Riding the Rift
- Ian Ryder
- Aug 8, 2023
- 16 min read
Updated: Aug 9, 2023
For the better part of three years I have dreamt of taking part in one of the most epic gravel races to be found anywhere on the planet. On July 22nd the great day finally dawned...
2023 was the date I'd picked, back in 2021, to ride Lauf's annual Rift 200K through the volcanos, lava fields and rivers of South Central Iceland. and - after a great deal of investment of time, effort and money (for cycling toys) - on July 22nd the great day finally dawned for me, accompanied by my doughty son Jon, to test our mettle...
But let's wind back to the beginning... Christine and I are both keen photographers, and our love of landscapes took us to Iceland for the first time in 2015. We spent almost 2 weeks driving around the country, seeing the countless amazing sights along 'Route 1'. In a country the size of England, with scarcely 100,000 people living outside of the capital Reykjavik, it often felt like having the whole world to ourselves. In the following years we returned twice, having been completely smitten by Iceland's remarkable and, at times, savage natural beauty, its unique culture and the fun loving people. However, due to the challenging nature of the 'F roads' through the highlands and the fact that those roads can be closed for around 9 months of the year, we never made it into the deeply volcanic heartlands of the country.
Once I had retired and tentatively commenced my second life as a keen cyclist, it was not long before I learned that there was an organised gravel race that could finally take me where I hadn't gone before - with just the small matter of being able to pedal 128 miles through unforgiving terrain standing in my way. Back in 2020 I had not cycled for more than 40 years, and even covering 10 flattish miles was a bit too much to contemplate - but the memories of Iceland and pictures and videos of this ride were so compelling that I set myself a target to ride the race in 2023. Looking back, I probably wouldn't have achieved that goal if it wasn't for a very fortunate set of circumstances. Frankly, I had no idea what I was getting myself into 🙄
The first thing that really helped was joining the local Horsham Cycle Club, where I met many new good friends who encouraged me in my cycling and selflessly shared their deep expertise in all matters bike. Without their advice and encouragement, I could never have developed my riding as quickly as I did.
Secondly, I am fortunate to live within easy cycling distance of a variety of gravel trails which made regular training so much easier than it might have been, albeit a bit repetitive at times. I began to see the Downs Link in my sleep 🚴🚴🚴
Another key factor was getting an indoor trainer, power meter and bike computer. This gave me a way to quantify and monitor my training, while services such as Wahoo X, Rouvy and Training Peaks made that training both fun and productive. Together these all helped me to reach the level of cycling fitness that would be required to have a chance of completing the ride.
But by far the biggest factor was the support and encouragement of my family, with Christine selflessly allowing me to put a part of our life on hold to put in the training miles. What's more, my son Jon agreed (absolutely not knowing what he was getting into) to join me for the ride and share the weekly slogs up and down the gravel tracks of Sussex.
In February we booked our places on the ride, and by June we had tested ourselves with enough tougher and longer gravel rides to have some confidence that we could make it. Everything was booked and in place, and then Iceland played its first wildcard a week before our trip with a new volcanic eruption not far from the airport. In typical laid-back Icelandic fashion, the race organisers emailed us to say we shouldn't panic, as it was 'just a small eruption and not very close to the ride route'. So we didn't panic... much. We packed our bikes into travel boxes and on 19th July flew to Reykjavik, though sadly missing a view of the eruption due to being on the wrong side of the plane for the airport approach.
We were now three, as my other son Rob had joined us for the holiday and was acting as the team manager and responsible adult (I am barred for life from this responsibility, a long story involving a stag do and quad bikes that I won't go into here). So we needed a bit more space - and after upgrading to a bigger hire car (bike boxes are unhelpfully huge and un-squashable), we set off to our rented chalet near Hella, picking up supplies on the way in Selfoss (but not beer, as alcohol is state-controlled in Iceland and can only be bought from dedicated 'Vinbudin' shops that closed before we got there). The accommodation proved to be excellent, though the whingeing about alcohol controls didn't really subside until we had managed to stock up at the Hvolsvöllur Vinbudin the following day...
One advantage of Iceland in summer is that you have around 20 hours of daylight. So every day started bright and early - and on the first morning we set up the bikes and took them for a short ride to check all was working ok. Privately, I found the ride to be a bit tough - so I wasn't feeling that positive for the challenge to come 2 days later. However, I had another quick spin the following day and for some reason felt far stronger - much to my relief.
As the purpose of this blog is to focus on the Rift ride I won't go into the details of the other sights we saw in Iceland, save to say that we most unexpectedly 'won the lottery' with excellent weather, and crammed in as many remarkable experiences as humanly possible - volcanos, geysers, waterfalls, glaciers, lava fields, geothermal vents, boiling mud pools, black sand beaches, isolated churches, downtown Reykjavik, puffins... and the occasional Vinbudin.
