February 2001 - The Iditasport Extreme

350 Miles of Alaska Wilderness

Start line of the Iditasport Extreme, February 24^th, 2001. Bill Shand far right in red, Todd Scott in yellow, Jeff Brandner in blue.

Prologue

The Iditasport Extreme is a 350 mile race along the Iditarod Trail. This is a human powered race with foot, ski, and bike divisions. It begins at the trail head on Knik Lake, Alaska and finishes in the interior town of McGrath, Alaska. The race information package describes the event as “the most remote and exposed race in the world”, “this one is potentially deadly”, and “expect ice bridges over raging water.”

I explained to my wife Joanne that this was all hype to create more attention for the race. She didn’t look convinced. I wasn’t either. However, I was entered in the race and I was going to Alaska.

People come from all over the world for this ultra-marathon event. There is nothing else on the planet like it. It tests the body and mind beyond the limits experienced in everyday life. Most people cannot explain why they come. I too find it difficult to articulate. I simply know that I have to go and I spent six months meticulously reviewing every detail of what would be required. From food to headlight batteries, I spent hundreds of hours testing everything that I would need.

I love every aspect of this race: The intense preparation and planning; the event itself which requires self reliance and allows high levels of competition; and the intense satisfaction of crossing the finish line which can only be experienced and not explained. During the last few days of the race I got a real glimpse of why I do this. It was an eye opener and very satisfying.

I arrived in Anchorage on Thursday, two days before the race, to get familiar with the climate and to just generally hang out with friends that I only get to see once or twice a year.  Thursday night was a night of relaxation and anticipation.

There were five of us staying at Kathy Sarns’ house in the mountains on the outskirts of Anchorage. We had bought a case of beer for the evening but no one had more than two. An early hot tub and it was off to bed.

I awoke at 4:00 am, still on Ontario time. I didn’t figure that it really mattered if I adjusted to the time zone. In another day sleep would become a luxury.

Friday was the race information meeting. This is where we are supposed to get all of the detailed race course information. There was some general information on hypothermia and the floor was opened for questions.

“Is the course well marked?” Answer: “No, the course will not be very well marked”

“Is there any open water on the rivers that the route follows?” Answer: ”Yes, there is open water on all of the rivers and lakes so don’t stray from the unmarked course”

“Is there any avalanche danger on Rainy Pass?” Answer: “Yes, but we’re working on that.”

I was beginning to feel pretty down about the whole meeting and wished that I had just picked up my race number and gone back to Kathy’s. We then had an inspiring speech from Martin Buser, 3 time Iditarod champion. He talked about his “no scratch” formula for finishing races and about the reality of hallucinations. Hallucinations are something that I have heard about but had no experience with. That was about to change over the next seven days.

I left the meeting feeling motivated to finish but confused about the trail.

Friday night we skipped the pre-race party. After a huge supper at Kathy’s I think that we were all in bed by 10:00pm.

 Flathorn Lake camp out on the morning of February 25th

Day 1 – Camp Out at Flathorn Lake

At 3:00pm sharp on February 24th, the starter yelled “Go!” and we were off. In 2000 I did the 100 mile version of this same race. I remember standing at the start reflecting on everything that I had gone through to get to the start line. There were no such reflections today. Concern about the trail, food, sleep, and the weather over the next week completely consumed me.

As usual, the start was fast and furious. Many people launched themselves off the line as if the race was a 100 yard dash. I wanted only to get ahead of the runners and skiers so that there would be no broken equipment while trying to pass them later. We crossed Knik Lake and entered the woods on the other side. The trail was fast and totally rideable. It was a great way to start the race. Sunny skies, about –5C and a fast trail to ride had everyone in great spirits.

The first leg of the race is a 30 mile ride to Flathorn lake and then a mandatory camp out where racers must use only the equipment they are carrying with them and then must carry that gear all the way to the finish line. No dropping stuff off. That is one of the only rules of this race which prides itself on having “no rules”. After the Flathorn Lake camp out, the race is non-stop to the finish line.

After about an hour of riding I made a wrong turn and ended up on the Junior Iditarod Dog Sled Race trail. I realized my mistake but before getting turned around I met some cross country skiers who told me that the trail I was following also went to Flathorn Lake and it was in much better condition than the trail the other bikers were following. I took their advice. I knew that a few others did as well since I was following other bike tracks. This decision saved me about an hour. In this race it is not necessary to follow the exact race route, only to make it to each check point. It took me four hours and sixteen minutes to reach the Flathorn checkpoint, 1.5 hours slower than the leaders. They had found an even easier route than the one that I took.

