After completing our previous blog entry we thought we were in for a leisurely ride 25km ride to Seyðisfjorður for a relaxing weekend. Little did we realise it was on the other end of a 700m high mountain, the largest climb of our whole trip. We were punished and laughed at for our ignorance.
Pumping the pedals halfway up
Seyðisfjorður is a pretty cool town, later in the night we climbed up to a massive Hollywood style neon sign.
The next day we set off to Myvatn, but the distance was too far to cover in a day. So we got our first taste of camping in the wilderness, on luxurious moss next to a river. The weather was splendid, taking us back to our long lost Mexican beach days. Our love of moss was incorporated into our washing up ritual, its abrasiveness yielding sparkling results!
On the journey the landscape transformed into a surreal barren moonscape, reminiscent of northwest Australia. It appears our two great lands have much in common.
We decided to pop in to give the kooky Icelandic songstress a visit along the way. We discovered that Bjork means a birch wood tree.
We arrived at lake Myvatn and were treated to a spectacular day exploring the bizarre volcanic landscape unique to Iceland.
Shortly after Myvatn, we connected with Mule number 4, our old friend Tristan. His hasty preparation list included twister, juggling balls and a less than adequate bicycle whose handlebars were held together by string, Tristan displays his pain after his first day of riding.
Benedict gets acquainted with his inner geologist, examining the interesting formations of Hljoðaklettar. A vortex to another universe?
We camped in the horseshoe shaped Asbyrgi canyon, which the early Norse settlers believed was formed when Odin's normally airbourne horse touched down on earth.
The next town we visited, Husavik, was well known for its enormous collection of penises in the phallalogical museum. Benedict was unable to contain his excitement while pitching his tent.