February 2000 - My Iditasport 100 Adventure

Big Lake, Alaska

Saturday, February 19, 2000, Fred Wallis and I entered the Iditasport 100. It was the most extreme race that I have ever participated in by far. For me, nothing else has even come close to this one.

I arrived in Anchorage on Feb. 12th at midnight. Fred had already made the 4.5 hour drive from Healy to pick me up. We stayed overnight and drove to his house the next day. My introduction to Alaska included 62 moose, 21 rabbits, and two caribou during the drive. We also had clear weather so Mt McKinley could easily be seen from the highway.

The next four days consisted of resting, riding 1-2 hours per day, and eating Joni's cooking. I was so rested and well fed by the end of my stay in Healy that I had to feel good about the race.

I checked my gear constantly during that time, trying to figure out the best way to attach everything to my bike.

The view from Fred’s driveway

Tuesday, Fred's friend, Shorty, delivered the Snowcat rims which he was lending to me for the race. These rims are twice as wide as a normal rim and just barely fit on a standard bike. They are the standard for the Iditasport. Almost every racer has a pair.

My Snowcats fit well but I had to convert my bike into a seven-speed on the back and I removed the front brake which I almost never use when riding in snow. I stayed up until 1:00 a.m. that night getting everything "just right." It had become a bit of a joke between Fred and I over how much time I had spent and how often I checked my gear.

Wednesday I went for a 20-mile "test drive" with everything I would be using during the race. So far, so good.

Thursday, Fred and I drove back to Anchorage for the mandatory gear check and pre race banquet. This is where the race officials check your gear to make sure that you have all the required equipment and that it all weighs at least 15 lbs.

One gear requirement is 3,000 calories of food which must be carried always, including the finish line. The best weight to calorie ratio food that we could think of was butter so we each carried one lb. of butter as our required food.

This was a very nerve racking experience for me. I knew that I had everything and yet there is always some doubt. If you fail the gear check, they call out your name during the banquet and you must be rechecked after the start of the race. We both passed: another hurdle cleared.

Specific race instructions are also given during the banquet. Richard, the race director, repeated the words "Follow the green lath" about a thousand times until he was confident that everyone understood him. They also told us that every year, several people get very lost so "look around, someone sitting near you will be lost out there." I've been lost in a long race before and I never want it to happen again. I made a personal commitment to "follow the green lath."

Friday we drove to the race site and discovered that the iceroad, which the race starts on, was in fact pure ice. It was difficult to even walk on it. We drove out a little way in the Alaska Cadillac (Fred's 4WD Suburban). Even in four wheel drive we were slipping and sliding. We decided that the snow machine trail beside the ice road would be a much safer place to ride our bikes.

The weather in Big Lake was warm (about -3 C Friday) and there was overflow everywhere. Overflow is water that comes through cracks in the ice and then usually re-freezes. It can sometimes be several feet deep.

This was a big concern for us. Getting wet would mean getting cold and freezing our equipment. We would have to watch carefully for a route around any overflow. Sometimes a slushy overflow is covered by a layer of snow. The north end of the course had six fresh inches of snow two days before the race. Identifying an overflow in this area would be almost impossible.

We had seen enough of the course so we headed back to our hotel in Wasilla, about a 20 minute drive from the race start. At this point I immediately started another gear check in spite of severe verbal abuse from Fred. I finally got everything strapped to the bike the way that I wanted it.

We went to an Italian restaurant for a massive pasta feed that night. That had been the fourth night in a row for pasta. We drank vast amounts of water, ate all we could fit in and headed back for the night.

I barely slept. In fact, I had not been sleeping well at night all week. I felt rested but could not sleep.

Morning finally came and I was very nervous. I ate breakfast with a couple from Colorado. The guy also seemed nervous. The girl wasn't doing the race. Driving to the race site we turned the music up so loud that I could barely think. I didn't want to think anymore. The gear had been checked for the millionth time. It was time to go racing.

The temperature at the start line was about +3C, very warm. We both stripped off some clothes that we had been planning to wear.

