Iceland by gravel bike: 8 days around the Westfjords
Text: Oliver Andorfer
It feels like the tenth stream that has cut us off across the path. Only this one is no longer ankle-deep. This time the water is as cold as our knees. While we were still able to ride through the first narrow streams with a run-up and skill, here we have to somehow carry and balance our loaded 25-kilo bike to the other bank. It was clear that today's queen stage would be tough, but in addition to the stream crossings, winds of force 10 have been whipping across the Dynjandisheiði plateau for the last five hours.
This is slowly pulling the plug on everyone. Anna shoves another chocolate-covered marshmallow into her mouth and gets back on the saddle: the gusts of wind immediately attack from diagonally in front and try to sweep her off the six-metre-wide road. The rest of us have already given up the fight and are trudging through the loose gravel on foot. This way, we make just as much progress as Anna. With our gravel bikes, including saddle, frame and handlebar bags, we simply offer the wind too much of an attack surface on the treeless plateau.
It is our penultimate of a total of eight days in the Westfjords and by far the toughest. A stage that we will never forget, and we didn't expect that when we set off from the fishing village of Bíldudalur in the morning. Especially not many months ago, when the idea for this trip germinated in me... Back then, I read a report about the Iceland tour by ultracycling legend Lael Wilcox. The pictures immediately made me want to discover the island by bike myself. As a bikepacking fan, the incredible beauty of the landscape and the challenge of the rugged, deserted natural surroundings left me wanting more. And the spark of my enthusiasm was ignited and I quickly gained three fellow travellers.
The first magical moments
Tomaz Druml, Moritz Klee, Anna Holzer and Max Hofstätter are on a direct flight with me to Reykjavík, Iceland's capital, from where we fly on the next day to our starting point in Ísafjörður, the economic and administrative centre of the Westfjords, which characterise the north-westernmost tip of Iceland. There we are met by Dóra and Tyler from Cycling Westfjords, a coalition of cyclists who want to promote bikepacking on the island. They designed this route for us and helped us plan it.
The next morning, they send us on our way with the latest tips. We pedal along the waters of Skutulsfjörður and can hardly get enough of the steep mountains that flank the fjord. Today we have a total of 140 kilometres ahead of us, on the finest asphalt and along five fjords. Dóra's tip to make sure we stop for a waffle on the way still resonates with us. There are no other places to buy food on this stage: no supermarket, no petrol station, no restaurant. Just this little hut, called Litlibær, which has the best waffles far and wide.
Shortly before Litlibær, I think I can already smell the aroma of waffles, Tomaz shouts out - he has spotted a fountain in the fjord: "Whales, over there, those are whales!" Sure enough, a herd of humpback whales with juveniles is diving up and down. A magical moment that makes us forget time for an hour and a half. Only when we start to feel hungry do we make our way to the nearby Litlibær hut.
Waffles, homemade jam, whipped cream and a pot of steaming coffee - we are already in love with Iceland. Our first accommodation is right next to a hot spring, a hole in the ground with water at around 40 degrees. We climb in and enjoy a well-earned can of beer - cold, of course!
This silence - are we the only people on the island?
The landscape, which amazed us so much at the beginning, becomes more normal for us from day to day, but of course remains breathtaking: from gentle, lush meadows rise striking table mountains with steep cliff edges from which waterfalls cascade down. Civilisation? Not a thing. We are often surrounded by such silence that we get the feeling that we are the only people on the island.
The surface on our route changes as quickly as the weather. We suddenly go from tarmac to gravel - and then we get to know Icelandic gravel: The rock is larger and has a different hardness. With rough edges. This makes the descents with the heavily laden gravel bikes a particular challenge. Thor is merciful until we get used to this gravel surface. The Nordic weather gods spoilt us with plenty of September sunshine during the first few days and the temperatures fluctuated between seven degrees in the morning and a maximum of 20 degrees at midday.
But then Iceland shows us its darker side. The sky becomes increasingly overcast, the wind blows harder and much colder, and on the fifth day it pours down like buckets. We try to keep dry with rain jackets, long rain trousers and waterproof gloves and overshoes, but sooner or later we are all soaked. And now the first storm is blowing in our faces. In places we have to push the bike because riding is out of the question. Hiding behind a tree? There aren't any. So, as long as we can: keep our heads down, pedal and crawl like snails - until the next stream crossing, which slows us down even more.
