Day 42: Aug 6, 2011

Sho and I looked longingly at our bicycles, disassembled and ready to be loaded on the bus from Isafjordur to Brjanslaekur. "It doesn't feel right not to cycle," he said. Just after 9 am, we were rumbling out of town, Eiko and Saya seated in the row behind us. It felt strange to look out through a window at the passing scenery. I agreed with Sho. From the inside of a vehicle, I felt disconnected.

We headed west out of Isafjordur, passing beneath the looming, rocky peaks of Kirkjubolshlid Mountain, scene of a dramatic avalanche in the mid-1990's that killed one person and crushed several homes here. After the tragedy, one man stubbornly refused to move out of the danger zone, but is not permitted to live in his house during the winter.

We soon entered a 6 km (3.7 mile) tunnel that would have been a freaky, but cool cycling experience. We emerged from the tunnel to a glorious view of dark mountains and rippling blue lakes. After passing the fishing villages of Flateyri and Thingeyri, the road conditions deteriorated significantly. My guidebook accurately described the road as "little more than an unsurfaced and badly potholed dirt track.". Sho and I agreed that it would have been extremely uncomfortable for Saya in her bike trailer over the rough road. I estimated that it would have taken us three days to ride this section. Alone, or just with Sho, I would have done it. But with a four-year old in a cycle trailer, we made the right decision to take a bus.

We made a brief stop at Dynjandi, an immense waterfall storming over a mountain ledge one hundred meters overhead. Considered the most impressive waterfall in all of the West Fjords, it is featured in many tourist brochures. We also decided to spend the afternoon on a side trip to Latrabjarg, the westernmost point of Europe and one of the world's major bird cliffs. We spent an hour and a half carefully hiking along the edge of the sheer drop off, appreciating the remarkable swarms of various gulls and guillemots visiting their vertigo-inducing nests. The deep blue Atlantic Ocean filled the panoramic view and sparkled gloriously in the bright sun. I spent some time just sitting, listening to the birds' calls and the foamy surf swirling around black jagged rocks far below.

As I stared out over the sea, feeling it's power and insouciance, I felt close to the rhythms of nature and began to think about the phases of a human's life. Each phase seems to come with tasks to master, problems to solve and traps to avoid. I suspect that the particulars only become clear in retrospect, if ever, once you have moved to another phase. Now in my 40's, I think one of my most pressing tasks is to help my children grow into healthy adults with a sense of responsibility to care not just for themselves, but for the world around them. I also feel the temptation to seek material wealth and prestige. This is certainly a trap, and I have tried during this ride through Iceland to explore how my relationship to other people and to nature changes if I prioritize the richness of an experience over the material gain it offers. Whenever I was cold, tired or frustrated on this long adventure, I've consoled myself with the thought, "It's supposed to be hard.". Just like challenging the status quo in order to help reverse the environmental destruction of our time, or simply getting through life's phases...

We took a 7 pm ferry from Brjanslaekur to Flatey Island, a tranquil home to fields of wild yellow buttercups, and soaring kittiwakes, fulmars and arctic terns. A handful of summer homes are clustered on the island near a picturesque church. We set up our tent beside the water and fell asleep to the sharp calls of arctic terns hunting nearby, their songs carried away by the ocean wind.

Here are some pics:
In front of the apartment in Isafjordur:



Bikes disconnected and ready to be loaded onto a bus:


Sho at Dynjandi Waterfall:



Saya:





Mountain road:


Hiking in Latrabjarg:


Latrabjarg:









Eiko, Sho and Saya in the distance:


View of Atlantic Ocean from Latrabjarg:


Saya with her friend "invisible girl":



Ferry to Flatey Island:


Church on Flatey:







Sho and Saya goofing off in the tent:


Sunset at 11 pm:


Our tent by the sea:



- An Iceland Bike Adventure post

Day 41: Aug 5, 2011

Today was our final day in Isafjordur. We said goodbye to Arisa, who boarded a noon bus to Reykjavik, leaving us all feeling the loss of her companionship. She would have loved our five-hour afternoon hike with North Explorers/Borea Adventures. Eiko, Sho, Saya and I joined a couple from England on a guided hike that started at the nearby oceanside village of Hnifsdalur and followed a path through a broad verdant valley to a peaceful waterfall. We then climbed up a rock-strewn mountain, eventually picking our way up a steep snow-covered climb before reaching Thjofatinder Peak. We signed a guest book and got a stamp on our hands to prove we'd made the summit. On a clear day, you can see wide and far from the peak, but we used our imaginations today, because of a heavy fog that provided at most a few dozen meters' visibility.

