Iditarod Trail Invitational 2024... an uncommon adventure

• un·sup·port·ed

  /ˌənsəˈpôrdəd/

  

  adjective
• (of a person or activity) not given physical, emotional or other assistance.

Pre-race start 2019

The ITI '24 unsupported project is something that's been gnawing at the edges of my chocolate fueled adventures on the trail for many years. After 5x 1000 mile Nome finishes and 2x 350 mile McGrath finishes from 8 starts over 10+ years since my first Alaska trip, I've dedicated a chunk of my life to honing my craft of winter travel and gear refinement...and this last aspect is an intrinsic reward of the race to me.

    'I yearned to do that - to create my own gear, with my own designs to solve problems in traversing the trail'

I'd read stories from the pioneers of fatbiking in the golden era; of garage built frames, rims welded together, tyres sewn together and custom components to increase the flotation of a loaded bike on the snow to travel the Iditarod Trail. I've studied these bikes up close in the unofficial fatbike museum at Speedway Cycles in Anchorage and I have to say - we got it eeeeeasy nowadays. I yearned to do some of that - to create my own gear, with my own designs to solve problems in traversing the trail. I've made a bunch of stuff over the years and this unsupported project gave me the opportunity to flex those maker muscles again, along with building a highly refined and functional kick-ass bike with the best modern materials a bike mechanic can afford. 

However, another aspect that is becoming a slight irritant to me is the modern progression of 3rd party support on the trail - sometimes unbidden by well meaning folk. Those early days of the event, where veteran racers would sleep outside with no shelter cabins, or go a long time between resupply - if it was even there at all - that's what drew me in to a yearning for that slightly purer experience with less or no support, even if it meant stretching things out a bit. Put simply - I feel too much support has crept in and is readily accepted by racers, instead of declined. Curmudgeon much? I wouldn't say so of myself, but I think we can do better in terms of what we seek out there on the trail. I can only change my response to support-creep for my own outcomes. 

There was a quote from Bill Merchant many years ago that sums up my perspective on this - it's not word for word but the emotive is the same: 

'When you solve too many problems for folks on the trail, you take away some of the reasons for the true adventurer wanting to be out there in the first place and it lessens the experience for them'

As the saying goes "if it was easy, everyone would do it." There're reasons why its never been done by bike within the ITI race and the cryptic answer lies between those inverted commas above.  Tim Hewitt finished unsupported to Nome on foot in the 2013 ITI; Mike Curiak completed a private unsupported bike tour to Nome in 2010. That's it. Mucho respecto to those veteran legends of the Iditarod Trail.  

'take something hard and purposefully make it more difficult and pure, all the while simplifying and solving some issues one might encounter by travelling supported or tethered to a safety net'

For me, I felt the timing was right - the confluence of motivation, desire, competence and sacrifice. Sacrifice? Yes sir - my family have supported me on this whole journey. I'd also felt a little burned out by the 1st place goal, with some shitfuckery in '19 (IYKYK) and a 2nd place that year, then short coursed by Covid in '20 and ensuing issues in '22 and '23 had me on the mat but I wasn't ready to tap out, I just needed to modify MY approach to a performance goal. But why harder, not easier? This race attracts a certain type of person - I'm sure a psychologist could drill down into the uncommon mindset. So many motivational speakers outline a 'growth mindset' and want to sell you a book, subscription or conference ticket on how to achieve it - I can tell you straight up you need to get out and get after it if you truly want to grow - we each have our own way of seeking out the puzzle pieces. The Iditarod Trail is where I've learnt so much about myself and life in general, in that freeze dried atmosphere.

