Iceland
The Iceland Divide is a breathtaking route stretching from the quiet northern town of Akureyri all the way down to the charming seaside village of Vík. If you’re reading this you’ve potentially visited Vik, heard it—or at least seen photos of its dramatic black sand beaches, towering sea stacks like Reynisdrangar, and the iconic Dyrhólaey arch, all nestled beneath the mighty glacier-capped volcano, Mýrdalsjökull.
Far to the north, Akureyri sits quietly by the fjord, often overlooked but every bit as lovely. It’s like Vík’s more laid-back cousin. Before Sadie and I set off on our journey south, we took a couple of slow, cozy days in Akureyri—sampling local fish and chips, hopping between bakeries, and taste-testing one too many cakes.
Leaving Akureyri, the ride begins with a smooth stretch of road tracing the coastline—crisp sea air and open skies for company. But just past the thundering Goðafoss waterfall, the pavement gives way to dirt, and the real adventure begins. The route climbs steadily through peaceful farmland, winding alongside rivers and over gentle hills, until the road narrows to a humble track.
Fuzzy, wide-eyed sheep laden with wool and a touch of attitude, pause to glare at the curious sight of two bikers rolling by. The green, grassy pastures begin to shift, as dark volcanic rock starts to crack through the surface like the earth is stretching its limbs. As the trail becomes more rugged, the landscape turns otherworldly and before long we find ourselves riding entirely on volcanic rock.
By late afternoon, Sadie and I reach Botni hut. We lit up the little gas stove, and soon the place was warm. I wandered outside toward the river to fill up water for a freeze dried dinner. Stepping outside, I was greeted with thick fog limiting visibility to about 30 feet. I noticed a couple riders passing by through the fog and fading light, I called out for them to come on in but they seemed determined to carry on and declined my offer. If they only knew how cozy the hut was.
A drizzly wet morning greeted us the next day leaving Botni Hut. We had full rain gear on from head to toe and spent the next two hours picking our way through the volcanic landscape while regularly staring at our GPS. As it turns out a vague trail and a stack of rocks is not a route. The black volcanic expanse seems endless. Sharp rock blended with smoother flows, frozen in time in a permanent mafic mineral slab make up this gloriously desolate landscape.
With our hoods synched up we carried on in our own little worlds through the rainy volcanic landscape. Late morning we begin an ascent up the Dyngjufjalladalur valley marked by the Dyungjufell hut. Built in 1993, the hut resembles a lot of the backcountry huts in Iceland- t-shaped, steel corregated exterior cladding with shuttered windows and a fairly well equipped interior with a gas stove, water, first aid and a number of beds. We passed by the hut which had stayed in the previous year after a long day on the bike. This time, we were moving past it before midday.
After our climb up into the highlands we called it a day fairly early and had dinner well before sunset. Without a lot to do beyond that we went to bed early and noticed rain begin to settle in. The pitter patter on the tent combined with a lack of wind led us to believe it was going to stick around. Sadie was unimpressed by my tent repairs and pointed out the variety of ways water was finding its way.
I woke early and shimmy’d in my sleeping bag toward the door to open the zip but couldn’t slide the zip at all. Repositioning to get some leverage I gave it another shot but struggled again. As I struggled with the zip I noticed the sound of ice sliding off the top of the tent. The zip was frozen and took quite a bit of work to get undone. Peering out of the tent the landscape had a layer of frost on it. Putting on shoes and walking out I noticed it wasn’t really frost at all but it seemed like the rain had wet the volcanic soil, our bikes, the tent and the temperatures had then dropped low enough for it all to freeze.
After some thawing, we spent the day riding in still weather and sunshine, passing Kistufell around noon. The following day, pleasant weather gave way to a headwind, which slowed progress to Nyidalur, though we still reached it by late afternoon. Treated with great riding weather on our fifth day, we made significant progress and camped near Versalir Hut.
Up and moving on day six, we battled another strong headwind. It was painfully slow going, with long hills to work our way over, and we pushed many of them. Dark clouds continuously built around us. It was cold, and the wind was relentless. We made a quick stop to filter water before continuing, and all I could think was that the weather was going to get worse before it got better. I didn’t say anything, but I could tell by the look on Sadie’s face that she was thinking it, too.
After hours of hike-a-biking, we reached a small section of the Divide that intersects with a paved road, and the combination of a smooth surface and a tailwind had us flying. We quickly stopped at a gas station, which seemed rather civilized after six days out on the trail. Inside, we met a search and rescue team having biscuits and coffee. We asked about route conditions and weather. They told us the rivers were high, as expected, and that the forecast called for a little of everything: wind, calm, rain, clear, sunshine, and clouds. This was followed by the standard response from every Icelander that the only constant with the weather is change.
Hoping to avoid uncrossable rivers, we took F208, heading south. While not the traditional Divide route, it detours via Landmannalaugar through the Fjallabak Nature Reserve, a place of astonishing beauty. Sadie was all smiles as we rode through stunning, lush hills dotted with farms. Plenty of rivers needed crossing, so much so that I left my shoes off and rode in flip-flops. Sadie’s neoprene surf booties looked ridiculous, but I was jealous of their utility. Sunshine and a gentle breeze made riding conditions perfect and gave me the opportunity to reflect on the effort I’d put in to finish the ride I’d started a year earlier. As Sadie rode on ahead, backed by mountains and verdant hills, I snapped one of my favorite photos of the trip.
After hours of hike-a-biking, we reached a small section of the Divide that intersects with a paved road, and the combination of a smooth surface and a tailwind had us flying. We quickly stopped at a gas station, which seemed rather civilized after six days out on the trail. Inside, we met a search and rescue team having biscuits and coffee. We asked about route conditions and weather. They told us the rivers were high, as expected, and that the forecast called for a little of everything: wind, calm, rain, clear, sunshine, and clouds. This was followed by the standard response from every Icelander that the only constant with the weather is change.
Hoping to avoid uncrossable rivers, we took F208, heading south. While not the traditional Divide route, it detours via Landmannalaugar through the Fjallabak Nature Reserve, a place of astonishing beauty. Sadie was all smiles as we rode through stunning, lush hills dotted with farms. Plenty of rivers needed crossing, so much so that I left my shoes off and rode in flip-flops. Sadie’s neoprene surf booties looked ridiculous, but I was jealous of their utility. Sunshine and a gentle breeze made riding conditions perfect and gave me the opportunity to reflect on the effort I’d put in to finish the ride I’d started a year earlier. As Sadie rode on ahead, backed by mountains and verdant hills, I snapped one of my favorite photos of the trip
