REYKJAVIK, ICELAND: This place doesn’t feel real.
The volcanic black sand. The towering green cliffs. The bespeckled white and black glaciers that rise above everything. Endless gravel, rock, and sand trails bisected by burbling streams of clear glacial runoff. Their water’s cold, refreshing, the sort of icy medium that tingles when you plunge your hands into it. There's a breath to them, a breath of cognizant life that pulls you into reality. A presence in the moment, no matter the jet lag.
Thundering winds whip across the grassy plains, scattering goats and horses with cool, wet breezes that pelt your sides and face. And the skies open to brilliant sunshine, only to be chased away again by looming threats of rain and cold. Iceland, in its quiet, grand, rugged, beautiful splendor, is wild. It’s prehistoric. It’s fake. At least, it's alien to anything I've ever witnessed in my travels around the world.
Iceland appears straight out of a movie set, with little white flowers bursting through the sands and rocks, verdant lichen growing every which way, icy blue water, and an array of blacks, greys, greens, reds, browns, and yellows that look out of a movie prop master’s dreams. Crags and crevaces teaming with life you’ve never seen, with flora and fauna that may resemble some things you've seen elsewhere, but only just. A familiarity, but with a science fiction twist. Strange and beautiful in every respect of those words.
It’s Star Wars.
And atop my Ducati DesertX V2, I felt as if I was on a speeder bike in that universe, dodging the Empire, and not just experiencing this wild place through some lame travel program that's a dime a dozen. Ducati's Expedition Masters program doesn't allow for anything short of spectacular and life-affirming.
At one hotel, close to the end of my week in Iceland, as I walked through the hip-high grass, the sun just barely dipping behind this valley of dark rock and moss, I queued up Andor's score and played the track, "Past/Present/Future," by Brandon Roberts. My hands fell to my sides, gliding across the dewy grains, and I closed my eyes as I walked. My smile grew as the cool wind brushed against my face, and I held back tears. I'd made it. I'd been offered the chance to see it with my own two eyes, and not only did it not disappoint; it exceeded everything.
I couldn't have asked for a more perfect way to experience this place, a country whose stark beauty needs to be seen firsthand, and which I've been dying to go to for decades. Ducati's Iceland Expedition Masters program is a must for motorcyclists and adventure travelers alike.
I've been fortunate enough to be asked to try out a number of adventure travel programs over the years, but they all suffer from the same thing: there's never enough actual adventure. You tend to show up, get a short rundown from some local tour operator, a few minutes of instruction on the machine you're piloting, and then you're sent off for an hour or two's ride or drive on a predetermined, well-manicured, non-adventure trail.
I get why, as the liability has to be enormously complex and complete just in case someone sues you because their skills don't match their perceived skills. I recall one of my colleagues flying off the rim of the road on a drive in Tenerife because they thought they had it. They did not.
But that leads to boring, still expensive treks. You end up paying through the nose for something safe and you really not getting to experience the locale, as you're often relegated to the touristy spots—they never truly deliver on the promise of seeing a place. These are a lawyer or accountant's idea of "adventure travel."
Expedition Masters is a motorcyclist's idea of adventure travel, and it shows in every aspect of the five-day expedition.
The ringmaster of Expedition Masters is Luca Bono—our guide, spiritual and emotional leader, local fixer, and hysterically good rider—along with his counterpart, Roberto Livingston, who've put together everything and ensured that each trip goes above and beyond any and all expectations. There's also photographer Marco Marini, videographer Ricky Albiero, and former Ducati WSBK mechanic Walter Ansaloni, who came in clutch when one member of our merry group of 14—Hi, Damian—jumped the DesertX onto a flat and dislodged the exhaust silencer.
Granted, the newly straight-piped exhaust sounded great, and we probably would've loved to have heard it like that for the rest of the trip, it wasn't super conducive to how many rivers we were set to cross in the coming days.
These guys scoured Iceland for the coolest, most wild landscapes, and have maintained that an Expedition Masters trip should mean that you're actually on an expedition. No half-assed, phoned-in "adventure" that could've been completed on a scooter. No, Ducati built these bikes to get dirty, wet, and have a heap-ton of travel, and by God, you're going to use up every millimeter of suspension Borgo Panigale gave these bikes on an Expedition Master's trip. Exactly what adventure travel should deliver.
Pavement along the five-day expedition was few and far between, with the first day being the most, and that's mostly just to get your sea legs under you. Once that's complete, dirt, cliffs, rocks, streams, mud, sand, and more are mostly what's on tap, zig-zagging our way through Iceland's backcountry. Along the way, stopping each night for a cozy bed at one of Iceland's charming small hotels and delicious food—there was a ton of lamb, and I ain't complaining—we bore witness to scenes that clearly have inspired science fiction writers, directors, and fans for generations, as once you think you know what's around the next bend, Iceland delivers natural spectacle that goes beyond what you'd just stood mouth agape to a few corners before.