It turned cool that evening with the temperature dropping to –15C. We cooked pizza over the fire, told lies, and speculated about what adventures the next few days would hold. At around midnight I crawled into my bivi sac, carefully stored my camelbac inside my sleeping bag, zipped everything in, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Day 2 – Dehydration at Yentna Station

My bivi sac worked so well that I wasn’t aware of the snow that began falling during the night. When I woke, me and all my stuff were covered in snow. I ranked crawling out of a warm bivi sac into a snow storm as one of the most difficult things in the world to convince yourself to do. I left it to the last possible minute without missing my 9:30 am start time. The leaders had left at 8:00 am, maintaining their 1.5 hour advantage gained the day before.

I started the day walking in the fresh snow that continued to fall. I had eaten cold pizza for breakfast but felt dehydrated so I was drinking steady from my camelbac. It wasn’t long before we were able to ride and the snow became light flurries. At this pace I would make the 25 miles to Yentna by 2:00 or 3:00 and the next checkpoint, Skwentna by midnight.

I crossed a four mile long swamp, a short bit of trail through the woods, and then dropped down onto the Susitna River. After a short distance on the Susitna, the trails branches onto the Yentna River and follows it all the way to Yentna Station.

After a few more hours of riding the conditions began deteriorating. The snow began falling heavier, the wind picked up, and I was walking due to poor trail conditions. Runners began passing me. The snow was falling so hard that I could still see people ahead of me but their tracks were completely covered. Luckily, snow machine traffic was heavy in this area so the trail was easy to follow.

After about 5 hours I took a drink from my camelbac and realized it was empty. I could stop and make water but the check point should be less than three hours away, even if I have to walk, so I decided to push it through. Three hours with no water would be no problem. I caught up to Bill Merchant at about this time. Bill is one of the very few people who has completed the previous four runnings of the Iditasport Extreme. It was much easier for us to travel together now since we could take turns breaking trail. It was also nice to have someone to talk to.

Every now and then I noticed that Bill took a mouth full of snow. He was obviously out of water too. This is normally a dangerous practice because it lowers the body temperature and can cause hypothermia. Bill was actually the person who gave the talk on hypothermia at the pre-race meeting. In today’s case however, the temperature had warmed to about –5C and we had lots of food to keep our internal furnaces burning. Eating snow was the best option right now as long as we didn’t stop. I began eating snow every 10 minutes or so. I could feel the nausea caused by dehydration slowly starting. If it continued, I wouldn’t be able to hold down food. Then I would have a real problem.

Bill and I walked for hours. Our main topic of discussion was how good the Coke was going to taste at Yentna. Just before arriving at the checkpoint we made a plan. It had taken nine hours of mostly walking to get there. We were both badly dehydrated. For me, after nine hours of biking I could normally eat, rest for a bit, and continue on. Nine hours of mostly walking had done me in.

Yentna Station is a fishing lodge with a sitting area and kitchen down stairs and bunks for about 15 people upstairs. We decided to grab a room and rest for six hours. We were lucky to be ahead of the crowd and one room was still available. Bill grabbed it as soon as we walked in the door. This was only the first of many lessons that I would learn from Bill Merchant during the race.

When we pulled into Yentna, two of my room mates at Kathy’s, Mike Madden and Pat Irwin were just leaving. I considered just cruising through the checkpoint and leaving with them. Six hours of rest sounded so much better. Once inside, we got our cokes, ate our meal, hung everything up to dry, and went to sleep. This checkpoint became a mad house of activity over the next few hours.

The storm only got worse as darkness fell. Many did not make it and had to either be brought in by snow machine or taken back to Flathorn. At one point I heard the owner of the lodge say that there was no more room, even on the floor. People could only come in to eat but they must sleep outside. I was so glad to be in my room, in my bed.

Day 3 – More Walking to Skwentna Roadhouse

Our six hour rest turned into eight but it was worth it. We got up, ate a big breakfast, and by 2:00 am I was ready to go. Unfortunately Bill lost his wallet so I went out alone while he stayed behind and looked for it. He said that he would catch up eventually.

This section of the race is 35 miles long and is normally fast and hard packed. It is almost all on the frozen Yentna River. Last year this section took around 6 hours. This year the storm had changed this to a ten to fifteen hour walk.

As I walked I kept feeling better and better. I had filled my second camelbac bladder and put it in my saddle bag. The temp was about 0C now so it wouldn’t freeze. No more dehydration for me on this trip. I had made a dangerous mistake the day before but I vowed not to let it happen again.

