Battling Wind, Rain & Ego While Bikepacking Through Iceland's Westfjords

When I planned to go bikepacking around Iceland’s Westfjords with people I barely knew, I had no idea just how much of an adventure I would get myself into. But there we were, three colleagues and a friend of a friend who dreamed of an epic adventure and somehow agreed it was a good idea to plan big days in the saddle even though we knew the Icelandic conditions would be harsh. But hey, it would barely get dark at night, so we would have plenty of hours to ride…

Our crew consisted of Remi, who lives in his van in the French Alps and loves to push his body and mind to its limits for fun. Joh, who owns too many very nice bikes and uploads long rides around Berlin every weekend. Then Cleo from Ireland, who we knew from video calls only, and who had done a 500 km (310 mi) solo bikepacking race recently. And finally me, adventurer by heart, but happy if I can actually squeeze one weekly 50 km (31 mi) gravel ride in between work and family life in the German north.

It was probably going to rain a bit and be windy here and there, and there wouldn‘t be many options to restock on food. So we packed warm clothes, rain gear, and lots of snacks. Fully prepared.

We’d all been on a few multi-day rides and thought we had experienced it all. The tourist office in Iceland recommends half the distance we were planning for each day. But we were no tourists. How bad could a headwind possibly get? (Spoiler: Very, very bad.)

Reykjavik to Westfjords and Back...

We met in a hotel in Reykjavik, put our bikes together and rode out of the city the next day. The plan was to pedal to the Westfjords instead of taking another flight (as recommended), then along the fjords and back in seven days, averaging around 150 km (93 mi) and around 2,000m (6,500 ft) of elevation per day. It seemed a lot, but doable. Well, “we were fools,“ as Remi would say on day six, laughing.

We did end up wearing our rain gear every day, except for the first day, when we got soaked through without the rain gear on, because we didn’t believe it would just keep raining and missed the point when we were still dry enough to justify putting it on.

But we were always warm on the bike while riding, as well as in the sleeping bags. Every little stop on the side of the road, cooking a meal, or pitching the tents, were moments that made us shiver in a matter of minutes.

It was the wind that killed us. We happily rode north for the first couple of days, enjoying life, thinking we were so much stronger than the people on the internet who had been defeated by the elements. Turns out, this was all thanks to a consistent tailwind we didn’t even notice. Once we turned back south, for the final three days of our ride, we faced this unseen wind all day.

We climbed mountain pass after mountain pass with headwind, requiring double the effort with the same dull reward of nearly being toppled by gusts once on the plateau and a descent slowed to a meager 20 km/h (12 mph)—and that was pedaling with all our effort to just go down the mountain.

But the views were out of this world. We’d descend into steep, dramatic valleys, ride next to black volcanic mountain ranges and stop at waterfalls that didn’t fit into our camera frames. We saw seals in the water nearby, were cheered on by lambs from the road side, and had puffins fly next to us for minutes.

Riding through the raw landscape of rocks and moss there were hours where I would fantasize about spotting a bus stop along the road. I longed for shelter, for a little break from being attacked by the elements. But of course, there was no bus stop. There was no sign of civilization for a whole day, except for the occasional car driving by, passengers unimpressed. For lunch one day, we stopped at the skeleton of a former boat house, which did give us a little bit of protection from the wind while we heated the water for our expedition food and made jokes about Remi’s obsession with titanium gear.

We stopped at a hot spring or two, but had to pass many more—time was scarce. At gas stations and supermarkets, we’d lean our bikes to the wall right in front of the cashier, grab a basket and try to find everything we’d need for the next day in five minutes. I’d grab Skyr pouches for the constant calorie intake while riding, Joh would grab a coke or two, while Remi went in search of the cereal bar with the lowest cost per calorie.

Our route needed daily replanning to allow us to stop riding when we were too tired to go on. Without fail the temperatures dropped and the wind picked up early every night. In the end, we did take many (if not all) shortcuts, to be able to make it back to our flights from Reykjavik in time. In the end we rode 100 to 150 km (62 to 93 mi) daily. Effort-wise, it felt twice as long, if not more.

Was it worth the discomfort and would I do it again? Definitely. There’s something about the madness that sets in after days of riding, when you think you can’t pedal any further, but know you have to. The appreciation you feel after looking at someone’s bottom on the bike in front of you all day, because alone, there is no way you could have carried on. And then the camaraderie, the love for these people that you’ve known for what feels like a lifetime but was only one week.

Would I recommend it? Yes, if you are ready to push your boundaries far away from your comfort zone and physical suffering is something you can enjoy, at least in hindsight. Or maybe, just do it in two weeks, instead of one. As the tourist office recommends. That sounds quite lovely now that I think of it.

I do however recommend bringing jolly and strong people along with you, like Remi, Joh, and Cleo. It would not have been possible to do a ride like this without them. Slipstream, replanning magic, the right words to keep pushing—and gummy dinosaurs in the right moment. We barely knew each other before and now I have full love for this crew. Not to forget my partner and my mother at home, who took over my child care duties while I was gone. Without them, this adventurous soul would not be out there, fighting the headwind.

Read on for trip tips, key resources, and gear suggestions for those looking to ride the Westfjords themselves.

Tips for Bikepacking Through Iceland's Westfjords

Wind & Rain: Think of the rain as constant and the headwind as ten times of the strongest you’ve ever experienced. Adjust your daily distance and elevation accordingly - or get ready to suffer.

Food & Shelter: Take restocking options and shelter into account when planning. You might have to go without resupplying for a day or two and eat only what you can bring on the bike. Water is everywhere and typically save to drink.

Packing: Leave at home sunglasses, short sleeves, a second set of clothes, your athletic ego.

Surface: Take road surface into account when planning. Only main roads tend to be paved and it makes a huge difference time-wise.

Season: June through September. Some roads might still be closed due to ice in June.

How to Find Hot Springs: Public hot springs are free and scattered along the roads in the Westfjords, however they are rare. Plan with care, as you might not want to have a bath 30 mins after you packed up all the gear and started riding. Every hotel/lodge will have a hot spring, sometimes even the campgrounds.

Escape Routes: Public traffic is rare in the Westfjords and most busses won’t transport bikes. Hitchhiking can be an option, if you want or need to get back to a city by other means than cycling.

Key Resources

• Road.is: Road conditions and weather. Check daily.
• Iceland Cycling Map: Everything you need to know from hot springs to food restocking options, surfaces, dangerous winds and approximate daily traffic.
• Cyclingwestfjords.com: The official cycling Westfjords website, where you can find the established route, all relevant information, and even options to plan and book your trip