Photo by: Jonathon Klein One day, we all gathered on the rim of a dormant volcano and ate lunch, the outward view looking as if we'd flown to have an orange juice and some Oreos on the Martian landscape, pitted and potholed with eroding lava formations, smaller calderas, and reds, blacks, greens, and grays that beggar belief in the litany of hues they offer. Even I, being partially colorblind, found the array staggering in its breadth of shades and saturations.
Natural spectacle is one thing. Adventure riding is another. And there was no sparring in that.
Iceland's off-road trails can change from mild fire roads to all-out hard enduros in the blink of an eye. Miles of silty, soft black sand will keep you on the tips of your toes, your ass hanging off the back of the bike, then suddenly transform into dagger-like rocks, jagged enough to pop tires, catch you out, and send you hurtling 200 feet off some unforeseen cliff edge. Egos were checked day one on the matter by both Luca and Roberto, and a level-set speech by the two kept everyone mostly rubber-side down. "If you aren't falling over, are you even off-roading?" I quipped one night. A good portion of the group, including myself, unfortunately, adhered to that quip...
Yet, the possibility of danger meant that, again, this wasn't some regular old tour. There were stakes. There were dangers. There was the possibility of getting injured, something that upped the ante of the whole thing, while also simultaneously offering up a whole other side of Iceland that most tourists never get to see: Its wilderness.
One day, we ventured toward Iceland's Laki volcano, which is part of Vatnajökull National Park. The trail in included multiple knee-deep river crossings, some sand, a particularly rocky section, and other obstacles that would surely halt most tourists from taking their rentals into the park. We rode nearly all the way to the summit of Laki to an overlook that stretched out for hundreds of miles. At the top, there was a sign that recalled the history of the region, including a volcanic eruption that occurred in 1783, which became known as Móðuharðindin, or the "mist hardships." A helluva turn of phrase, but one that represents 20% of Iceland's population dying, along with most of the country's livestock and flora, due to the volcanic ash that hovered over the country for eight months during the eruption.
I bring this up because few people were in the park that day, likely partly due to how treacherous it is to get to. Yet, thanks to how Luca and Roberto set up the Iceland Expedition Masters program, along with all the others they're responsible for around the world, were able to learn about the history of the country, and a consequential piece of history at that. And that sort of experience is one carried throughout the whole adventure.
The last day's ride felt particularly special to me, too. It was a rough, rugged, proper body-beating ride. We'd rode over 1,400 kilometers over the last five days—that's 890 miles in American. My wrist, screwed up from years of off-road motorcycle crashes, as well as one big pavement wreck, was beginning to seize up and tingle with some numbness thanks to the spurs in it. And I was tired from the multiple river crossings that morning, including one that was nearly up to the seat, and featured what can only be described as a giant hole made by some massive Arctic truck running 47-inch balloon tires and powered by some cammed-out turbo diesel V8. You had to miss it; otherwise, you were getting wet.
Yet, having made it through, we stopped for lunch. Instead of the rim of a volcano, however, we elected to be at the foot of a glacier, with towering mountains straddling each side. A mossy, soft area on the edge of the road made for the perfect picnic area. The plush ground felt like a mattress, and after so many days of riding off-road, we all elected different methods of soothing our aching bodies. Some of us took off our boots. Some pulled off their jackets and shirts. I elected to just drop to my back and lie flat.
I closed my eyes and just lay there. The warmth from the sun streaked across my face, soothing the windburnt crevasses of my skin. The moss soaked up the aches and pains, as the wind quieted to just a slow breeze. There aren't many birds in the interior of the island, so the only noise I could hear was the laughter of our group, the faint noise of a couple 2-strokes in the distance, and not much else. Behind me lay this massive glacier, while mountains stretched ahead. It was brilliant, and I just let my breathing and heart rate slow to a crawl. I could've lain there forever.
Expedition Masters not only delivers upon its name, but delivers upon its promise to "create unique and unforgettable experiences for enthusiasts around the world."
In that moment on the moss, lying flat, my head pointed toward the sky, I felt transported to another world. Another time. I don't know how anyone could want for a better Iceland experience. Want for a better motorcycling experience. Iceland already delivers something altogether otherworldly, but the experience is accentuated by seeing it on the back of a supremely capable motorcycle, a motorcycle that can take you to places most tourists never see.
I hope to one day go back, to see the countless waterfalls, the raging torrents of glacial runoff, to climb steep peaks and look upon the alien world below. To cross the country's massive floodplains, a glacier to my left, and towering mountains to my right. To eat Oreos on the rim of a volcano, and dip my hand and head into the frigid stream, the cold waters soothing my gnarled hands and joints. To watch the goats crisscross the plains, and feel the black sand sprinkle out of my hands, while stretching on forever. To watch the storms and rains roll over the mountains and cause them to disappear. To see the sunlight creep over those same mountains at dusk, but never go away thanks to the midnight sun. To feel as if I'd been given the chance to visit Star Wars in all its alien glory.
I hope more motorcyclists take Ducati up on that Expedition Masters guarantee, as this was one of those unforgettable moments of my life. A memory, a feeling, a brilliant adventure that'll stick with me forever. If you have the means, if you have the time, if you have the want for a motorcycling adventure like no other, do this.
