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It’s beautiful and sunny in England at the moment and, due to my lack of other working bikes, I’ve been bulldozering around on the Pug. It was the North Downs yesterday for dusty trails and the constant accompaniment of people’s muttered comments. Usually I’d be able to make out only a single word, “tyres”, in the middle of whatever else they had to say. It’s all good, though. Riding fully rigid (ok, fat tyre’s worth of suspension) and flat pedals is helping me to flow with the trail.

Back to the story…

When I got up at Shell Lake, I notice a couple of changes to my physical conditions. First, my eye had sorted itself out – maybe it just needed some real sleep. Second my toes had come up in big yellow blisters. I knew that these weren’t like normal blisters, but put some Compeed patches on anyway. They probably wouldn’t do any harm and have always helped me with real blisters.

Patched up, it was a quick trip to the freezing outhouse (Puntilla has the best outhouse, but more on that later) before Rob and I set off for Winterlake Lodge. The lady at the bar had given us some directions the night before but all I could remember was that we would end up at some homesteader’s place if we went wrong and it would cost us miles. You can probably see where this is going.

A funny thing about riding with Rob was that I warmed up much quicker than he did. So we set off together, and let our individual paces run their course – me leaving him behind for a few hours, then him catching me later in the day. The terrain was more flat tundra and straight lines but the trail conditions were pretty rideable so I set my mind to “mulling” and watched the relatively fresh bike tracks in front of me. Eventually, the trail split and I followed the tracks to the left.

The riding conditions got worse and I was having to use speed to keep me afloat on the narrow track of a snow-machine ski. It was exhausting and as I saw a “Private Property” sign, I began to wonder if it was all in vain. With tyre tracks still ahead of me, I decided to continue and find out where I’d get to. If I turned round now, I still wouldn’t know which way was correct. When I saw a bike ahead, it seemed like good news until I could make out that it was heading straight towards me. This was the route to the homesteaders and some other racers had been there. So we set off back, a drop in the 350-mile ocean of the whole trail.

I saw Rob again as I backtracked and he was getting warmer but still not on a pace that we’d ride together so I plugged on alone. A few hours later, I came to another branch. This time I was going to make a decision not just unthinkingly follow the tyres. Checking my GPS, one direction was clearly right. As I wandered up the trail a bit (GPS can’t tell which way you’re facing unless you are moving) I saw promising looking tyre-tracks to confirm my decision. Before resuming, I paused for chocolate coffee beans and a wee break. The latter is not a simple thing in bib shorts and bib longs. You have to unhook them from your shoulders and still end up crouched over during the act. I still think it’s worth it for the riding comfort, but it feels silly every time you have to go.

As I faffed, Rob caught me up. The cleat had come loose on his shoes so he couldn’t unclip. We rode together for a bit but eventually his pedal troubles caused him to fall back. I knew it wasn’t far to the checkpoint now and it was a great to joy to see across the last frozen lake up to the Winterlake Lodge. Such a joy, that I stopped to take the photo below (you’ll have to look pretty close to see the buildings). And Rob nearly ran into the back of my. He’d snuck up with his sneaky gears as I was spinning out.

Lunch at Winterlake was amazing. Some kind of black bean plate with fried eggs – so good. And this was the first re-supply drop. I opened up my bag to see what Billy had packed for me. Lots of quaker oats bars, peanut butter ritz crackers, some soups and curries, hand-warmers, and a condom. Nice work Billy.

I wanted to make it to Puntilla that night so the stop at Winterlake was short. Just enough time to make sure Rob had his shoes sorted out and get my head together. I’d seen John Ross again and, I’ll admit it – I wanted to beat the other English singlespeed rider. The next section of trail was even better than coming into Shell Lake. It twisted and flowed, and I twisted and flowed with it. I pumped the bike over little jumps, drifted round corners with both wheels sliding and one foot out. It took the slightest amounts of subtle braking to keep things going but the rewards were like riding the switchbacks at Afan. Fun and grins, and why can’t this last forever? The last part of this section is (I think) known as the steps and got to the point where I was finding the trail steep for the conditions. I wonder at how a dog team can ever cope with this. All too soon it was over, though, and down onto a frozen lake. I saw Cory on his skis – I’d gained 10 minutes back on him pretty quickly which should have been a clue but I couldn’t help asking how he’d enjoyed that last bit. Apparently, it’s tough for skiers.

