I think, perhaps, that the joy (or run your head into the wall) of the online world is that I'm able to share a plethora of photos.
Back in the 80s, maybe you would have some popcorn and, if you were lucky, a cold Löwenbräu as I regaled you with four hours of slides.
But now, scroll at your own convenience... finish in under a minute and come away from this all saying, "Well wasn't that nice."
(All photos are before bicycle riding.)
Þórsmörk:
Alaskan lupine. Invasive. Purposefully. Combat soil erosion.
It's done quite well for itself in Iceland. Too well.
But the tourists find it very pretty.
Þórsmörk with the wonderful Alaskan trio. We all felt compelled to yell, "Hey bear!" No need. The arctic fox is the only mammal native to Iceland.* (*hush hush polar bear)
On the way to the Langidalur Hut.
Flowers. Not invasive.
Rainiest summer since 1955 brought out a lot of color.
Thor was pretty kick arse in Ultimate Alliance.
Not bad in nature either.
Looking left (east) from the above panorama.
Icelanders are not familiar with Kurtis Blow.
Þórsmörk camping. Photo taken around midnight.
Reykjavik:
A lot of cats in Reykjavik. And they all wore bells.
Hallgrímskirkja and a cat. Lutheran church.
Inside Hallgrímskirkja with Sisyphus.
Eventually Sisyphus gave up.
Not really, he kept vacuuming and the tourists kept carpet stepping.
For the record, I was leaning and not standing on the carpet.
Harpa.
Dionne Warwick was live in concert while I was there.
I'd have preferred a Psychic Friends Network convention.
Inside Harpa.
Inside Harpa. Different angle.
Yep. More Harpa.
Lunch view at a park a block away from the 'hotel'.
(Blue sky?!? Don't worry it rained that day, too)
Rope.
In honor of Nico. (And Sandy)
Hot dogs and milk. Dinner view.
Turns out blue is not 2% in Iceland. Super whole.
Not difficult to play: Spot the Tourist.
No cat.
Public Art.
Fun Public Art. Magnús Tómasson: Monument to the Unknown Bureaucrat
Reykjavik is covered in graffiti. And not the artsy kind.
The dog pees on a fire hydrant kind.
Televisions waiting for trash pickup aren't spared from urea.
Even the industrial sections of Iceland are rich in color.
Don't Mess With Texasborgarar.
(I did not eat at Texasborgarar.)
The Dude abides.
(If you are racist, sexist, homophobic, or an asshole... don't come in.)
The Laugavegur Ultra starts atLandmannalaugar and finishes in Þórsmörk. For pronunciation help, the Þ is pronounced "th" as in "think". (Turns out it's Thor's mountain range.)
The race was Saturday, July 13, 2013. To get to the race start you only had a couple of options: bus or a 4WD. I went by bus. The limitations were because as soon as we turned off the main road of Iceland (which is conveniently labeled 1), we were on a gravel road. I had read stories about Iceland's gravel roads and knew that in just a few days I'd be bicycling on them. The first gravel road - I wouldn't have considered gravel. More like packed dirt. Smooth. But then we turned from the gravel road to a gravel road labeled with an "F". Four-wheel drive territory. Bumpy. Very bumpy. Worse than Detroit's roads. Worse than Louisiana's infamous "Substandard Roadway - Proceed With Caution." So yes - bad. Oh, and the F roads tend to have river crossings. No bridges. Maybe it's deep, maybe it's not. (Caulk the wagon and float it?) Busses were scheduled to leave Reykjavik for Landmannalaugar at 4 in the morning of race day (race started at 9:00 am). And then busses would take you back to Reykjavik a few hours after the race. The organizers of the race were quite nice. They also gave an option: if you want to arrive early or depart later, just let them know. I chose to arrive on Friday and then stay at the finish until Monday. The thought of riding in a bus shortly after a 55 km was not at all appealing. Plus Þórsmörk is considered rather pretty and I thought hobbling around for a few days to take in the scenery would be nice, too. Before the race:
Landmannalaugar. Tent City. Not many runners.
Most tents are for people who are planning to hike the trail.
Tent City - other direction. I eventually put up the rest of my tent.
Tent City from above. This is the beginning of the trail.
Iceland.
F Road Fun.
Landmannalaugar. Friday's view for my dinner.
A natural Hot Pot. I did not partake. Rumors of "swimmer's itch." (The tourists are supposed to clean themselves thoroughly before entering. They don't.)
Looking down a trail that's not part of the race. (I think I'm just going to have to come back.)
