GOOD LORD! January road to Kevlavik

Around the top of the summit I finally put it in four-wheel-drive. The wind was so intense it was starting to blow the car sideways, and the rear wheels in particular were breaking free. I needed all the help I could get. I was on the road for about an hour, and had only seen two other vehicles—both of them slow-moving work trucks I quickly passed as I left Isafjordur. After that, nothing for another hour.

What I was looking at through the windshield defies description, but is familiar to anyone who’s driven this route in winter. Pre-dawn darkness, with a confetti-storm of snow lit up by the headlights, and—to top it off, I couldn’t even see the road. It was indistinguishable from the incoherent mess swirling around me. At this point I was steering the car between the reflective posts that bordered the road. And yes, there were times as I struggled to see the next post that I wandered closer to the edge. Writing this now makes me more scared than actually experiencing it—for the simple reason I had little notion of the space I traversed or what lay all around me—the rocks, the drop-offs, the curves with no guardrails. I may as well have been driving in one of those little snow-globes that someone kept on shaking to get the snowstorm going again.

Finally: Daylight driving!

The strong winds were not a secret—everyone had told me the forecast and I’d seen it myself. The winds that were predicted were strong enough to blow cars off the road. But on the morning of my leaving, things had settled down somewhat. Now the wind was just howling, but nothing to be too worried about. Okay.

I remembered the words of Alexander, the young man who’d handed me the keys to the little Suzuki 4X4. I’d asked him about the car, anything special I should know? “Yes,” he said, “It’s easy to roll this one over.” Okay, glad I asked. Already it looked like a previous renter had been involved in a mishap: The passenger door and front fender were a slightly different color than the rest of the car. The body and fender place had done a pretty good job, but it’s difficult to get the color just right—especially matching new paint with an older, weathered finish. 

But mechanically, everything was fine. With a minimalist-inspired engine paired with switchable four-wheel drive, and five-speed manual transmission, it was an all-around good car for Icelandic driving. 

WIth the confetti and snow-globe scenario behind me, the road started to become visible in the headlights. The high-beams on this car were good, as it was still night. Now I could see that I was mostly driving on ice and snow, but the car was equipped with studded tires, or “nails,” as they're called here. The traction was good, but the high-powered winds continued to buffet the car even at the lower elevations. Alexander’s words came back to me again as I steered against the winds: “It’s easy to roll this one over.” Okay, got it. And the warnings of many native Icelanders telling me that the winds are powerful enough to blow cars off the road. “Right, right,” I’d said, in my over-confident way. Here is the problem, as I see it: Most things are hyped these days; all around us is this kind of “bumping-up” of events and things that are actual, but somehow need to be enhanced to make them more interesting or appealing or frightening or what-have-you. I understand this, and process these informations through a rather cynical filter that automatically “de-emphasizes” them.

Icelandic weather is not hype. Those who set out to tempt fate put themselves at risk as well as the well-trained Icelandic rescue teams who will do everything they can to save you. It’s not a trivial thing, this weather.

Wind sifting snow across the road

Okay, so much for the public service announcement. With maybe two hours of route remaining, I was making good time. But the straight, open road ahead—Highway One—was suddenly blocked by an emergency services vehicle. The man who approached my car in the driving wind directed me to a side-road I could take around whatever lay ahead. This was a farm road—unpaved, with gravel, snow and ice crunching under the tires. I switched back to four-wheel-drive. There were some drifts on this road, as the wind had never let up, but nothing too serious. This was strictly a side-road to serve the little farms I passed through—and was big enough only to allow one car to pass at a time. Coming the other way was a tour-bus, of course—with a string of other cars trailing behind. They all moved over to the side to allow me to pass, but in retrospect I don’t think I was their main consideration: Behind me was an enormous over-the-road semi with trailer that was obliged to take this detour. I was probably invisible—all they saw was the semi coming the other way and quickly made room for it to pass. I just happened to make it through first.

The road from Isafjordur to Keflavik is almost exactly 500km. I left in the morning darkness at nine o’clock. By four o’clock I was entering the central area of Reykjavik. Keflavik is another 40 minutes or so beyond the capital, and this part of the drive was uneventful. Something of an anti-climactic ending, but just now I’ve taken some cold medicine back here in the States and am very drowsy.

Giant snow-thrower on the road south

About two hours from Keflavik