A Sobering Reflection

I've mentioned charity in an earlier post. But I thought I'd summarise what we're doing, and why we're raising for the MNDA again. It can't hurt.

In summer 2014 my father-in-law passed away from Motor Neurone Disease. He was a decent and kind man. He fought valiantly, but ultimately in vain. MND has no cure and very little in the way of delaying tactics. MND slowly but inexorably wasted this good man away, robbing him of movement, memory, speech and, in the end, his life.

The MNDA is the sole MND charity in the UK, offering practical and emotional support to sufferers and their families and friends. Their advice and care is invaluable because this is a comparatively rare and fatal disease without significant NHS funding, and without them I think a great many people would be utterly lost in how to cope. Additionally the MNDA are at the pointy end of vital research which might one day prevent anyone from suffering from this horrible disease ever again.

To raise money for this worthy cause, in July this year along with Jim Gardiner, I will be cycling coast to coast across Iceland. We'll be doing this unsupported and off road.

Thanks to the vagaries of this intensely volcanic and unpredictable island, we're currently keeping the route quite flexible. However it's likely to go from either Rifstangi (furthest north point of the island) or Akureyri (on the north coast) to Kotlutangi (furthest south point). Either way, the route will cross Iceland's interior highlands and be around 500km at least. There are no roads, or at least what you and I might call roads. There are some tracks, but most of these are a serious proposition for even the most hardcore 4x4. In addition, there are freezing river crossings, miles of loose sand, lava fields, volcanoes and boiling mud pools. And as if that weren't enough, the weather is almost certainly going to spend a good deal of its time being horrible to us.  

For over 200km, the only other people we'll encounter will be very occasional lunatic off-road drivers. There are no shops, no roads, no hotels or hostels. Besides lichen, nothing grows. There will be no-one to help us. It is a desert.

All of this will be done on a fatbike. For the uninitiated, a fatbike is basically a cross between a mountain bike and a monster truck. It has 4" wide tyres and is designed to be able to keep on trucking where other bikes just give up. They also look really really cool. But that's obviously got nothing to do with anything...

Now, let's be absolutely honest about this; I'm doing this trip because I want to. Because I crave the silence and the challenge. However, the MNDA is a charity which is well worth supporting and is close to my heart. So if my stupidity can also raise money and awareness for this great cause, then so much the better.

So, don't be impressed with my selfish little holiday, but instead just donate something to the MNDA (via the link next to this post or in the hyperlink below) and help people who genuinely need your help.

If you feel so inclined, you can follow events via the links below:

https://www.justgiving.com/Icelandic-Fatbike

http://icelandicfatfun.blogspot.co.uk/

https://twitter.com/tomlvincent

https://www.facebook.com/Icelandicfatfun

Cheers,

Tom   

It's time to review the situation...

Across Iceland on a Fatbike

In july 2015, along with my good friend Jim, I'll be attempting to cross the interior of Iceland on a fatbike. Our aim is to go from the north coast to the south coast, and where possible to keep it as off-road as possible. This is, of course, going to be a pretty awesome challenge, though as you'll find if you read on, not the original plan. The original plan has shifted, evolved and generally exploded in our faces so often, that I sometimes struggle to recall what it even was. I think it was something grandiose and extremely naive. 

Originally Jim was John. We were going to do something no-one had ever done before, and ride furthest north to south across Iceland completely off-road on fatbikes. We'd do it unsupported and take 3 weeks doing it. When we'd finished women would swoon, men would be rendered impotent by simply looking at images of us, and children would chase after us shouting "why aren't you my daddy?!". We were, not to put too fine a point on it, hopelessly naive. 

Pretty soon after we'd announced to the world (well, Twitter, Facebook and my wife) our plans, they started to unravel. It turns out it's almost certainly been done before (if not on fatbikes), and that riding our proposed route off-road was at best completely impossible for men of our means, and at worse suicidal. There were some seriously impassible rivers, gorges and cliffs. There was 50km of bog just at the start, a start it would take nearly 2 days to reach in the first place. It seemed very much like just route planning from Google Earth is a 'bad idea'. 