Comfort at -40C

'You are your only option'

There is a spirit and a series of rules surrounding unsupported racing and they vary from race to race, however the mantra remains the same - take something hard and purposefully make it more difficult and pure, all the while simplifying and solving some issues one might encounter by travelling supported or tethered to a safety net. Integrity is of the utmost importance. Am I still racing? Hard YES, but I'm racing for a good time, not a fast time. Efficient movement in every action is an intrinsic reward as every hour I'm out there equals more resources required. I consulted the race director to ensure that my unsupported attempt can be done within the ITI race structure, as I prefer the pressure of a clock ticking and the legacy aspect of a metric to record, for the annals of ITI history and for my family. There is a saying within the ITI 'you are your only option' and I feel my unsupported project '24 wholly embodies that motto. Lets deep dive into my rules for 1000 miles of wintry, solo type 2 fun:

1. The unsupported racer is to carry 100% from the start, everything they need to get to Nome - no mandatories other than GPS Trace unit as per 'regular' race rules
   
2. No indoor time (includes outhouses, porches of cabins or schools etc) and use only the shelter that the racer carries or natural cover (trees)
3. No resupply or forwarding of equipment
   
4. No mechanical support or shipping of parts/equipment
5. No lingering in villages
6. No camping in villages or near cabins
7. No assistance of any kind from other racers or 3rd parties
8. The unsupported racer is to ride solo where possible, with minimal/no pairing with other racers - no drafting 
9. Any racer applying for unsupported MUST have completed 2x North route and 2x South route in close proximity years
10. The unsupported racer is to check in at checkpoints (outside the CP) with minimal time contact
11. GPS Trace unit/Trackleader tracking as per regular racer, to verify location
12. All other regular ITI rules apply
13. Breaches are considered a failure of the goal, resultant DNF
14. Behaviour must be in line with the true spirit of human powered racing and to remain competitive with the highest level of integrity
15. Leave no trace
16. Make good choices

'Check your hubris at the door, son.' 

Fresh after the 2022 Nome finish

An unsupported attempt isn't something one boasts about early, if at all - it is very much a personal decision to forego the support, step into another hyper level of prep/focus and also also step up your exposure level to be HIGHLY scrutinised before, during and after the race. You need to do a gut check bigtime before announcing your intention, weigh up your risk vs outcome overall. Check your hubris at the door, son. I feel unsupported is for the challenge within, but at some point you have to announce it publicly so that fellow racers, dot watchers and armchair critics can make some sense of your odd movements out there on the trail...or not.  

Hard no.

So... there might be less of the good stuff we're accustomed to as veteran racers (mancakes, rummaging through leftover drops and BLM cabins) but there is a certain simple beauty in the challenge I've set for myself for '24. 

'More freedom, more smiles, less distractions that take away the maximum absorption of enjoyment in the moment.'

I'm reminded of a scene from the sci-fi movie 'Contact' starring Jodie Foster, where she is in the space capsule and strapped with safety harnesses into the seat - both of which were not in the original design schematics of the capsule. The safety structure was the foreign element and wasn't part of the organic intention of travel and became a danger. However, once she detached from those safety mechanisms she was free to explore and experience the surroundings to the fullest.

'I'm okay to go' 

More freedom, more smiles, less distractions that take away the maximum absorption of enjoyment in the moment on the trail. That enjoyment began many months ago, when the making began and the mind expanded its journey of all things unsupported, churning over scenarios and solving them in theory - which is how I've managed to solve them over the last 10+ years coming to Alaska - remotely, in Australia, during a hot summer. Must be doing something right all these years. Over the last decade I've changed a lot of things around to better optimise my life for this event, to be comfortable, when it's uncomfortable out. To this point, my mascot this year is a Red Fox - he looks pretty comfy and content to just be himself out there. 

Lets have a sneak peak of the machine that will carry my gear, my soul and my food along 1000 miles to Nomnomnom (credit Oppy for that one!) I'm sure at some point there'll be a far more detailed breakdown of the bike and gear, but for now just be thankful I didn't redact the images...

   

Microphone dropped. 

Iditarod Trail Invitational 2015 - day 2 race report

I must have looked like some big, green worm all night in my bag. I was doing ab crunches, side raises, back extensions, leg extensions and hamstring curls in the bag to generate heat. Sure, it was cold out, but not that cold. My gear choice was solid, location good. It was all due to the time gap between my last major feed and bivvy down - I should have fed right before sleeping - simple as that.  Lesson learnt - but to be honest I'd never been able to field test this exact scenario to experience it - so I saw it as a positive.  Plus the body was still going through significant thermal adaptation and acclimatisation - it still thinks that its summer...

