Iceland, Iceland, so good they named it twice (well no, they didn’t actually)
So here we were Iceland- Land of Fire and Ice. Looking at our docking point it was certainly living up to the Ice bit. There was none of this 6 years ago when I was here last, and I was wondering if I had brought enough cold weather gear. The snow was still hanging around right to the coast and not too far above sea level either. Too late now- up and attem.
We were meeting Martin in Vik in a couple of days’ time and with me not having done the south coast off we went- andiamo! We had juiced up in Denmark in preparation to being reamed here, but in actual fact the petrol price is not that ridiculous 245isk a ltr. From Seyjisfjordur through to Egilsstadir we were off the ground and riding through some rather chilly mountains- it was that chilly I nearly had to put something other than my vest on under my bike jacket- thankfully I’m English and try to refrain from that “Jonny Foreigner” behaviour- matron would of slapped my legs and no mistake. We got our bearing in town and forged south without a moments delay. Out on the 92 and onto the 96 we reached the coast quicker than if we had just stuck with the 1, “ THE” main road in Iceland.
With stunning scenery to our right, and the sea to our left we sat there in almost nice weather putting in the miles to our first stop at Hofn- pronounce Hoof (Why? I have not the faintest feckin idea). As ever when you are enjoying yourself motorcycling (adventure- optional) the weather moved in and pee’d on our parade. I feckin hate erecting my tent in the rain, but at 80 euro for a cabin, tent it was. In time the weather cleared and we told ourselves off for being to hasty. Well actually I told Zebb off cos I was up for a cabin J.