After a couple of hours I caught up to another room mate at Kathy’s, Pierre Ostor. We began travelling together. I had a clock on my bike so I stopped us every 30 minutes to drink and every hour to eat. We continued this routine all night long. Every time I stopped, Pierre would say “Thirty more minutes already!” To me, time was passing slowly. I guess that to him it was the opposite. I didn’t know it yet but this was a real sign of what was to come for Pierre.

We walked through the sunrise, passing a lot of people who were biviing along the way. By about 9:00 am Bill Merchant had caught up to Pierre and I and we were all travelling together with several other bikers, taking turns breaking trail. We came to a small supply store on the side of the river. This was the first sign of life that we had seen since leaving Yentna so we decided to stop in and have a rest and something to eat.

One person went to the door but returned to the river reporting that no one was there. “How do you know,” asked Bill.

“I looked in the window,” the guy answered.

Bill replied, “This is Alaska son, you have to go and bang on the door.”

So we went and banged on the door. Sure enough, the owner came out, still half asleep, and opened the store for us. I paid five dollars for two Mountain Dew and they were worth every penny. It was a nice break and we were all ready for what we knew was going to be a long day of pushing.

Lots of fresh snow on the Yentna River

After the store the trail took a turn for the worse. The snow had drifted in waste deep in places. We pushed on slowly but surely making progress. All this time my feet were slowly getting more and more sore. By early afternoon every part of both feet hurt. Without warning the second toe on my left foot felt like it had exploded. Searing pain shot through my foot and up my left leg. I limped for a while and then the pain went away so I just kept going. I suspected a broken blister and I knew that removing my socks was not going to be a pretty sight.

Not much changed during that day. It became sunny and stayed warm. At about 4:00 pm we reached the small community Skwentna, our third checkpoint. It had taken me 14 hours to get there. The first order of business was food. I ordered some kind of chilli cheese burger and devoured it before it hit the table. This was also the location of our first food drop bag. I restocked my bike with enough food for the next few days.

After eating I next turned my attention to my feet. Removal of my socks revealed only four live blisters, two broken blisters, several chaffed areas, and no blood. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Some of the runners came over to help me out. I have very little experience with proper foot care during a running race. I found myself badly unprepared. The runners got the proper false skin bandages applied. I taped all the chaffed areas and although my feet looked bad, they felt much better.

Rest was next on my list. Skwentna Roadhouse was much larger than Yentna. There was a kitchen and several rooms downstairs and there were enough bunks for about 40 people upstairs. Bill and I agreed to leave together at 1:00 am. I definitely needed that much time for my feet to recover. I found an empty room, set my alarm, and crashed. Luck was with me again. No one else came in my room while I was there so I actually slept for at least four or five hours.

Day 4 – Death March to Finger Lake

I got up with my alarm and was ready to go at 1:00 am. Bill decided to have some breakfast first so I left without him. The trail was very easy to follow now but getting out of checkpoints was sometimes confusing because of the other trails that were around. I got some detailed instructions from the lodge owner and took off with Peter Bassinger, a 20 year old from Anchorage. This was his first Iditasport race and he was pretty excited about it.

The temperature had stayed the same but to my surprise the trail slow and rideable. After a couple of hours, Peter fell back and I was alone. Then, once again, it started to snow very heavily. I picked up the pace so that I could reach the next check point before the trail became unrideable. Suddenly I was in total darkness. My headlight, which has never failed me in the three years that I have owned it, was out. I suspected that the battery pack had gotten wet so I pulled out my reserve light so that I could inspect it. Unfortunately, my reserve light had been accidentally turned on inside my bag so the batteries were completely dead. Unbelievable, no main light, no reserve light! I turned on my rear flasher and used it as a light source to inspect my battery pack but I could not find anything wrong. I turned the switch to high beam and the light shown brightly. It was only my low beam bulb that was burnt out, not a battery problem after all. I had started to panic a bit but everything was fine now. I got back on my bike and rode into the Shell Lake check point.

It had taken me only 5 hours to cover the 15 miles from Skwentna to Shell Lake, riding for most of that distance. I was in great spirits now. It was 6:00 am, daylight was coming, I was at a checkpoint, and the trail was rideable.

By this time I had developed a love-hate relationship with the checkpoints. I loved the warmth and the food, I hated the pure chaos of all the racers trying to eat, dry their stuff, and sleep all at the same time. That said I still needed to eat. I decided to stop for food, fix my light, and move on.

As I suspected, the checkpoint was a mad house of activity. Pierre was resting on the couch. I told him my plan and he said that he would leave with me. I ate and paid four dollars for an extra coke. They could have charged me ten with no questions asked. My hands were too weak to unscrew the bulb on my light but the snow machine driver sitting beside me kicked in some muscle and after a few minutes of fiddling around I had my spare bulb installed and everything back together. I packed up and left immediately. Pierre was right behind me.