And then I saw the trail that took us up off the lake… So steep that it would take hands and feet to get up. It was maybe 12 feet up and I know I’m not that strong at anything but riding, so I stripped all my gear off the bike and threw it to the top. Then, bike on back, I climbed up the wobbly steep trail. I reloaded, had a snack and it was straight back to pushing. All the height I’d lost on the fun stuff would have be regained as we were heading for the Alaska Range. The pushing was a case of shoving the bike forwards, putting on the brakes, walking up to the bars, and shoving again. Repeat until the hill is over. I wasn’t going to be catching Cory again for a while.

When the trail levelled out, the views into the mountains were spectacular. The sun shone down and the perfect air was a beautiful place to be. When I caught sight of John Ross off to the side of the trail, I was glad of someone to share it with. Just as I slowed down Rob nearly ran into the back of me. Once again, he’d snuck up on a flat bit of trail. The three of us were just happy and privileged to be out there. John even claimed to have given up on racing for position. The competitive streak in me told me two things… (1) Good, maybe that’s my chance to beat him (2) He’s a racer, he’ll be back on it later.

Regardless, the three of us rode more-or-less together towards Puntilla. There was more of the narrow stuff, but this time John and I were floundering. There seemed to be even less grip and putting a foot down off the trail would result in sinking to knee or even thigh level. My riding was a bit slapstick, but it was still getting me closer.

The final hours into Puntilla were horrible. The twists of the trail were frustrating me again and I was mentally done for the day – walking sections that didn’t need walking just because I was fried. Again, over-reliance on GPS made it worse. I could tell that I was at 90deg from where I wanted to go and the stupid damn trail wasn’t going there. The drive to finish was there, though, and I kept moving however low I felt. As day turned to night, I got closer and closer. When I finally saw a head-torch bobbing around near the checkpoint I was ready to drop through the door. Fortunately, I composed myself at least a little before saying hi to the collection of racers inside…

Wow, it’s been a month now since I set off on my big adventure. Time’s flown for various reasons but here it finally is: the first instalment of my Iditarod story…

Alaska is an amazingly beautiful place – just looking at it from the window of the plane filled me with excitement and anticipation. And, as before, my time there was filled with extraordinary people adding to the experience.

It seems wrong to call the Iditarod Invitational a race. Leading up to the event, it was “The Race” – needing no further qualification. During the adventure, though, thinking of it as a race tended to result in making stupid mistakes. So leave the racing to veteran nutters like Jeff Oatley. I’ll probably keep using the word “race” by accident though 🙂

As I had said in earlier blog posts, the lead-up to the race was far from perfect but it was fantastic to meet some familiar faces at the Speedway Cycles pre-race party. Nerves and jet lag kept me from sleep the night before we started, though, and as I arrived at Knik, I felt numb and a little bit queasy. The sun shone down on us and the other racers seemed to be going through similar thoughts as we stuffed down a last fatty meal. A few tweaks to the bike and I was ready to say good-bye to Emily for a few days. There was, literally, a mountain to climb before I’d see her again.

Time unwound quickly and soon we were riding across the first frozen lake through an inch or two of snow. I tried to stay calm and settle into the ride. The trail helped by quickly becoming firm, swooping, packed snowmachine-singletrack. I chatted to John Ross and the time sped past in the sun. I was feeling overdressed and grateful for a bit of easy mileage.

There is no real set course for the race. There are checkpoints, and there is the Iditarod trail, but we don’t have to follow it. This adds to the adventure but makes the first section from Knik to the Susitna river a confusing place for newbies… so John and I duly got lost. After a certain amount of casting around in knee-deep snow, we eventually made it to the river but south of where we wanted to be. Heading north, I could see other racers coming in along Flathorn Lake and saving miles compared to us. Doh! Thinking like it was a race, I upped the effort and soon the back of my jacket was a frozen sweaty husk. There was still a long was to Yentna Station.