During the race (different camera):
Fumaroles. (Fun sulphur smell.)
3k into the race - looking back. (Landmannalaugar can be seen in the background. We climbed quite a bit.)
Looking forward.
You know what they say about the weather in Iceland...
It's true.
It's really true.
There was a wide variety of landscapes along the trail.
More.
The plus - you spend a lot of time in awe and you forget you're getting tired.
The negative - you get sloppy and put your finger into the shot.
One of the unmanned crossings. (Two crossings were manned with rescuers in the water - in wetsuits.)
We ran on the moon.
Aid station. With chocolate. (Hikers can camp at this location. But they couldn't have our chocolate.)
To prove I'm extreme and cooler than you. (That was sarcasm.) Only I don't do Facebook so I can't be that guy who puts racing photos as his profile picture. (Even better: the guy who puts up racing photos with the copyright notice still attached.)
I had meant to string these three together. And then my mind distracted me. And I hugged Jonsi (that's about as much closure as I'm probably ever going to get). Anyway... poetry:
#75 Watch a poem. #77 Read a poem. #78 Write a poem.
All accomplished again and again and again.
#75. Watch Malcolm London's High School Training Ground. Again. Listen. Feel. Learn.
#77. Denver Butson's Issues.
the man who climbed the Brooklyn Bridge
who walked the highest cables
and swung hand over hand from one side
to the other who eluded ten cops with harnesses
and ropes a helicopter a boat below
with emergency crews and backboard
who asked for a cigarette and a beer who swung
upside down with his knees hooked
around a cable and took a cigarette
from one cop's hand and smoked it laughing
and then flipped over and slid down fireman-style
one cable and upside down again around another
and skirted between the outstretched hands of two cops
and again and then again
who after two hours of this
with a crowd gathered on the pedestrian walkway
of the Manhattan Bridge and traffic stopped
in both directions on the Brooklyn Bridge
with all of us looking up from the Fulton Ferry landing
where Whitman wrote about us the generations hence but probably couldn't have imagined
the cell phones and laptops all the exposed skin
and his words themselves cut out of the metal railing
between the defunct ferry landing and East River
who finally gave up gave over
to the embrace of one big-shouldered cop
and hugged him hard for a long time
as we started our applause from down below
was not an acrobat or a bridge worker
or a thrill-seeker
as many of us with our feet on the ground believed
including one gnarled hardhat who said
if he ain't one of ours let's sign him up but a "simple welder" the paper the next day said
who according to his mother did very well
at gymnastics in high school
whose bloody hands stained the cop's shirt
said when asked why he did what he did
I have issues
while we with issues but perhaps not issues enough
to become suddenly the best show in town
however briefly clapped and clapped
as if we wanted our hands bloodied like his
as the helicopter whisked itself away
and the backboard went back into the ambulance
and the boat slid under the bridge and out of sight
we clapped and clapped and then stopped clapping
and returned to our morning
and our ever so many mornings hence #78. i only say hello once (for Anne Bayerle) i only say hello once
(that way if there's silence
and before i hang up
i can imagine
it must be you
calling from some peak in the himalayas
where you've met the wise man
who has taught you right mindfulness.
but most importantly
when you're standing at the top of the mountain
looking down at everything else
it's difficult for a call to go through)
i only say hello once
because the second time you say hello
is when you're connected to someone you don't want to talk to
a background of noise of people mispronouncing names
before an identification from the caller,
"Hello, I'm Merari."
and he's with the fraternal order of people
who protect, serve, and put out fires
(or one of the three)
and even though you know this is one of those phone scams
the local news is always warning you about
you hesitate
just like you pause when the cashier at the grocery store asks
"Do you want to help children with leukemia?"
and you realize if you reply
i do
it's going to cost you. #78. last thanksgiving (crumble top apple pie)
last thanksgiving
(the same one when the dog climbed the dish washer
got on the counter top
worked her way to the window sill
and ate our wish bone)
was where you declared we didn't have enough
dough to cover the apple pie
and if you hadn't removed all the sharp objects from the house
i would have offered my own flesh
(after all Buddha sacrificed his own life
to feed a starving tiger and her young)
but you decided you had just enough
to make it crumble
The first day in Iceland I help a German-American find where he is staying. He used AirBnB. Had I heard of it? He recently stayed at a great place in Vermont. Was I familiar with Vermont? This town near Stowe...
A British cyclist tells me the west fjords of Iceland are the second prettiest place he's ever ridden his bicycle. Number one: Manali-Leh.
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.
