The next morning I set off on my bike in good spirits. In spite of some pessimistic forecasts, the weather has much improved. Finally I'll be able to leave the rain gear in its bag.

A few km's east of Vik, I pass the floodzone. It's easy to see why nobody got through here the last few days. The bridge is destroyed completely, shattered by the swollen glacial stream, that has only come down a few feet since. They filled up the gap with sand from a nearby black beach as a quick repair. Half of the sand has already washed away. Lorries and trucks are negotiating their way over it. A bus has gotten stuck. The police cautions us that the going is though and 'at your own risk, without assistance'.

I manage to reach the other side, though I almost get stuck behind one of the trucks. I swerve around it and prepare to speed off. But that's no use, because it turns out the road has been torn in half for the next few km's. The right side of the road is dangling above the floodstream. It doesn't look safe, but we have to plough on.

I join a slow procession of cars and trucks, trying to make pace but keeping to the left carefully to avoid sliding over the edge. The wind coming down from the mountains makes the going pretty tortuous. When we reach the other side of the floodzone, everybody cheers. Hurray, we didn't die.

I ride on into noman's land. The road veers off in the distance over a plain of ash. No trees. Hardly any plants at all actually. Only snow-capped mountains in the far distance. It's quite peaceful, in its own somewhat disquieting way. Gives me time to think. Man hardly matters here. Just another speck of dust on the wind.

Well, sod that. Enough with all the drama. It's been a tough few days. Might just as well have a bit of fun!

When I reach the next juncture (after 2 bloody hours!), I decide to take the bike up some backroads. They usually lead up to some remote farm or to another wasteland, but that's beside the point. They're dirt tracks, so time to jump around and make some noise.

Turns out to be the best decision I could've made. The dirt riding's fun indeed, but it also leads me to a wonderful little paradise of green hills. Lush meadows contrasted by purple-ish fields of ash and basalt rock faces. There seems to be hardly anyone there, but I run into a local restaurant, next to an old airfield. The scenery's great, and the smoked salmon beyond reproach.

After lunch, I return to the main road. The landscape suddenly changes again. The hills fall back and make way for a huge black flood plain. Conditions become tougher too, with high winds and some rain. I see several cars stuck on the side of the road, even some local guides. Ah, the starting cables are out again. Iceland, the land that will eat your battery!

I'm making good time and arrive early in Kirkjubaejarklaustur (now say that three times in a row). It's hardly a town, more a collection of houses and a petrol station. I grab a quick bite and then take the bike a short distance back up the road. I have some extra time and I want to take on the F206 byway, up to Laki. It's famous for its difficulty and I know I can't ride the full length of it because of the river fords. But I want to have a go.

It turns out to be very rough and enormous fun. I have to guide the GSA like a jumping horse over the uneven road surface. Some of the slopes are hair-raisingly steep. The second river ford proves to be way to deep to undertake, but I still manage to get some 30 km's of pure joy out the F206. Wouldn't have wanted to miss it for the world.

After all the horsing around, I spend a quiet evening at the Hvoll guesthouse (another one of those wonderful Icelandic ranches). I climb up an nearby hill and sit down to enjoy the views and a bottle of .

Fields of purple and red bathe in the midnight sun. I can see the glaciers of the Vatnajökull strato volcano glistening in the distance. And all the world's fine by me.

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Today I decide to take it easy. The days before have been quite eventful to say the least, with all the storms, breakdowns, illness, flooding and whatyounot. So I'm planning on keeping things relaxed, do a bit of sightseeing, you know the deal.

The route takes me past the Vatnajökull ice shelf. It's the largest single ice shelf in Europe, about 8200 square km's. It takes up about a quarter of Iceland and apparently it's so sizeable that you're not able to overview it except from space. The ice itself is between 300 and 1000 metres thick.

When I leave from Klaustur in the morning, I can already see the shelf's outline, though I'm still 50 km's away. To get there, I first have to cross the so-called Sandar, a huge floodplain of ash that flows from the Vatnajökull. It's cold, windy and barren. And I love it. The oil-black sands are interlaced with white-water streams, crystalline and gracious. Steam comes of it in the morning sun. Feels like another planet.

The GSA isn't too happy though. It jolts and coughs, and red lights start flashing on the console. No oil pressure. Damn, that could be serious. I put the bike on the side of the road, though there's hardly any place to park it. I take out the tool kit and start prodding stuff, trying to figure out what's going on.

Oil level's a bit low, that couldn't be it? Well, it's easily fixed with some extra oil. Console is still flashing red. Check battery, cables, sensor, air filter. Nothing. I start the bike, seems to be running fine now. I decide to push on, see what happens. 20 km's out, the red light starts flashing again. I park the bike again and prepare to have another go at solving the problem.

And then the red light disappears! I restart the engine, and it's running as it should. Jump on the bike and speed off, no problem at all. Was it the dust or the cold? Or one of those famous BMW sensor glitches? I still don't know, but the problem hasn't returned since.

I ride on to the Vatnajökull massif. I can now clearly make out the edge of the ice shelf on top of the mountain range. The mountain range is actually a huge volcano, comparable to Mount Etna on Sicily. The Vatnajökull shelf keeps the volcano in check, but if the volcano would erupt fully, it would darken the world with ash and probably usher in another ice age.

I park up a hill and sit for a while just to take it all in. I can see glacier after glacier coming down from the shelf. The ice is mostly blue. A wall of ice lines the horizon, up to where the black sands floodplain starts. All is silent.

Further down the road, I visit the Fjalls glacier. It has a glacial lake at its edge with ice floating around and a little pool, in which some madmen are taking a swim. There's a small restaurant as well, which serves some pretty good local arctic char.

Then it's on to the Jökulsárlón. This lagoon is where the Vatnajökull ice shelf meets the ocean, and that makes for a special sight: the thick ice breaks up into blue icebergs that float out to sea on low tide. Some of the ice washes up on a nearby beach, hence the nickname 'Diamond Beach'. It's all extremely touristy but that doesn't matter really, because there's so much to see. In spite of the crowds I enjoy the view greatly.

I spent most of the afternoon being impressed again and again by the beauty of the Vatnajökull and its endless parade of glaciers. The sun's out now as well, so the blue of the ice sparkles and shines. I feel pretty blessed.

When I finally pull into the town of Höfn, I'm ready to close the day with a nice meal. But that proves a tad too optimistic. The restaurant owner's incredibly rude, snapping at my 'big jacket' and almost throwing the food on the table. The other guests are having a noisy argument and at one point almost get into a fight.

I leave quickly to get some petrol and supplies at the local store. But no such luck. No petrol. No water. No bread. All gone sir, maybe in the next town. Which is 80 km's up the road.

Well, ok. Better luck tomorrow.

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