{"id":20837,"date":"2019-09-12T22:32:47","date_gmt":"2019-09-12T20:32:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/peregrinusmundi.com\/?p=20837"},"modified":"2021-01-21T19:03:02","modified_gmt":"2021-01-21T18:03:02","slug":"the-large-north","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/peregrinusmundi.com\/en\/the-large-north\/","title":{"rendered":"The large North"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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Here the sheep are black and white. A sheep mom with her two cubs. Always. Or almost. Two whites. A black. Some have two-tone wool. Where does this color change come from? The six-kilometer climb to reach the pass above Varmahlid is heavy on my legs. Yesterday’s counter-shot of the ninety-three kilometers across the Highlands<\/a><\/strong>, surely. At least here I am on the North Coast. The quiet coast, the coast with less traffic, the coast where the tourists do not come… I follow the road N\u00b01 again for about twenty kilometers and it is not the great calm hoped for. Small identical 4\u00d74 pass me at a blazing speed. And I feel disappointed to be back among tourists.<\/p>

“What do you think of the two tracks crossing the Tr\u00f6llaskagi peninsula?” I ask the lady who greets me with a smile at Varmahlid’s small information center. “The first is not a track, it is a path for horses, you will find yourself carrying your bike, I’m afraid,” she replies. The second, the old road, is a good track to avoid eleven kilometers of tunnel between Siglufj\u00f6rdur and Olafsj\u00f6rdur. “It’s pretty there, there is nobody,” says the lady. Exactly what I wanted to hear!<\/p>

On the small hilly road along the west coast of the peninsula extend fields and meadows. It is hay season and the landscape is filled with little green and white balls. Haystacks surrounded by plastic. The smell of cut grass floats in the air. Large steep mountains stretch along the sea. No mineral desert here but a mountain atmosphere nevertheless. And a gentle breeze that slowly exhausts my strength. Hofsos, a quiet seaside town will be my first stop on the North Coast.<\/p>

There is nothing to do. I can not camp in peace in a campsite. The tourist, like the sheep likes to stack on each other. My misfortune seems to come from the fact that I often arrive early, while the campsites are still almost empty. I choose a place that I find protected and not too busy. And I invariably finish in the early evening to be surrounded by sheep. Is there a solution?<\/p>

The road bypasses the peninsula along the sea. It is a beautiful weather this morning, places are bathed in a golden light. Ducks, geese, seagulls, bask on the calm blue expanse. The vegetation is flat, but there is vegetation. Mountains are covered with heather and moss and green meadows spread along the coast. I feel good in this more hospitable landscape. This is the beginning of the fjords. Inlets are sinking into the lands of the Troll Peninsula. After the Kerlingarfj\u00f6ll Mountain and an Ogress that I have not seen, I intend to see a troll this time! I leave the road to follow a track. The old road, which sinks into a pretty valley. The path is hilly and it climbs hard for 500 meters. But the light is beautiful! Large clouds lit by the sun overlook the snowy peaks of the peninsula. Down in the valley, meadows are still filled with yellow flowers. A group of horses in semi-freedom graze in the distance. But no Troll. No luck. The strong wind pushes me back on my bike and I start the descent. Ten kilometers of happiness. Ten kilometers of\u00a0descent\u00a0<\/span>almost without pedaling. In the middle of heather on the edge of a small river, I eat my lunch quietly. I have reached little farms. I am almost down to the other side of the pass in the Olafsfj\u00f6rdur valley. The village is pretty, placed on a tongue of land in the middle of the fjord.<\/span><\/p>

The belly of the beast is dark and cold. Water seeps along the 11km tunnel from Olafsfj\u00f6rdur to Eyjafj\u00f6rdur Fjord. I pedal at full speed to try to distance the cars. There is only one way and the echo makes the noise of the engines deafening. The crossing is long and a little dangerous. I am afraid cars will not see me in the dark. But I arrive safely on the other side. Large snowy mountains face me and in the distance appears Dalvik, a small village at the edge of the sea. On the side of the road people forage in the heather. Are they picking up blueberries? I stop, looking for the little blue berry but I can not find it. What are they picking up? Mushroom ?<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

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