small Patreksfjörður campsite , we tried to resume our journey despite the weather warning due to the wind . We would pay for the decision with a great fright near Borganes where the gusts , abundantly above 100Km / h , would move the bike vertically to the edge of the road . We discussed animatedly in our intercoms for the remaining 300km travelled under the incessant rain . We returned , with shattered morale , to the home of our friends in Reykjavík to explore for a few days , finally with a less hostile climate , the Reykjanes peninsula , a treasure chest often ignored by tourists . The lighthouses of Grandur and the cliff of Valahnúkamöl were worth our short stay . Opposite on the island of Elday , the last specimen of Great Auk , a Northern penguin , was sighted and killed . It resisted the last ice age but not the wickedness of man , who today remembers him with a statue .
In the evening , a phone call from Italy forced us to change our travel perspective . Serena needed to return to Italy , where she was needed . I would continue the ride alone .
Travelling by motorcycle as a pair has allowed us over the years to discover precise roles and tasks : I can ride for whole days , but if I needed a sock , I would be able to take the bike apart without finding it . Two weeks alone made me understand all the work that Serena does every morning before departure . But above all of how in our case ' Happiness is real only if shared ' as Christopher McCandless wrote in his diaries . I thought of all this as I found myself on the F26 and then on the F208 that would lead me into the magical world of the coloured mountains of Landmannalaugar . Along the way I stopped to immortalise the poor Transalp floundering on the sandy bottoms of this umpteenth gray desert . The weather helped me by accompanying me on my journey south with clear skies and a light that would enhance the rainbow and the meadows from which the swirling waters of Skógafoss descend . The black beach and the stacks of Vik contrast with the white glaciers of the Skaftafell park . I walked to immortalise Svartifoss gushing from the black basalt columns , and I sweated to place the bike in front of the Svínafellsjökull ice tongue .
In the Jökulsárlón glacier lagoon , and in the less known , but no less fascinating Fjallsárlón , icebergs stole my heart . I watched them flow in their multitude of shapes towards the open ocean , while some stopped on what , not surprisingly , is called the Diamond beach . I let the last stretches of Hringvegur flow along the eastern fjords before I found myself closing the loop at Egilsstaðir after about 4000km and a month of travel . I returned on the path that took me back to Seyðisfjörður and
as I walked through the streets of the small town , I thought that every journey changes us and leaves us with a wealth of emotions . I greeted a land where even today man can feel helpless in the face of the forces of Nature ; this is for us the most beautiful memory of this island . FC
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