Luck was not with us this time. The snow fall had only become stronger. I was pushing my bike and breaking trail again. Since the person breaking trail had to work much harder than the people following, it was inevitable that a group of us all bunched up together. We set up a loosely organized pace line in which we switched trail breakers every few minutes.

After a few hours of this I started to really slow down. It was still above 0C so my spare camelbac bladder was unfrozen and I was eating lots. My problem was with my feet. Every step brought tooth grinding pain through my foot and into my legs. I could no longer take my turn as trail breaker and was degraded to the role of a follower. Even then I was falling behind in our pace line. I actually considered stopping and sleeping for a while but that would only make things worse since the new snow would cover the tracks of those in front and I would be a trail breaker again. All I could do was endure the pain and hope the check point would come soon.

By early afternoon we began seeing a few snow machines coming from the next check point, Finger Lake, to see how we were doing. Several of the people in our group had film crews filming them and the film crews were coming back to check on their progress. This was a blessing. They packed the trail and after another hour of walking, I looked up to see some of the leaders in our group attempting to ride. It wasn’t good enough for that yet but seeing them attempt to ride was encouraging.

Another half hour passed and we were on our bikes riding. I have never in all my life been so happy to sit on the seat of a bicycle as I was that day. The relief to my feet was immediate and once again my spirits were lifted. We rode the last 10 miles into Winter Lodge on Finger Lake, arriving at 5:00pm. The 25 mile Journey from Shell Lake had taken 10 hours but I had been on the trail without rest since I left Skwentna  sixteen hours earlier. Winter Lodge was a sight for sore eyes.

Winter Lodge was very large compared to our previous check points. There was a central lodge with several sleeping cabins surrounding it. The amount of snow here was amazing. It was up to the top of the roof of the lodge. A snow stair case had been built to go down to the entrance of the lodge, the cabins, and even the out house.

Once again, food was first on the agenda. I devoured my meal and then began the morbid task of foot care. To my surprise, there were no new blisters and the old ones were still OK. My preventive measures at Skwentna had been successful. I applied more tape to some new chaffed areas and went to the drying cabin to hang my clothes up.

While working on my feet I was listening to information about the trail ahead. Basically there was no trail. One runner and one biker had set out to break the trail. It was still a blizzard outside. A snow machine driver came into the lodge soaked with sweat. He had tried to break the trail through to the next checkpoint, Rainy Pass Lodge on Puntilla Lake. He declared that attempting the trail in these conditions was an exercise in futility. If a snow machine made for climbing mountains could not make it through, how was I going to?

There was so much gear hanging in the drying cabin that I didn’t think that I would be able to find any of my own stuff if I just hung it up and left. I wanted to stay in the same building as all my equipment. Several people were sleeping on the floor so I decided to join them. Pierre and I agreed to leave at midnight. I set my alarm and drifted off to sleep.

At one point I awoke to a loud crash. The drying rack had collapsed under the weight of all the clothes on it and fell directly onto the wood stove. We did some quick scrambling and got everything off the stove before it burnt. I hate to think what might have happened if no one had been in there.

Day 5 – The Trail to Rainy Pass

Midnight came and went. I woke at 3:00am from a deep sleep. I was a bit frustrated with myself for missing my midnight departure time but my feet needed the rest. I gathered everything up and went into the lodge. A saint had left out some hot coffee and some hot water. I drank two cups of coffee, made three bowls of oatmeal and then spotted what I had been craving, a bowl of apples. I ate an apple and left two dollars on the counter to pay for it. I have no idea if that was enough.

While signing out, I checked for Pierre’s name. True to his word, he had left at midnight. By 4:00am I was packed up and ready to go. While I was sleeping, it snowed more, then rained, then turned cold. The temperature was about –10C now. My bike was encased in ice. I scraped the ice off the seat and gave it a push. The ice on the wheels snapped, crackled and popped. Eventually the wheels turned freely. I cleared as much ice as I could from the brakes, freed all the cables and actually managed to get the derailleur to start shifting. The rain, and then cool temperatures had set the trail up so that I could ride.

I was heading into the mountains now. Most of the racers had finished at Finger Lake which was the finish line for the 130 mile portion of the race. From now on, there would be less people, less food, less support. As I rode into the mountains alone, I realized that this was day five and my race was not yet half over. This was a bit sobering. Would I make the 10 day time limit?