It was a challenging hike for the kids, listed by the tour company as appropriate for ages 12 and up. But as wannabe adventurers, we got an exemption. I carried Saya part of the time and held her close during the steep sections. As we neared the summit, scrambling over fairly treacherous terrain, Saya soothed herself by singing, "I'm scared. No I'm not! I'm scared. No I'm not!". Sho developed a blister on his heel, and Saya scraped her forearm and knees on the rocks, but just as they've done over the past forty days, they persevered to the end. And they got to sample wild crow berries, discovered a tiny flowering carnivorous plant, and marveled at patches of fluorescent green moss. It was a memorable outing.

We spent the evening back in Isafjordur packing up. I'll be sorry to leave this beautiful part of Iceland, and am already figuring out when I might return to sample some more ambitious treks in the area.

Here are some pics:

Sho and Saya with Arisa, as she headed for the bus:




Arisa boarding the bus to Reykjavik:



View during our hike:



Our resourceful and friendly guide:


Eiko during a break in the hike:



Saya and I by the waterfall:



Eiko and Sho:




Rocky terrain:


Don't slip:




At the top of Thjofatinder Peak:


Sho and Saya picking crow berries:



With Aslaug, who runs a wonderful guest house in Isafjordur:


- An Iceland Bike Adventure post

Day 40: Aug 4, 2011

After consulting with locals and based on our experience to date, we decided not to cycle from Isafjordur through the rest of the west fjords. The jostling on the rough and rocky interior roads would be extremely uncomfortable for Saya. We chose instead to take a bus from Isafjordur to Brjanslaekur, the ferry terminal on the southern coast of the west fjords. From there we will take a boat to Flatey Island and continue cycling to Reykjavik. The next bus from Isafjordur to Brjanslaekur leaves on Saturday morning.

With some unexpected spare time to hang out in Isafjordur, we decided to focus on personal grooming. Sho got a much-needed haircut (see pics), and I shaved off my beard, because I felt like it. Saya approved, saying that I looked "more handsomer" without the facial hair. We also got our bikes tuned up at the sports store Craft, courtesy of the store's owner and Ironman triathlete Kristbjorn (aka Bobbi) Sigurjonsson. When Saya heard about Bobbi's athletic exploits, she challenged him to a downhill race: Bobbi on his bike; Saya on her scooter. "I'm REALLY fast on my scooter," Saya boasted, confident in her ability to win. Bobbi politely declined to take up her challenge.

Eiko, Sho, Saya and I also made a reservation for a nature hike tomorrow with Borea Adventures. The owner, Runar, was in the middle of preparing to lead an 8-day kayaking expedition, but made time to chat with me about our ride. I owe a big thank you to Linda Ramsdell for the introductions to the folks at Craft and Borea Adventures. Linda also introduced me to Aslaug, the owner of a local guest house. Aslaug's place was full, but she arranged for us to stay in a nearby apartment.

Arisa will leave us tomorrow, taking a bus to Reykjavik and returning to Japan. It was a lot of fun to have her on the ride for the past week, and we'll all miss her. It isn't easy to jump into a challenging expedition like this, and she rose to the occasion. She put up with cycling up to 11 hours a day, dangerous winds, cold rain, and smelly riding companions. Congratulations on your accomplishment Arisa!

In the afternoon, we toured the Westfjords Folk Museum, watching a thought-provoking film about the traditional methods of fishing employed over a thousand years in this area before the introduction of motor boats. I was inspired by the hardiness and courage of the fisherman, but intimidated by the hardships of their daily existence. They carried the same stubborn resilience I was drawn to in the arctic terns. Resilience demanded by nature's cruel insouciance. I have become addicted to the comforts of modern living, but am enthralled by the effort required to live more closely aligned with the rhythms of nature. Something feels amiss with urban life, my belly growing soft as I nibble edible food-like substances in front of a computer screen. I desire wealth and consumer goods, obsess over frivolous nice-to-haves, generate mounds of trash, and seem perpetually unsatisfied with what I have. Rather than seek out a life that is sustainable, I am enticed by promises of never-ending economic growth on a planet with finite resources, as if that were possible.