Then there was Holurhaun; a volcano which started erupting in August 2014 and only stopped a couple of weeks ago. During which time it belched a lava flow the size of Manhattan and emitted enough SO4 to kill us many times over should we have been foolish enough to stray too close. Close being a relative term depending entirely upon wind speed and direction. 

Given the above it felt like someone was trying to tell us an important message. So we downscaled the plan to allow the use of bridges (originally deemed "cheating") and to use some of the F-roads which bisect the deserted interior highlands (also "cheating"). We also reduced the trip to 2 weeks due to finances, then 10 days due to flight availability.  

Then John became Jim. John had a back operation which didn't really work. Well, not as quickly as we'd all hoped anyway. So Jim stepped up. 

Then I got hit by a car while commuting home from work. For a minute I thought that was it, but it turns out I'm resilient, in a pathetic not-very-good-at-pain kind of way.

Despite all of that, here we are. We have the flights booked, we have the bikes, we're gathering the kit and we're trying to remember to go on training rides from time to time. But there's still three months to go before we set off; so plenty of time for a bit more drama before then.

As well as keeping this blog ticking over (feel free to question why, I do), you can follow me on twitter @tomlvincent. Feel free to send a message and say hi, or just hurl any old random abuse. 

When we get back, we'll serialise the trip here.There are also a few interested parties who are keen to publish our exploits, so I'll keep you posted who they are closer to the ime. It'll be worth checking that out just for the photos. 

Cheers,

Tom

Surly Pug Ops - Fatbike Review

So it's been a while since I posted properly, and a few things have developed since then. Firstly, I am now the proud owner of a Surly Pug Ops fatbike (more on this in a moment), secondly we have booked the flights, and thirdly we now have 3 possible route options which (we hope) will allow for poor conditions, more volcanoes going 'pop' and generally varying levels of fitness.

So, to the bike...

There are a few fatbikes on the market at the moment, and the options are continually increasing as more and more manufacturers see fatbikes as either a profitable bandwagon to jump on, or a legitimate new type of bike for the future. The jury is still out on whether they're a passing fad, as most people aren't really going to be crossing deserted islands or riding in snow and sand. But for those who are, fatbikes are a sensible option. Okay, they may look like the lovechild of a monster truck and a mountain bike, but all of that tyre width provides masses of area to distribute the weight of the bike, and so provide grip and prevent sinking into the soft stuff.

Of the many brands making fatbikes, the likes of Surly and Salsa stand out. Not least because they've been at the forefront of fatbike development since it's inception, but also because they tend to lean towards the rugged trekking/bikepacking end of the spectrum. Whereas more mainstream manufacturers (Specialized, Trek etc) are currently making trail bikes with massive tyres. With over 500km of riding to do, and carrying all of our own kit for 10 days in the wilderness, I care more about rugged reliability than how the thing goes around bermed corners at my local trail centre.

So after an extended period of research, and asking advice from people in the know, I opted for the Surly Pug Ops. It's steel, has mechanical disc brakes, doesn't have the very fattest tyres (3.8" not 4.8") and isn't at all lightweight. What it is, from the minute you look at it, is tough. Really really tough. This is the Grant Mitchell, the Vinnie Jones, the Giant Haystacks of the biking world. It aint going to win any beauty awards, but it sure as hell isn't going to cry if you use bad language at it either.

Obviously I feel madly in love with the Pug the moment I clapped eyes on it, how could you not? But I did have a major reservation; was it going to be really heavy to ride? Was getting those monstrous tyres up to speed going to be too much hard work? After years of painstakingly skimming weight from my other bikes, I looked at the Pug and was expecting pain. Thankfully, it turns out I was completely wrong. Okay, so it's not as nimble as my road bike, or sprightly my XC bike, but it's by no means a slouch, and once up to speed the beastie rolls along beautifully. What's more, the ride is accompanied by a very satisfying rumbling from those gargantuan tyres.

