Hunkered Down In Höfn

Long story short: It took about two weeks for the new tire to arrive. That meant two weeks in Höfn, rambling around town, doing remote work, and trying every restaurant and snack shop at least once. Not a bad life, though my feet were itchy the whole time.

When the AirBnB stay was done I grabbed a patch of grass at the local campsite and paid a few days in advance. I had plenty of work to do but it was too cold to sit outdoors with the laptop, so I rotated between a couple of cafes, a gas station dining area, and the common area of the campground.

The staff at all these places got a little tired of me in the second week. But I was spending money, so…

I explored the town from end to end, checking out the paths, the information kiosks, the local art, and so on.

One of my favorite areas was the shoreline, which gave an amazing view of the glaciers nearby. For example, Heinabergsjökull:

As an aside, while trying to figure out the name of that glacier, I found it was actually pretty hard to find a modern map with enough labels on it. I eventually dug one out of a scientific paper named “Non-surface mass balance of glaciers in Iceland“:

One of the retaining walls along the main street had been turned into an art gallery by local students. By the end of the second week I knew them all. The old dude in the boat was my favorite.

Also I saw some odd bones on the pier, and had to ask my nephew about them:

There was one errand I could do while waiting: Laundry. This was my first chance to wash everything in a real machine for many days.

Unfortunately, no amount of washing will get highway tar out of sweatpants. My frustration inspired a short poem:

Tenth day of cycling
The stench hits you like a truck
Time for sink laundry

Hot highway blowout
Sitting down to fix the flat
Ass covered in tar

Hey bicycle guy
Looks like you pooped fireworks
Sink laundry again

I had a pair of regular pants that I was wearing around town, but when I got back on the road I would have to wear those revolting sweatpants again. I consoled myself during the endless work hours with snacks:

The gas station snack bins helped bring my food expenses down, since all the restaurants were super fancy.

While I stayed in place, other tourists came and went all around me. The campground filled up and emptied out in waves.

Höfn is a fine town and I have nothing against it, but the sensation of valuable travel days slipping away made the time I spent there kind of unpleasant. The day I’d arrived, I got in touch with the postal depot in Reykjavík, and in the back-and-forth with them over the two weeks I learned that my package had taken only three days to travel 6000 miles and arrive in Iceland, and the additional twelve days got consumed by the customs inspection and the 280-mile (450km) journey around the country to get to Höfn. It was frustrating, but I knew I had no alternative to waiting.

There was only one 20-inch bike tire in the entire country, and it was in a box headed my way.