When the great day dawned, Rob went into full team manager mode and made sure we were well fed and delivered to the start on time for the 06:50 pre-race briefing. At this point, surrounded by hundreds of riders who all looked far fitter and more confident than we felt, things started to get a little more serious...
There were around 500 riders signed up for the full 200K/128 mile route, and we found ourselves reasonably close to the back of the pack for the start. Even so, the initial 5 miles on road was taken at a fair pace and we drifted still further back, making sure we burned no matches and were nicely warmed up before the rougher stuff started. When the route turned to gravel we started to pass some people, but then learned our mistake... In the early stages of the ride the trails were very congested, and as soon as someone came off or had to stop, we all ground to a near halt. This only lasted for about 5 miles before everyone spaced out, but it was enough to make the start pretty slow going. Now I know why the serious types all jostle to be at the front (not that we could have lived with them, though 😉).
These early miles were quite reassuring - nothing too difficult and fairly clear trails without too many rocks. The scenery was already breathtaking, but with promise of something truly epic still to come. It was at this stage, about 10 miles in, that we reached the first river crossing. These were an eagerly anticipated highlight of the ride, but we were really unsure how best to handle them. One question was whether to ride across or carry the bike, another was how best to manage having wet feet. The ride organisers had arranged a dry bag drop at the mid point, but we opted to carry extra socks with us. Jon also had some very cool white shoe covers that promised to keep your feet dry - while I finally decided on a less high tech approach and just to get wet. My only concession, based on extensive research, was to have some decent merino socks.
Within a few minutes of making the first crossing and setting off again we had learned our lessons about fording Icelandic rivers.... 1) Your feet will get absolutely soaked. Shoe covers only serve to keep the water in, and are probably worse than useless. 2) Merino socks rule - yes, you'll get icy cold, sodden feet in the river, but within minutes of riding again your footsies will be toasty warm. 3) Walking the rivers is the safest bet uness you are racing - though we didn't that see many failed attempts to ride them. However falling here means getting totally soaked from head to foot - so with some of the rivers more than knee deep we resolved that riding them was a roll of the dice too far. The rest of the river crossings proved uneventful after that, and in practice we didn't change our socks for the whole ride.
A few miles later we reached the first of the 5 aid stations/feed stops on the route. The tactic for these seemed to be to have an increasing range of energy and food stuff at successive stations, so this first one had little more than water, gummy bears and gels - but only 13 miles in, that was fine. Another function of the aid stations was to check the timing of the riders so they could be pulled up if they were not making the time cut. Although many riders were regular gravel junkies and had trained hard and travelled far for this, the attrition was still noticeable. Around 10-15% of those attempting the longer 200K route missed the cut at some point or abandoned the ride part way.
The ride profile had looked pretty encouraging on paper - consistent climbing in the first 40-50 miles and then somewhat flat or downhill for most of the rest of the course. It follows a counter clockwise loop around one of the most famous of the Icelandic volcanos, Hekla. Technically a stratovolcano, Hekla has been responsible for producing one of the greatest volumes of lava of any volcano in the world in the last millennium. Encouragingly, it was known in the Middle Ages as the 'Gateway to Hell'. Even more encouragingly, the longer it waits between eruptions, the worse they are - and it usually erupts approximately every 10 years but the last eruption was over 20 years ago. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, the next 30 miles after the first aid station did indeed become tougher, with around 2,300 feet of climbing and increasingly rocky or sandy trails as we headed northwards into the lava fields to the east of Hekla. However, we were still feeling pretty fresh, and the ever more jaw-dropping scenery was enough to distract us from much of the effort involved in the ride so far.
