The White Falcon - 19.11.1993, Blaðsíða 4

Story and photos by
J03 (SW) Andreas Walter
One ripped fan belt, a shredded universal joint, a shattered rear
window, one slightly cosmetically altered Dodge Ramcharger and
miles upon miles of freshly fallen snow...
The Rocky Roaders Four Wheel Drive Club went on their annual
Veteran’s Day weekend trip to Hveravellir Lodge, only to have
Mother Nature and a few mechanical gremlins turn the six-vehicle
group back early.
The wind blew relentlessly and the snow pelted our faces as we
loaded the the last two vehicles of Greg Gonzales and Mark Ketten-
hofen, were packed with weekend essentials. The route was to take
us south out of Reykjavik and then north on Rt. 35. At Gulfoss, the
paved roads become gravel, following the outer limits of Langjokull
Glacier. Within two hours of leaving base, we caught up with the rest
of the caravan, parked by the roadside with flashers lit. By the fresh
skidmarks in the snow, it was apparent that something was terribly
wrong. Carl Asplint had managed to lose control of his vehicle on the
icy road surface and plunge 60 feet down a slope into a water-filled
irrigation ditch. His ailing truck was on its side, buried to its doors in
freezing water.
By the time we arrived at the scene, Mark Bancroft had already
trekked from farm to farm in search of help. He managed to locate a
farmer who was willing to pull the damaged truck to higher ground
with his tractor. Nearly an hour’s worth of pulling, lifting and cursing
finally extracted the wrinkled truck from its resting place. Apart from
a crumpled fender, the truck seemed drivable. After forcing open the
hood, Carl drew a long face at the sight of his damaged radiator. A bit
of hemming and hawing with the fanner and a deal was struck to have
the cooling unit fixed.
After this exercise in roadside mechanics, we started seeing less
vehicles in the ever-deepening snow. The trucks’ lights pierced
through the falling snow and soon illuminated the information center
at Gulfoss, one of Iceland’s largest waterfalls. Since this was surely
the last sign of civilization for days to come, we decided to use the
opportunity to drop the air pressure in the truck’s tires.
As this last bastion of humanity fell behind us, Bancroft's huge Ford
Bronco started sending showers of snow as he plowed new tracks in
the fresh powder. Since our progress had been somewhat hindered by
Carl’s ditch-digging antics, we called the hut at Hveravellir, inform-
ing them of our delay. The hut-keeper in turn passed on that visibil-
ity was 500 yards with 30 knot winds.
“We take cellular phones with us primarily as a safety factor. One
never knows what the Icelandic weather has in store, so you have
be prepared,” said Kettenhofen.
From this point on, we still had nearly forty miles of nondescrij
interior roads to cover. The minutes turned to hours as each truck in
turn got lodged in the ever-deepening snow. In order to keep on track,
the lead vehicle needed to keep constant visual contact with pre-
positioned snow stakes.
Following a particularly grueling uphill struggle, Russel
McMillian’s Datsun began overheating, reminiscent of Iceland’s fa-
mous Geysir. Gonzales lept into action, wielding an assortment of
wrenches to put the dislocated fan belt back on. Minutes later, the ill-
tempered belt retired, ripping in half.
“Do you have a spare belt?” Gonzales yelled through the driving
snow. “Yeah, but it’s as old as the other one,” McMillian shouted back
with a laugh. Needless to say, the belt was swiftly replaced and the
group forged on.
By midnight, fierce winds began whipping the snow against the
trucks.We loosely gathered at the crest of a long hill, one that had
taken more than an hour to conquer. Ever the adventurers, Bancroft
and Gonzales had clawed ahead in search of a landmark and had
promptly become mired in waist-deep snow banks. The situation
started looking bleak, as the drivers yawned and pondered their exis-
tance, somewhere between Gulfoss and the very inviting thought of
a hot tub at Hveravellir. Two hours later, the trucks were freed, from
their resting spots, nearly 15 hours after leaving Keflavik. As
worsening weather set in, the decision was made to group the trucks
as close as possible.
“We needed to group the vehicles close together in case more snow
and strong winds piled up drifts during the night,” Bancroft recalli
A very restless Friday night ticked by, the only sounds brei
the white solitude were the idling engines and the groans of discom-
fort from inside the warm, but very confining cabs.
me
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snow
alletj^^
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