Spin Class, or How Did These Old Ladies Get So Strong?

Ladies and gentlemen,


        The nonsense has started. Having officially decided to forgo Thailand, sandy beaches, and tasty food in favor of an 831 mile cycle trip around the perimeter of Iceland (not warm, not sandy, food as of yet unknown), we are now in full-blown training for what we are about to undertake.
        And by full blown training, I really mean shopping for a hybrid bike for a woman with a mere 26 inch inseam while hitting up the local spin classes and pretending that spin class approximates riding a pannier-heavy road bike in an Icelandic headwind. Let me tell you what, though...these old lady spinners would win that race. These womens be crazy buff! Chris and I look like dirty ragdolls in comparison to these Amazonian wonders. Spin class is ridiculous.
        We are such fools. Exhibit A - 

        So, you can see we are Serious about this...or as Serious as Chris and I can be (which is why Chris got off his bike in the middle of spin class to take some photos for posterity). 
       If you know us well, then you know that we have been talking about Southeast Asia since the day after we returned, scarred and bedraggled, from our two month European campout. The question to be asked, then, is how we wound up with a pair of tickets to Iceland after months of reading extensively and jabbering on about Thailand.
   

The best we can guess is that both countries end in "land" and we got confused during an Orbitz transaction.

        You like how I did that up there? We're going to be famous. Anyway.

The Plan

         We don't really have a plan. Did you really expect anything different of us? In this instance, though, it isn't because we got a plane ticket to one city with the idea of bumbling our merry way across a swath of continent to "see what we can see". This is the first time we have gotten a ticket to one country with every intention of staying within the boundaries of that country for our entire trip. That being said, we had to up the ante somehow. What could be easier than only going to one country? No border crossings. No navigating changing languages, changing standards of social behavior, changing attitudes towards women, standing in line, skirts above the knee.  Nothing!

So we added bicycles. And the Arctic Circle. Oh, and a country the size of a thumb with less cities than the infamously bustling state of Montana. 

        In short, it's going to be utter paradise. We anticipate a balmy 50 degrees, with a nightly reprieve from the heat as we camp out under northern skies illuminated by the type of aura that only below freezing temperatures can produce. Iceland summers are known for their rainy dawns-till-dusks, with the occasional snow flurries, for variety. Basically, I'm getting a mad tan. 
        We've given ourselves six weeks to get from Reykjavik back to Reykjavik via the Ring Road, which circles the ever-coastal perimeter of Iceland. If all goes well, we should be able to balance our glacier parties with steamy rock-outs on pebbly beaches where frat boy popsicles swim the white caps with humpback whales that also DJ the raves. Basically the same thing as Phuket...right?

If I get to pick, I'm hoping to lose my right big toe to frostbite. It has a huge scar from that stupid time I broke my toe kicking a soccer ball in my parents' basement, and I could do without it. I hope I get to pick.