Pushing It [zoom]

"Somewhere below the pass Rocky's stomach gave out, then his energy started to flatten and all of a sudden he was in a life or death situation...."

This was my third try at the shin deep overflow and my latest system of socks over garbage bags was working. Running across ice with frozen socks that wanted nothing more than to slide off the ends of my feet became a real challenge, but I was fired-up. This would be the edge I needed to beat John Stamstad at this race.
[click to hear and read John and Pat's dialogue ]

Once on the other side I worked frantically to get the frozen socks and plastic bags off my feet and my riding shoes on before the cold air cooled my metabolism down and left me shivering and having to build a fire.

Willy [zoom]

I knew the Canadian Greg Blackwell would also be trying his luck at the Kuskokwim and when he made the crossing he to would be chasing me for the lead. The rookie Blackwell had put himself in a fine position by staying close to John and me. He was enjoying the luxury of following the two veterans. Greg made it across the river only to be stopped by the extreme cold. Walking to stay warm had not be enough, so sometime in the early hours of the -30 degree morning, Greg built a fire and crawled into his sleeping bag.

After his garbage bags were sucked off his feet, John Stamstad decided to give the water time to freeze, I could tell this was a hard decision to make. John knew if I got across, my lead would be big and working to reel me in would be extra, if he even could.
[click to hear and read John and Pat's dialogue ]

"Stamstad caught up with me at the Shell Lake Lodge where I sat eating my dinner of Spam and 7UP..."

Thirty of the world's top endurance athletes descended upon Anchorage Alaska for the third annual Iditasport Extreme, the 350 mile wilderness race across the Alaska mountain Range. Starting at a lazy 3pm, the race traveled from Knik to Flathorn Lake, some 35 miles, and the mandatory overnighter. Racers are required to use only the equipment they will be traveling with for the duration of the race. Unlike last year's suffer-sleep, we were welcomed in at Kurt and Peggie's cabin for a big pot of jambalaya and cornbread. The wood stove was cranking and the best seats where hogged most of the evening by the first bike riders in.

The growing popularity of the extreme showed with the big international contingency: Italy, France, Germany, and Spain were represented along with the standard U.S. and Canada athletes. The race restart was at 8am sharp; a relentless 20+mph head wind kept us at a snail's pace for the next eight hours. At this pace I had lots of time to contemplate what the hell I was doing out there.
[click to hear and read John and Pat's dialogue ]

Going into the Skwentna check point with Rocky Reifenstuhl and Greg so close, I wanted to do a fast transition into dry gear and fill up my camel back with XL-1 energy drink mix. My strategy was to get a jump on the two and sneak over Shell Hill to Shell Lake, then ride to Finger Lake and the next check point.

Stamstad caught up with me at the Shell Lake Lodge where I sat eating my dinner of Spam and 7UP. Shell Lake to Finger Lake was like being in a war. The high winds, the blowing snow, with the growing snow drifts made riding impossible. I think in the 20 or so miles to Finger Lake I might have ridden two of them. The weather was so intense we could not see the Lodge from a ¼mile away. It was on this section of trail that Rocky's stomach gave out.

Puntella Lake Lodge:
Stamstad and I both saw it in Greg Blackwell: the blood shot eyes, the dilated retinas, and then there was the lack of motor skills, and the asthmatic chest heaving, he had bonked. We looked at each other and both knew we had to get out of there and get some time on Greg. Ten miles above Puntella Lake Lodge found us fumbling around for the dozenth time, looking for the trail, we had endured four hours traveling in a 60 mph headwind. The blowing snow became so intense my neck gator froze and kept dropping down to expose my checks to the icy teeth of this cruel wind. Both John and I continued to jog with the hope of staying warm, heads bent to protect our faces, we traveled in silence.

"Doubt is welling up into my chest, my hands have been numb for over an hour..."

Four hours is along time to go with out food or drink and I started to feel my extremities cooling down: first the hands, then the legs and arms. My face is freezing: I wondered if I'm getting frostbite? "Where are the trail breakers?" The word was we would see them in three hours, John says: "where the hell are they? We can't continue like this!" I agree our rate of progress is almost zero. Climbing over snow drifts we stagger under the force of the wind. I could see the frustration on John's face, my own confidence has started to waver. We are so close to the turn up Pass Creek, so close but so very far away.

At first, I thought I was seeing the moon's reflection off the snow but reflections don't move. All of a sudden I knew the cavalry was coming. Richard and Craig are weaving their way in our direction. "How is my face," I yell at Richard. I'm freaking, this weather is starting to get to me. John says "we can't find the trail, and we can't afford to wait around." Richard and Craig are yelling "we could hardly follow your tracks the snow is blowing in all signs of the trail."