In general the climbing was a relatively manageable 3-4%, though the trail conditions meant that finding a rideable path skirting the rocks and volcanic sand was sometimes quite challenging. Whenever the gradient kicked up it quickly became a lot more serious, especially on longer climbs and when the rideable trail was so narrow that passing slower or stationary riders was near impossible. However, we pressed on until we reached the high point of the ride at a little over 40 miles in. Cresting a long hill, I stopped for a brief rest and to admire the view. It was then that I was accosted by the 'beer elf' - a friendly Icelander riding his mountain bike in the opposite direction just for a fun day out (naturally...). He sized me up... 'You look like a man in need of beer!' - and as if by magic, from his backpack he produced a can of excellent lime-infused light beer. After a friendly chat and sharing the refreshments, we were joined by another rider who happened to mention that he had lost a cleat bolt and was struggling to continue, hoping to survive to the next aid station. Being a bit of a boy-scout when it comes to ride planning, I had some spares with me and was able to help the chap out - so, free beer and a whole stash of brownie points all in one go 😜
From here on the ride was flatter or generally descending, yet if anything the scenery became ever more gobsmacking, with gnarly lava fields and towering volcanos all around. Even so, we knew that the scenic high point of the ride was still to come - scaling the fabled 'Mjölnir climb' at the foot of the Krakatindur volcano. Think 'Frodo and Samwise enter Mordor' and you are on the right lines. This climb has two alternate routes - one verging on the impossible and another you can bottle out on that is just plain serious (and also known by the 'Rifters' as the 'walk of shame' 🙄). By this point we were beginning to feel the effect of all that sandy and rocky climbing in our legs, so I reassured Jon that we had 2 route options - before giving him no choice and setting off like a berserker up the steep one. Well, what's a proud Yorkshireman to do? As for Jon, he wasn't going to be shamed by the old man, was he? It wasn't a question of whether we would get off and walk - only when. Near 20% gradient of rock and sand doesn't take prisoners. However, when we finally hauled ourselves over the top we knew we could at last truly hold our heads high as gravel biking Vikings!
After this adrenaline rush, the dawning realisation that we still had around 80 miles to go came as quite a downer. Fortunately though, there was no way to pull out now. Like the chicken and pig in a bacon and egg breakfast, though the chicken is only involved, we as pigs were truly committed... At least the major climbing was over and it was 'all downhill from here'. A phrase I would come to regret... big time.
What I haven't mentioned so far is the playful Icelandic approach to health and safety. It's not unusual to come across something like a boiling lake with just a 'no swimming' sign for protection. Basically, on much of the Rift ride you could kill yourself quite easily without going very far or trying very hard. Not a warning sign in sight. Nada. Most of the signposts (which were very clear and helpful, by the way) had somewhat tongue-in-cheek comments to keep you smiling ('This isn't a river - it's just the mountain sweating'). However, at around 4 places there were actual 'Danger' signs. We quickly sussed that if even the locals thought something was dangerous, we really should pay close attention. The most 'fun' of these was a perilously steep slope made up of around 200 metres of deep sand - you couldn't really ride it, it was more like surfing and praying you'd get to the bottom in one piece. Fortunately, we did 😜
Around 60 miles in we were definitely looking for a respite - and the next 30 miles of benign looking flattish gravel roads seemed just the ticket. We arrived at another riverside aid station (the drinking water is taken from the rivers, which are remarkably fresh and clear) - but before stopping we were directed round a 10 mile loop that had been added onto the ride. Coming straight off the rather deep river crossing we started on the loop, only to realise that we had hit the dreaded 'washboard' that had been muttered about with much profanity by riders from previous years. The gravel roads of the interior of Iceland are called 'F roads' - and I finally learned why. Scarcely 100 yards would go by without another anguished cry of 'What the F...' from Jon as we were pounded by endless peaks and troughs of hardened gravel running parallel to our path. To make our joy complete, the sides of the trails where these ridges were smaller were filled with deep sand traps, leaving almost nowhere to hide. You either got pummelled, sucked to a standstill, or thrown off. You really have to experience this stuff to understand just how awful it is - looking at the pictures and videos just doesn't do it justice. And there was around 30 miles of it. 30 miles!!! Thank goodness we didn't know that at the time, or that it would be worse this year because the ground was relatively dry. Whoever added that additional 10 mile loop of the stuff was clearly working hard on their sadism A level homework.
The next aid station arrived just in time, and we stuffed ourselves with everything we could find that might replenish our energy levels - but where was the beer elf with more alcohol to dull the pain? Oh well, nothing for it but to press on... at least we were half way. Hang on - only half way? 😳 60 miles of this still to go? You cannot be serious...
At around 80 miles we reached the 4th aid station, and then 'Hallelujah' - tarmac road! It lasted around 200 metres before we were diverted into another loop of washboard 😱. 200 metres! That's like giving a man dying in the desert a drop of water on the lips before taking the bottle away again. At least this second loop was only 5 miles and the trail was lined with Iceland's summer lupins and actually quite pretty in places...
But hey - remember the guy with the sadism A level? Well I think he was still on the job, because after a couple of miles of lupins and only mild discomfort we turned abrupt left onto the rocky road from hell... a mile of scattered 'baby head' rocks lined with the ubiquitous sand traps. The expletive quotient went up to eleven as we bounced and weaved our way back to the relative calm of the washboard. And then, 2 miles later, arrived back where we had started from at the aid station... 🤪. Only 48 miles to go...
