After sharing the full story of my overland adventure in Iceland, I wanted to circle back to that unforgettable trip and spotlight a few of the standout moments; the biggest views, most powerful waterfalls, best riding roads, and happiest memories from two weeks motorcycling through the land of fire and ice.
If you missed the original post, here’s the short version:
I rode my trusty BMW F650GS across Iceland with Globebusters on a two-week adventure tour. It was everything I hoped for and more. Iceland stole a little piece of my soul and gifted me motorcycle travel memories I’ll carry for a lifetime.
This second post is a bit of a listicle. Well, it is a blog, after all. In true Splodz Blogz fashion, you’ll find a handful of highlights from the trip, plus a couple of the not-so-highlights – because the best stories always come with a few bumps in the road.
Ten Motorcycling in Iceland Highlights
01 ALL the Waterfalls
In Iceland, every day is a waterfall day. They’re everywhere, cascading from cliffs, tumbling beside roads, roaring in the distance. The sheer variety is staggering: tall and thunderous, delicate and misty, wide and wild. You’ll find the big hitters – Skógafoss, Gullfoss, Seljalandsfoss, Dettifoss – but honestly, ride or drive anywhere and you’ll spot waterfalls every few metres. It’s wonderful.
I did wonder if waterfall fatigue might set in, but no. Each one is uniquely impressive, and we never tired of the “wow, look at that!” intercom commentary.
My favourite? Dynjandi. We reached this tiered beauty after riding a gravel mountain pass from Þingeyri, post-waffles with jam, naturally. Also known as Fjallfoss, Dynjandi is the largest waterfall in the Westfjords, standing at a majestic 100 metres. It’s not your average roadside cascade. Below it tumble five more falls; Háifoss, Úðafoss, Göngufoss, Hundafoss, and Bæjarfoss, each adding to the drama.
The name “Dynjandi” means “thunderous,” and it lived up to that. The sound, the scale, the setting – it was absolutely worth the mountain ride. We even took a short walk to view the smaller falls from above, watching them roar their way to the sea. A highlight in every sense.
02 Moonscape at Möðrudalur
It wasn’t the most technical off-road stretch we tackled in Iceland, but the 901 from Skjoldolfsstair to Möðrudalur was easily my favourite bit of dirt. There was something so otherworldly about it – riding across that barren, brown, dusty, gravelly, hilly terrain felt like crossing the moon. And I absolutely loved it.
The landscape was stark and strange, completely devoid of vegetation, and weird in the best possible way. As we rode the 25-mile wide gravel road, dust billowed behind us, stretching so far that our little group of three – me, my husband, and our friend – ended up spaced out like lone riders in a vast, lunar expanse. I’ve said it before: one of my favourite places to be is the middle of nowhere. And this was exactly that.
Möðrudalur is the highest inhabited farm in Iceland, perched at 469 metres above sea level. Arriving at Fjallakaffi, with its tin walls and grass roof, felt like stumbling upon an oasis in the desert. It’s a brilliant stop for motorcyclists: café, toilets, campsite, lodgings, a church, and more. We’d been told in our Globebusters briefing the night before that this was the place to get an Icelandic doughnut. So of course, I did exactly that.
03 Surviving the F35
One of the main reasons we chose to go motorcycling in Iceland with a group rather than solo was for backup on the country’s famous dirt roads. One of the most iconic? The F35 – a 100-mile unmade road that cuts through the heart of Iceland, winding over hills with sweeping glacier views.
The first few miles lulled me into a false sense of security: smooth, wide, almost serene. But soon enough, it morphed into the off-road track my research had warned me about. Gnarly, rocky, gravelly, muddy, corrugated – and every bit as fun as I’d imagined. It was well within my riding abilities, and most would find it manageable, but it was a solid challenge.
The toughest part? It was relentless. One hundred miles of standing on the pegs, navigating a trail that shook both bike and bones to the core – though thankfully not to pieces.
We stopped twice: first for lunch at the boiling mud pools of Hveravellir Nature Reserve, about halfway along the F35. I nearly dipped into the (less muddy!) hot pools, but it was chucking it down and I chickened out. Our second, shorter stop was at Arbudir café, apparently famous for its carrot cake, though there wasn’t any left when we arrived. I still regret not spending the €100 on the hand-knitted green wool jumper the woman running the café had just finished.
Beyond those stops, it was 100 miles of vast, barren beauty. Riding the F35 – on my own GS – felt like ‘achievement unlocked’ in every way. A motorcycling memory etched deep.
04 Single Track Tunnel
Let me start with a confession: I don’t like tunnels. They’re tolerable when you can see the exit before the entrance disappears, but anything longer – and especially anything with bends – makes me distinctly uneasy. I’ve never understood why a tunnel would have a bend. Surely a straight line is more sensible?
So, including a tunnel as a motorcycling in Iceland highlight is a bit of a curveball. It wasn’t something I spotted on the route and thought, “Oh yes, that’ll be fun.” But this one earns its place for being truly unusual.