A lot of the following section was very marginal riding. You’d progress a hundred metres, then sink into the snow. Casting around across a wide possibility of trails, I’d eventually settle on one and ride another hundred metres or so before sinking again. In the dim light of my head-torch this process went on and on. At least running into Billy was a nice diversion. He was setting a steady “Nome pace” so I said hi and carried on at my own (too fast) speed.

It was in this first section that I learned not to put too much stock in the GPS. Straight line distance to a checkpoint means nothing on a winding river, it just frustrates a tired body. The frequency of my stops increased the further I went and every time I saw a cabin I hoped it was the checkpoint. As the wind picked up, I stopped to swap my normal hat for the one with the pull-up balaclava bit. This simple task was complicated by only having one source of light – my head-torch – and that source being frozen to the hat. Finally, I swapped hats and was able to carry on. The sweaty first hat remained a frozen lump all the way to McGrath.

I was really struggling to set my mind to the speed that I was moving. Every GPS-led estimate of when I would arrive came and went. I wanted to stop, but that wouldn’t help, so I carried on. I scolded myself for making promises to my body that I couldn’t keep. Promises like, I’ll be there in an hour. Eventually I accepted the one truth: if I keep moving I’ll get there so keep moving. At around 2am I got there.

Yentna Station was the busiest checkpoint as the field had yet to spread out fully. I rolled up, signed in, and tried to stuff down food. My plan was to sleep for 4 hours and get back out there. So I set my soggy socks and shoes in front of the stove and went to try to sleep.

But sleep wasn’t happening. Too much excitement, too many nerves, and my eye was itching, hurting, and watering. As the time came to get up I was glad to be “doing” instead of just lying there. By the time I reached the next checkpoint, I was bound to be so tired I’d sleep like the dead.

Heading downstairs, I found Jill Homer. She was hesitating to put any weight on her feet. Frostbite had got to them after overflow had doused them. I was too spaced out to talk to her properly, but I felt her pain and hoped that she would be able to continue. I gathered up my socks and shoes to find them soaked. They had been lying in a puddle while I’d been lying in bed. “Well, my boots are waterproof anyway so I’ll just go,” I thought. Mistake.

The word was that it was cold outside, but as I loaded up my bike it didn’t seem too severe. Of course, the temperature on the river, in the wind, is a lot colder than up at the checkpoint but that didn’t occur to me. I set off into (if anecdotes be true) -30C heading for Skwentna.

Now I was more attuned to things taking absolutely ages. Not quite zen yet, but I could at least appreciate the sunrise and the cold as I pedalled away. Occasionally my feet felt cold so I walked a bit. My eye was watering a lot and freezing up. But, on the whole, things were good. I was doing it, actually feeling like part of the event. At one point, I got off to walk and it felt like my toenail was being torn up by something. I took off my boots to check it out – the toe of my sock was frozen solid and the nail had been pushing against ice. I crunched it around and decided to ride as it was more comfortable. Mistake.

The rest of the ride to Skwentna was uneventful. Jay and Tracy Petervary overtook me; I chugged along. Eventually I reached what I expected to be the driveway for the checkpoint and turned in. No cabin in sight. In fact, it must have been a mile of extra riding through what would have been pleasant surroundings. Sadly, I was squinting at every tree, thinking it was a cabin in disguise. I still didn’t have all the patience I would need, but eventually the checkpoint did come into view – heading inside I found a bunch of other racers…

It was great to see James Leavesley looking so cheerful and preparing to go even as I had only just arrived. Already, there were stories swapping around from the first day of travel and, even through my excessive tiredness, the glow of other people was as welcoming as the warmth of the stove. Which is not to exclude the warm welcome of Bonnie and her family into their home. They’re lovely people!

