Iceland Day 6 – Elves
I discovered that sheep in Iceland do not speak English. No matter how much you scream ‘mint sauce’ at them while barreling down the ring road at 60 mph, they refuse to get out of the way. Maybe I should learn Icelandic for lamb soup. The swans and the magpies along the way are magnificent, if only I had a co-driver I could have tried snapping photos while discovering the Eastern Fjords.
Truly off the tourist track is the park on Hólmanes Peninsula Nature Reserve, home of reindeer and, reputedly, elves. As expected, the elves are well hidden from an outsider’s eyes, as are the reindeer, but I trust they are there as I scramble amongst the mosses and wildflowers.
From Hólmanes I head for Seyðisfjörður, a reputed oasis for the young and hip. I remember being young, so off I head on the the ring road, and turn right onto Route 93. Blissfully unaware that I am headed for Fjarðarheiði, a 2,000 foot mountain pass reputed to be the most dangerous road in Iceland, my hopes of recreating the Walter Mitty long-board scene are dashed as the fog descends. And thickens, a gloom almost of twilight, only a couple of dashes in the middle of the road visible, as the switchbacks are marked for 20 mph by the usually generous Icelanders. I have no idea how steep the drop offs are on this shoulder-less road.
I realize that I have angered the elves by bringing iron into their domain, and must now pay the price.
Until I reach sea level on the other side of the mountain, where the fog lifts and with it my fear of this road. I ride into Seyðisfjörður victorious, greeted by the rainbow walkway at Seyðisfjarðarkirkja church. Dinner, and another campsite.