At the last minute I decided to put some more air in my tires. This annoyed Fred quite a bit. He almost missed the start of the race in 1999 and he didn't want it to happen again. We rode over to the start line with a few minutes to spare.

The race director was barking out some last minute instructions which no one could hear. Hopefully they weren't important.

I thought about everything I had gone through just getting to this point. Hundreds of hours of training, often in the dark, always alone; days of travel hauling a bike box half the size of a car; over a thousand dollars worth of new equipment bought just for this race; hotel reservations at six different places; and the constant worries that something had been forgotten.

Finally, here I stood with 122 other people at the start of 2000 Iditasport 100. All that other stuff was history. I had made it to the starting line.

I barely heard the word "Go!" and we were off. I clipped into my pedals and after about 5 feet had to get off and start walking. What a way to start the race!

A bottle neck had formed at the entrance to the snow machine trail beside the iceroad. Most people had the same idea as Fred and me, which was to stay off the iceroad. I cleared the bottleneck and started riding. The surface was firm and fast. I pulled up beside Fred. We wished each other luck and went our separate ways.

We had trained together all week and been in constant contact by email before that but it was clearly understood between us that this was a race and we would both be striving for our personal best performance. I never saw Fred again until he crossed the finish line 26 hours later.

After about 10 minutes or so I heard someone yell "Go Gail." Gail Koepf is an ultra sport athlete who has won the female side of this race more times than any other person, male or female. She has won on bike, foot, ski, snow shoe, and the triathlon division that existed several years ago. She is the only person that has won the race in every division. This year she was biking.

Several days before the race, Fred and I devised a race strategy for me. I usually go almost as fast as the fastest girl in this type of event. Gail would almost certainly be the fastest girl so my strategy was to follow Gail. If I could stay with her, I would likely finish in the top 15 men. She would not get lost and she always went at a steady pace.

When I heard "Go Gail," I looked around. She was to my left. Fred had introduced her to me two nights before so I knew what she looked like. I moved over and started drafting behind her. This was perfect. She was moving at a comfortable pace and we started to catch and pass people.

The trail was icy and I had a hard time keeping my balance. The bike slipped out from under me once and I crashed hard. Hurt my knee a bit but nothing serious. Had to really work now to catch up to Gail. I caught her.

We traveled the lakes together, chatting about the warm weather and about how it looked like it was going to snow. She was not aware of my strategy to travel behind her for the entire 100 miles.

The last lake had some unfrozen overflow on it. We rode and walked some. No one wanted to get wet this early in the race. The snow on the lake was soft. I tried to ride, went over the handle bars when my front tire sank, and started walking. Gail was lighter and probably more skilled than me. She was riding where I could only walk.

About 1.5 hours into the race Gail had dropped me and was completely out of sight. So much for my race strategy.

It was time for plan B; the strategy that I use during every long race. Ride slowly, eat and drink constantly, ride slowly.

After crossing the lakes the trail went onto a road and then onto a snow machine trail. Lots of rolling hills that were sometimes unridable so there was a bit of walking in this section but none of it was too bad. This continued until I came to another lake called Flathorn. It was snowing hard now and was difficult to see.

My jacket was completely soaked from the inside with sweat and from the outside with melted snow. The outside temperature was still warm so I wasn't even a little bit cold. I was getting concerned about what kind of temperature the night would bring. This was the site of the first check point, a cabin up on a hill beside the lake. I was feeling fine but very wet.

I checked in at 11:38 a.m., 2.5 hours into the race and right on schedule. Fred had predicted that I would arrive here at 11:30. He was very close. I filled my camelbac, grabbed two brownies and kept going. After eating the brownies, my stomach still felt empty so I ate a Clif bar as well. Breakfast had been digested so I knew I had to force myself to eat regularly from now on.

I left the checkpoint right away and was told on the way out that I was in 20^th position. There were still 70 miles of frozen Alaska to go. Flathorn lake turned very soft after leaving the checkpoint. For about an hour I would ride, push, ride, push. This is a very frustrating time in the race: on and off the bike, every two minutes.