It was still only about mid-day so my plan was to warm up, eat, and head on down the trail. As my feet warmed up, though, they started to burn. Taking off my socks, I saw that the flesh of both big toes had turned grey and I couldn’t feel anything as I pressed concerned fingers into them. As other people noticed them, I was advised to massage them a bit and try to warm them up in front of the stove. This turned out to be something I could only do in short bursts as the warming hurt quite badly. Eventually, though, my toes felt a normal temperature (but still numb and grey) and I had eaten enough to relax a little. It was getting awfully tempting to sleep for a while.

After some near-dozing on the sofa I decided to head out and try to get to Shell Lake – halfway to the next real checkpoint, but somewhere we could sleep indoors. Rob May thinks I talked him into riding out with me… I’d say the mere suggestion of having someone heading out now was enough. Either way, we set of into the warm afternoon with dry clothes and full bellies.

The ride to Shell Lake was a revelation. Almost all of the pictures I have seen of the trail (including the ones I took) show a single straight like heading across flat tundra to infinity. In fact, there are long section of fun riding out there and the only explanations I can come up with for the lack of photos are: 1) We’re having too much fun and making too good time to stop (2) If you want to see those fun bits, you’ll have to go do it for yourself and earn them. So, Rob and I swooped along snow-machine singletrack under a golden afternoon sky. It was a breath of fresh air after so much slogging along frozen rivers. I had a chance to get out of the saddle and let the bike flow a little – a strange feeling indeed on such a weighty beast.

We talked about riding, racing, and training for the event and the miles slipped by easily. It almost felt like cheating, but I knew I had to sleep at Shell Lake and catch up on all the missed zzzs since leaving England. Rob was happy with that idea so we rode like a Sunday afternoon saunter until we could see the cabins ahead of us on the lake.

The bar at Shell Lake is a weird place. The kind of place you’d expect to see at the start of a horror movie, it was quiet and very slightly strange. I could just picture some horrible secret in the basement. That didn’t stop me ordering food though. And here is one of the sad parts of my race – my bean soup had bits of sausage in it and I just ate up the lot. I could rationalise it by saying that it had already been cooked and probably would have been wasted anyway if I’d have sent it back. But the truth is that it was expensive, I was hungry, and the only alternative was my own food so I just didn’t care.

Sleep here was the best I’d had in a long while. I don’t recall how long I was out… Maybe 6 hours. But It was perfect and I woke ready to take on the next stage of the adventure…

It’s been ages since Iditarod, and I’m finally back onto bikes and blogging…

The briefest possible story of my experience is that I finished in McGrath after 6 days 22 hours; it was spectacular and difficult; I’d love to do it again.

Some of my photos are on Facebook. Bill Merchant’s video is here. Lou Kobin (one of our group of four that took on Rainy Pass together) has her account on her blog.

I will be writing about the race in more detail over the next few days, but one event from the race is worth mentioning now – as a reason for my absence from bikes and lack of motivation to blog. Like an idiot, I managed to get frostbite on my feet. So the week after I got back from Alaska was spent immobile and in pain. I can ride again now, but I still need to bandage my toes and they still make a mess when I do so. It’s not really something to dwell on – especially since I’m back in action now.

One week until the Iditarod and things aren’t looking as organised as they were a while ago…

First my seatpost bolt snaps on a training ride so I have to go home and swap seatposts before carrying on. At least I managed to do that and fight the gremlins saying “Go home now, eat cake now.” I went back out and earned the eventual cake. No luck in sourcing a new bolt, though… how hard can it be?!

Then the effect of knackered shoes gets to my feet again. The soles are so worn out and flexy that the pedals stick through into my feet and roll them outwards. Some sort of suspected tendon pain makes it hard to walk and impossible to run (even across the road).

Having got sick of having the scrape ten tons of sticky mud off my bike after every ride I decided to have a road-heavy week. I set off for some big commutes: 30 miles each way with panniers stuffed to the gills. 10 minutes into my ride home, my freewheel dies, taking me from singlespeed to no speed. I swap it round to fixed (a harder ratio) and carry on home. It was quite nice doing two 60 mile days sandwiching two 30 mile days with nice (ish) weather and no mud. But by the end of all that my shins are seriously painful. I can’t point my toes out or up and it really hurts to walk.

