The big steady climb

In the morning I could actually see where I was. Nice mountains around the campsite…

I also learned an interesting strategy for drying your clothes that may be uniquely Icelandic: Stick them in a closet with the plumbing!

I knew it was going to be a long day of riding, but I couldn’t help stopping at a café for a while to sort photos and eat chocolate.

And with that important business out of the way it was time to get on the road. A light drizzle was already falling, and the weather service said it was going to get worse before it got better.

And indeed, it did!

The water even began to affect my at-the-ready chocolate bar that I keep deployed to the front pouch of the bicycle…

Still plenty of neat scenery to look at, of course.

And that’s how it was, for a good three hours or so … and then I went around a corner and saw … THE HILL.

As soon as I saw it I pulled over and took out my baked vacuum-packed fish, and ate lunch. I knew I would be going slowly up that hill, and it would be a fine time to digest. Then of course I went pee by the roadside. Probably my fourth time that day, which is pretty typical. I think all the water I consume makes the average about one pee stop per hour when I’m on a bike tour.

I sat around snacking for a good while, listening to an audiobook about a cholera outbreak in London and how it inspired the use of the scientific method in medicine and the germ theory of disease. Then I contemplated just biking to the base of the hill and stopping at a campsite there, so I could tackle it fresh in the morning. That would cost me an entire day though. There were better places farther ahead where I could spend an extra day.

And so, the big steady climb began…

It took about half an hour of pedaling, at a very deliberate 1.9 miles per hour the entire time, before I hit the halfway point. I was rewarded with a very nice view of the valley behind me.

Then the road went around a curve and kept going up. I took several more rest breaks, and ate more snacks and water. The book about cholera wrapped up and I switched to music for a while. Finally the top came into view.

I was rewarded for my efforts with a really spectacular view and a nice photo op.

Then I got a look down the hill, and was excited to see it was a long continuous descent past a somber looking lake and some neat farmland.

I put on all the rest of my layers, queued up the “Diablo 2” soundtrack for the heck of it, and took off.

The summer approximation of night fell as I was gliding down into this new valley, and I spotted the lights of Varmahlíð in the distance. That’s where I would camp. But first, time to investigate this funky looking monument to Icelandic poet Stephan G. Stephansson next to the road…

Everything was closed when I finally made it into the town, so I headed for the campsite. It turned out to be at the top of a hill. I was annoyed at having to pedal back up the side of the valley again, but I knew I couldn’t be too annoyed, because I was going to be camping overnight in a place with running water and toilets for about ten dollars.

I cycled through the patchwork of little clearings as quietly as I could, finally choosing a spot that was concealed from the wind and far enough away from other campers to respect their privacy. It’s always difficult trying to find a balance between politeness, decent ground cover, and distance to bathrooms. About fifteen minutes later I had the tent deployed as usual. Once again I thanked my earlier self for choosing a tent that could be inflated, so I didn’t have to mess with poles in the dark, the rain, and the finger-numbing cold.

Inside it was the same cozy little home as ever. I hung my speakers up and played some ambient music to mix with the rain, snuggled into my sleeping bag, and chatted with the folks back home on my phone since it was just hitting afternoon over there and everyone was out and about. It wasn’t at all like being home, of course, but it did provide a little reminder of home and all the things in my life outside the framework of a bike tour. Sometimes I forget. I guess that’s part of the point of vacations.