We then came to what is called Dismal Swamp and it is called this for good reason: about 4 miles of flat barren snow which was so soft that I had to walk most of the time. Several people caught and passed me here. Somehow, they were able to ride.

I remembered Fred telling me to always try running a lower tire pressure when the going got tough. I let air out to what I considered very low pressure. The change was as immediate as it was drastic. I could now easily ride where only walking was possible before. I felt much better but was angry at myself for not letting air out earlier.

At this point I met up with a guy named Pierre from Minnesota. In the 1999 race he was only 3 miles from the finish line when a drunk snow machine driver hit him. The collision did some damage to his ankle and made his bike unridable. Pierre carried his bike and walked to the finished line. The snow machine driver was eventually arrested and charged. Now Pierre was back and healed. We were riding/walking at the same pace so it made this part of the course slow but very enjoyable.

Eventually, the swamp turned to trail and we could ride. This was the most fun of the entire course. The trail was one snow machine wide and went up down and all around. It was like riding single track. My brakes weren't working well due to an ice build-up on the rims so the downhill sections were particularly interesting.

Every two hours, Pierre would stop to eat and I would stop to pee so we would always pass each other at these times. Pierre yelled out to me as he went by "Between your peeing and my eating, we will probably finish together!" And so it went for hours.

Finally we came to Eagle Song Lodge, the second check point. I caught the lead skier here. He was going at an incredible pace for a skier. Again I filled my camelbac and headed out right away. I had practiced eating while riding and was very comfortable doing so. There was no need to stop and eat at check points. It was a waste of time.

The trail now turned a bit rougher. This section was made a few years ago just for this race so the regular snow machine traffic is less frequent. It was still very ridable. Fred told me that this section was mostly walking last year but I was having no problems.

We had been riding for quite a while now so I came up with a way to keep myself amused. Each time I saw lots of foot prints ahead, I knew that people ahead had to walk that section. I was feeling confident with my deflated tires so I always tried to ride where I saw that others had walked. When I made it, I figured that it was like getting bonus points. I took great satisfaction in this. Strange things amuse you seven hours into a race.

The third checkpoint was called Hartley Beach and consisted of two canvass tents. The checker saw my bike computer and asked what my average speed was up until now. I looked and it was 12 km/hr. I thought, "wow is that slow or what?" but he seemed to think it was pretty fast so who was I to argue.

I refilled with water. Then I strapped on my headlamp so that I wouldn't have to stop and do it later. It was around 5:00 P.M. now.

Pierre went to get something out of his back pack and suddenly discovered that he wasn't wearing it. We looked around but couldn't find it. I remembered that when we left the last checkpoint he looked "different" but I really didn't know what was different. Now we both knew. He had ridden for hours and not even noticed that his backpack was left behind. He had no choice but to go on without it. I asked if he needed anything but he was only carrying extra clothes so off we went.

The trail now hit the Yentna River and the travelling was supposed to be excellent from this point on. What a joke. I don't know how a frozen river can have hills but this one did. We did more walking here than anywhere else on the course. This was also frustrating because this was supposed to be the "easy part,"

At some point along this river, Pierre ran out of steam and he disappeared behind me. I never went back to see where he was. He could take care of himself and this was a race.

After a while I was riding regularly and I passed two riders camped out on the side of the river. They yelled "Hi." I waved back and I was happy to have passed two people. I found out later that they were John Stamstad and Pat Norwil, two ultra-distance gods out training for the Iditasport Extreme next weekend. The Extreme is a 1075 mile bike race from Big Lake to Nome, the entire length of the Iditarod trail. John and Pat have teamed up and plan to race together. They are the heavy favourites to win.

The river continued forever. The only distractions were the dog sleds which were racing on the same course but were coming toward us. That was really cool since I had never seen a dog sled team before. One guy asked me if he was going the right way. I thought "Boy are you asking the wrong person!" but I was too tired to spit all that out so I just told him yes, he was going the right way.

It was dark now. I ran my headlight on low beam to conserve batteries but I had a hard time picking out the "Green Lath." Following the lath was etched into my soul so I switched to high beam and disregarded the inevitable battery consumption.

