall good weather so far. If it were like this the whole trip, strong wind would perhaps just feel like the unremarkable norm.
The hours flew by with the improved conditions, and soon the road climbed precariously up the side of a blackened scree slope. While I was stopped taking photos, an older local guy in a campervan pulled up to chat and I found out he was in a band that were going to be playing in Höfn later today. He offered me some dried fish which I felt really bad for turning down. Any other cooked meat and I would've bitten his hand off, but I'm not a massive fan of cold fish and didn't want to end up trying and disliking it in front of him. Need to get over this silly mentality if I want to travel to countries that are far more culinarily alien to me, like Central Asia etc. Dropping back down the water's edge, and the road crossed straight through a perfect black sand beach. Surrounded by encircling cliffs, it looked like a great sheltered spot to get some panaromic shots with the drone. A few minutes after flying high to an altitude I wanted, a gigantic black bird appeared out of nowhere and was clearly circling so close to the drone to 'scare' it off. Well it certainly scared me because I was convinced it would attack the delicate plastic quadrotor, and I hastily landed down as quick as possible. The bird was later identified as a notoriously aggressive Great Skua.
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Rounding the last corner near Hvalnes nature reserve, and a wonderful panorama opened up across the bay towards the Vestrahorn mountain. This is one of the sights I was most looking forward to seeing in Iceland thanks to its jagged unique shape and I was treated to non-stop views as the miles ticked down approaching the campsite. The ringroad passes through a short tunnel at this point but I decided to climb over the old adjacent mountain road instead, which was abandoned in 2005 when the tunnel opened. The view over the next bay towards Höfn with untold numbers of icecaps and glacial tongues in the background was even more breathtaking that what I saw yesterday. Dipping sun cast a golden hue over everything and it's without a doubt the best panaromic view I've ever seen. I had my camera set up on my mini-tripod for ages, but even with so much trial and error, I still don't really know how to take clear crisp photos in low light, shooting towards a low sun. It was a scene that I will have to enjoy mainly from my memory rather than from photos. The road on the southern side of the climb had been ripped up recently to stop public traffic from going on the closed section and it was certainly a sketchy descent down a ridiculously steep slope. Then it was just a 3 mile cycle along a gravel track to a tiny glorified (carpark) campsite outside the 'Viking Cafe'. It was quite overpriced considering places I've stopped at so far, but access was included to the private Stokksnes peninsula, and the location was more than worth it.
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I didn't even fully set up my tent before I was back on the bike, pedalling furiously down the track towards Stokksnes, armed with just my camera equipment. The lighting was absolutely perfect for creating a dramatic scene. Clouds hung around the peaks of the Vestrahorn, just high enough so as not to obscure it, the warm golden glow kept getting richer, and there were so many choices of interesting foreground to choose from. I was sprinting around like a child at Christmas, taking photos with every conceivable angle and setting, without really knowing what I was doing! I've never had so much fun with my camera and it's somewhere that I'd love to to come back to when I feel like I've become more skilled in that field. Dusk finally fell around 11pm and I headed back to the tent grinning my head off. So grateful that I decided to stop here for the night rather than make it Höfn.
Today's ride: 74 miles (119 km)
Total: 565 miles (909 km)
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