Iceland Divide

The Iceland Divide is a 340 mile off-road route that cuts straight across the island north to south following the mid-ocean ridge fault line. This remote track skirts west around the Askja volcano and into the lava fields east of Trolladyngja. You’ll pass the Vatnajokull ice cap and ride over the old Urdarhals volcano before crossing the post-glacial wasteland of Sprengisandur. The southern part of the route crosses the Fjallabak mountains before rejoining the ring road and entering Vik on the south coast.

The route is supposed to be 100% rideable; however, as we soon found, the Icelandic highlands are full of surprises. Iceland sits just below the Arctic Circle in the mid-atlantic. Here, the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates meet deep below the Atlantic Ocean. Above these great depths, a strange and wild land grows out of the waters. Dominated by lava structures, huge glaciers, and ash deserts, this island is sparsely populated and wildly beautiful.

“That’s broken for sure.”

Standing on a sidewalk in Reykjavik, my friend Jess and I survey the scene. Our two bikes lie in pieces, surrounded by a tornado of camping gear, clothing, loose tools, and snicker bars. Having arrived just hours before we set about building our bikes, only to discover that a headset bearing had broken in transit and our best laid plans would have to be re-worked. Thankfully, Iceland is known for it’s European-style bike-infrastructure and with plenty of bike shops around town, we were able to find a fix quickly.

A lot of people may think that bikepacking is a new phenomenon in the cycling world. While the sport has seen recent adaptation and cross-over from other endurance adventurers such as Thru-Hikers and ultra-runners, the style of riding has been common since the dawn of the bicycle. At its core, the sport of bikepacking encompasses multi-day adventuring off-road on two wheels under human power. The slick marketing around bags, materials, and design may try to fool you into thinking this is more complicated than it is, but let me assure you, it isn’t. The whole thing boils down to riding your bike while carrying a self-sufficient kit.

On a route such as this, your bike choice is a very serious decision. While people have been riding bikes great distances for generations, a new crop of people chose to take those bikes into harder and tougher environments. The evolution in bike frames, tire sizes, and equipment racks has given modern-day cyclists unlimited options to tailor their bikes to a specific trip and its challenges.

Our trusted equipment consisted of two Rodeo Labs Flannimal frames, one in steel and one in titanium. To soak up the tough terrain, we fitted these with carbon forks and 2.3’ XC tires. Due to the length and remote nature of the route, we each had to carry 6 days worth of food. With forecasts calling for rain and cold weather for the duration of our ride, we made certain to build our clothing layering systems to maximize comfort on and off the bike.

We left the northern city of Akureyri in high spirits and followed Iceland’s longest fjord along the coast for the first hour before turning onto dirt. The Skjбlfandafljуt river meandered beside us as the gravel road abruptly turned into muddy double track. The green grass and small shrubs slowly started to recede until they abruptly disappeared as we arrived at the edge of the Utbruni lava field. This is the northern corner of the Ódáòahraun volcanic desert, and fromhere, our pace slowed dramatically. Here, your tire choice and gear selection become critical as you weave your way over the lava flows and through the sand traps. The track we were following disappeared into a confusing mass of black stone and sand. Our only markers were upright wooden pylons interspersed every couple hundred yards to give a general direction for travel. The day wore on, and the arctic sun still shown above us as we reached the Botni Hut
around 11pm. Like all the Icelandic huts, the FFA-run hut at Botni is excellent and offers a warm, dry space for backcountry users.

Rain greeted us in the morning as we peddled out into the lava field once again. Soon, we picked up jeep tracks, which led us out into the black sand. As far as the eye could see, the ashen desert stretched to the horizon, where the low hanging clouds met the approaching mountains in a hazy gray.

In a land where raw, untamed beauty unfolds at every turn, the pace of biking perfectly aligns with the rhythm of the landscape. Here, biking not only provides the freedom to explore remote corners inaccessible by conventional means but also fosters a sustainable and eco-friendly approach to travel. Leaving behind only tire tracks and memories in this extraordinary realm of fire and ice.

Within a few hours, we crested the valley and were welcomed to the sight of the massive Dyngjujцkull shield volcano glacier. The whole area between us was covered in extensive lava flow, and the only way around them was by riding through the deep sand beds that extended to their edges. The outwash plain ends at the slopes of the extinct Urрarhбls volcano. Here, we traded sand for rock and slowly grinded our way upwards. When the glacier which once covered this volcano receded it left behind a boulder field of rock upon which we rode. There were no paths here, simply a dot to follow on our GPS units. The crater at the summit was our reward for the climb, however, we quickly started our descent towards Kistufell and the promise of a warm dinner.

It may be that, at this point, your interest in riding this route is waning. I may be painting a bleak picture of the challenge you’ll inevitably face; however, let me talk about the positives for a moment.

The highlands of Iceland are unlike any other place on earth. It’s not hard to imagine yourself riding on the surface of the moon while turning the black volcanic gravel beneath your tires. The land is vast and empty. You won’t notice the silence until days two or three and once you hear it, you can’t stop hearing it. The wind is the master of these plains and constantly reminds you that this tumultuous earth below you was created in a violent and shattering moment. In the summer, the sun never sets, and you begin to feel as if you’re living a singular day stretched out over a week.

The following morning we approached our first river crossing of the trip. Depending on the time of year and recent rainfall or snowmelt, the glacial rivers here can be quite dangerous. You have no way of knowing the depth of the rivers due to the silt runoff and the water is beyond cold. Unless you can verify its rideability, your safest option is to dismount and walk your bike through the frigid water. Over the following six hours, we crossed eight rivers and soaked every pair of socks we owned. The landscape continued to be shrouded in clouds as rainstorms came and went. Without realizing it, we had entered Sprengisandur.

This is true wilderness. A post-glacial Mordor where black stones outnumber the stars in the universe. The verb sprengja means “to ride a horse to death.” Early Icelanders knew just how desolate this high desert was and avoided the area at all costs, even choosing to travel far out of their way in order to avoid it.

So we rode out into the dark mountains. The rough gravel was a welcome sight after spending days trudging through sand and over lava flows. Here, our bikes excelled, and we pushed through the rain late into the afternoon. When we finally crossed the gravel road F208 we pushed on towards Landmannalaugar. As we entered the Fjallabak National Reserve, lakes began to dot the valley, and the mountainsides were covered in a bright green moss that made the landscape extraordinarily surreal after the past few days. We crossed another dozen rivers before the end of the day and made our final push with wet feet.

The final day of any great adventure is a mix of conflicting emotions. After six days of hard riding, we were both ready to eat a warm meal and get out of our damp riding clothes. The miles we had experienced had shown us a world previously unimaginable. This island protects its natural treasures behind miles of sand and lava. Those who are willing to travel the forgotten roads and paths here are rewarded with immeasurable desolation and enthralling beauty.

Approaching the southern coastline, the towering cliffs in the distance marked our ride’s endpoint: Vik, the southernmost village in Iceland. We were pushed along the ring road with a strong tailwind and rolled onto the black sand beach before dipping our wheels into the water.

Exploring a place under human power is the ultimate travel hack. To slow down and feel the earth below you as you move through a landscape is to establish a profound connection with nature. Your emotions resonate with the highs and lows of the day as you earn every mile. Here, wind and rain don’t diminish the experience; they enhance it. Bikepacking is a tool to experience our natural world. Don’t overthink it – go!