Did I mention that it's FREEZING in Iceland?
I learned that offroading.
The mountains were no match for us. And we rolled past Geothermal steam huts like they were in the suburbs.
Bjork played here once, our guide said, pointing into a crater.
Then he parked the Hummer on a sheet of ice. Gently balancing a plastic stepstool on the surface, he motioned us down from our perch.
Somehow, no one slipped.
The sun outside was bright, but oh so very distant. The tundra unfolded in all directions. We inhaled pure O2, then felt the sting as the cold travelled down our lungs.
It was just us and the mountains. And they beckoned us. The warm packs we were holding started to cool. So there was only one thing we could do: run to the very top of the next massive hill.
We laughed and plunged and fell our way through the knee-deep snow. The summit looked deceptively close. I went on for several minutes but felt as though I hadn't moved.
Slowing down, sweating; the top seemed unreachable. But I gritted my teeth, lowered my gaze and focused on each footfall.
Boot by boot, I made my way through the untrodden snow. Each step rang like jingling change. And before I knew it, I had made it.
The air was even thinner. And even colder. God, what a high.