Offroad the Pug is exceptional. What seems like an impossibly small granny ring (22t) paired with 36t rear is the kind of thing which turns the wheel so slowly it initially looks pointless. But the grip on the Pug is so astonishing you find that you can pop it into the lowest gear, and bimble up just about any incline, no matter how muddy or loose. The only barrier to the most insane angles is your sense of balance. In Iceland, loaded up with kit, this is the kind of thing which may separate me from success, and collapsing into a ditch wheezing like a chain-smoker running the Marathon de Sables.

All of that said, the Pug is still a heavy bike. So I need to get stronger to ride it. To do this, I've elected to ride only the Pug between now and the trip to Iceland in July. That means commuting 35km per day through Bristol on it. And this brings me to another point; the reaction the bike brings out in other people. Fatbikes are still sufficiently rare in Bristol that I've yet to see another one. So when you rumble past another commuter you tend to raise a reaction, and 99 times out of a hundred that reaction is positive (or at the very least bewildered). People want to know what it's like to ride, they point and smile, or shout encouragement as I slowly crawl up yet another hill on my way to work. When I stop at the lights, car drivers actually grin at me and say nice things... yeah, I know? Car drivers?! Even my wife wanted to try it, and she tends to view my bike obsession as only marginally preferable to having an affair.

In short, the Pug is an absolute blast to ride and I cannot wait to take it to Iceland for the big challenge. In the meantime, if you see me riding through Bristol (you'll hear me coming before you see me) feel free to beep your horn and/or wave. Everyone else does!

Charity!

I've banged on about this in an earlier blog entry, but I have at last set up my just giving webpage.

So, should you feel inclined, you can help someone who needs help, while chuckling with schadenfreude at my exploits!

Cheers,

Tom

All Change (Again)

When this trip was just another of my weird ideas designed to ward off a mid-life crisis, I offered it up to a few close friends who I know are into mountain biking. As expected, there was a lot of enthusiasm immediately tempered by (perfectly reasonable) realities. It was the usual things most of us are frequently impeded by; kids, money, time off etc. In the end, the only person who could make it work was John. It helped that he doesn't have kids and isn't married (yet). John's only caveat was that he was having a back op and needed time to recover. For my part, I have a ridiculously understanding wife, and I work for a company who allow unpaid leave.

So we excitedly plotted and schemed and came up with the bones of a route. It looked bloody hard, but just about achievable. As you'll know if you've read the rest of the blog, the route took shape and we started looking for sponsors (with a modicum of success). At the same time we brought in Jim to make it a three (or two if John didn't recover sufficiently). It all looked brilliant.

Then we learned about Holurhaun volcano and it's shifting clouds of toxic gas, and it seemed that all of our planning was for nothing. So, we sat back for a little while and we waited.

Irritatingly Holuhraun continued to erupt, and most experts predicted the volcano would continue for months to come. So rather than give up entirely, we found another route. Not quite as difficult, not quite as long, and lacking the same boasting rights, but also not through a huge cloud of deadly poisonous gas. We also decided that the new route didn't need costly fatbikes (making a mockery of the title to this blog). So we adjusted our expectations accordingly, reduced the annual leave requests, re-assessed the finances and accepted the reduced trip. It was still going to be awesome.

Having made all of the concessions and rearranged everything. we now find that Holuhraun has just stopped erupting. In addition, and much more importantly, John isn't getting any better, and so has (for the time being) stepped away from the trip. The former is annoying, but potentially good news; the latter is very bad news indeed.

Really, it's this sort of wild fluctuation in luck which led the Greeks to dream up their impressive collection of Gods and Fates. It must be malevolent interfering Gods; that's the only plausible explanation for this kind of see-sawing madness. Somewhere on high, there are a bunch of toga wearing bearded chaps, giggling away to each other and guffawing about what they can do next to these stupid humans which might be a bit of a laugh. Bastards.

So I've had enough of trying to second guess volcanos, bearded omni-present mythical deities and the recovery times for bizarre injuries. It's impossible, and impossibly frustrating.

Instead, Jim and I are just going to book the flights and wing it. If we cross Iceland via either of the proposed routes, then great. If it's on fatbikes then that's also great. If another volcano goes off, then that's okay, we'll just find another route. One way or another this is going to happen. It's two-fingers up to Zeus and his pals.