The Tunnel von Ísafjörður nach Önundarfjörður, on Route 60 between Ísafjörður and Holt, is a two-way, single-lane tunnel with passing places. That’s right, like a narrow country lane in Britain, where you pull in to let oncoming traffic pass… but inside a tunnel. Oh, and there’s a T-junction in the middle. Because why not?!
It was strange, slightly surreal, and surprisingly fun. I won’t be seeking out other single-lane tunnels on future trips – or any tunnels, really – but this one made for a cool and quirky riding memory.
05 The Tectonic Plates
My friends know I’m a sucker for a good rock formation, so the fact that Þingvellir was one of our first stops on the Iceland motorcycle trip was a win from the get-go. This National Park is a protected area of dramatic rocky scenery, lakes, and ridges – and it’s where you can clearly see the Atlantic Ocean Ridge slicing through Iceland. It’s also the site of the world’s first parliament (general assembly), which sat here over a thousand years ago. How’s that for a place to visit?
The National Shrine was fascinating, but it was the meeting of the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates that really caught my attention. The gap – known as the rift valley – isn’t a narrow gorge but a vast, shifting plain. It’s moving all the time, slowly but steadily pulling the continents apart. You can read more about the geology in this guide to Iceland’s tectonic plates if you’re curious.
It’s even possible to snorkel or scuba dive in one of the (icy!) lakes between the plates. I didn’t have time to do that on this trip, but if I ever get the chance to return to Iceland, it’ll be the first thing I book.
06 Mountain Riding
Iceland served up plenty of mountain passes; some paved, some unpaved. Wide and sweeping, narrow and winding. I’d love to say they all came with epic views, but low cloud and rain had other ideas on a few days. Still, we caught enough big vistas to make the climbs more than just a motorcycling workout.
This memory is about Route 626, an unpaved mountain pass in northwest Iceland between Þingeyri and Hrafnseyri. It’s almost certainly the gnarliest road I’ve ever ridden, even more so than the F35 mentioned earlier. Steep, narrow, rocky, rutty in places, and peppered with hairpin bends.
It was a technical ride, at least for me. But thanks to a break in the weather, the views across the fjords were breathtaking. Still, it wasn’t just the road that made this a highlight. There was an alternative route – a tunnel straight through the mountain. It would’ve been easy to give in to the anxiety (and the rain) and meet the others at the promised waterfall on the other side.
Julia, one half of Globebusters, noticed my hesitation and gently encouraged me to go for it. She celebrated with me when I overcame the wobble and made it over the mountain. And of course, it wasn’t nearly as difficult as I’d built it up to be. The views, the challenge, the sense of accomplishment, it all added up to a lasting motorcycling memory.
07 Rainbows in the Westfjords
The higgledy-piggledy, finger-like landmass of Iceland’s northwest – the Westfjords – is simply stunning. Apparently, only about 10% of Iceland’s visitors ever make it out here, and they’re really missing out. (Although… maybe don’t all go. Its charm lies partly in how empty it is.)
We spent two or three days exploring this region, with overnight stops in Heydalur (more on that in a minute) and Patreksfjörður. It was a true highlight of the trip; this is what motorcycling in Iceland was all about for me.
The landscape? Nothing short of incredible. Towering cliffs, deep fjords, ALL the birds (complete with “low flying bird” signs), and plenty of other wildlife. Tiny fishing villages with colourful houses. Hundreds of miles of winding roads. Some of this area is only accessible in summer, which is one reason we chose August for our adventure.
The mountain passes – mostly gravel – were slippery and slimy in the wet (hence the free jet washes on the edge of every village!). But the rain-soaked vistas gave us that lush “Iceland green” everywhere we looked… and rainbow after rainbow. A magical reward for braving the drizzle.
08 Húsavík Harbour
Not strictly a motorcycling-in-Iceland memory, but half the joy of a road trip is ending up in places you can wander and explore. Húsavík is one of those places, a truly beautiful town.
Perched on the north coast, Húsavík is Iceland’s oldest settlement and proudly wears the title of ‘whale capital of Iceland’. Up to 23 species of whale, including the mighty Blue Whale, can be spotted in the bay, along with large colonies of puffins.
It’s also the site of the first house ever built in Iceland, way back in 860. The photo you’ve probably seen is of the harbour, with the iconic Húsavíkurkirkja, a wooden church dating to 1907, standing proudly in the background.
We arrived to glorious weather, wandered the fishing harbour, and sat overlooking the calm water with fish and chips from a local takeaway. Sitting outside in the warm evening sunshine, on what was nearly Iceland’s hottest day on record, felt slightly surreal – but it made for a pretty perfect highlight.
Húsavík is the kind of town I’d happily spend a full day off in, just wandering, soaking it all in, and letting time slow down.
09 Natural Hot Spring
I had a little list of must-dos for our motorcycling in Iceland road trip, and this was firmly on it: take a dip in a natural hot spring. I got my chance at Heydalur, a farm-based hotel tucked inside a nature reserve in the Westfjords. We were truly in the middle of nowhere – surrounded by fast-flowing rivers and towering mountains.
There was a natural hot pool just a ten-minute walk from our room. I tried to reach it, but thanks to the hot weather causing extra snowmelt, and the relentless rain, the river was high and fast. The stepping-stones were completely submerged, and there was no way I was making it across safely.