After a day of ice and rest, I set off for my last big ride before the race. It should be about 9 hours and the sun is shining. Trail conditions were still pretty sticky, but the descents had some grip so there was chance to let fly a bit. Four hours into that, the shin pain is back so I plan to cut that ride short. Then I’m nearly home and the freehub on my xc bike jams, going from singlespeed to fixed. Fixed off road might be fun, but not when any failure to keep up with the pedals will further mash the internals of an expensive hub so I limp home and and end the ride on a low.

And of course, I get home to find that my drop bags for the race haven’t made it to Alaska. They were supposed to take 5 days so they’re 13 days overdue. Which may mean I have to carry all my food with no drops. Crap.

At this point, there’s no stopping me but I just wish the little branches and brambles pulling back my progress towards McGrath would give me a break. I’ll just have to keep reading books about people who’ve done harder things and overcome bigger obstacles. It’s just a bike race so I just need to turn the pedals or trudge my feet for a few days. Injuries or lack of food aren’t necessarily the end of that. Look at the scenery, have a laugh.

Another lovely company has been nice enough to help me out with training for and riding the Iditarod… Goodridge! They make steel braided brake hoses and brake pads. Since brake pads are one of my biggest training costs and Goodridge are my first choice brand that’s great news. I had already specced their hoses for the Pugsley to avoid cracking at low temperatures or worrying about crash damage causing a leak so I was very glad that they were willing to help.

Hooray for them!

To quote Bill Merchant, nutrition on the Iditarod trail is about “Fat, fat, and more fat“. A reasonable estimate of expenditure on the trail is 8000 calories per day (an adult male’s recommended intake is 2500 per day in normal conditions), so high fat and calorie dense foods are needed. Roughly speaking: fat is 9 calories per gram, protein and carbs are 4, and alcohol is 7.

This makes for a weird food shopping experience and a new stat-counting measure. I’ve never been that much of a weight weenie on my bikes, but I have definitely become a calorie-per-gram weenie for food. It makes a huge difference. 8000 calories in raw potatoes is 10 kg. Even if you could carry and cook that many potatoes, you wouldn’t want to eat them. 8000 calories in butter is 1.1 kg. A lot easier to carry but also not a lot of fun to eat. For a “short” trip like the Iditarod race, fibre is just indigestible extra weight. Nutrients aren’t a problem because you won’t be gone long enough to suffer a shortage. The key things are: calories-per-gram, easy preparation, and palatability. Low weight is an obvious advantage. Anything that needs to be cooked over a flame will use up lots of fuel so “just add water” is better. And it doesn’t matter what food you’ve got if you can’t bring yourself to keep shoving it down every day.

At least these were my thoughts… I don’t really have the experience to know how well my food plans will work out. I am setting myself back by sticking to vegetarianism. There will be food at checkpoints, but Alaskans are into meat (with good calorie density reasons) so I will have to assume I can only eat what I bring. Bearing all of this in mind, I started experimenting and creating a spreadsheet…

Foodstuff	Cal/g
Muesli	3.6
Powdered Milk	4.9
M & Ms	4.8
Cashews	6.2
Torq recovery	3.5
Almonds	6.1
Dried Apricots	1.7
Chocolate coffee beans	5
Couscous	3
Powdered Butter	6.92
Pumpkin seeds	5.9
Pine Kernels	7

With this information I could plan my meals and get to 8000 calories in 1.6 kg. Hopefully I’ll be able to eat all this, here’s the menu…

• Breakfast: Muesli with dried milk
• Daytime: Cashew nuts with M & Ms, Almonds with dried apricots (chopped up for when they freeze), Torq recovery drink (that stuff isn’t super energy dense, but it really helps me recover while training), chocolate coffee beans (yeah, I’m having caffeine on this one)
• Dinner: Couscous with lots of dehydrated butter, pumpkin seeds, and pine nuts

And there it all is in bags. Using freezer bags means I can cook and eat the couscous straight from the bag. It also means relatively minimal waste packaging on the trail. Making up all the bags certainly did show how much waste there is in food packaging though. My recycling bag was jammed full of cardboard, and the main big was overflowing with plastic by the end.