I practiced riding lots in the dark and was quite comfortable riding this way. I suspected that others did not practice in the dark so now I hoped to start passing people. I picked up the pace a bit.

Eventually the river meets the trail that we came in on and you travel back the same way. This was a major milestone for me. There would be no new trail. Everything that was to come I had seen before. Only 35 miles to go.

I met a runner still on the outbound trail and he told me that I was in 17th place overall. That was a bit higher than I thought. I actually felt sorry for him having to travel all that distance that I had already come but he seemed in great spirits and certainly wasn't feeling sorry for himself.

I continued across the dismal swamp which was frozen and ridable now. As I could ride the swamp, I realized the temperature had dropped quite a bit. I looked at my thermometer and it read -5 C. Still nothing to worry about but my clothes were totally soaked so I was getting a bit concerned.

Flathorn Lake was the site of the fourth check point on the way back. I remembered the overflow that I had seen on the way out and I was quite concerned about how I would be able to see this at night. I found a hard snow machine trail quite far from the lake shore and stayed on it. Unfortunately it began moving away from the checkpoint so I had to stop and walk a few hundred yards to get back on track. At least I had missed the overflow.

When I arrived, I was pleased to see two bikes and a set of skis sitting on the lake. I climbed the hill to the cabin and there were two more bikes sitting by the door. This was my chance.

The second stop at Flathorn was the only point in the race that a meal is given out. There were five hungry racers inside, gorging themselves on cookies, French bread and jambalaya. I filled my camelbac, grabbed two cookies, and walked out the door. I had passed all five, and one of them was Gail, whom I hadn't seen for over 10 hours.

I ripped open another Clif bar and took off. I knew the entire trail would be ridable from now on so I started pushing harder. I also started feeling a bit sick. I suspected that dehydration was setting in so I started drinking as much as possible and eating more Clif bars. However, they were really beginning to taste bad. I had some Clif Shots with me but the thought of eating those now made me feel even worse.

Joni had made us some cookies to take with us on the race but I couldn't find room for them so I left them in the truck. Oh, how I wish I had those cookies now. I was a bit wrapped up in my misery when the trail suddenly became soft and unridable.

This was very strange. I could ride this entire section on the way in and it was much colder now than then. I looked closely at the ground and realized that there were no other bike tracks around me. I looked around for a green lath but there was none to be seen. I had broken my own rule and now I was off-course.

I stopped and considered what to do next. I looked behind me and saw a headlight quite far off to my right. I pointed my light to what appeared to be an opening in the trees and saw the familiar reflection of a green lath. One hundred yards of knee deep snow and I was back on track. That was close call and I wouldn't let it happen again.

I cruised to the next check point with no other problems except that my left overboot was so built up with ice and snow that I could no longer clip into my left pedal. Also, I only had one gear now.

I'm not really sure when this happened but while riding I caught a rider and he told me that he was going slow because his deraileurs had frozen into his lowest gear. I realized that I had not even tried to shift for quite a while so I gave it a try and sure enough, my 24-speed had become a one speed.

I arrived at the last check point and was shocked to see several people holding their bikes over the camp fire. I was very concerned about even trying to fix my gears for fear of breaking something. I thought about it while I fixed my boot and decided that the gear that I was in would work OK for the rest of the race.

We only had 12 miles to go. The temp had gone further down so I put on my balaclava, changed my batteries, and took off. At 10 minutes, this had been my longest stop of the entire race.

The single gear worked well until I came to the open lakes where it was a little too low. At one point I accidentally rode into some overflow and went almost up to my knee before I got out. Somehow, my feet stayed dry.

Finally I hit the iceroad which now had a slight cover of snow and was ridable. I knew that anyone with gears would be coming fast now so I spun my legs as fast as I could possibly turn them. The best I could do was 15 km/hr so that would have to do.

Only eight miles to the finish line. I looked back but could see no other headlight so the temptation to slow down was overwhelming. I had an underlying fear that if anyone could see me they would easily catch me, if they had gears. So I pushed on. It took me 45 minutes of endless spinning before the flashing lights of Big Lake finally came into sight.