Only a few hours sleep, brekky done and back onto the trail. I saw a few racers go by while I was eating, so was eager to get moving and make ground. The green waves of the Aurora was now replaced by a fireball moon, my only companion.

TECH - HEADLAMP: the headlamp I chose was a Black Diamond Icon Polar. 200 lumen max, 4 lumen minimum. Runs on regular AA batts. Reasons for choice:  the battery compartment can be remotely mounted (connected by a generous cord length and has a sealed, threaded connection) so I stowed the battery pack in a warm chest pocket. The brightness is  infinitely adjustable via the top multi-function button, and switches between the high power single led, the two white side leds (you can see both modes in these two images) and the red leds. Flash function on white and red low power leds. Excellent lighting adjustment and battery economy for close in work (like cooking and around camp) and great brightness for trail work. Battery indicator is on the bottom of the head unit, so when you power it on it illuminates a small led - an appropriate colour to match battery remaining - you see this due to the position just above your eyes.  

Jim was nice enough to let me know he had passed by a few hours before. He was taking medication that had the amusing side effect of turning his urine bright blood orange - one particular deposit, one could be fearful a racer was losing a considerable amount of blood, until one saw the artistic and quite talented manner in which it was deposited on the snow. Humour is never far away. 

I spent the next few hours chasing that moon - even howling at it just for giggles - until the sky bruised purple with the hint of a sunrise in a few more hours.

Here are a few of the challenges along the way - this is what you white knuckle the bars against - chunked up river trail that is difficult to change ruts once you are in them - the tyre slides on the edge of the rut and you go down. 

...and then there is the glare ice/overflow. Can never get complacent on this - you don't know how thick it is, how fresh the flow is, and just because you see snowmachine tracks over it, doesnt guarantee it is structurally sound (but is a good indicator of safety) for smallish point loads like bike tyres - still apply your common sense, look for rotten spots and above all, take calculated risks. Nothing is perfect and you have to accept responsiblity for your actions. (this was fairly mild overflow - there was worse to come) 

The entrance to Skwentna Roadhouse CP2 appeared, the signs indicated 3 miles. This is where you encounter certain  humour and things unique to the ITI - 'Bill Merchant Miles' - where a mile isn't really a mile as we know imperial miles. But I won't ruin the surprise - that's just part of the rookie experience. Bill has a lot of fun things in store for his racers.

 Inside the checkpoint were a few racers catching a quick snooze, and Jim, Mike and Adam tucking into a hot breakfast. We shared a laugh or two and trail stories, but I was eager to depart before 'checkpoint suck' set in (to me, checkpoints can be like a vortex that sucks you in with the warm fire, dry timber floors and food aromas - all nice things that are best savoured post-race). Plus I was going to be off the river for a while now onto buff  trail and into the Shell hills:

TECH - GOGGLES: I chose goggles over glasses. I wouldn't say my eyes are sensitive - they are just average eyes - but they are Aussie summer eyes that don't have an acclimatisation to this winter environment, so I wanted to create a positive microclimate for them to do their job day after day. I chose 2 lenses that easily changed out - the goggles are Oakley Airbrakes - from the fire iridium for high glare, to the high intensity yellow for ultra-low contrast days and night running. On previous trips I trialled photochromic lenses in my Jawbones, they worked well but the cold does affect the lighter range of the tint (they stay darker than they do in a warmer climate) - found them a little dark for night riding as the lens isn't totally clear in the absence of UV stimulation.

With regards to fogging - it certainly is something that you have to manage. The vents on the goggles must be kept clear of snow and your headgear must direct your breath away from the vents.  On my headgear I stitched in a small length of insulated electrical wire with gear cable crimps on the end, to make a mouldable nose bridge to ensure a positive seal and also to cover exposed skin from windburn/frostnip.

The steady climb into the Shell hills is rewarded with some of the best pump track trail you'll find on the race. The descent to Shell Lake was fantastic afternoon fun - almost no pedalling required - as I pumped my way through each section I was whooping! I'm told the runners hated it due to the random push-pull on their sleds.  It was hot through here too, 5 degrees C. 