The rest of the ride was, to be honest, probably the easiest bit of the whole route - but it didn't feel like it because this is where the headwinds kicked in. We had a good portion of tarmac still to come, and relatively rolling gravel with just a few climbs left (though always 'just one more' when we thought we were done). But the headwind was relentless and just sapped our legs and willpower. We did get faster, quite a bit faster, but if anyone had offered an honourable way to bail out I think we might have been tempted to take it. Even the tarmac roads were untrustworthy, as they would be replaced by rough gravel for no obvious reason whatsoever - tarmac, then gravel, then tarmac again - all in the same stretch of a few straight miles. The final aid station came at around 107 miles in - we now knew we would make it, but the thought of another 20 miles was still weighing us down...
With around 12 miles to go the route rejoined the trail we had ridden on the way out. But what had been exciting sweeping gravel runs down to scenic river crossings around 12 hours before now looked like mountains to climb and icy trauma for our pummelled bodies and befuddled minds. How could we not have noticed all this climbing before the end? Well, we hadn't...
I found this last section really quite tough - and Jon was also near broken after surviving the same 120 miles on a much less forgiving wheel and tyre setup. However, the boy came good and his 'do or die' instinct kicked in. By the time we were back on the road heading for the finish in Hvolsvöllur, I was having trouble keeping up with him in his eagerness to reach the finish and make it all stop. We crossed the line together - bruised and battered but unbowed. It seemed like the perfect ending - until Jon discovered that because I had let him lead at the start so I could film him, I had a time one second faster than his. Oh how I laughed... 😂
So looking back on it, did the Rift live up to all the hype and expectations? It absolutely smashed it! The route was truly epic, we lucked out on the weather and the event organisation and support were reassuringly excellent (not least the distractingly pretty emergency rescue ladies in their enormous 4*4s cheering us on along the way - it was almost a shame that we didn't get injured and stretchered off). All in all, the Lauf team had put on a fantastic event - we even had our names and nationalities called out over the loudspeakers at the finish line like conquering heroes before the assembled masses (ok, the few folk still there). It exceeded all our expectations in terms of spectacle, adventure, sheer relentless effort and post-ride 'we really did that' satisfaction. We simply could not have asked for more.
As for our performance, well our goal had been to relish the experience, finish the ride and have as much fun along the way as we could. Tick. We had made it with an hour to spare before the cutoff, having spent around 90 mins taking photos, drinking beer and chatting to various folk along the way. Could we have shaved off some of the time? Well definitely, by riding rather than sightseeing, by shortening the feed stops and being more savvy about our positioning in the early stages. Maybe a different bike setup would have helped a bit too, now we properly understand the terrain.
But would going an hour or more faster (perhaps) have made it a better experience? I don't think so - we are definitely not racers, and might never do this ride again, so it would have been a tragedy to pass all that epic natural beauty just looking at our bike computers and scanning the road ahead for the next death trap. Looking at the grimy, exhausted yet exultant faces at the finish was enough to see that everyone felt pretty much the same. We really had stormed the Gates of Valhalla and come away with the T shirt (honestly - it's very exclusive and rather nice. Got us lots of high fives and admiring glances in bars and at Reykjavik airport 😀)
And would I recommend it to anyone looking for a bucket list cycling adventure? As some might say, 'Hell, yeah'! I was possibly the oldest guy on the ride 😳, but it's clearly not out of the question for a fit 65 year old (the other chap born in the same year was from the USA and smashed my time, and a lady a year older than us two also completed the ride). Though it's tough, I suspect it would still be doable for quite a few years to come given health and consistent training. You do need to be, or become, pretty cycling fit - if you aren't a hardened gravel junkie already I'd recommend that you allow a good 6 months of preparation, put in lots of training miles and hill climbing on gravel, and test your endurance with a few local gravel events and at least one 100 mile or longer ride a couple of months before you go, so you have time to tune the training if you need to. You'll need to average at least 10 mph over 13 hrs to be sure of making the cut - that would be fine on nice rolling gravel but it's a challenge on this harder terrain. The South Downs is a great proving ground - the trails are not quite as tough as Iceland but can still be gnarly, and the Downs probably outdo the Rift in terms of the gradients and relentlessness of the climbs. If you can do the distance on the South Downs, you'll manage the Rift.
As for equipment, you could use a mountain bike but a gravel bike is ideal - and if you have a suspension fork, such as the Lauf, that would certainly make the washboard just a little less punishing. There was a great deal of very expensive kit out there, and my bike is a Mason Bokeh with all the trimmings so also not cheap - but Jon rode on an £800 Cannondale that saw him through more than a thousand miles of hard training and performed spectacularly well out in Iceland. With careful planning and booking well in advance, the whole trip can be an amazing holiday and not necessarily mega-expensive - with an epic biking adventure thrown in.
The only question I have now is... 'how do you follow that'? 🤪
For more details and to get in line for the next ride, check out the dedicated Rift website
*Image courtesy of guidetoiceland.is
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