Doubt is welling up into my chest, my hands have been numb for over an hour, my eyes are burning with the sting of snow. John looks to be receding inward. Richard and Craig take-off looking for the trail.
[click to hear and read John and Pat's dialogue ]

On a rise, we four regroup, what to do? We all agree this pace is way too slow. The trail breakers say "we can't guarantee we will be able to find the trail." At this speed, John and I are doomed, Richard sees it in our eyes: the fear, frustration, disappointment but mostly the lack of energy to make a decision. Richard says, "leave your bikes against this tripod and get on the snowmachines we are taking you down." Anger and frustration well up but I know he is right.

Riding the sno-mos back to Puntella Lake, the last check point, is like being on a bronco bull, the wind has sculptured the snow into ridges and drifts that make traveling treacherous. Craig and John disappeared over a drop, setting off a four foot slab avalanche that they luckily are able to ride down. Richard is left grabbing for the brakes as the two of us peer over a four foot drop into blocks of snow as big as outhouses.

We returned to the lodge after our four hour effort with nothing to show for it. Greg Blackwell has suited up and wants to head out, but decides to stay for the night, a good decision by the rookie.

Two days into the race and 45% of the starting field has dropped out. With 30 to 40 mph headwinds, the route has been transformed by three foot high snow drifts. The athletes struggle through deep snow on unridable terrain. The wind transported snow has also created a high avalanche danger on Rainy Pass. The conditions have forsaken the athletes with the daunting challenge just to finish.

The Iditasport Extreme has turned into the survival of the fittest. Racers in the back of the pack continue to experience in-your-face winds, soft unridable trails and dropping temperatures. Top endurance athletes like Chloe Lanthier, Mike Curiak, and Jacques Boutet have all thrown in the towel. The remaining pursuers appear to be gearing down to a tour pace, or so I thought.

Rocky Reifenstuhl the Wiley fox of Fairbanks Alaska, this year's winner of the Iditasport 100 and the guy who blew-up on his way to Finger Lake Lodge. He's the same guy who pukes then lays down to rest only to be woken with uncontrollable shivers. Rocky walked into Finger Lake Lodge and announced he was "applying for social security" he had "enough of this race." This same guy appears back at it, going non-stop from Finger Lake to Rohn over Rainy Pass. Actually, Rocky was on quite a roll till he hit the back side of the Alaska Range. Somewhere below the pass Rocky's stomach gave out, then his energy started to flatten and all of a sudden he was in a life or death situation.

The Top-3 [zoom]

"I could not keep anything down, once I started puking I knew trouble was sure to follow," Rocky said. The wind driven cold sucked what energy remained, Rocky was forced into his egg shaped sleeping bag, with arm and leg hole Rocky looked like a walking egg. "I built a fire to warm up and thought I would have to again on the air strip; till I saw the 55 gallon barrels and knew the cabin was close."

After successfully crossing the Kuskokwim I was fired up, for the next six hours the riding was awesome. At night, the spruce have a way of turning into human shapes: a man working on a snow machine or a woman siting in a lawn chair, a small group gathered around a barbecue, stuff like that. I love this state of mind, sort of like the creative subconscious the first idea that comes to you when looking at a new shape or object, images to take my mind off the cold, or something like that.

At 7am I parked my ride and walked into the Farewell Lake Lodge to visit the caretakers John and Sharon, these folks saved my bacon last year. John announced the temperature to be -30°. Sharon stocked the fire while I told of the river crossing and my jumping into the lead. Coffee and twinkies for breakfast, my dry clothes back on, I was off to the Farewell burn, or so I thought.

At night the Iditarod trail is easy to follow, with yellow reflectors nailed to trees I would say the course is well marked. That is during the night, in daylight the reflectors blend into the trees like sap pockets. Looking across a half mile of frozen lake is a challenge for even the best of eyes. Then throw on a fresh coat of snow over an untraveled trail, all of a sudden I was riding in circles looking for the trail that is supposed to lead me to the Burn. Now I'm not known for getting lost easy, but this was getting ridiculous, all tracks lead me to the same trail but the trail had no Iditarod markings. After the third pass I started feeling the pressure and jumped on the trail. I knew John would be hot on my tail, wasting all this time started making me feel paranoid so off I went.

John left Rohn at 8am, the overflow had turned into hard ice. In four hours John blew passed Greg who was sleeping trail side, stopped to top off his camelback at the Farewell Lodge and was heading for the Burn. That is, till he rolled onto the lake to find my tire tracks everywhere. After the most discouraging three hours of my life I decided to turn around and head back to the last Iditarod marker. My anger was like a volcano ready to explode, I wanted so badly to lash out at someone, anyone. Even with volcanic anger I knew it was my blunder. Not having a map has to be the stupidest error of the race, but even more insane was following this trail. The trail with no markers, I'm such an idiot!

