Iceland. No Regrets: A Poem (in mind)

I spent an extra day and night in Þórsmörk after the race. Most runners took buses back to Reykjavik on Saturday night. A handful stayed over and left on Sunday. And three of us (myself included) departed on Monday. I had figured my body would enjoy the extra time as opposed to sitting through a 4 hour bus ride.

And it meant I got to go on a leisurely hike with some nice Alaskans that I met before, during, and after the race. Plus if the area was decent enough for the god of thunder, why not spend some extra time?

Much like the race, you look out at the nature that's around you and declare this must be the prettiest place. And then around the next corner it gets prettier. And then the next corner. (around and around you go. Much like giving those Thank You girl scout cookies as a thank you. Thank you - pushes cookies forward. No, thank you - pushes cookies back.)

(or to go way back in time: 10 print this sure is pretty. 20 goto 10.)

It's nice turning corners in Iceland.

After the hiking and corner turning, I took up a spot on a comfortable couch inside the lodge/cabin/restaurant/nice hut/place to warm up/etc. The place was additionally nice because it was near a power outlet. I have a Goal Zero solar charger and battery pack with me (will I ever see sun?). The battery pack doesn't have to charge through the panels, but an outlet can be used. And also nice, my GPS watch charger has a European plug adaption. I plugged in my watch charger, connected that to the battery pack, and then charged my electronic junk (ipod, camera battery, GoPro, and watch) through the battery pack.

But even better, the place on the couch was in the far corner which gave me a decent opportunity to people watch people from around the world.

And as things were charging, a young American woman appeared with a young foreign (non Icelandic) man. Like most tourists (60% ish) I have come across so far, she was loud with her talk. Since she spoke the only language I know, it was easy to follow along.

What happened during my observing is a poem that needs to be written. I have not worked out many words of it, but I believe a poem is there. Waiting. Wanting to be written.

Here is what I wrote (word for word) in my journal:

"No regrets. I just spent the last hour maybe more watching/observing an American girl (woman?) who backpacked the trail alone but at some point (maybe the beginning) she met up with a boy (man?) also alone. I don't think they met at the beginning their conversation was too new. America this, America that, how do you in your country? They came in and at first thought dinner too expensive. But later they came back. Yes. Celebrate. Beer with dinner. Cheers she says. Only one but as the beer empties her already basic conversation (like the water was so hot, by the time I figured it out I only had 20 seconds left... on a coin operated shower) diminished (not the word) deteriorated into 80s California speak minus the gag me with a spoon. He offered to buy her another beer and she
protested, no, let me buy it. But she didn't as much push her chair from the table. As he's gone, she takes a drink, makes a this is gross look complete with staring at beer, pauses, scrunches up her face and finishes the last 4 ounces. (Beer is in a glass.) She suggests bathing pool as opposed to pouring. And off they go. Not planned on my part, I go into the WC to brush my teeth. She is in there in bikini by the mirror. Her top lifts but as she turns to look at the bottom, part of her butt is squeezed out. She tries to pull the fabric over, but out it comes again. She steps into the shower/sauna room, reads a sign that declares this is a No Nude Area and grabs a towel. She wraps the towel around both top and bottom and before stepping outside stops at the mirror. She lets out a deep audible sigh and steps out. He is waiting with her beer. I imagine that when she returns to the states, she may tell of the night she was with a Belgian, Frenchman, someone. But she'll leave out that brief moment, at the mirror, when she had to look at her self."

-----

Five days after I wrote the above, I came across this article:

Link.

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/07/14/fashion/sex-on-campus-she-can-play-that-game-too.html?pagewanted=all

I feel there's a connection. The girl I observed was not a willing participant, she seemed compelled to follow something predetermined, something others had dictated: this is what you must do. 

Iceland: Laugavegur Ultra

I'm convinced that correctly forecasting the weather in Iceland is pretty much not possible. We received an email from the race director 12 hours before the race with the latest weather forecast. No rain at the start, but rain about 1-2 hours in and then clear at the end.  Also: tailwind.

Actual: precipitation the whole time, mostly rain, some sleet, some snow. Mainly headwind.

But beautiful. Pictures should (maybe) appear when I return to the states.

Though I did take an iPod picture of the start area.

My tent is in there somewhere.

Iceland: Days 1 and 2

Cloudy over Hudson Bay.

Cloudy over Greenland.

Cloudy in Iceland. And windy. And rainy. And moderately cold (50 plus the wind). And beautiful.

No jetway into the terminal. Had to walk down steps outside and then make my way to the airport. Got a good taste of the cold windy (November?) rain.

Keflavik airport smells nice.

(apologies on photo quality... I can only attach photos taken from my iPod)

Initial views from the bus:

But then it started to 'clear up' as we approached Reykjavik:

There's a lot more (words not photos) but I need to sleep. Tomorrow I have a bus ride to the start of the race and I'll be camping there. Plus 2 more days of camping at the finish.

The race director just sent along this recent photo of the highest point on the course:

Iceland: Day 0

I am only able to write from by electronic bird book (also known as my iPod).   So unless I go back later and type more in detail, this will probably be just a few sentences for each happening.

Getting Ready

Doc keeps counting down the hours I have until I'm on the plane. He's putting pressure on me to pack except I already was mostly packed. Hey Beloit College juniors - oh my goodness, you're already a junior? That means senior is next. What are you going to do? What will your life become? You better start thinking; you're a junior.

I ate lunch with my parents in Miesville at Kings. They have over 50 styles of hamburger. Quite good.

My dad was pulled over a few miles from the airport. 52 in a 35. Just a warning. The cop gave my dad directions to the airport. Dad started driving and immediately took a wrong turn.

Nico stared out the side window at me as I left the van for the airport. When my parents drove away she moved to the back window so she could keep staring. I miss her.

A computer wasn't working when I checked in my bags. My bike flew free.

A 16 year old autistic boy had difficulties at the airport. One of the many troubles: zipper broke on his suitcase. He dropped to the ground in the middle of where everyone walks. He pleaded for help. Arms raised, too. He was ignored. He would like it to be known that he's from Milwaukee but lives in Texas. And importantly: he hates rednecks.

MSP Terminal 2 - you remind me of MDW and HOU circa 1992.  Confusing, inefficient, and ugly.

I was the last to board the plane. Seat 11A.

As I stepped on board, I heard Sigur Ros. Icelandair was playing it over the plane's speakers. I had heard of finding elves, trolls, and fairies on my ride, but now, perhaps, banana slugs, too.