One of the downsides of riding at night is that you often go to sleep to a serene and still night, only to way up to a howling gale trying to push you right back to where you came from. You end up feeling a pang of regret for not pushing just that little bit further the night before.
Today was one of those days, and I made a pit stop in wind swept Þórshöfn to gather up a few supplies and cook breakfast/lunch. At the campsite I met some tourists who warned me of a big climb ahead. Martin the German had also told me of a big climb, but I had no real frame of reference so I figured I would assess it when I came upon it.
Past the town a solitary mountain loomed overhead, with a large NATO radar facility serving as its crown. Past the radar hill, a long sweeping coastal road would lead up to the next set of snow capped mountains. The ride was long and both windy and windy. As the evening drew on I became aware that I was now cycling directly away from the same beautiful sunsets that I had been drawn to in the days before. I looked back, and sure enough, in the distance I could see the sun make a valiant effort to burst through the thick layer of clouds.
I pressed on, and after a long struggle finally made it to Vopnafjörður. As it turns out, there is no campsite in Vopnafjörður so I continued on with the intention of getting as close to the much foreshadowed big climb as possible. In the end I snaked my way all the way around the fjord and right up to the base of the big climb, which, as it turned out, was actually a really big climb. Low clouds obscured any good view of it, but the big blue sign at the bottom made it clear that it was going to be a tough one. 700m of climbing at a 15% grade over 4km of loose gravel.
I set up camp at the base and tried not to think of the pain I was about to inflict on myself.
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