Storyworth: Death Defying
When I first encountered this question, I thought surely I must have done, but I couldn’t think of a story. Then came our most recent trip to Iceland.
Everyone tells you that if humans were really rational, we’d be much more worried about travelling by car than almost anything else we do. That lesson really came home to me as we drove back to Reykjavik from a lovely day on the Snaefellsnes peninsula.
We’d gone up to visit the Vatnshellir Cave, inspiration for Journey to the Center of the Earth. It’s an impressive magma tube, but the real highlight is the scenery along the way. Snow covered volcanoes on one side, pounding waves on the other, mysterious standing rocks and vast fields in between make for stunning views. We stopped along the way for a delicious lunch at the Langaholt Guest House and made it up to the cave in time for our three o’clock tour.
The day was overcast and colder than it had been in Reykjavik, with a strong wind blowing. Traversing the hundred feet from the welcome center to the cave entrance was a very chilly moment. Our guide was charming and told the obviously old jokes with the right amount of sheepishness. Standing in silence in the absolute darkness underground is always a profound experience. Jo had a little trouble with the open spiral staircase down into the depths and was very glad to be back on the surface.
I drove about halfway back toward Reykjavik before we stopped for gas and Jason took over. I fell asleep in the passenger seat and was awoken by Jo and Alice simultaneously saying “Whoa!” from the back seat. When I opened my eyes I couldn’t see a think out the windshield. We were in a complete whiteout of snow gusting across the road.
As each gust enveloped us in snow, Jason would slow down as quickly as he could. The road was also slippery with snow and two or three times I could feel the tires fishtailing over the pavement. From the drive out I knew that what was on either side of the highway was usually a fairly steep drop into a ditch and then either farmed fields or vast expanses of lava rocks. Each time the car began to slip I imagined us going off the road, the car rolling over into the sharp rocks, and us all freezing to death or dying from our injuries before anyone would find us. So, I thought, this is how it ends.
But Jason kept the car on the road and as darkness fell we approached the tunnel under the Hvalfjörður. We were all looking forward to more than three miles out of the wind and snow. As we came down the hill toward the tunnel, Jason said “What is that?” and we looked across to see a line of headlights stopped all the way up the hill on the other side of the fjord, with little blue lights twinkling their way down the empty lane opposite. There was a crash in the tunnel. It was closed.
We sat at the rotary where traffic turns left down onto the tunnel approach, trying to think if there were any option. The road around the fjord would add another thirty miles to the journey. The weather showed no signs of clearing for at least a couple of hours. The sign pointing to the right said “Akranes”.
What time is it, I asked, after about ten minutes of sitting there. Six-thirty, with at least another hour to Reykjavik, even if the tunnel opened right this minute. So we drove into Akranes while Jo found a plausible restaurant online and guided us to it.
The Gamla Kaupfélagið was almost deserted on a Wednesday night in the middle of a snowstorm, but they welcomed us in and gave us a marvelous meal. We had a wonderfully earthy lobster soup and wild mushroom risotto, delicious lamb and salmon, and one of the best tenderloins of beef I’ve ever eaten. We would have been perfectly happy to find an open pub, but this was a meal almost worth the trip!
Snow was still falling as we finished dinner, but our server told us that the tunnel was open, so we set off again. I offered to drive, but Jason said he was okay to continue. We made it to the tunnel, enjoyed 5770 meters of shelter, and then continued out into the night.
For miles at a time, Jason navigated from one post to the next, through the snow. He would sight one and drive toward it, hoping that by the time he reached it, the next would be visible. If it wasn’t, he’d slow or stop until the wind revealed it, and then proceed. Sometimes there were streetlights for a stretch, which helped. When the drop-off to the side was especially steep there would be a section of guardrail, which was lovely. He kept one eye on the GPS, to know whether the road was curving or straight ahead, because there was no way to know from looking. It was tedious and terrifying.
Finally we caught up to a pickup truck and with great relief followed them. They were actually moving a little more slowly than Jason had been, but it was wonderful to let them find the path for us. About ten miles from the city, the road we’d followed south turns to the west and at that point the wind was no longer blowing across the highway and we could see clearly ahead. Before long we were navigating the tiny streets to our flat.
We kicked off our boots in the entryway and shed our coats as we moved into the living room. We didn’t die, I said to Jo. She agreed that while it had seemed unlikely a few times, Jason had done a spectacular job and gotten us home safely.
We spent the next day wandering around the city, not ready to get back in the car yet. And then the following day we went snowmobiling up on Langjokull glacier. Much safer.