I dropped into Shell Lake Lodge and chatted to another racer Thomas. He was feeling a bit broken down at this point, by the sounds of it he was ready to pack it in. I'd also heard that several racers missed the turn at the lodge and continued along the lake for several miles, caught in the red mist and not looking for vital trail clues back up into the hills.

See the trail in this shot below? It's barely there, the lighting is so flat with the low contrast of sky and snow revealing no trail texture  - this is where the high intensity lens really proved itself, being able to highlight the subtle shading of trail contours. This was the last long descent into Winterlake CP3.

Winterlake Lodge is the chance to get a meal, replenish supplies from your first drop bag and have a nap in the hut. Talking about drop bags - about now is where I was starting to pay the penalty of the classic rookie mistake (first evident when I compared the size of rookie and veteran drop bags over a week ago at the B and B). Another of Bills' sayings is 'You always pack your fears'. I had overestimated my food consumption, and spent a while re-sorting my food into what little space I had left - given that I'd only made it halfway through my existing rations. Needless to say every Bonk Breaker bar was packed and a lot of other non-performing food was left behind.

Night was coming so I was eager to exit the CP in the light of day - there are quite a few sharp descents and ascents here that are easier to assess with good lighting. At the bottom of some descents I saw lots of imprint carnage - where riders had binned it and spilled their lollies. Literally. Frozen trailside gummi bears are a rare treat that I happily munched on for  the next hour or so.

Several points along this section required a fair amount of pushing up ravines and icy chutes - I used a pair of Hillsound Trail Crampons for much needed traction. On one of the sections, I overbalanced and fell over into a 2 foot snowbank - the bike fell over on top of me and the crampon spikes punctured the face of my carbon rim.

Second night on the trail, light snow falling, silence. I was having a great time.

Iditarod Trail Invitational 2015 - day 1 race report

"If you had one shot, one opportunity, to seize everything you've ever wanted, one moment, would you capture it...or just let it slip..." EMINEM

Poignant words from a modern storyteller, that encompasses the fulfilment of a dream, of a goal to achieve and let no barrier foil your effort.

But lets snap back to reality - it's race day!

We had a large group of racers staying at the Alaska European B and B, our wonderful host Irene cooked up a fabulous high energy breakfast to prep us for the day. Racers from the lower 48, Denmark, Czechoslovakia and of course Australia - we all spent the last few days prepping, sharing ideas of setup - each of us having our own methods.

A quick ride downtown to the Westmark Hotel, load the bikes into the provided truck, load ourselves onto the race bus for travel out to Knik Lake for the start. Many veterans go through their last minute checklists, weather forecasting and food/race/sleep strategies - while rookies are just wondering which direction to ride over the lake...

The Knik bar is a rite of passage - a place for race veterans to catch up, or to share a story or two with the locals and cram a pre-race meal. I wasn't homesick until I saw those bears.

All too soon though, it was go time. Mirth ensued as eager rookies led the charge...in the wrong direction, as vets sat back in the pack with a clear run in the right direction. The lake ice was covered by a very thin dusting of snow - this was truly a trial of fire - tyre studs proved totally ineffective for traction on the ice, as the tyre tread filled with loose pack snow and the snow acted like a lubricant - like bare feet on a wet tile floor. Oh yeah, falling on the ice was sooooo much fun...over, and over, and over...

Settled into a nice rhythm and stripped off layers, I passed people and people passed me - I was racing the Iditarod baby...ooowwwoooooo! You could hear the hoots, hollers and wolf cries through the forest as racers let the fun flow and the trail magic happen. For whatever reason (raceday red mist, taking pics and adjusting layers), I missed a turn (Burma Rd) that would take me along a valid shortcut along the gas road (flat and fast way to Flathorn Lake) from Pt MacKenzie, I remained on the marked Iditarod trail (a lot more hills, traditional and way more scenic). A serendipitous mistake for sure, but a mistake that I reckon every rookie should make – to reinforce the effect of navigational importance in familiar ground and to keep you on your ‘A’ game. This trail was way more enjoyable too!