I ran into John on the way back to the lake. He too, had reluctantly followed the trail, but unlike me, not as far. When I saw John my spirits hit concrete at terminal velocity and of course he saw the splat. By consulting the maps and working together we made good use of our time and found the right trail. Just as we found the Iditarod trail Greg Blackwell rode up, fresh from a afternoon nap, he was ready to go.

The buffalo camp is an oasis of life on the bleakest stretch of the Farewell Burn. The three of us rolled into camp and were greeted by the hunting guide John, who stoked up the wood stove and fed us peanut butter and crackers, welcomed us to top off the camelbacks and dry out our gear for the final 40 mile push to Nikolai.

Stamstad peeled out first followed by Greg and myself, I could tell John was setting himself up for a fast trip to Nikolai, but not even I figured he could go that fast. Greg and I left thanking John for his hospitality and started down the trail, Greg says "there is a second set of tire tracks!" I immediately think, Rocky "the fox." It had to be. I asked, "what kind of tires?" Greg replied "Geax, the same tire half the field was rolling under," it had to be Rocky. We stopped to put air in our tires, it was at this point the volcano erupted, I was damned if Rocky was going to beat me to Nikolai. I jumped on my bike and dropped two gears, for the next 40 miles I think my butt hit the seat twice, I was riding with a mission the objective, to beat Rocky to Nikolai.

"When I rolled into Nikolai the mercury read -30°, I had been on the go for 39 hours..."

I found "the fox" wearing his egg suit, pushing his bike "my stomach gave out again" Rocky was back in survival mode for the second or third time in as many days. We walked together talking about his near death experience on Rainy Pass, his stomach troubles, my "insane" run across the Kuskokwim. I left Rocky receding into his own mind, the fox would make it to Nikolai most likely not remembering any of this night.

When I rolled into Nikolai the mercury read -30°, I had been on the go for 39 hours. Stamstad wasted little time, a one hour stop was a bit shorter than I had in mind. With 50 miles to McGrath still ahead I decided to get a good meal, dry out my gear then indulge in a one hour nap.

Rocky staggered in followed by Mike Madden and Greg Blackwell, Mike made good time from Rainy Pass, his attitude sounded to-good-to-be-true for the final push. Both Greg and Rocky wore the look of beaten crusaders in the holy wars.

I inhaled a cheeseburger and fries, two slabs of Spam, washed it all down with a couple of cokes and off I went to McGrath.

For the past four days twelve hours John "Stamina" Stamstad and I have been neck and skinny neck apart, basically we've been together. Each of us pushing the pace, we never waited for each other, yeah sure, we worked together to solve logistical problems but my sole intent has been to be the first one to walk into the smoky Airport Cafe in McGrath.

Leaving Nikolai, I figured my sense of purpose was finished, John had too big a lead. But then I saw his tracks, he was weaving, then crashing and then he started walking! My heart began to race, "he is falling apart," "is his lead big enough?" When I saw the remains of his fire, I thought "Stamina man seems to be falling apart," my pace picked up, speculation ran threw me like diarrhea. Now, its not as if I had a lot of energy left in me either, but "one man's pain is another man's motivation."
[click to hear and read John and Pat's dialogue ]

It happened around this time that I started getting paranoid about Greg and company. I am chasing a man in pain and running from three men in pursuit. What a way to end a five day race.

The last seventeen miles into McGrath are on a roller coaster ice road. For the past five hours my diet has consisted solely of Fireball energy gel and XL-1 drink mix, like my mind, my body knew the end was nearing.
[click to hear and read John and Pat's dialogue ]

The dynamic trio of Greg, Mike and Rocky rolled out of Nikolai sometime after 8am. Greg's knee had problems, Rocky's stomach was still trashed, all three just wanted to get this bad dream over with. Greg said "nobody wanted to race, my knee was pretty bad so we just stuck together." Nine hours later the trio rolled across the finish line to celebrate a three way tie for third.

"All of a sudden I was eating two Fireballs at a time and riding like I had just started the race..."

With each turn of the pedal excitement and paranoia propelled me over yet another hill, closer to the end and maybe closer to John Stamstad. I can't remember when I started doing standing intervals, I think it happened after putting more air in my soft tires, all of a sudden I was eating two Fireballs at a time and riding like I had just started the race.

The ice road gave way to a plowed road, then to the main drag of McGrath, past the shooting range and then the dump. Once I saw the houses, then the school, I knew the end was near, with one mile to go and no sign of John. I rolled up to the Airport Cafe, walked into the smokey bar, there he sat talking on the phone, just 56 minutes in, we shook hands and I ordered two Cokes.
[click to hear and read John and Pat's dialogue ]

— Pat Norwil, Mountain Zone correspondent