TOLT: Between Ice, Fire, and Friendship (Video)

Photos and video by Björn Reschabek

Three weeks, two bikes, and one ambitious plan: 1,500 kilometers with 15,000 meters of elevation. We packed dehydrated meals, water filters, and a tent, expecting barren highlands, hot springs, and rugged gravel roads. What we didn’t expect was illness, separation, and a friendship pushed to its limits.

A Rocky Start

The night before our flight, Miri (@mirj.kuhn) stands in my kitchen, flushed and clutching tissues. “It’s not that bad,” she insists. We both know better. After months of preparation, a simple cold threatens to derail everything.

By the time we land in Iceland, Miri can barely walk. The decision is painful: she stays, I ride. My first solo bikepacking trip. Three days of solitude, harsh gravel, endless hike-a-bike sections, and nights in a tent with only sheep for company. I grapple with doubt, fearing our adventure might end before it truly begins.

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Reunion and Relapse

We reunite and ride together for five days—until I fall ill. Fever, exhaustion. Another separation, another change of plans. Miri sets off alone, exploring Iceland’s rugged north, far from tourist trails. After five nights at a hostel in Akureyri, we are united again, making our way along the east coast heading south.

Our grand loop becomes a mosaic of possibilities. We push through desolate expanses, lava fields, and rivers, riding more of the Ring Road than planned. Some days unravel; others make it all worthwhile.

We watch puffins by the sea, pet Icelandic foals, and soak in a midnight hot spring in Landmannalaugar, surrounded by colorful mountains. At Diamond Beach, we stand among ice chunks and feel the ground tremble from a distant volcanic eruption.

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Learning to Adapt

We live on freeze-dried meals, bread, cheese, tomatoes, chocolate, and tea. We learn to adjust daily. Illness, lost gear, technical failures—Iceland tests not just our equipment, but our patience.

When both of Miri’s AXS derailleur batteries die and we realize the charger is missing, we track down the country’s only four-slot charger, shipped to a post office. Miri rides a day and a half with a single gear.

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Not Perfect, But Real

We didn’t meet our mileage goal. But we gained something else: enduring each other in moments of doubt, adjusting plans when our bodies said no, and communicating honestly about what was possible (and what wasn’t).

Iceland wasn’t our toughest physical challenge. But it was emotionally demanding, unpredictable, and raw. And because of that, it was unforgettable.

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What Remains

Not the perfect route or elevation stats. But the laughter in the tent. The silence when words weren’t enough. The awe that made us stop mid-ride. The howl of the wind in vast, empty spaces. The decision to keep going, even when nothing went to plan.

Our story is an honest look at what happens when you set out with a plan and find something much more valuable: trust. In each other. In yourself. And the certainty that you can move forward together, even if it’s just in one gear.

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