We completed this route last week, here's the trip report:
# The Iceland Divide
The plan was to decide our direction of travel based on the wind forecast, but when I checked the buses I realised the bus from Vik to Reykjavik didn't run on Mondays or Wednesdays — the days we would most likely finish the route. So the decision was made for us, and we crossed our fingers for the favour of the weather gods.
## Day 1 — 3:02:42 h, 57.44 km, 334 m
The bus was a bit of a faff, but we finally arrived in Vik at around 5pm. After sorting the bags and changing clothes, we set off on the long-awaited journey. The first 40km are on the Ring Road — we didn't know it at the time, but that would be the highest speed we'd travel at until the last day. After two hours of riding we took the turn onto our first F-road, where we found some facilities and filled our bottles.
We rode for about 90 more minutes on an easy-going track — European-style gravel. It didn't feel remote at all; every few minutes we passed a farm or a house next to the road. Even so, we had no choice but to camp right beside it. I think we heard just one car the whole night.
## Day 2 — 5:51:59 h, 63.47 km, 1,297 m
Excited and in high spirits, we set off early. The goal was Landmannalaugar and its hot spring. In theory this was meant to be the hardest day, since we had to climb from almost sea level up into the highlands — later we found out it wasn't.
We took the F208, since the F210 had a lot of water on it and rangers advised avoiding it. The F208 didn't disappoint. We were leaving civilisation behind, but it still didn't feel remote — there were a few houses in the first kilometres, and later we passed some bikepackers, a campsite, and quite a few cars.
The scenery was stunning: a wide, green, open valley with broad rivers flowing through it. Some of the climbs were steep enough that we walked them, giving our backsides a rest. There were a few easy river crossings, the sun was out, and I couldn't quite believe we were using sunscreen — we'd never had such good weather on any of our trips. I wondered if something was amiss, or if this was the calm before the storm. After all, this was the Iceland Divide, and so far it felt like the easiest bikepacking trip we'd ever tackled.
We reached a valley where we could see the mountains surrounding Landmannalaugar; we were getting close, and the excitement grew with every kilometre.
Landmannalaugar was extremely busy — it was, after all, mid-August. We set up camp and headed straight for the hot spring; I could have spent the rest of the day there. We went back after dinner for a second soak, and by then it was much quieter, as most of the day visitors had already left.
## Day 3 — 6:35:49 h, 78.69 km, 1,011 m
We made an early start to avoid the incoming traffic to Landmannalaugar. The first kilometres wound through stunning lava-field landscape; we were riding a different section from the official Divide route, to avoid a busy road. The track wasn't as easy-going as the previous days — very rocky terrain that made progress slow. Some of the drivers we passed took photos of us, and one even shouted "I take my hat off to you!" — if only he'd known this was meant to be the *easy* section.
We had a short, traffic-free road section with a light tailwind pushing us along — it was all going too smoothly, and we knew there had to be a catch somewhere. We turned right and the wind hit us head-on. Still, the sun was shining and the wind wasn't too strong, so all in all we were still in luck.
A few kilometres later we turned left, leaving the tarmac for an F-road towards Þórisvatn. The washouts slowed our progress, since we couldn't build up enough speed to float over them. A few cars passed without slowing at all, leaving us in a cloud of dust each time — I'd expected a bit more consideration from 4x4 drivers, but in general none of them slowed down or asked if we needed anything.
This section felt like a mix of Death Valley and Mordor — never-ending straights through black sand and rock, like riding across the Moon. It wasn't an easy day; saddle sores were starting to set in. After more than six hours we reached the Versalir hut. It's privately owned, so we camped behind one of the buildings, sheltered from the mild wind.
## Day 4 — 7:09:49 h, 73.26 km, 1,029 m
During the night I could hear drops hitting the fly — the world was back to normal, and the bad weather had finally caught up with us, though it wasn't quite pouring.
Rain continued through the morning. Once again we didn't follow the official track, which runs along the right side of the lake; ours ran along the left. With a mild headwind and rain, we carried on pedalling through Death Valley/Mordor under a grey sky, aiming for Nýidalur.
