I think this is the last of a set of posts catching up on, essentially, all of my previous trips for which I have any photos whatsoever. This one needs a well charged DeLorian as we’re going far back in time to 2018. The trip was originally planned with my ex partner, Lena, but between booking the sailing and departing for the trip that relationship came to an end. So I hopped on up to Hirtshals in Denmark and after nearly missing the boat due to having too much fun riding along the beaches I was drinking expensive beer on my merry way to Iceland.
I still have very clear memories of the trail riding part of the trip because even I have the mental capacity for this one. Which I will get back to in a moment. Off the boat I was damn keen to hit the highlands and assuming I would find something on the road before I went inland I headed off. Then, stupidly, I headed inland. Assuming I would find something to eat. I didn’t, but I did find Helen Lloyd at a campsite near Lake Askja and fortunately she had some porridge. I only had two cans of tuna, I had already eaten one.
The ride in to the lake was beautiful, but pedestrian. Some black sand and a ranger with a big rake making sure it looked pretty again after a 4×4 had gone bushwhacking. He took a look at me and Lenore, thought we looked competent and sent us on our way. How wrong he was.
After a dip in a hot lake and a walk on “the moon” I went one way and Helen went the other. Riding through foot deep water, with only sticks in the sand for a navigation aid was an experience I will never forget. One I hope to repeat. Riding over cooled lava flows was another – I think I was even catching a little air off of some of them. Which promptly caused my luggage rack to snap off. Because back then I was a knob and had far too much gear with me – camping seat included.
This was small potatoes. As I headed north towards Akureyri the bike started to behave strangely – the temperature warning light came on. The engine wasn’t running right. It was very hard to start when I stopped. But I had a look in the expansion tank, all was well there and nothing was leaking so I carefully continued – letting the bike cool but not turning it off. I did not want to be stranded in the Icelandic highlands. No temperature warning any more, which was reassuring.
I pulled into the petrol station at Akureyri and with a cunk the engine stopped. It never started again on the island. I spent a while trying to cackhandedly diagnose the problem. Fuel, spark… all present and correct. ADAC were called, ADAC came and I was put up in a pod hotel for the night – sleeping in a plastic box just big enough for my human form with other humans above and below.
I put out a call for help and could not have hoped for a better response. A chap from the local town tried his best to help me find a fuel pump, I had misdiagnosed it as failed. He gave me a place to stay while I waited a few days for it to arrive. It did nothing. I did win a few nice days in the town though, the naturally heated water of the swimming pool and the beautiful Icelandic women did raise my spirits a little.
ADAC had offered to get me to KTM in Reykjavik but if they did that their responsibilities to me were at an end. That did not seem like a good idea, considering the price of things in Iceland. Another trail rider came to the rescue – he was moving his bike back to the capital and had space for a passenger. KTM Iceland couldn’t help me, although we did find that the coolant system was empty – despite the expansion tank being full. Opening the radiator caused what coolant was in there to drain away into the system. An air bubble. Obviously the bike had overheated. At some point the temperature sensor was, presumably, sensing warm air rather than hot fluid. A rebuild at Icelandic prices was simply not viable.
I spoke with ADAC who agreed to give me a hire car for a few days and to transport the bike home. I dread to think what that would have cost them. I pootled around for a few days in the hire car, had a lovely night in the hot river and saw a few sights with a pretty Canadian waitress. My heart wasn’t in it. ADAC ultimately also repatriated me to Germany as well, all expenses paid.
That was, as they say, that.
There is another version of this I wrote closer to the time and never published, which has a little more detail. Here is the link.