Instead, I settled for the slightly less natural version within the hotel compound. Still outdoors, still fed by the local hot spring, just with a bit of concrete landscaping. It was more than enough.
After a gruelling 300-mile day, complete with a full dose of angry Icelandic weather (more on that in the not-so-highlights section), sinking into hot water with a wild rural view was exactly the medicine I needed.
10 Licking Icebergs
Iceland is known as the land of fire and ice. I’ve already talked about the hot springs, but we saw plenty of ice, too. On day two of our trip, we got up close to glaciers and icebergs, and it was something special.
We parked near Svínafellsjökull and walked the 15-minute trail to the foot of the glacier. Later that day, we visited the famous and much-photographed iceberg beach and lagoon at Jökulsárlón, in the southern part of Vatnajökull National Park.
At Jökulsárlón, we watched ice calve off the glacier and drift into the lagoon, then followed the icebergs as they floated down the river, under the road bridge, and out to sea. It was stunningly beautiful… and deeply worrying. So much ice melt.
The icebergs on the black sand beach were crystal clear and melting fast. And yes, I did lick an iceberg. I’m sure you would’ve too. You would, right?
The Not-So Highlights
It wouldn’t be a Splodz Blogz highlights post (have you read my coast-to-coast one?) without also mentioning some of the tougher moments from motorcycling in Iceland. Because, as the adventurers say, memories are really made when things get hard.
The Weather
Getting out into Iceland’s vast and wild landscapes was the very reason I brought my motorbike to this island – and it was, without question, the best part of the trip. But it also tested our resilience. Icelandic weather is famously wet and windy, and we got a full dose of it from day one, leaning into crosswinds as we rode from Dyrhólaey to Vík.
We faced gale-force winds, persistent heavy rain, and thick fog. I was very glad for my waterproofs and warm layers – especially my boots. And while I’m not here to moan about the weather (it’s part of the deal when motorcycling in Iceland), one particular experience deserves its own mention.
Getting Blown Over
Day seven was when we truly felt the wrath of Icelandic weather.
We were riding the 550, passing Langjökull – the second-largest ice cap in Iceland, where the ice reaches up to 580 metres thick. The dirt road was winding, undulating, and completely exposed. It was stunning; wild and desolate. It could have, should have, been a highlight.
But as we crested a hill, I heard the unmistakable mutter of a wobble from my husband, riding just out of sight. He’d been blown over. His BMW R1200GS was lying on its side in the dirt.
My Turn
After checking he was okay (because we’re nice like that), our friend and I helped get his bike upright. As we pulled away again, another ridiculous gust hit, and this time, it took both of us down.
I landed hard and rolled over, a little stunned. It happened so fast. Comical, really, but also a bit scary. That wind was brutal. Adrenaline pumping, we just wanted off that hilltop.
The damage? A broken hand guard on the 1200, some cracked plastic on mine (I did worse on that Adventure Bike Training course!), and a few surface bruises from landing in the thankfully soft dirt. Those GSs are built tough, no doubt about that.
We got moving again and rode the next 30 or 40 miles of dirt, doing our best to enjoy the scenery while trying to predict the gusts. Writing about it now, I struggle to convey the drama and fear. It’s become one of those strange, surreal memories, much like riding through a sandstorm in Death Valley. You had to be there.
Group Experience
Later, we met up with others in the group at a service stop and swapped stories. We weren’t the only ones to get blown over. Every rider had their own “that was scary” moment from that morning.
This is one of the reasons why overlanding with others is so valuable; only those who were on that hillside can truly understand what it felt like. I probably should’ve recorded a little piece to camera in the aftermath to capture it properly, but you’ll just have to take my word for it: an experience I’ll never forget.
Zero Visibility
Aside from the wind drama, we had plenty of wet and windy days – plus a mini heatwave – and we just got on with it. If you’re heading to Iceland, whether on a bike or otherwise, go prepared for whatever the weather decides to throw at you.
Sadly, the rain and fog meant our planned ride on the F570 to and around Snæfellsjökull, the glacier-topped stratovolcano in the far west, was off the cards. It was meant to be Iceland’s last hurrah, our final riding day before returning to Reykjavík. But with low cloud and heavy rain, there seemed little point in tackling a twisty, rocky mountain pass to see… nothing.
I was disappointed, of course. But Snæfellsjökull will still be there if and when we return.
Next Time
Our two weeks motorcycling in Iceland gave us just a taste of what this extraordinary country has to offer. We travelled further and lingered longer than many visitors do, yet it still feels like we only scratched the surface. My return-to-Iceland list is already growing – diving between tectonic plates, finally reaching Snæfellsjökull, and soaking in even more wild hot springs are right at the top.
But if this post has done its job, I hope you’ve felt the pull of Iceland’s raw beauty, it’s strange charm, and its unforgettable roads. It exceeded every expectation I placed on it – visually, emotionally, and in the quiet moments between the miles.
If you’ve never been, or if you’ve only skimmed the surface from the city or the ring road, put it on your list. You won’t be disappointed.
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