I now had less than two weeks remaining in Iceland, and I was about 60 miles (~100km) away from the port city of Seydisfjordur.
I could have potentially sailed out a week earlier, but I wanted to give myself time to file visa paperwork in Egilsstaðir. I could pedal hard and be there in one day, but then I’d just be hanging around waiting for the visa office to open. So why now slow my roll?
I went back down the street into Stöðvarfjörður and got breakfast, then marched around the little park next to the Fish Factory, soaking up sunshine and drinking a weird soda.
The good weather continued out on the road. I kinda missed my cat, so I listened to Cat Sense as I went along. It’s a book I like to revisit, since a little more of it sticks each time.
I came around a curve and saw an island that my cat would absolutely love:
I don’t know what this island is called. Can’t find a name for it on any map.
See all those dots? Every one of them is a bird nest.
My destination was a guest house in Fáskrúðsfjörður – not so far away – so I pedaled slowly and enjoyed my snacks, and watched the prolonged magic-hour light give way to a comfortable gloom.
Another fishing operation, with Fáskrúðsfjörður in the distance.
The traffic was sparse all day. It seems odd that a country filled with tourists, whose highway system is organized around one giant ring, would have less traffic in one place than another. Don’t all the tourists eventually drive all the way around the island?
Turns out they don’t. The northeast part of the island is much less popular, and most folks turn around in their rented cars and head back rather than doing a loop. I was now in the southeast, and beyond all the big attractions. The only traffic was from locals, and tourists who were using the ferry boat, or actually doing the loop.
The calm road let my eyes wander, and I saw many an informative sign.
Building a road is often something that happens in long intervals.
I finished the last of my Warlock Holmes, and switched over to a book about Norse mythology. It was a bit clinical. Too many names and undifferentiated battles, not enough context. It was more fun to switch back to the Skyrim playlist and imagine a gigantic Odin stomping around the fields, drop-kicking sheep and blasting holes in the mountains.
A view all the way up the valley to the start of the river, where the glacier originally came down and carved it.
In the late afternoon I passed into a town advertising Petra’s stone collection, a popular tourist spot. I’d already toured a similar collection though, so I gave it a pass.
I’m not enitrely sure how to interpret the drawing on this sign.
One of the locals told me about a campground on the east side of town. They said the bathrooms there weren’t working, so I could just stay there for free if I liked. I rolled over there and it was a great patch of flat ground with a stand of trees to cut the wind.
The bathrooms were closed at this tiny campground, so the manager of the local store said I could stay for free. Very Iceland.
I appreciate the intention here, but this map is actually really confusing.
I warned the waiter I would be there for a while, and he shrugged and said, “You might be our only customer for most of the day. It’s really slow right now.”
That was good. My video meetings wouldn’t bug anyone.
I adore any store that sells a carrot cake with four layers.
Once again I’m the only diner in the restaurant. The tourist season ends really abruptly here…
I finished with those, then wrote code and ate snacks for about five hours. Eventually I switched to email and texting with the folks back home.
As the daylight waned, my sense of isolation grew, and it brought along a rare feeling of homesickness. My digital connection to loved ones felt inadequate. Good enough for a while, but not long-term. I knew this feeling would grow with time, and as it did, perhaps I would reach a threshold where all online communication felt as insubstantial as it really was, and I’d have to return home or lose my sanity. Making friends along the way isn’t a near-term option when you’re constantly on the move.
As I rode back to the hotel, I started obsessing about social media, in the impotent way I often do. Most people in my home country get their news from social media feeds now. And without really understanding it, they’ve become vulnerable to bad actors working from far away, who can change or just rearrange their information for some economic or political purpose. The centralized nature of large-scale social media companies makes it easy to interfere in consistent and opaque ways.
An image formed in my head, of friends and family gathered in a living room having a lively conversation. In the center of the room is a chair, and in it sits a person wearing an expressionless mask. The person hears every word of the conversation. Occasionally they raise a hand, and whatever person is speaking is suddenly muted. Their mouth continues to move, but instead of the words they’re saying, a political opinion from a complete stranger, or an advertisement for a carefully chosen product, goes into the ears of everyone else. No one notices. The mind’s eye pans outward, and we see similar chairs in every room in the house, including bedrooms and bathrooms. Masked strangers are stationed outside as well, and at regular intervals up the street. No one sees them.
