One does not simply ride into Mordor

As with all decisions of great import, I should have listened to Boromir.

As documented previously, while Adam sat in comfort on a bus, I tackled Iceland´s Great Gravel Desert (that isn't what it's called, but I like it) by bike. Flush with confidence and power coursing through my veteran cycle-tourist legs, I set out!

One does not simply ride in to Mordor, not without terrible weather conditions anyway. As the sign shows, the wind was blowing at 8m/s from the southeast. Can you guess which direction I was headed? (Not to mention it was only 10 degrees. Wait, you thought we were having FUN out here?)

Mordor awaits! In memory, the 110km ride splits in to 3 distinct parts - just like Lord of the Rings! So we shall split it up that way. The first 40km, I faced a steady headwind, but I was enjoying the bleak and beautiful scenery. Much like for Frodo and co. in the Fellowship of the Ring, the first third of my journey was touched with danger and hardship, but defined by the spirit of exploration and progress.

Kilometres 40 thru 60 were more like reading any of the later of Robert Jordan's "The Wheel of Time" series. In that it was endlessly long, nothing happened, and a conclusion never seemed to be coming any closer. I was well provisioned with food and water, yet the merciless headwind continued to howl and impede my progress. Somewhere along here my morale flagged and I began to curse my decision to ride (Rather than wait a day - ONE FRIGGIN DAY - for more favorable wind conditions).
Perhaps part of the problem was that out here, there weren't even any sheep or birds to yell at (my usual stress relief valve.)

To further muddle this nerdy fantasy analogy, if you try to tell me this wasn't where they filmed the scenes at the Fist of the First Men in Game of Thrones, season 2.....I WILL find you. Anyway. Kilometres 60 through until the end were like reading Storm of Swords, in which life is short and full of pain. After 7 hours of battling the wind, my knees started to give out. I considered stopping where I was and putting up my tent, however I am also extremely stubborn! And still desperate to prove Boromir up there wrong. So I pushed on the last 20km, taking breaks every 5, and finally descended out of the desert and down in to a valley where a hot-tub equipped campsite lay in wait! I'd done it. I had simply rode in to, and back out of, Mordor.

It would be another 80km before I caught up with Adam here in Reyðarfjörður (in my head, anglicized to "Radarfjord"). I was a little nervous about it due to the painful state of my knees - but my first tailwind in what seems like weeks reminded me that yes, cycling actually CAN be fun, even in Iceland!

After a lonely peanut-butter based lunch and brief climb, we're here with a roof over our heads, resolved to do absolutely nothing for a day or two. Except for stretching! Thanks, Julie! And as always, stay tuned for more pretty pictures from Adam and hopefully fewer stupid fantasy references from me.