July 1: Just the Tip of the Iceberg
When I set out to explore the Katla Ice Caves this morning I didn’t think I would end up biking a third of the way around Iceland before the night was over. But on the way back to Vik after the expedition through the tunnels of ash and ice, I discovered that severe winds were predicted for the following three days between my current location and where I needed to be to catch my ferry. So, I made the call to put in some significant miles today while the wind was relatively tame.
My day started peacefully enough as the hostel I was staying at was just two blocks from the meeting point for the ice caves tour. After climbing into a 4x4 souped up jeep, our tour guide led us bumping and jostling our way through the highlands at the base of the Myrdalsjokull Glacier.
After donning ice crampons and listening to safety instructions we headed up an ice formation and over a series of rickety walkways suspended quite a few feet above crevices in the ice formed by a rapidly moving river of water. As I am quite afraid of heights, it was no easy matter for me to hang on to the thin ropes and walk across the narrow planks to the other side of each gap in the ice.
What an amazing view! The glistening ice sparkled and shined in multiple hues of white and blue and was accented by streaks of black from the volcanic ash. When the ice melted it formed a series of circular depressions in the walls and ceilings around and above me. As the river roared below me a waterfall cascaded in front of me, and the voice of my companions echoed off the walls behind me. What a surreal and magical experience!
After safely navigating our way down the ice formation by stomping our crampon covered feet on the icy floor, we boarded our jeeps and made our way back to Vic. Unfortunately, our truck lost its brakes, but the tour guide was able to downshift instead and got us back to the meeting spot in one piece.
After the tour I ate a protein bar and headed north, hoping to beat the windstorm coming my way. My goal was to make it Egilsstadir by nightfall, driving almost 300 miles in frigid weather through rain and fog and wind, navigating a series of small country roads over a number of one-way brides and through at least one major mountain. Fortunately, I had already gone over this territory a few days before and had been able to take the time to enjoy the views of the glaciers, icebergs, and ocean.
I arrived in Egilsstadir only to find my accommodation for the night was not actually in that town as advertised and was in fact at the end of a loose river rock road in another town. I am storing my things in the supply room of a bar in Egilsstadir and sleeping on the top of a bunk bed in a dormitory, grateful to have heat and electricity and looking forward to seeing what tomorrow will bring.
