While we were in Thórsmörk, we took several short rides throughout the day, but on the last afternoon we were left to our own devices. I had already taught the 10-year-old girls in the group how to play Slapjack and Crazy 8s, so I left them my playing cards, grabbed a beer and a pocketful of cookies, and headed out on a stroll through the park.
On the ridge above Husdalur. Too cold to sit and enjoy the ashy view with my beer, so I kept on truckin'.
Langidalur is the usual starting point for the Langidalur trek, a 50km jaunt over the mountains and between the glaciers. During the course of my afternoon stroll I kept running into groups of trekkers, all serious with their GoreTex and hiking poles and big-ass backpacks...and me, in my Crocs, beer in hand to say "Howdy!"
I wandered over to Langidalur, dropped off my empty in the recycling bin, and enjoyed the scenery for a bit before heading back. Because it was always daylight and the sun did not make its usual arc across the sky, and because I had no watch or functioning cell phone, I never knew what time it was. Gudmund had said, "Dinner at 7:30," and I had an idea of the time from my internal clock...I came strolling back onto the grounds of Husdalur about 8pm and passed Gudmund at the grill, poking some lamb steaks. "They said you went hiking over by the river."
I stopped to eye the lamb meat. "Yeah, but it was too windy on the ridge, so I walked through the woods to Langidalur."
"So, you didn't fall in or get lost." He's keeping his cards close to his chest.
"No, I like to walk. I usually turn up."
He eyes me, then says, "Well, go get a plate and get some lamb."
I strolled into the kitchen/common room and everybody in our riding group said practically at once, "Where were you?! You're alive!" Uh, yeah.
"Any potatoes left?"
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