Tölt - A Bikepacking Adventure | Maloja Clothing GmbH

Three weeks, two bikes, one plan

We set out to cross Iceland: 1,500 kilometers, 15,000 meters of elevation gain, twice four days without access to food or water. Dehydrated meals, water filters, tents. What we expected: barren highlands, hot springs, rugged gravel roads. What we didn’t expect: illness, separation — and that all of it would put our friendship to the test.

Friday night, Northern Germany

Miri stands in my kitchen, flushed, tissues in hand. “It’s not that bad,” she says. We both know that’s not true. After months of preparation, the last thing anyone wants is for a cold to ruin everything. Since 2017, we’ve been connected through mountain biking — and a kind of unspoken understanding you rarely find.

Little did we know

When we land in Iceland, Miri can barely walk. We crash in a stuffy airport hotel and face the decision neither of us wants to make: she stays — I ride. My first-ever solo bikepacking trip. Three days of solitude. Harsh gravel, endless hike-a-bike sections, nights in a tent with only sheep for company. I wrestle with myself — and with the thought that our adventure might be over before it even really begins.

Then: a reunion. We ride together for five days — until I get sick. Fever, exhaustion. Another separation. Another change of plans. Our original route was ambitious — but Iceland had its own ideas.

Between tears, ice, and volcanic gravel

In the end, our planned big loop became a mosaic of possibilities. After recovering, Miri continued parts of the journey by bus. Together, we pushed through desolate expanses, across lava fields, and through rivers. We ended up riding more of the Ring Road than expected, trying to make up for lost time. Some days, everything fell apart — and others made it all worth it.

We watched puffins by the sea, petted Icelandic foals. The sheep, unfortunately, kept their distance. In Landmannalaugar, we sat in a hot spring under the midnight sky, surrounded by colorful mountains. We stood among ice chunks at Diamond Beach and felt the ground tremble beneath us when a volcano erupted 150 kilometers away. Iceland revealed itself in all its rawness — and in its tenderness.

We lived off freeze-dried meals, bread, cheese, tomatoes, chocolate, and tea. The water filters stayed unused. But we learned to readjust — daily. Illnesses, lost gear, technical failures — Iceland didn’t just test our equipment. It tested our patience. When both of Miri’s AXS derailleur batteries died and we realized the charger was missing, we managed — through Icelandic contacts — to track down the only 4-slot charger in the country. Shipped to a post office, 1.5 days of riding with a single gear. Expensive, but solvable. We found out that most things are solvable — one way or another

Not perfect, but real

We didn’t hit our original mileage goal. But we achieved something else: enduring each other in moments of doubt. Adjusting the route when our bodies said no. Honestly communicating what was still possible — and what wasn’t.

Iceland wasn’t our most physically challenging adventure. But it was emotionally demanding. Unpredictable. Raw. And because of that — unforgettable.

What remains?

Not the perfect route. Not the elevation stats. But the laughter in the tent. The silence when words weren’t enough. The awe that made us stop mid-ride just to take it all in. 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 glimpse into what happens when you set off with a plan — and find something much more valuable along the way: trust. In each other. In yourself. And the certainty that you can move forward together. Even if it’s just in one gear

Text: Katharina Kruse and Mirjam Kuhn
Photo & Film: Björn Reschabeck

Between tears, ice, and volcanic gravel

In the end, our planned big loop became a mosaic of possibilities. After recovering, Miri continued parts of the journey by bus. Together, we pushed through desolate expanses, across lava fields, and through rivers. We ended up riding more of the Ring Road than expected, trying to make up for lost time. Some days, everything fell apart — and others made it all worth it.

We watched puffins by the sea, petted Icelandic foals. The sheep, unfortunately, kept their distance. In Landmannalaugar, we sat in a hot spring under the midnight sky, surrounded by colorful mountains. We stood among ice chunks at Diamond Beach and felt the ground tremble beneath us when a volcano erupted 150 kilometers away. Iceland revealed itself in all its rawness — and in its tenderness.

We lived off freeze-dried meals, bread, cheese, tomatoes, chocolate, and tea. The water filters stayed unused. But we learned to readjust — daily. Illnesses, lost gear, technical failures — Iceland didn’t just test our equipment. It tested our patience. When both of Miri’s AXS derailleur batteries died and we realized the charger was missing, we managed — through Icelandic contacts — to track down the only 4-slot charger in the country. Shipped to a post office, 1.5 days of riding with a single gear. Expensive, but solvable. We found out that most things are solvable — one way or another

Not perfect, but real

We didn’t hit our original mileage goal. But we achieved something else: enduring each other in moments of doubt. Adjusting the route when our bodies said no. Honestly communicating what was still possible — and what wasn’t.

Iceland wasn’t our most physically challenging adventure. But it was emotionally demanding. Unpredictable. Raw. And because of that — unforgettable.

What remains?

Not the perfect route. Not the elevation stats. But the laughter in the tent. The silence when words weren’t enough. The awe that made us stop mid-ride just to take it all in. 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 glimpse into what happens when you set off with a plan — and find something much more valuable along the way: trust. In each other. In yourself. And the certainty that you can move forward together. Even if it’s just in one gear

Text: Katharina Kruse and Mirjam Kuhn
Photo & Film: Björn Reschabeck

Between Ice, Fire, and Friendship

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