I traveled by myself until well after daylight. Eventually I caught up with Chloe Lanthier, the only girl left in the race. She was having trouble staying awake but with the sun coming up she was doing better. We traveled together for the rest of the day. Although it was cool, this turned out to be the nicest day so far. The sun was shining and we could see the mountains coming. We were able to ride part of the way and this made the walking more bearable.

I noticed that my spare CamelBak bladder was now about half frozen. I decided to drink the remaining water in it rather than let it freeze. It seemed like a reasonable thing to do. I a chugged about a litre of ice cold water and continued on. About 15 minutes later I felt it beginning to get cooler outside. This was strange since it was still morning and the sun was still rising. I checked my thermometer and found that the temperature had actually warmed since leaving the checkpoint. Still, I was getting colder. I put on my wind jacket, extra mitts, and extra hat in an attempt to get warm. Even my feet were getting cold which seemed strange since I had not suffered cold feet for the entire trip. I moved faster in an attempt to stay warm. Slowly, I warmed up and after an hour I had to remove all the clothes that I had just put on. Several more hours passed before I connected the ice cold water with my short 1.5 hour chill. Yet another potentially dangerous mistake that I would be sure not to repeat.

This section of trail is well known for steep climbs and descents. Several times I found myself moving only six inches per step on steep climbs. I would take a step, push the bike up, lock the brakes, take another step. This process would continue for some very long sections. The downhill sections were equally challenging but a bit more thrilling. My method was simple: lay the bike down, sit on my butt, and hope that everything wasn’t too messed up when I arrived at the bottom.

Moving toward the mountains on day 3

We walked and rode all day. Finally at about 4:00pm we arrived at Rainy Pass lodge on Puntilla Lake. This 40 mile section had taken us 12 hours. I felt better than I had all week, probably because of the mix of riding and walking that we were able to do. Either that or my body was getting used to long periods of travel. Whichever was the case, I felt great.

Rainy pass lodge was a small cabin with bunks for four people. It was also the site of our second and final drop bag. I got my bag, re-stocked my bike and pulled out some cereal which I hoped to enjoy inside. As always, food was first when entering the check point. Some stew was on the wood stove so I helped myself to four bowls. There were some bagels with cream cheese so I devoured three of these. There was no milk for my cereal so I made my own milk out of coffee mate. Don’t ever try this. It was the most disgusting mess that I’ve ever tasted. Still, I scraped the bowl clean.

Pierre had arrived a few hours ahead of us and was packing to leave. Again, Pierre seemed to require less rest than everyone else. He didn’t even look tired. He left the check point to cross the pass alone in the dark, against all the advice of the race veterans.

I laid down on a bunk for a rest since there were very few people at the checkpoint. A quick foot inspection revealed no new blisters or problem areas. I had no real plan in mind for when to leave. After a short time, Bill Merchant walked in. His bike had broken just outside the Shell Lake checkpoint so he had been on foot ever since. Most people would simply withdraw from the race under such circumstances. Most people were not like Bill Merchant. He borrowed a pair of running shoes and switched to the foot division. In a race with no rules this is perfectly acceptable. Bill’s advice to me was simple: Do not cross the pass at night if you can help it. If you have never been through the pass before, do not go alone. Do not even consider crossing the pass alone and at night. To do so would be irresponsible, would put yourself and rescuers in potential danger and would basically demonstrate incompetence.

After saying all this, Bill walked out the door to cross the pass at night and alone. However, he had crossed it four times before. I had never even seen it. Chloe, Jeff Brandner, a semi-pro mountain biker from New Jersey, and me decided to cross the pass together. As we tried to sleep, more people filed into the checkpoint. Sleep was impossible so we left at 9:30pm to cross the pass in the dark. No big deal we thought. Only 40 miles.

The temperature had dropped to –20C as night came so I had all my layers on. We started walking up the mountain together. After an hour the wind picked up and another snow storm started. The wind was directly in our face. I put everything on that I was carrying. Full wind suit, over-mitts, booties, face mask, and three layers of hats. Still the wind was getting to my ears but I had no more clothes to put on. I just hoped that it wouldn’t get any worse.

The wind was also sweeping the trail away. We had no tracks to follow. We had to rely on our lights to pick up the reflective markers which showed the way. Jeff was leading and at one point turned and came back toward Chloe and I. He had lost the trail and gone up to his waist in snow. Our choices were to follow our own tracks back to the previous marker or try to pick up a marker with our lights and wade through the snow until we got to it. We had to decide quickly because as we thought about it, our tracks were being blown away. After searching the mountain with our lights, we picked up a marker and waded to it. The storm raged on and so did we.