This entry was originally posted at https://lillibet.dreamwidth.org/1320371.html. You can comment either place! There are
comments over there now.
Everyone tells you that if humans were really rational, we’d be much more worried about travelling by car than almost anything else we do. That lesson really came home to me as we drove back to Reykjavik from a lovely day on the Snaefellsnes peninsula.
We’d gone up to visit the Vatnshellir Cave, inspiration for Journey to the Center of the Earth. It’s an impressive magma tube, but the real highlight is the scenery along the way. Snow covered volcanoes on one side, pounding waves on the other, mysterious standing rocks and vast fields in between make for stunning views. We stopped along the way for a delicious lunch at the Langaholt Guest House and made it up to the cave in time for our three o’clock tour.
The day was overcast and colder than it had been in Reykjavik, with a strong wind blowing. Traversing the hundred feet from the welcome center to the cave entrance was a very chilly moment. Our guide was charming and told the obviously old jokes with the right amount of sheepishness. Standing in silence in the absolute darkness underground is always a profound experience. Jo had a little trouble with the open spiral staircase down into the depths and was very glad to be back on the surface.
I drove about halfway back toward Reykjavik before we stopped for gas and Jason took over. I fell asleep in the passenger seat and was awoken by Jo and Alice simultaneously saying “Whoa!” from the back seat. When I opened my eyes I couldn’t see a think out the windshield. We were in a complete whiteout of snow gusting across the road.
As each gust enveloped us in snow, Jason would slow down as quickly as he could. The road was also slippery with snow and two or three times I could feel the tires fishtailing over the pavement. From the drive out I knew that what was on either side of the highway was usually a fairly steep drop into a ditch and then either farmed fields or vast expanses of lava rocks. Each time the car began to slip I imagined us going off the road, the car rolling over into the sharp rocks, and us all freezing to death or dying from our injuries before anyone would find us. So, I thought, this is how it ends.
But Jason kept the car on the road and as darkness fell we approached the tunnel under the Hvalfjörður. We were all looking forward to more than three miles out of the wind and snow. As we came down the hill toward the tunnel, Jason said “What is that?” and we looked across to see a line of headlights stopped all the way up the hill on the other side of the fjord, with little blue lights twinkling their way down the empty lane opposite. There was a crash in the tunnel. It was closed.
We sat at the rotary where traffic turns left down onto the tunnel approach, trying to think if there were any option. The road around the fjord would add another thirty miles to the journey. The weather showed no signs of clearing for at least a couple of hours. The sign pointing to the right said “Akranes”.
What time is it, I asked, after about ten minutes of sitting there. Six-thirty, with at least another hour to Reykjavik, even if the tunnel opened right this minute. So we drove into Akranes while Jo found a plausible restaurant online and guided us to it.
The Gamla Kaupfélagið was almost deserted on a Wednesday night in the middle of a snowstorm, but they welcomed us in and gave us a marvelous meal. We had a wonderfully earthy lobster soup and wild mushroom risotto, delicious lamb and salmon, and one of the best tenderloins of beef I’ve ever eaten. We would have been perfectly happy to find an open pub, but this was a meal almost worth the trip!
Snow was still falling as we finished dinner, but our server told us that the tunnel was open, so we set off again. I offered to drive, but Jason said he was okay to continue. We made it to the tunnel, enjoyed 5770 meters of shelter, and then continued out into the night.
For miles at a time, Jason navigated from one post to the next, through the snow. He would sight one and drive toward it, hoping that by the time he reached it, the next would be visible. If it wasn’t, he’d slow or stop until the wind revealed it, and then proceed. Sometimes there were streetlights for a stretch, which helped. When the drop-off to the side was especially steep there would be a section of guardrail, which was lovely. He kept one eye on the GPS, to know whether the road was curving or straight ahead, because there was no way to know from looking. It was tedious and terrifying.
Finally we caught up to a pickup truck and with great relief followed them. They were actually moving a little more slowly than Jason had been, but it was wonderful to let them find the path for us. About ten miles from the city, the road we’d followed south turns to the west and at that point the wind was no longer blowing across the highway and we could see clearly ahead. Before long we were navigating the tiny streets to our flat.
We kicked off our boots in the entryway and shed our coats as we moved into the living room. We didn’t die, I said to Jo. She agreed that while it had seemed unlikely a few times, Jason had done a spectacular job and gotten us home safely.
We spent the next day wandering around the city, not ready to get back in the car yet. And then the following day we went snowmobiling up on Langjokull glacier. Much safer.
This entry was originally posted at https://lillibet.dreamwidth.org/1320371.html. You can comment either place! There are
comments over there now.