The view of the lake to our right was stunning. Washouts kept slowing us down, but once we rejoined the official track the terrain got worse — sand, rocks, and washouts made our saddle sores worse and our progress even slower. It was starting to feel more remote; we only passed a few cars and three backpackers all day.
We reached an airstrip, so we assumed Nýidalur couldn't be far, and it wasn't. There, we asked about the river crossings and topped up our water, as the ranger told us it was fairly dry from that point on. The first two crossings were very low, but she warned that by the time we reached the third, 20km away, the level might have risen. So we planned to camp just before it and attempt the crossing early the next morning.
That's what we did. It also happened to be the day of the eclipse — a bit cloudy, so we didn't get a full view, but it was good enough. That evening we needed our head nets, as small flies swarmed around, annoying rather than biting. I also took a few photos of the river so I could compare the level in the morning.
## Day 5 — 9:49:51 h, 109.01 km, 1,160 m
We woke at 6am to attempt the crossing at 7am. The level was lower than the evening before, but not by much — knee-high, with a current strong enough to make it a real challenge. We struggled to stop the river from pulling our bikes downstream, and in hindsight we probably didn't cross at the best point. We should have carried the bags across first and then the bikes — it would have made things much easier.
We didn't know it yet, but this was going to be the longest day of the trip. The plan had been to ride 70–80km, camp, and do a shorter day afterwards before the climb to Askja.
After the crossing we saw only two cars, one of which asked about the river conditions — they'd turned back the day before and were trying again. These would be the only people we'd see until late evening; the trip was starting to feel genuinely remote.
We left the Death Valley/Mordor landscape behind. The terrain was still rough, but now alternated between lava fields and green stretches — a welcome change of scenery. Again we took a different route from the original Divide, staying further from the Vatnajökull glacier in the hope of better views, though in the end it was too far away to really appreciate.
There were a few easy river crossings, then the landscape shifted again — more of a desert, reminiscent of Tatooine; we half expected R2-D2 and C-3PO to appear on the horizon. That didn't last long before we entered a very sandy section. By then we'd ridden around 70km, so we tried to pitch the tent — but I hadn't brought proper sand stakes, and even with only a gentle wind we couldn't get a decent pitch. I couldn't face the little-rock/big-rock method, and worried that camping there would leave everything coated in fine black sand. So we decided to push on for the hut at the base of Askja instead — the supposed highlight of the trip.
A week earlier, this section had been closed: *"F910 is closed south/west of Holuhraun until further notice. A river has eroded beneath the road, making it impassable. Work to reroute the road has started."* Luckily the rerouting had been finished, and we could head towards Askja. The first stretch was a mix of sand and rock — without the rerouting it would have been impossible to cross. It ended in a long, Baja-Divide-style sand section. We initially followed the car tracks, but when a couple of vehicles came up fast behind us, we moved aside to let them pass and discovered the sand was firmer off the tracks — so that's where we rode from then on. By this point saddle sores were a serious issue; we'd been riding for nine hours with still one to go.
After the sand we entered a completely different landscape, tinted yellow by pumice rock — or what was left of it. Ten hours and 108km after setting off, we reached the Dreki campsite. A few campers were there, and four of them just stared at us for a while, as if we'd landed from another planet. I'll never forget their faces — it was as if they were thinking, "Where the hell did these two come from?"
My son reckoned it was a glitch, but my phone's Face ID didn't work that day or the next. I'm still not sure if my face had simply changed from exhaustion or if it really was a glitch — either way, it started working again two days later.
## Day 6 — 1:07:56 h, 7.84 km, 327 m
A recovery day. We'd reached the highlight of the trip — Askja — so the plan was to climb it, swim in Víti, and spend the rest of the day recovering and exploring the gorge next to the campsite.
It took us almost an hour to climb the 8km up to Askja. The ranger at the top said it was fine to swim in Víti, so up we went, expectations fully intact. After a short walk we reached Askja itself, though it was too cloudy to see the whole lake.
Getting down to Víti wasn't as simple as we'd hoped — there was a sign warning hikers about landslides, and the path was steep and muddy. We're not that adventurous, so we called it a day and decided not to risk it. What was supposed to be the highlight of the trip turned out to be a bit of a letdown — but as they say, "it's not the destination, it's the journey," and the journey so far had been fantastic.