I don't want to suffer as those hardy fishermen did in Iceland's past, but there is some wisdom in their way of living that those of us in congested mega-cities seem to have lost. We spew ever increasing amounts of pollution into the atmosphere and pretend there are no consequences. We hide behind material wealth and political rhetoric to avoid changing our unsustainable status quo. We seem to have lost the urgent sense of vulnerability so palpable in those fishermen. Perhaps collectively we have let hubris replace humility and forgotten just how fragile we all are.

Here are some pics:

Sho's hair before...


...Sho's hair after:


Me with a beard:




Clean shaven and "more handsomer":


Sho with Runar and Megan at Borea Adventures:



Sho and Saya with Bobbi at Craft sports store:


Another beautiful day in Isafjordur:


Sho in the Westfjords Folk Museum:



Arisa and Saya in the museum:


- An Iceland Bike Adventure post

Day 39: Aug 3, 2011

We spent the day exploring the peaceful town of Isafjordur and took an afternoon boat trip to Vigor Island. It felt like luxury not to cycle for hours in the cold rain! In fact, it was sunny and warm for much of the day, and seemed almost like a different season from yesterday.

The Vigor trip was today's highlight, an island bustling with puffins, arctic terns and Eider ducks. Saya called it "busy town." A single human family has lived on the island since the 1800's, with the fourth generation still in residence. The island boasts Iceland's only windmill and the country's smallest post office. But I was most interested in its natural wonders: astonishing views of the surrounding ocean and mountains, and many hundreds of nesting birds. In the distance, Iceland's northernmost glacier loomed under clouds beyond sharp cliffs cut by powerful waterfalls dropping hundreds of meters and crashing into the sea. The country's only glacier that is not in full retreat from warming temperatures, I longed to travel to the Hornstrandir peninsula to experience it up close. But that will have to wait for another day when I am not with my children.

As we hiked around Vigor, cute bumbling puffins flapped their wings frantically to keep their pudgy bodies airborne and sometimes crashed hilariously into the water. One posed for us, perched on a cliff's edge looking out over the water, small fish hanging from its distinctive orange and black beak. Sho carefully approached the bird to get a picture, patiently working to get close enough for a good shot. I loved seeing his concentration and joy in appreciating the lovely creature.

The arctic terns aggressively protected their eggs and chicks, and swooped overhead making assertive clicking squawks whenever we ventured too close. I don't speak their language, but recognize profanity when I hear it. Eiko, Arisa, Sho, Saya and I each carried a stick with a small blue flag and waved it overhead to give the birds something other than our heads to attack. Sometimes, Sho dove to the ground or crouched low clutching my legs to avoid an attack, laughing but wary. As president of the Arctic Tern Fan Club, I was in heaven, snapping pictures of the glorious birds' aerial stunts. I captured some good close-ups and apologized to the animals for making them waste energy on me to protect their young. They'll need all their reserves for their upcoming migrations over tens of thousands of miles.

At the end of the afternoon, I took Sho and Saya to the local pool, where Sho worked on his dive and Saya perfected her belly flop. She doesn't like to admit when she's hurt, and when I heard her say "Ow!", I asked if she was o.k. She chose to lie to my face and responded, "I didn't say 'ow'. I said 'cow.'". Yeah, right. Hubris starts young, I guess. She can also be creative in her compliments. After watching Sho do an impressive jump, she said, "Sho, you're a great sportster!".

Here are some pics:

Saya on the boat ride to Vigor:






Sho and I on the boat:



Puffin on Vigor:



Arctic terns:


View from the hike:



Arisa with flag to protect her from bird attacks:


Arctic tern shots:










Saya feeding the Eiders:



Arisa taking a break:


Eiko and Saya:




Sho and Saya:


Saya on the beach:


- An Iceland Bike Adventure post