FEATURE STORY
9am the next morning after riding through
the night. The trail meanders through
mostly White Birch and Spruce pine forest,
over snowy meadows, on frozen lakes and
rivers. The trail surface varies from firm,
compacted snow, to bottomless ‘sugar’
snow, glare ice, tussock, overflow and
open water on certain rivers. The Iditarod
trail only exists in the winter, as the frozen
rivers and lakes are the only way to
traverse.
The checkpoints are like an oasis in the
desert providing basic food or a warm
place to sleep for a few hours, to travellers
and racers alike. There are also small
shelter cabins should the weather turn
truly hideous.
The first three nights I camped out as
this gave me the best control of where and
when I stopped. I found a suitable spot off
the trail under a big spruce tree for cover,
stomped down the snow and let it set for
about 10 minutes, laid out my foam
insulation pad and sleeping bag, ate in the
bag then slept. I sleep in my riding clothes
and I carry extra insulated pieces to boost
the bag as needed. Nights were around
-25C, average daytime temp was around
-10C and a hot day was -2C. Even at these
temperatures you sweat and you have to
balance staying warm, dry and
moving forward efficiently. I wore the same
clothes for nearly three weeks with one
swap of knicks and two sock changes – this
is another aspect of body conditioning
you won’t find in a training handbook...
At Rainy Pass, my fatigue had
accumulated due to dehydration, loss of
appetite and the exposure shock of
camping out each night. I slept for eight
hours to recover and virtually clawed my
way up Rainy Pass under a cloud of
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exhaustion, but the positive side was an
amazing sunset and an aurora show as I
camped out on the Ptarmigan flats. The
following day I crossed asegment of the
Tatina River that had some nasty looking
shelf ice. It was only a day later that a good
mate of mine, Peter Ripmaster, an
ultra-runner from North Carolina, fell
through the ice and was totally submerged
in the river and was only saved by his sled
floating on the surface. In Rohn I had my
one and only mechanical fault where my
rear valve had gummed up with sealant
and wouldn’t seal properly – strange
things happen at -20C.
In McGrath (day 5) I’d planned a 24-hour
rest to plan out the next phase of the
journey and resupply from my posted
food cache. Two racers had left the day
before and I was eager to catch them, and
with a day’s rest in my legs it was possible.
It was a ‘no chain’ day on the climb out of
Takotna and I could see their footprints in
the snow as they walked up the climb. This
spurred me on even more. At about 10pm
I called it a day after 15 solid hours,
ironically only half a mile short of reaching
the two racers at a cabin!
I rode with them the next two days, sharing
the trail and enjoying the camaraderie, as
ITI is like an extended family.
The 150-mile segment of the Yukon
River is where I hammered down to
breakaway from the other two racers. It’s a
broad expanse of glare ice, exposed sand/
gravel bars, open water, sugar snow and
sastrugi. I had some prepatellar bursitis
that caused me grief, but I was able to self
treat with a clean A and B sample and
breakaway solo down the Yukon.
I recall at one food drop, I was there with
Tim Hewitt (the foot race winner), we were
tearing into our bags like rats, stowing the
food and rummaging through other
racers’ discarded options, finding items we
liked and feeling like hobos. We sure
looked and smelt like hobos. I had stowed
some chocolate bars in this cache, so it felt
like Christmas dinner!
On the portage after Kaltag, the first of
the lead sled dog teams slid silently by, yet
all of a sudden my solitude was invaded by
helicopters, private planes and snow
machines all out to capture their moment
of the race. I paused in Unalakleet to enjoy
the best pizza on earth and lost about 70%
of my lung capacity stuffing it in.
When the wind blows hard NE on the
coast, it can concentrate in areas called
‘blow-holes’ and I encountered them head
on during the 50-mile stretch overland and
across the Bering Sea ice to Koyuk. Ride or
walk – it didn’t matter – the speed was the
same and no-one can hear you swear. I
took shelter in the Iggugnak safety cabin
for the night to prep my food packs and
get a solid rest. I’d heard racers taking 14
hours to cross the ice the day before, so it
was crucial to have an efficient strategy for
the crossing – you don’t stop for long