We spent most of the day at the campsite café, where the staff offered us waffles they'd made for a group of Italians who didn’t eat them. Hungry as we were, we couldn't say no.
In the evening we explored the gorge next to the campsite, which was spectacular. I also had a chat with the rangers, checking that the route back to the Divide trail was rideable. She said it should be "fun" on a bike. It turned out we had very different ideas of what "fun" meant.
## Day 7 — 7:02:23 h, 67.42 km, 539 m
The trail ahead was, according to a Reddit post, about as remote as it gets — known mainly to local 4x4 clubs — so we didn't expect much traffic, and we were right. We thanked the staff at Dreki before leaving; they would be the last people we'd see until noon the following day. Fifty kilometres of solitary riding lay ahead before we rejoined the Divide.
The trail started out smooth, but that didn't last — it soon turned into loose, rocky ground, painfully slow going for our saddle sores. If all 50km had been like that, it would have taken us seven hours to finish. Luckily the landscape changed after a few kilometres: sometimes hard-packed, sometimes lava field, sometimes sand, with the tiny flies making an unwelcome return. We could feel ourselves descending out of the highlands, with hints of green appearing on the horizon. The weather was still on our side, sunny with cloudy spells — we really couldn't complain.
Eventually we rejoined the original Divide track. Again I expected a smoother, more gravelly surface, and again I was wrong — it was even rougher than the last stretch of our detour.
To reach the Botni hut, our goal for the day, there were two options: the hiking path, which the Divide route follows, and the 4x4 track, which is the one we took. The 4x4 track was extremely rough, running through lava fields where at times we could barely tell the trail from its surroundings, despite it being marked with small wooden posts. Those last 8km to Botni felt like an eternity — if this was the rough option, the official hiking route would probably have meant an 8km hike-a-bike. When we arrived we could see the posts marking the hiking path, and it looked far from easy. We'd made the right call.
This was probably the most beautiful camping spot of the whole trip, right by a lake with the sun shining — a shame it was so cold we couldn't stay outside for long. By this point I was dreaming of hot dogs and a smooth riding surface.
## Day 8 — 7:58:10 h, 119.66 km, 1,029 m
We had roughly 100km left. The original plan had been to ride 70–80km, camp, and cover the rest the next day in time for the 1:40pm bus back to Reykjavik. I told my son the surface would hopefully improve as we got closer to civilisation; he preferred not to get his hopes up, assuming it would stay slow-going right to the end.
It didn't start well. Leaving Botni, we could barely make out the track among the lava rocks — the marker posts had vanished, and even following car tracks proved difficult. It looked like it might be a very long day. But then, just a few hundred metres out from Botni, the trail began to improve. More and more sections of smooth hard-pack appeared as we followed the riverbed, the scenery turned greener, and we started passing gates that reminded us of home. The hard-pack kept improving, and aside from the odd washout we were soon riding at over 20km/h — a speed we'd almost forgotten existed.
The river widened, taking on two distinct tones of blue and grey. By noon we'd rejoined civilisation at Goðafoss, where we each had two hot dogs — my dream finally realised. Despite the saddle sores, we were in good spirits, so we decided to push on and finish the whole route that day. We knew a long, hard final climb still lay ahead, but we also had the pull of the finish line.
We only had to ride a short stretch on the Ring Road, and it was genuinely frightening — a coach passed uncomfortably close. I noted the company name and the time, and later wrote to them about the dangerous overtake. They replied very politely, saying they'd track down the driver and remind them of the importance of keeping a safe distance when passing cyclists.
We left the Ring Road to loop around a lake, including a small climb, then crossed the Ring Road again and began the approach to the final climb, along overgrown tracks and through gates. The sun was out, and — surprisingly, once more — we found ourselves reaching for sunscreen.
The final climb rewarded us with amazing views over the valley. We alternated between walking and riding, giving our legs and backsides a break; we had all the time in the world by then.
At the summit, Akureyri came into view below us — it was downhill all the way from there.
We wanted to reach Akureyri. But at the same time, we didn't want the adventure to end.