This trail section undulates through the hills, finally coming out on one of the NE sloughs of Flathorn Lake – back into familiar territory – however there was no fatbike traffic. I’d been following a few other fatbike tracks (and trailside urine deposits that are undeniably the marks of racers) along the marked Iditarod trail (trail markers are reflective alloy triangles nailed to trees) so I knew my direction was solid - discussion with other racers later confirmed many had also taken the scenic route to Flathorn.

Snowmachines had chunked and balled the trail ice in the slough, then snow had covered this trail. I hit one of these patches and went down – FAST and HARD. Left knee took a big knock and opened it up on a chunk of ice – geez it was only the first day! No time for drama, patched myself up, checked the bike and got rolling again.

The race tension eased a little after that fall,  the pressure of trying to get along the trail quickly had overcome my common sense – there was a lot to learn and re-learn since last riding in Alaska 2 years ago – and experience is the best teacher. Although I had been focussing on conservative outputs for so long, the excitement of the race takes over and you find yourself becoming complacent as you push hard. I was slowly adapting to the longhaul mindset – I wasn’t just tootling around the trails of Anchorage anymore. So with the sun setting behind the ‘sleeping lady’ form of Mt Susitna, I sauntered over Flathorn lake with only a few tyre tracks in front of me.

The lack of tracks over Flathorn from my entry slough had me on edge...just a little. Mainly for ice integrity, but I was confused where the other pack riders had gone - they must have hugged the bank closer to Susitna and I had no idea how many riders were in front of me or behind. No problem, this made it a little easier to ride my own ride.

I paused for dinner on the edge of Dismal swamp and reset my gear for the night ride. Crossing the swamp is the first real exposure to mucky overflow. The plants have chemicals in them that minimise cellular damage when the seasonal freeze comes - their own kind of anti-freeze. These chemicals leach into the surrounding water, and because the water volume is low the higher concentrations of the chemicals affect the crystallisation and strength of the ice - it tends to crumble, crack etc and the overflow ice is rotten. It was a low snow year, the snowmachine trail was rotten and watery - you had to weave a cautious line on the tussock and the trail. And push.

Once past Dismal swamp, roll through the pump track to the drop onto the Susitna river. This drop is worthy of respect - you have to drop in 20 odd feet down to the river ice - it's lumpy and you collect a lot of speed real quick. Many bikes and people have broken right at this spot. I saw a runner ahead - turned out to be my good friend Peter Ripmaster - this ultra-running veteran was going to show me the secret art of Iditarod suffering in a few days time. After a few hours on the river, my thoughts only broken by light whisperings of the Aurora Borealis overhead. Total silence. But the strangest thing - I heard the sound of running water, turned out to be a small spring of fresh water running into the river. Strange juxtaposition and it intially confuses you, as the only water you can relate to in your immediate vicinity is all frozen! More hours pass, river confluences and sloughs roll on by, in that cone of light in front of you. But then you remember you have caffeinated treats...

More time. More ice, snow, more cone of light, before you know it the sound (that generator!) of Yentna station appears. CP1. The moment of truth - to see exactly where I was in the field and quell those questions of who-where that had been rattling around in my head.

I was a bit set back by how much time I'd lost, but this is a race of constant adaptations to new realities. I noted quite a few bikes still in the lot, with riders taking the time to sleep at the checkpoint cabin. My plan was to bivvy out each night - I didn't come all this way to sleep inside!

Before I left Yentna to gain a few more miles for the night, I spied one bike in particular. This bike belonged to my good friend Jim - an ITI veteran headed for Nome and one with whom I shared a unique sense of humour with. I spent a bit of time with Jim before the race, teaching him bike repair techniques and common field repairs. I wanted to notify Jim I'd been through, so took the time to pen a note and remind him of the importance of oral hygeine (I found this skanky looking toothbrush on a nearby fuel drum). And humour - oh the humour - it'll get you through some tough times on the ITI.

I wanted to bivvy down - I felt like I had to stop due to some pre-programmed mode - a remnant of sensible civilisation, but I also needed to keep moving forward for another hour or so. Plus, the genset at Yentna was going to ruin any plan for an hour or two of restful sleep under the stars on the snow. Oh yeah, it sounds so romantic. It was -12C on the river, and not much warmer up on the river bank. I wanted to stay close to the bank edge so I could see racers going past.

