A rainfall, a windfall [ferry > Landeyjassandur -- 13mi ]

I was killing come time over coffee awaiting the afternoon ferry back to the mainland, but the skies brought intermittent downpours all afternoon. Knowing there was much of nothing for miles after the mainland's ferry harbor, I figured I may as well kick it at the coffeeshop and see what the weather was gonna do later, catching the evening boat instead.

Cafe Vinaminni

The boat ride was uneventful and the skies were dry overhead, but a rain front was moving in from the east. I opted for an alternative route via some rural gravel roads, hoping to skirt the leading edge of the precipitation. After about 10mi I lost that race and pulled over to suit up in my raingear... it wasn't too bad and I figured I'd still ride another 3-4hrs tonight. Just then a pickup truck rolled up with a slightly older rural gentleman at the wheel.

"Hello. I am farmer. My farm is 2km further, if you like, come to my house. I have coffee."

I wasn't even wet yet, but it'd be preposterous to pass up an offer like this. So after a minute of confused chatter about where I was heading, I followed him back to his farmhouse for that hot coffee. Finally, a connection with a real Icelander!

With the coffee came milk... milk from his own cows out back. I have never tasted milk like this- so creamy and smooth, lacking that slightly acrid flavor that even good organic store-bought milk always has. It was served in a glass beer pitcher, and I downed an entire mug of it before bothering with the coffee.

"I hate America," he was quick to assert, "Not the people, but military and government. I think maybe 95% of the people are good lives, but maybe 5% are terrorist to rest of world. What do you think?"

And he was genuinely searching for some honest input. I told him I more-or-less agree, and we became fast friends. I suppose he figured he wasn't likely to turn up one of those 5% of wrongdoers pedaling a touring bike down his rainy gravel road at 10pm...

After a few cups of coffee and a slice of chocolate cake, it was time for the tour of his farm. First stop, however, is "special house" (the tool barn) for a few sips off the bottle of Jameison whiskey. Today is a celebration, he said, because he'd finished harvesting his biggest winter wheat crop in years and today had gone to town to collect his payment. All I'd done is waste my afternoon in an island coffeeshop, but if he's happy, I'm happy.

Then it was time to visit the cows who'd squirted out the amazing milk in my belly. Half were just peacefully chillin' in the barn, and the others were out grazing in the field. His system was automated, but this is a legitimate small-scale milk production where the cows are healthy and (hopefully) relatively happy; they're definitely respected. He kept stressing the color of his cows.

"In America, cows for milk are only black and white, Holsteins. In Iceland, we have many, many colors!"

"Farming is hard work. But if you work very hard, make good money. No work, no money." It was a bit of a paradox coming from a man who also claimed to be one of the first Communists in Iceland and would later show me a framed photo of Lennon (not the Beatle.) But he'd done well for himself and was understandably proud of what he'd accomplished. He would be retiring soon, and his son will be taking over eventually.

The farm has been in his family since 1806- he's lived there for his entire life and his love of the farm and his land was palpable as he pointed out over and over the names of each and every volcanic peak that created the jagged horizon. Most striking is the perfect view of Eyjafjallaokull directly to the east- the one that erupted in 2010 and canceled over 100,000 airline flights. Luckily his farm hadn't been inundated with ash or floodwater.

Now it was time to drive out to see his crops (but first another few sips in the "speial house.") His main crop at this time was something he didn't know the english word for; the leaves looked and tasted a lot like kale but he said he'll later harvest the stalk that grows in the middle to use as protein feed for his cows. So who knows, but the young greens were tasty.

Do I want to see his horses? 60 of them. Sure, why not. We bounced along a doubltrack through the lumpy lavafield in his truck while he talked about how special his land and its setting is. Then he jammed on the brakes and rooted around behind the seat.

"Now we drink beer. I no like cold beer."

'Ok,' I thought, 'nothin wrong with a warm beer.'

"Beer should be open!!" And I realized he doesn't like closed beer.

The post-rain fog had settled in and we couldn't spot the horses, though he assured me that he wasn't lying about having them. "I don't like that I can't find my horses," which I took to mean that he was afraid they'd gotten free or something, and was somewhat dreading an all night manhunt for escaped horses. "They are there, but I don't like to say something and then you not see it. Maybe in morning."

As we lumbered back towards the house, he again lurched to a halt.

"Do you like red wine or white wine?" and pulled out a small collection of unopened wine bottles from behind the seat. The red was a screw cap so the choice was obvious and we each took a pull straight from the bottle. Our nearly untouched beers still sat in the cupholders, but when you celebrate the harvest, better try a little of everything I suppose.

The rain had cleared but it was late and I knew he expected me to stay the night. So for the first time in almost 4 weeks, I slept under a roof and in a bed. It felt odd, as I've really grown to love my tent nest, but a reminder of the comforts of indoor living wasn't bad either.

In the morning I met his wife, and had more milk and coffee with breakfast (Cheerios!) We talked about shifty American politics, where I'd ridden in Iceland and how he thinks I'm crazy for biking here. Before I go, he insisted, I have to take some food for dinner and we went out to the freezer. "You like lamb? Bull? Fish? What do you like?" Given the chance to try some famous Icelandic lamb, it was an easy choice. He returned with two big bags of chops.

"Oh, this is too much. Too much," I told him, thinking more about carrying all the added weight rather than his overzealous hospitality.

"No, you must take. You eat today, eat tomorrow." Pointing to his walk-in freezer, the size of your average bedroom, "It is full."

I packed the lambchops away in between my extra clothes and sleeping bag for insulation. He'd given me so much in just the 12 hours I'd been there, but I think the most valuable thing to me was the chance to really experience a snippet of life on a local farm. I'd been riding past farms for 3 weeks, always gazing at the buildings and farmhouses, wondering what's inside and what that life is like. I'd finally found out, at least this one example.

I wanted to return his kindness in some way, but cyclists don't keep a chest of gifts to dole out. I did, however, give him one of the two Ritual Chocolate bars that Robbie had donated before I left Denver. I explained that my friend makes it in Colorado, that it takes him many weeks to turn a cocoa bean into solid chocolate. "My wife, she loves chocolate!"

I was loaded up and saying my thanks & goodbyes when he interjected, "Wait! I forgot," and disappeared towards the freezer, this time returning with packages of shark fillets and smoked salmon! "I catch by my own hand. Very good, you must take." Holy shit!! Two more Icelandic delicacies that I've been dying to try, but unable to justify the high cost. At this point I actually had to rearrange my panniers to accommodate all the extra food- probably close to 10lbs now. I'd be set for the next few days to say the least, and maybe can find some other Fellow Travelers to reap the bounty.

Funny what a little rain can bring.

Gardar and his wife