Six hours of walking took us deep into the mountain pass. The wind dropped to nothing and the snow stopped. The ground became more level and we were able to walk at a reasonable pace. On this leg of the race I was being very careful to conserve water. One sip every half hour. No more, no less.

Now a new obstacle approached. I had not slept for over 24 hours. Walking along following Jeff’s and Chloe’s wheels was hypnotizing. I began to fall asleep while walking. Several times I walked right off the trail, only to plunge my front tire into the soft snow. Suddenly my luck changed. Someone had dropped a full CamelBac bladder right on the trail and it was not even frozen. My water rationing was over. I gave it a kick to make sure that it wasn’t frozen but only snow on the trail moved and the bladder disappeared. “So,” I thought, “that is what it is like to have a hallucination.”

My luck changed again however. I looked up the trail and saw not one but two full bladders, both lined with Christmas lights. When I got to them I knew they could not be real but I was unable to resist the urge to give them a kick. Each time, the bladder would disappear. I found this fascinating. Dreams and reality were intermixing and my brain was unable to distinguish between the two.

For another hour I continued kicking non existent bladders and walking off the trail asleep at the wheel. Chloe stopped me and asked if she could follow me because she was falling asleep while walking. I told her that I wasn’t much better but she moved behind me anyway. I didn’t tell her about my hallucinations until the race was over. I worked hard on forcing my eyes to stay open. The sun would be up in a few more hours and then everything would be better. Finally, after ten hours of walking Jeff announced that he also could not stay awake while pushing and was walking off the trail.

We made a group decision to bivi. Chloe announced that we would sleep for one hour and fifteen minutes and she promptly set her alarm. There would be no debate or discussion. Chloe would make a good drill sergeant. She is about as tough as they come.

I crawled into my bivi sac, got all the proper zippers zipped, laid on my back and finally closed my eyes.

Day 6 – Still on Rainy Pass

Just as my eyes closed Chloe shouted my name. “What do you need?” I asked.

“It’s time to get up.”

Impossible. I just closed my eyes. There was no way that an hour could have passed. I unzipped my bivi sac and it was daylight. I had slept for exactly one hour and fifteen minutes.

The rest did us a world of good. Our spirits were renewed. It was daylight and we could finally see the beauty and power of the mountains around us. We walked on with vigor and anticipation. The notorious Dalzell Gorge was next.

The pass emptied us into the gorge which has a small river flowing down the centre of it. The Iditrod Trail breakers had been in the week before to build ice bridges over the river in all the required places. These bridges consisted of tree branches with snow shoveled on top of them. The water from the river soaks the snow and then freezes. This creates a concrete like structure which snow machines can travel over with no problems. Our bikes didn’t even cause the bridges to flex.

Once we got deep into the gorge the trail became narrow and hard packed. We could ride! The last ten miles to the Rohn check point were like a dream. We rode through a narrow canyon with ice water falls, crossed more ice bridges, and finally got to a frozen river which we followed to Rohn. Sixteen hours had passed since we left Rainy Pass Lodge. We were overdue for a good meal and some quality rest.

The Rohn Roadhouse is a 1 room cabin used only three weeks per year for our race and for the Iditarod Dog Sled Race. It had four bunks and a table. We were not actually scheduled to get a meal here but Jasper, the guy who looks after the place, had the table set up with some food and said that we could help ourselves to whatever was on the table.

At this point I was introduced to a cracker called a pilot biscuit. Alaskans claim that they will keep on a shelf for years without going bad. They are very dry and hard but taste good. I ate fifteen of these crackers smothered in peanut butter and jam. A few hours later, Jasper served up some pasta which finally filled me. Pierre had already been there for a few hours and he left shortly after I arrived. Pierre continued to operate on only a few hours rest at each check point.

I could not get away with that. The walking was really taking its toll on me and my feet needed recovery time. Chloe, Jeff, and I decided to leave Rohn at 2:00am. I set my alarm, and drifted in and out of sleep for the next few hours.

I awoke at 1:00am. The cabin was packed with fifteen people spread out all over the place. I woke Chloe and Jeff but they wanted to wait another two hours. They tried to convince me not to go alone but I could not resist. I felt great and the rumor from up the trail was that we could ride all the way to the next check point 85 miles away.  I made myself three bowls of oatmeal, drank two cups of coffee and headed out alone. I mentally prepared myself for a twenty hour ride.

The next 85 miles would take me out of the mountains, across the Farewell Burn and into the small community of Nikolai.

The trail started off with steep rolling hills but it was mostly rideable. I had enjoyed travelling with others for the past two days but it was really nice to be on my own again. I was secretly happy that Chloe and Jeff had decided to stay behind. Part of the reason that I do these races is for the pure solitude that comes with it. There was no place more appropriate to find that solitude than on 85 miles that separates Rohn and Nikolai. It is described as the most remote section of the race.