I crossed the finish line alone. No one had caught me. Three minutes later, out of the darkness, came Pat Irwin. He had been riding with his headlight off so that I would not know he was there. All that spinning had not been for nothing.

I placed 12th out of 61 bikers, and placed 14th overall out of 122 competitors (two skiers beat me). My total time was 15 hours and 15 minutes. The winner, for the 7th time was Rocky Reifenstuhl, in a time of 11:45. Gail, by the way, is Rocky's wife. She finished about one half hour behind me in first place in the women's division and 15^th overall in the bikers' division, just as Fred had predicted.

This race was even more than I expected and I expected a lot. Frozen gears were not part of my race plan. Neither was open water. Cold temperatures were expected but they never came until the end and even then not very bad.

Rocky Reifenstuhl stated that in the 13 years that he has done the race, these were the most difficult conditions that he has ever faced. His time showed it. He was more than two hours slower than last year. The Iditasport lived up to its reputation.

 

The rest of the story:

The race was far from over. Somewhere out there, Fred battled on and others were facing some very strange challenges.

I felt a bit sick at the finish due to the hard effort at the end. It was a full hour before I could eat and then hunger came with a vengeance. I ordered a cheeseburger platter at the bar and words cannot describe how good it tasted. I won't even try.

Some people were sleeping on the floor of the bar so I tried to join them but each time the door opened a cold draft would come in. I was chilled to the bone and could not get warm. I went to the truck, turned the heat on full and finally got warm enough to change into dry clothes and shoes. Tried to sleep but still couldn't so I decided to hang out at the race HQ and watch Fred's progress.

Now things got interesting. There was a skier at checkpoint three with a broken ski. Somehow, he had sawed the ski in half and managed to limp along to the 4th checkpoint when he called the HQ and asked if another ski could be brought to him. One skier who beat me was still there so he offered his skis. A snow machine was being arranged to deliver the skis.

About this time, the phone rings and it is the stranded skier's wife. She wants us to let him know that she is heading to the hospital for a C-Section the next day. We tell her about the broken ski but she seems calm and unconcerned. He would be in a few hours and the baby would not be born until the next day. We continue with the plan to deliver the skis.

The phone rings again. Now it is a friend of the family and there is a big panic on. The Baby must be taken out immediately. This information is relayed to the checkpoint where there just happens to be a journalist with a snow machine. The soon-to-be dad borrows the snow machine and boots it back to HQ, rolling the snow machine once in the process.

By the time he arrives his buddy has driven in from Anchorage to drive him to the hospital. He asks if I will drive his car in for him the next day, which I gladly agree to do, since I needed a ride to Anchorage anyway. After he blazed out of there with his buddy I realized that I did not know his name and he did not know mine. Oh well.

The baby was born 15 minutes after he arrived. He was still in his ski boots. The baby was given the middle name Susitna, after the river that the Dad broke his ski on.

While all this is happening there is another story unfolding. A skier checked into the third checkpoint at 8:00 P.M. and has not been heard from since. It is now 4:00 a.m.. 4 snow machines are dispatched to search the river but have no success. At daylight, two air planes are dispatched to search but have no success. The search continues until 11:00 a.m. when the skier shows up at the finish line, having missed the last two check points and in fact missing entire lake systems that the course crossed. He was still unclear exactly where he went but definitely did not follow the green lath.

At daylight we were watching the lake for any signs of finishers. A biker suddenly appears at the door declaring himself finished. Now we have been watching closely and saw no one cross the line so we ask where he came from. It turns out that he did not follow the green lath either and he went around the entire finishing lake system and came through the start/finish line the wrong way.

He had gone an extra 30 miles. The race director told him that he had to go through the final checkpoint to be an official finisher. This did not phase the biker in the least. He began putting his equipment back on and headed out the door toward the checkpoint. The race director relented when he realized the guy was actually going to go back to the checkpoint.

Fred rolled in at around 11:00 a.m., three hours faster than last year on a course that was at least two hours slower. That's a pretty huge improvement. He got his cheeseburger platter and I had an omelette to celebrate.

Alaska is a beautiful state. I definitely plan to return, someday.