Trip:
Reykjanes Natural Park
Distance:
80km
Sights: Lake Kleifarvatn, Krýsuvík Hot Springs, Lake Grænavatn,
Reykjavik Seaport
If you
didn’t look at the porous volcanic rock that made up the ground and only stared
down the road over the nearly flat plain to the bluish outlines of mountains
near the horizon – you’d think you were in Wyoming looking at the Tetons. Yet 50K from Reykjavik, I didn’t know what to
do.
The rest
of the gang was either in the Western fjords or glacier hiking on Mýrdalsjökull. Earlier in the week, Brandy had rented a
tandem bike at “The Bike Company” behind the tourist information on Bankastræti. I went down and picked up a Trek Mountain
bike to make the trip.
The plan
was to hit the nature park, the bird cliffs and then come back through Selfoss
(and the “Sausage Wagon”) to take the big long hill over the Mid-Atlantic Ridge
along Route 1.
I rode
out of the city along one of the numerous bike trails that run parallel to most
of the major roads. It wound through the
neighborhoods in Garđabær and Hafnafjördur along routes 40 & 41. About 5k outside of Hafnafjördur, the road to
Reykanesvolkvangur turns off. My guide
book stated that this would be a largely unpaved road. However, for about the first 8k this road is
paved and busy with large trucks heading each way.
It turns
out that right before you enter the Reykanesvolkvangur, there is a huge
quarry. After the turn to the quarry,
the road immediately goes gravel and you have to climb over a couple steep
short hills. The second hill was
especially challenging as it was too steep to sit but the road to slick and
tough to get traction while standing.
As I
came down from the second hill, the terrain opened up to the left to Lake
Kleifarvatn and the road ran on a ridge to the right along the side of the lake.
Somewhere in the almost lifeless lunar landscape that the lake sits upon there
is an alien, awesome beauty.
Lake Kleifarvatn
After
passing the lake came the indisputable smell of Hot Springs. The Krýsuvík area sits on the fissures of the
Mid-Atlantic Ridge. There is a parking
lot for the largest of the hot springs, Sultan.
In 1999, one of the springs became clogged and exploded so there is now
a bilingual (and awesome) warning sign:
I parked
the bike on a sign post and headed onto the boardwalk. The boardwalk wanders through, over and
around hot springs that look much like the Paint Pots in Yellowstone. Seth and I had earlier commented that in
Iceland they just put up a parking lot and a bathroom and say: Park here, see the sites but don’t expect
any services.
Indeed,
in the States they would never have built a site like Sultan. The boardwalk goes over springs and has
sulfuric steam rising between the boards.
I remember being at least 25 feet from any steam pot in Yellowstone.
After
wondering the hot springs (and listening to Austrians – probably Karinthians – complain
that all the signs were in English and Icelandic but not German), I got back on
the road past the old farmstead and to the “Green Lake” of Lake Grænavatn.
After
taking pictures of the lake - that didn’t really bring out the green-ness – I continued
south toward the Krýsuvíkberg birding cliffs.
I got off the road and headed up an open hiking trail that took me about
2k up to a small knoll (is there any other size of knoll?). From the knoll I could see Route 427 at the T
intersection 4 km down the road.
I made
it back to the road and made it maybe ½ km before I felt slipping from the back
tire. At first I thought nothing of it
but then realized: uhh…ohhh! I have a
flat! With no flat kit or pump – I was
screwed!
So, I’m
50K from Reykjavik in this deserted plain.
I started to walk back towards Hafnafjördur. I figured at worst I could try to hitchhike. For about twenty minutes I saw zero cars
going my way and only 3 going the other – all packed with tourists that would
never have fit me AND the bike.
Where I popped my tire...
Finally
one car came my way. It was a
primer-grey painted Opel pick-up truck. The
driver, Peter, stopped. While he did not
speak very good English (Waaay better than I speak Icelandic…), I was able to
get a ride, putting the bike in the back pickup.
Quietly
we drove back the 30km over gravel and quarry to Hafnafjördur which I had
ridden while he chain-smoked Salem Lights.
We drove into a mini-mall with a KFC in it where Peter made a joke that
I should eat there despite not being from Kentucky. Then he stopped and said:
“He fix
it,” pointing to a window in the shop (it was a BIKE SHOP!!!). I thanked him, got the bike out and he drove
off.
I walked
my bike into the shop. There two younger
guys were more than happy to fix the tire.
(And, put more air in the front and grease the rusty chain…)
As I left
the bike shop, dropping a hefty Kr 2500 for the work, I realized I couldn’t do
the bike trip I planned (already 30K in the hole), nor did I want to without
bringing a pump. So instead I decided to
ride back to Reykjavik.
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