After about two hours I came to a river with lots of overflow right in my path. Overflow is the enemy of all of us. Wet feet in this area is dangerous business. I couldn’t find any way around it so I tested the depth and found that it was only ankle deep. I walked through. If my boots leaked, I would lose a lot of time drying everything out. It turned out that they did not leak but after getting to the other side I realized that I had been thinking about how much time I would lose if my feet got wet. Up until this point in the race I had simply been trying to get from one check point to the next. Time was not an issue. I was just trying to get through the race without getting any more blisters on my feet. Now that I could ride, this suddenly felt like a bike race again. I was excited about this new change of perspective.

After the overflow there was a steep bank about 10 feet high. Climbing it proved to be quite challenging. I ended up dragging my bike up the hill by the front tire. It wasn’t pretty but it worked.

The terrain slowly became more and more flat and the temperature began to drop. I checked my thermometer but it bottoms out at –30C. There was only a little bead sitting in the bottom of the glass. I wasn’t worried. It was very clear and the sun would be up soon to warm everything up. After a few more hours the sun came up and I entered the Farewell Burn.

This is the site of Alaska’s largest forest fire. The fire occurred decades ago but because of the short summers and dry conditions, the area has never grown back. The climate on this side of the mountain range was very different. Dry and cold with little snow. Only three days before I was wading through over ten feet of snow at Finger Lake. Now the wheels of my bike were touching bare ground in places. It was days like this that made the whole race worthwhile. The sun came up behind me and showed the mountain range that we had just crossed. The realization that I had started my journey on the other side of the range was an awesome feeling. I was all alone crossing one of the most beautiful sections of the course. Nothing I had ever done before compared to this day.

Forty more miles of travel brought me to the tree line again. My water rationing was going well and trail food still tasted good. For the first time since the start, I began planning how the race would end. There would only be one more check point, at Nikolai. I could sleep there for a while and then go to McGrath. Or I could just blow through the check point and hope to make it to the finish line without any more sleep. I would have to wait until I got to Nikolai before deciding.

I continued riding all day. It was so nice to be able to ride for an extended period of time. At around 6:00pm I rounded a bend on a river and the village of Nikolai came into view. As much as I had enjoyed the day, I was pretty happy to see the checkpoint. I had been riding almost non-stop for sixteen hours. I walked in, hung my clothes to dry, and sat down at the kitchen table. This check point was in the home of Nick and Olean Petruska. They treated me like family when I walked in. I drank three Cokes on the spot, ate four slices of pizza and a plate of lasagne. The only other person at the check point was Rocky Reifenstuhl. He had been in the lead for almost the entire race but was now suffering from Bronchitis. He had decided to stay the night before continuing on.

I looked at the check sheet to see what place I was in. I hadn’t known or cared about my placing since the start of the race. Now it became an obsession. I was in 11^th place. My secret goal had been to place in the top ten but I had never revealed that to anybody. Three of the people ahead of me were runners and they had only left a few hours before I arrived. I decided to rest for two more hours and then go out and attempt to catch them. The finish line was fifty five miles away. I laid my head down and tried to get some rest.

Day 7 – A Cold Ride to McGrath

I didn’t really sleep very well. Finish line fever was raging through me. I could not wait to get going. By 9:00pm I was out the door. It was getting very cold. The last time that I had left a check point before midnight was at Rainy Pass and I was unable to keep going through the night without sleep. My hope was that knowing the finish line was so close would keep me awake. Rocky had informed me that it took Pat Irwin ten hours to complete this section of the race the day before. This was great news. I could do ten more hours no problem and also, my good friend Pat had won the race! I hoped that he would still be in McGrath when I finished.

Jeff and Chloe arrived at Nikolai just before I left. They decided to stay the night and leave with Rocky in the morning. They wished me luck on my solo quest for the finish line.

The trail to McGrath follows the Kuskokwim River. Nick Petruska told me not to worry about getting lost. There was only one trail. Just follow it. I set an aggressive pace for myself. I wanted to catch the runners who now had a five hour head start. I also returned to my rigid eating and drinking schedule that had been keeping my body alive for the past seven days. Drink every 30 minutes, eat every hour.

After about two hours I met a snow machine. He stopped and told me that the runners had about a ten mile lead on me. I started pedaling even harder.

