I’m cycling to Iceland: it’s a killer to ride but an easy country to love

The final part of our writer’s marathon sees him riding Europe’s wild outlier, where even squalls and snow fail to dampen his spirit

After a night at sea on the ferry from the Faroe Islands, a jagged, stormy Iceland appears. With much of Europe in a heatwave, it’s a shock to see snow on the skyline. The ferry noses up a long fjord, docking at the small east-coast town of Seyðisfjörður.

The weatherboarded town is lovely and busy with tourists. I collect my mountain bike and set off, cutting along the north shore of the fjord and soon leaving the tarmac behind. Iceland has seen a boom in tourism in the past decade, fuelled by Game of Thrones and Instagram. One effect is that hotspots are now red hot. A waterfall or viewpoint deemed special is inundated. But the rest are ignored.