Finally, if you're reading this and planning your own trip, I'll offer only one piece of advice: Remain, at all times, completely flexible and amenable to change. Plan too rigidly, and you've had it.

Good News!

Yes that's right... Good News!

Like a particularly well handled yo-yo, or a man with serious bi-polar issues, first we're up, then we're down, and now we're half way up again... Hang on a minute; that was the Grand Old Duke of York wasn't it?

Where was I?

Right, yes.

Good News Everyone! Having taken the advice of a commenter to my previous post "Bad News" (see how these titles work? Clever huh?) we've been eyeballing the maps of Iceland, and it's possible, just possible, that there is a route which does near enough what we want it to. It's not quite so grand as Plan A; lacking the "furthest", "first"* and "stupidest" superlatives, but when you've been thwarted by a volcano, I think it's okay to allow a little slack.

Speaking of The Volcano, it seems the Holurhaun eruption is slowing down somewhat. The area we want to cross is still out of bounds, but the exclusion zone has been reduced and the SO2 emissions are also down. So, while we still can't cross the Spregasundur safely it's good to think that the new route is in less danger of being knocked on the head too. And you never know, the eruption might still end by July.

So the new route looks like it'll start in Akureyri, pass between Langjökull and Hofsjökull on the F35, before veering wildly to the East and joining up with Plan A and heading off to Kötlutangi. It's a rough plan at present, but it's still a north coast to south coast off-road crossing, and that's good enough! 

Now... does this mean I still "need" a Fatbike? 

* It probably wasn't ever going to be a true first. But until Google proves me otherwise, I'll hang onto that very very faint hope!

Bad News

Well, it would seem our trip is going to have to be shelved for the time being. And it may not happen for quite a while.

We have been thwarted, before we even set out, by a volcano. Of all the things to be thwarted by, this at least seems reasonable. But that doesn't stop it from being just a little bit heartbreaking. We've spent so much time and effort researching, planning and excitedly telling anyone who'd listen; to have to postpone is very very sad.

But, who are we to argue with a volcano?

I guess we could have worked this out before now. After all, Holuhraun has been kicking off for over 4 months. But while we knew about the exclusion zone for flooding and lava, it's taken quite a while to learn about the exclusion zone for gas (principally SO2). And even once we'd found that out, it wasn't until late last week that we learned the general guidance suggests going near this thing for extended periods is a bad idea.

Since then we've contacted the Professor for Volcanology at the University of Bristol who offered us the following, fairly sobering, advice:

"...volcanic gases ARE hazardous, as they contain both respirable particulates and high acidity (including HF, HCl and H2SO4). As you know, the gases travel with the wind, and therefore it is not possible to choose a route that will not be impacted. If the eruption is still continuing in July, I could not in good conscience advise you to travel in the highlands near the eruption site..."

We have also encountered the Icelandic Meteo site, which forecasts gas emissions. It's very clear from their website that emission concentrations vary wildly and are pretty unpredictable. But there is a broad pattern, and that pattern seems to suggest we'd be spending a good deal of time cycling into ever increasing concentrations of SO2, until such time as we died (possibly). Plus, given the variance in concentrations on an hour by hour basis, we might go to sleep okay, but wake up in danger. And where we're going there's no quick getaway.

One of their more cheery maps is shown below. Anything orange or above is a potential risk to health. Red or above has a safe exposure of 15mins, less if you're doing anything which requires breathing heavily (like riding a 40kg bike up a hill).  As you can see, we'd be spending about 4-5 days exposed to fairly high concentrations of SO2.

And if we survive that (with only short term health impacts), you don't want to be in the wrong place when it turns into this (these images are 4 hrs apart):

Anything in purple is described as "Very Unhealthy - Everyone may experience severe respiratory symptoms". Nice.

So, like Brave Sir Robin, we've chickened out. And unless Holuhraun stops erupting before May/June, then I'd say this trip probably isn't going ahead in 2015, and that makes me pretty unhappy.