Two more hours and another snow machine came. This one stopped to talk to me as well. The driver told me that he was not doing very well because he was freezing. I told him to be careful and told him to watch out for frost bite. Shouldn’t he be telling me this? I’m the guy on a bike! It was really getting cold now. This person also gave me some other interesting information. He had met a biker only a few miles from the finish. The biker stopped him and asked him if he would go for help because he was in trouble. The snow machine driver went for help. The check point people came out and told him the finish was only a few miles away. The biker got one last burst of energy and rode to the finish. I found out later that this was Pierre. He had finished the race.

The snow machine driver also told me that the runners were only about a half mile ahead of me now. With this information I took off determined to catch them. I rode hard for another four hours but saw no one. Finally my spirit was broken. I had been chasing for eight hours and had no more desire. I just wanted to get there. I resolved that I would never catch these guys. I figured they could see my head light and kept moving faster to stay ahead of me. It was also getting colder every hour. This type of weather makes biking very slow but at least I was riding.

Now sleep began to take over. I could no longer focus my eyes on my head light beam. I tried everything to stay awake. I made up songs, and sang as loud as I could. There was no one around to laugh at me. I was getting close to the finish and could not stand the thought of biviing now. Several times I veered off the trail into the deep snow, asleep while riding. I needed the sun to rise but a look at my watch told me that I still had to wait another two hours.

3 am on the Kuskokwim River, -35C, self portrait

A new problem now arrived. The extreme cold was starting to penetrate my layers. I found out later that the temperature had dropped to –35C on the river. I didn’t need a thermometer to tell me that this was one of the coldest rides that I had ever been on. My hands were first. I could not keep them warm no matter what I did. I tried holding one hand under my arm and steering with the other and then switching every few minutes. After a while even this was ineffective. I was stopping every few minutes to warm my hands. Finally I decided that enough was enough. I needed some chemical warmers for my gloves. I carefully looked through my bag but as I did so, all my fingers lost mobility. This was turning into a bit of an emergency situation. I rifled through my bag, scattering gear all over the trail. Finally, I found them, ripped them open and stuffed them into my gloves. I let the feeling return to my fingers, repacked my bag, and started moving again.

While I was stopped, another problem developed. My feet got cold and went completely numb. I simply refused to get frost bite this close to the finish line. I grabbed my bike and started running. Fifteen minutes later the feeling returned to my feet and I was able to ride again with warm hands and warm feet. I was really beginning to worry for a while there but everything was OK now.

The sun came up a short time later and my sleepiness disappeared. I cruised into the finish at 9:33am. The longest race that I had ever attempted was over.

The girl at the checkpoint was Claudia. She had been at several of the check points along the way and it was nice to see a familiar face. She told me that I was in 7^th place. It seems the runners somehow took a wrong turn several hours earlier. So that was why I could never catch them. To place in the top ten was icing on the cake and a pleasant surprise since I thought that I was riding into an 11^th place finish.

 Finally finished

This journey had been as much an adventure as it was a race. I really only raced for the last two days. Prior to that I was in survival mode. My total time was six days, eighteen hours and thirty three minutes.

Epilogue

Pat was still at the finish to congratulate me and I congratulated him as well. He would leave the next day to continue riding the 800 miles to Nome Alaska.

Claudia took several photos for me at the finish. The finish line was at Peter Schneiderheinz’s house. Just like in Nikolai, he welcomed me like a member of his family. By the time I got my clothes off, Peter had cooked me some bacon and eggs. When that was done, he removed my plate and replaced it with a stack of pancakes. Next came bagels, endless coffee, toast, cake, and juice. It was a breakfast fit for a king and I devoured every morsel. Food had been an obsession for the past seven days. Finally it was over.

Pierre had flown out before I arrived so I never got the chance to congratulate him. He had finished about six hours ahead of me in fifth place.

A guy named Mike Estes finished only three minutes ahead of me but I never saw him until the finish. He deserved to be ahead of me. Mike had not slept at a check point once during the race. He simply ate and moved on. He had bivi’d for six nights in a row. Not only that but he was going all the way to Nome and as I write this he is in the lead. This guy is tough.

After my breakfast I had a beer and promptly fell asleep. Chloe and Jeff woke me late in the afternoon. They had finished and I congratulated them.

Rocky arrived sometime during the early evening. He could barely talk but he was happy to have been able to finish. Rocky told me that he has competed in an Iditasport race fourteen times. I know from the records that he has won the race something like eight times. He has never scratched in a race. His record remained unblemished.

Bill Merchant eventually walked into McGrath several days later completing his fifth Iditasport Extreme. His spirit and wide smile were unshaken.

Life is slowly returning to normal for me. My body has healed, my appetite is slowly returning to normal levels, and tomorrow I return to work.

My adventure is over but will never be forgotten.