It sounds like the premise for an outlandish horror film — perhaps something directed by John Carpenter and starring a charismatic pro wrestler. A scenario that people would, upon discovering in the real world, feel immediate revulsion at, and begin fighting. The strangers in the chairs would be knocked down and shoved into the street. And yet, this is effectively the world we occupy, and we collectively embrace it because we can’t imagine these anonymous strangers doing something counter to our interests. Or perhaps, we feel like they’re so powerful already that there’s no alternative…
Back at the hotel I tried to push the vision out of my head and relax. Something big would have to be done, some kind of regulation or trust-busting, and my latest round of obsessing wasn’t going to conjure a solution. I packed my gear for an early start, and wandered deep into the ambient music in my little fold-up speakers.
Before leaving town I decided to have a nice breakfast at the restaurant. Only a handful of people were there, and the atmosphere was quiet and comfy. In the corner I noticed an interesting collection of furniture:
It’s pretty cool seeing all these little kid toy sections in restaurants.
It’s pretty cool seeing all these little kid toy sections in restaurants.
The owners had set up a little play area for kids to mess around while their parents ate. Lovely! I can’t imagine any American restaurant doing this, at least any corporate-owned one, because of liability issues, and the drive to make customers move along as soon as possible.
(Much later when I was thinking about this, I discovered that Djúpivogur is the first – and so far the only – Icelandic town to join the Cittaslow movement.)
Shout-out to Glen, giving his trailer a trial-run on this Iceland tour!
Glen is a long-range cycle tourist, and has been all over the world. For his Iceland visit he’s using a trailer, and is not entirely sure he likes it.
The luggage rides low to the ground and the trailer tilts with the rest of the bike, so maneuverability is pretty good, but there’s still extra drag to deal with. On the one hand you can inflate the wheel to a very high pressure to make it roll better – but on the other hand, the wheel is relatively small. Plus there’s the weight of the frame.
“So what do you like the most about Iceland so far?” I asked him.
“I think I’ve been the most impressed by the deep clear water here.”
“Is there a place you’re recently been that you think is under-appreciated by cycle tourists?”
“Turkey is amazing, and relatively unknown. It was kind of a paradox, to be honest. I wanted to stay there longer but I also knew I would never want to stay permanently. The people there are in denial about the social and political problems they have, to the point where it’s surprising Turkey even holds together as a country.”
We chatted a bit more and wished each other luck, and as he vanished around the corner I spent some time preparing my rain gear. I’d been lucky the past few weeks, but now it was back to the standard waves of rain, and the all-day dance of add-a-layer, shed-a-layer.
The back of the bike: Table, coat rack, extra hand, clothesline, and occasionally even a work desk.
The back of the bike: Table, coat rack, extra hand, clothesline, and occasionally even a work desk.
I had to pause for a moment and enjoy a thankful thought for something I use every day: The flat surface on the top of my backpack. On a tour, it’s my kitchen table, my workshop, my clothesline, my staging area, and my extra pair of hands.
This could be a clear day or a cloudy day, depending on your perspective.
This side of the rock was constantly getting wet from streams of water and then quickly drying out from the wind, over and over.
As I rode along, the rain intensified, and so did the wind. By the time I stopped for a self-portrait in the afternoon, I was fairly soaked by the wind blowing water sideways into my jacket and hood.
Just how much mist is an excessive amount? Iceland has no such limit!
I kept pausing for photos, or to eat snacks, or to just stand around breathing the air, and lost all track of time.
You could climb to the top, but I don't know where you'd stand when you got there!
Creepy!
Another world, above and below the clouds.
Gorgeous sandwich layers along every fjord.
I cairn do this all day.
Mysterious!
And all this geography, right by the side of the road...
Ride on in, the mist is fine!
Farming the sea.
Watch out for them trucks!
That rock's in the way! Blast it!
Before I realized it, between the cloud cover and the hour, it was getting pretty dark.
I assumed I wouldn’t be doing any night-riding on this trip, partly because I have to pay more attention to a work schedule and keep regular hours, and partly because it’s less interesting to ride at night in a country as gorgeous as Iceland.
If I was riding through boring terrain with nothing new to see, then night time would have some clear advantages: It’s quieter, there’s less traffic and more privacy, and there is a real increased sense of intimacy with the bicycle. On a recumbent it’s like sitting at home in a chair in a comfortable study, though of course you need to keep spinning your legs.
Is something wrong with my lens? Nope. It’s the northern lights.
On a whim, I pulled to the side of the road and dismounted. My headlight went dim, and then slowly began to fade out entirely.