TECH - BEDDING: First of all you stomp down your snow patch and let it set for a few minutes, a snow crust will form. For insulation I use a Thermarest Z-lite foam pad on that crust. The great thing about the Z-lite is the way it folds up easily and quite compact - another popular option is the Thermarest Ridgerest - plus they are virtually indestructible and you never worry that a foam pad will puncture. The drawbacks - nearly no comfort and a seemingly low R-value of 2.6. I was using a hipbag Camelbak - this became my pillow (I would drink all water out of it and inflate - any water left in it just freezes). The sleeping bag is an Exped Waterbloc 1200, and inside this I used a Klymit Inertia X-frame inflatable for added comfort.

'Never go to bed depleted'. That's a Bill Merchant quote. I had cooked up a double serve of Idaho buttered mash potatoes a few hours ago, supplemented by a Bonk Breaker and other stuff. Would it be enough to hold me through the night in the bag?

Iditabike camp - day 5 - and feelin' alive!

It was a strange thing to wake up to the sound of rain on your sleeping bag. Yes, freezing rain. A warm front had moved through the night, with it came showers of rain, then a return to cold temps, that dropped progressively behind the front.

Put simply - your stuff gets wet, then freezes. I was using several key layers in my system so I wasn't concerned about getting core wet. My outer bag was a Mont Helium 450 with gossamer thin Pertex Quantum face fabric (not a laminated waterproof membrane fabric) with a DWR. It wetted out quickly and the down clumped severely. I then had a Mont Bell down hugger bag, then an S2S reactor liner - I was still pretty toasty - and just tucked myself deeper into the bag with just a tiny breathing hole for my mouth.

I had a tarp, but didn't bother getting up to use it - I really wanted some intel on how the bags would stack up to wetting out in the field. I also had an OR Alpine bivvy - but it was back at the cabin. Alaska was always teaching us lessons.

A positive though - I stow a Clif bar in the jacket pocket each night, a nice warm Macadamia and white choc bar to eat in the morning!

 

I managed a 12 hour rest despite the rain. I felt refreshed, my jetlag gone and my resting heart rate was back down to sub 60. Those previous late nights with the group just weren't doing me any favours!

 

In this pic you can see the loft loss in my bag (sounds like an Austrian mountain town - Loftlosseinmaberg :) ) from the rain. If I had more nights out here, I would have been in a precarious position - because the down had clumped due to moisture, it then froze into lumps when I stowed it into the stuffsack - put simply I'd be continuing on with no lengthy sleep until I could dry it out. Later that day, when I unpacked it at the B and B, it was like unpacking a frozen gel first-aid ice pack! I knew this bag wasn't suitable for the full extremes, but it did pretty well in venting body moisture and keeping loft, which was the main premise for this bag choice. My Exped Waterbloc 800 or 1200 will be the bag of choice for racing in 2015.

 

 

Anything not covered got sugar frosted with ice crystals...

 

Down to the serious business of food. The stove is an MSR Whisperlite International, setup for white liquid fuel - runs on stove fuel, shellite and unleaded petrol. For cookware I used a 900mL and 600mL Evernew ti pot set that nests. The 900mL was used for melting snow and the 600mL for eating from. I used the 900mL pot lid as my reflective base under the stove, and the 600mL lid to scoop the snow into the pot. I had 2 x 1L nally bottles to fill for water, as well as my insulated camelback bidon. The bidon worked very well, my logic being to consume it before it froze, however a thermos with hot chocolate or soup will be a better bet for race days.

 

 

Ahh, the culinary double down delights of apple/cinnamon AND strawberries and cream Quaker Oats - a flavour fusion of epic proportions :) You won't see this on MKR or Masterchef.

Washing up time was simply stir in some snow around the pot and voila! Dishes done.

I packed my gear and got rolling, was about -15C and the wind was beginning to rise. I bivvied near the bank of the Susitna River, so still had a ways to go back to base camp. The trail was already starting to cover up, there were no other tyre tracks, just the old irondog tracks and reflective trail markers. You don't need a lot of light to illuminate the trail in snow, however the light from my 1100 lumen Exposure Diablo at full power got swallowed by the inky blackness over the dismal swamp.

