What a difference a crisp dry tent and sleeping-bag makes; this last couple of days has allowed them to dry. And these days I remain lying in the tent till eight of a morning as the day's so long. But, I think the real reason for late rising is that I've been mainly on campsites and staying up later than I'd normally when wild camping; where, I've to lay down when it gets dark.

When I opened the tent this morning, I saw clouds had moved in overnight and it was a sunless overcast morning on the way to Breidudalsvik, where when I arrived at ten o'clock, the petrol station shop was still shut: the opening times on the door were 10.30 to 18.00. I wanted to buy alcohol for the stove, but there wasn't any when I called back later.

I freewheeled further downhill into the centre of the village, where a young couple were sat on the step, I presumed waiting for a bus, with backpacks against the wall outside the only place open, Kaupfjelag; a craft shop selling Icelandic sweaters and postcards as well as being a convenience store and café. There was a enlarged black and white photo of the shop from the nineteen-sixties when it really was the local shop. With cans of food stacked on the shelves behind the counter and the woman shopkeeper standing by the old fashioned cash register. Today, its a tourist stop and while Is there, there were many groups of callers speaking French, German, Spanish and Italian amongst themselves, and also Icelanders. The place was expensive without the traditional thermos of coffee. Instead the woman behind the counter filled the coffee cup from a machine and the cost was four-hundred kroners and no free refills. The normal price for coffee is in the region of two-fifty. And the cake cost nine-hundred for a small slice. The only reason I stayed was to use the Wi-Fi.

Weather-wise, the day still looked hopeful with a glimpse of sun on the road across the black beach along the bay and further out around the headland towards the next fjord along; until, the sky turned dark further down the coast and I could see it pouring rain in that direction. I thought though, the rain would stay over there and I'd escape it while cycling further around to the mouth of the inlet dominated by the symmetrical shaped pyramid, mount Bulandstinda just ahead on the opposite side of the water. At this point I stopped for lunch on a rocky unfenced pasture to the side above the shore, then lay out on the grass with my eyes shut, but was shortly moved to get up and going again by spots of rain.

The rain held off for the next stretch inland in which I'd a tailwind. But once the tidal inlet came to an end, where the road swung around the innermost part of the steep sided valley, going back towards the sea on the water's opposite side, I had a bit of a headwind and the fog came down the hillside as it began raining for real, fine horizontal rain, quickly soaking through my bottoms, which soon clung to my legs and before long the water had saturated my shoes too. What a miserable ride, cold and hoping to reach Djupivoger. Earlier I was for riding further and wild camping, but now I only thought of a warm shower at the campsite in the said village ahead.

I reached Djupivoger when it'd just gone six after it had stopped raining and the supermarket had just shut for the day. A little further into the village, there was the convenience shop and café with the campsite up the hill to the rear. I went in and had a coffee and took a seat. There were other cyclists in too. A Kiwi couple that ordered plates of fish and chips. When they were brought out and they sat eating, the smell and look was mouth-watering so I ordered the same.

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