I looked up and saw two satellites slowly coasting across the sky. As my vision adjusted, I tilted my head and realized I could see the arc of the galaxy spread right across the top of the sky like a stripe. Turning my head to take in the view all around me, I looked back up the road, and above it on a shelf of cloud the constellation of the Big Dipper was right in the center of my vision, looming larger than I had ever seen it before.
I looked around for Orion‘s belt – which I thought would be easy to see because it’s a very familiar constellation – but there appeared to be so many other stars in the sky that I couldn’t pick it out. If I set my camera up for a long exposure for 30 seconds or more like I did a few days ago in the Viking camp, I was certain it would reveal a deep royal purple undertone filling half the sky as the northern lights undulated across the camera.
The aurora, vaulting up behind the clouds. I did not expect to see them this time of year.
The aurora, vaulting up behind the clouds. I did not expect to see them this time of year.
I stood around in darkness for almost half an hour, lost in thought, and then abruptly realized that I hadn’t been passed by a car the entire time. The only car I could see was a microscopic point of light on the outer edge of the mountains across the bay ahead of me, just where the mountain slope met the ocean. I saw another light below it, coasting off in a straight line to the east, following the horizon. That would probably be a fishing boat, starting the night’s work.
Perhaps the majesty of this environment isn’t entirely lost when the sun sets.
I got back on the bike and rode for a while, reaching a decent speed, and then tilted my head to look at the Milky Way again. Instead of a scattering of stars forming a rough shape, it was now a distinct band with its own weird texture. Tilting my head made my balance a bit wonky so I tried to keep it brief, but nevertheless in that few seconds a minor gust of wind shoved my helmet right off my head. As it rolled on the highway behind me I hit the brakes and burst out laughing. Nothing says “safety” like a helmet that tumbles to the ground randomly because you forgot to clip it on…
As I laughed quite loud at my own folly I looked up again, and a meteorite went streaking across the horizon. I stood and appreciated that, and a few seconds later I heard a loud bleat from a sheep directly behind me, surprisingly close at hand. This patch of road was full of surprises! I wanted to stand there for hours, watching the sky get ever more grand, but there was a number I had to contend with: The one on the thermometer. In conditions like these, if I stop cycling for more than about ten minutes I grow very uncomfortably cold, even with all my layers on. And tonight my layers were compromised by water. Best for me to move along.
Fjardabyggd:. More than just that thing you shout when you stub your toe: It’s also a town!
Fjardabyggd:. More than just that thing you shout when you stub your toe: It’s also a town!
Google and Apple maps could not agree on where the hotel was. Apple maps had the nerve to present two results for the same address, each about half a mile apart on the same stretch of road. I found the place on the third try, an hour after I passed it the first time.
It was a four unit lodge built underneath a house, with a common kitchen and showers. There were plenty of shoes propped on the rack by the door so I tried to stay quiet as I lugged my gear and my exhausted ass inside.
My room had two beds, so I luxuriated by pouring all my stuff on the smaller one to organize it. My last act for the night was to prop my squishy gloves on the windowsill over the radiator.
The weather was good for roaming. On the north side of town I found a long series of stone platforms with egg sculptures on top of them – the “Eggs of Merry Bay” – and many other smaller statues and signs scattered along the coast.
Small monument to Hans Jonatan, former Danish slave and the first known person of African descent to settle in Iceland.
I did of course eat several meals in the local cafe, while I slowly went through a massive backlog of photos and tinkered with my GPS recordings. In the afternoon I switched to work, and caught up with my fellow software developers in the status meeting.
Once again I was amused by the fact that a meeting I sometimes lost sleep over because it was so early in the morning back home was now happening around dinnertime. This “round Earth” conspiracy sure is elaborate!
I also took some time to ride out to a little exhibition of stones created by a local collector. No, it’s not the much-publicized Petrea’s Stone Collection – that’s farther down the road and was closed when I passed it – this is the site of JFS Handcrafts, a shop run by a delightful man named Jón.
Outside the Steinasafn (Stone Museum) in Djúpivogur.
Outside the Steinasafn (Stone Museum) in Djúpivogur.
We bonded a little bit over our mutual appreciation of Pink Floyd, but mostly I just quietly wandered around the space and stared at the incredible variety of rocks. Jón had personally collected every one, and gave details on the geology and origins of anything I pointed out.
It was a relaxing day, and I was grateful for the clear weather. Tomorrow promised more rain. Even though I would be wearing the rainpants all day, I tried washing my thoroughly stained sweats again, using the sink in the common area. Perhaps in a few days I would look somewhat less like I didn’t know the difference between a campfire and a toilet seat.