That orange speck you see behind me was the moon setting, a giant fireball in the sky. Reminded me of a Neil Young song 'Goin' back'. Chorus "I feel like goin' back, back where there's nowhere to stay...When fire filled the sky, I still remember that day..." During camp I was hoping to see some aurora activity to really drive home this song. 

 

Sorry about the blur folks, best I could do in the wind, full zoom on the compact and no tripod...

I made it back to the cabin to listen to tall tales from the previous night. The bunch made it up to the roadhouse for a burger, Renzo stood in some overflow and most of them were pretty much running on empty by the time they rolled into a bivvy site or back to base camp for a few brewskis.

 This was our last morning on the trail, and many were finding it hard to leave the sanctuary of the base camp cabin...

I didn't win the beard growing contest.

Time came to leave basecamp to ride the 30 odd km back to Pt Mackenzie. The temps had been steadily falling all morning, the trail had that 'wet shaving cream' look about it and was squeaking under the tyres (so many different phases of snow) - this can be another indicator of how the temps change throughout the day - was down to about -20C at this point and the wind was picking up.

I was given the task to lead the group back through Wednesdays' navigation exercise route, basically a short cut back to the main pipeline road, without having to traverse the lake - but it cuts out some sweet whoopy trail. The overflow section had grown a bit, was super icy and great fun on studless tyres.

For sure the prettiest type of trail you'll ever ride - narrow, groomed machine trail surrounded by snow laden Spruce. Stickboy on second wheel, and displaying his healthy, outdoorsman beard.

 

We hit the main trail back, we had a solid quartering tailwind with flurries blowing across the trail. The temp was -30C or so with the windchill, red mist set in and the ride turned into an all out individual time trial back to the rendezvous point. It was a race of attrition - we half wheeled, we wheel sucked, we jostled for the best lines in the snow, Stickboys BB seized. As the finish got closer, the pack started to string out, I decided to hammer down for the win, by a good margin. I was elated. The prize was driving the Dodge van from the storage yard to the Pt Mackenzie General Store. I'm a simple guy of simple pleasures - and driving the van on the icy road was pretty cool to me. 

 

 

We loaded up the bikes and gear, drove back to Anchorage, all chatting about the highs and lows of camp. Some of the guys were entering the 2014 race as rookies, most were flying home and another was resupplying in Anchorage then heading north, solo along the Iditarod. My travel plans from here were to Portland, Oregon, for some work conferences and a multi-day back country bikepack trip through Oregon, where I'd be putting my new knowledge and skills to the test.  

 

Kathis' words "You don't get Bills signature on that certificate easily - you gotta earn it!"



It's now proudly displayed in my den and is a constant reminder of why I want to be back there. The Iditarod Trail Invitational to me embodies an adventure race like no other, in an environment that is as challenging as it is beautiful. The philosophy ensures its place as an extreme race, it's no mystery why it has been consistently voted in the top 10 most extreme endurance races in the world.

 

To Bill and Kathi, thank you for your instruction, drawing from your lifetime of experience and knowledge - it is highly valued and respected. I won't let you down.

 

To the readers, I hope you enjoyed chapter 1 of this Ultimate Adventure, but there's still a ways to go. For me this whole trip ticked a lot of boxes, but I aint gonna blow the chunk of the story just yet: this chapter allowed me to fly in, build my transport with a multitool on a driveway (okay, heated garage), get snow up yer crack doing snow angels on the Iditarod trail (spot the aussie), display incredible abilities at changing a flat tyre in an artic environment (you had to be there to experience the awesomeness), live out of a frozen ziplock (it's not easy staying 'regular'), bivvy out with no care about 10 of the worlds most poisonous snakes, spiders, ticks, leeches, centipedes, scorpions, wild dogs, feral pigs (but moose, elk and wolves are all very friendly), talk about vicious dropbears and boxing kangaroos (and how tasty they can be), learn an amazing new skillset and experience a new and totally challenging environment. Yeah, it was pretty awesome.

 

Next stop is Portland, Oregon, USA...