By the seventh day, when the knee-deep stream described at the beginning crosses our path, we already have a routine: socks and shoes off, bikes on our shoulders and looking for a suitable spot to wade through the almost ten-degree water. Ah, how the calf muscle contracts wonderfully in its fascia to hide from the cold shock, but lets go just before the cramp because you switch to the other leg with tightrope-dancing grace. But shortly afterwards, the island has the next surprise in store. "Guys, look up there, how beautiful is this, please!" shouts Anna, pointing ahead. A long, fine, light-coloured sandy beach appears out of nowhere on the coast, washed up by bright blue sea water. A sight reminiscent of the Caribbean, not an island at the height of Greenland. The beach is called "Barðastrandarsandur". For the first time on this trip, everyone is speechless.
On the Kjaransbraut "road"
The next day we drive along what we would call in Austria a tractor track right by the sea. On the right, the Icelandic mixture of grasses and rugged volcanic rocks. On the left, a fjord almost two kilometres wide and a view of the typical Westfjords mesas carved by the ice-age glaciers. But the most scenic section of the day, perhaps even of the whole journey, was yet to come: the Kjaransbraut road. More than 30 years ago, it was cut into a rock face almost 150 metres high. Until the Icelandic road construction authority realised that it was "Mission Impossible" and abandoned the project. But then came Elís Kjaran Friðfinnsson, who lived on a nearby farm. On his own initiative, he moved into the rock with his small bulldozer.
He certainly wasn't thinking of people like us, because gravel bikes soon reach their limits here. At the latest where the road leads under a rock face over a narrow beach. You can only cross it at low tide. Dóra from Cycling Westfjords had given us the exact times of low and high tide, but even without high tide, round stones the size of a handball make cycling impossible. We have to carry the bikes while the water drips incessantly onto our heads from the rock face.
After a long day and an extensive dinner, it's about half past ten and everyone is just about to go to bed when my mobile rings. It's Moritz, who has ducked outside: "I'd like to come outside for a moment, friends - northern lights!" We've been checking the Northern Lights forecast app for days. So far in vain. But what we see this night exceeds all expectations: A three-hour laser show with dancing green lights that occasionally change to purple. They disappear in one place only to reappear in another.
We lie next to each other on the beach at Þingeyri, silent and reverent, our cameras set to long exposure. Our eighth and final day. There are only 50 kilometres and 1000 metres of altitude to go. But with the Breiðadalsheiði (610 metres), the highest pass of the tour awaits us today. Just follow the old gravel road, we were told. In fact, it is the GPS track that guides us through a scree slope with stones ranging in size from tennis balls to medicine balls. And because there's no wind and the sun is shining, we're soon dripping with sweat - for the first time in the eight days.
Iceland by gravel bike - what you need to know
How to get there
By direct flight from Germany to Reykjavik (3.5 hours from Frankfurt) and onwards with Iceland Air to Ísafjörður (45 minutes), where the tour starts. Info: icelandair.com However, domestic flights are expensive. You could also tackle the 450 kilometres of road by public bus (with bike transport), but there are no direct connections. Planning aid: straeto.is/en and publictransport.is
Best time to travel
The best time is from June to mid-September. The average daily temperatures then are around 10-15 degrees. However, snowfall is possible.
Costs
The cost of living in Iceland is 50 per cent higher than in Germany. The accommodation we booked through Cycling Westfjords cost an average of 270 euros for five people including breakfast. For dinner, you have to budget another 20 to 35 euros per person. Guest houses are simple on the outside but comfortable on the inside. Camping in the great outdoors is permitted, and there are also several campsites along the route.
Info
Cycling Westfjords helps with route planning, offers guided tours and in June organises the "Arna Westfjords Way Challenge", a stage race around the Westfjords, cyclingwestfjords.com
Iceland Gravel: The illustrated book with all route information on Iceland's Westfjords
Martina Gensmantel and Oliver Andorfer have provided detailed information on the 900-kilometre Westfjords route in Iceland with great pictures and everything you need to know for a bike trip, including route details, GPX data, packing list and QR codes for drone flights on the tour in their Illustrated book "Island Gravel" summarised. Price: 34.90 euros, published by Delius Klasing Verlag
