Background
In late summer of 2004 I stopped by the Girdwood Ski and Cyclery shop to buy an inner tube. The owner, Jim Janson, had some tires on the wall, one of which seemed to have metal studs in it. Strange. I asked him what they were for and he told me they were for winter cycling. I had never heard of such a thing, but thought it would be fun to give them a go. I bought the tires and when winter came, I gave them a try. They worked well--soon I was commuting to work on them every day and had sold my car. Eventually, I began entering local winter bicycle races like the 25 and 50-mile Frosty Bottom. I wasn't fast, but I had fun and got better over time.
I began following the ITI in 2012 and in 2014 I attended a training camp put on by the ITI race directors at the time, Kathi and Bill Merchant. I learned a lot about winter survival at that camp.
I spent the next year improving my skills and increasing my bike-riding distances.
Three weeks before the race I successfully completed an out-and-back race that covered the first 100 miles of the trail I would be following for the ITI. It was a nice chance to test my training, skills, and gear. I experienced a -20*F night and other challenges. But the ITI would take things to a whole new level with truly remote sections including a ride through Rainy Pass, high in the Alaska Mountain Range.
About a week after that out-and-back race, and a few weeks before the ITI was to start, South-central Alaska experienced an extreme warm-spell that resulting in over a foot of overflow water on the Susitna and Yentna rivers--where the ITI course would go for miles 30 to 80. That was followed by a cold spell which re-froze both rivers into solid ice sheets. Those conditions, together with low snowfall for the winter as a whole, meant that the Iditraod Dogsled race would be re-routed to start in Fairbanks. There is an important relationship between the ITI and the Dogsled race. They mutually prepare the trail though the Alaska Range. Without the Dogsled trail preparation, the trail conditions would be much more uncertain as the ITI entered and passed through the mountains.
A few days before the race start, I attended a pre-race party at Speedway cycle where I had the chance to meet fellow racers and speculate on trail conditions.
(Picture: Thomas Borst, me, and Kara Oney)
The start and ride to Yentna station (mile 50).
With all that behind me but with legs were still sore from the out and back race, I was excited about what was to come. The race started on Knik Lake at a little after 2pm. Racers headed in several different directions: accross the lake, around the lake, and another group through a middle path.
A few days before the race start, I attended a pre-race party at Speedway cycle where I had the chance to meet fellow racers and speculate on trail conditions.
(Picture: Thomas Borst, me, and Kara Oney)
The start and ride to Yentna station (mile 50).
With all that behind me but with legs were still sore from the out and back race, I was excited about what was to come. The race started on Knik Lake at a little after 2pm. Racers headed in several different directions: accross the lake, around the lake, and another group through a middle path.
I followed most of the cyclists who skirted the edge of the lake onto some snow machine trails that in a few miles led to a country road that we followed for about 10 miles. It was a nice chance to stretch the legs and get familiar with the conditions and the pace that the other racers were setting (fast).
We soon we left the roads behind us and returned to the snow machine trails that we would follow for nearly 300 miles. The trails were firm with little snow and lots of ice. But with the secure grip from the studded bicycle tires that most of us had, it felt more like a road race than a mountain bike race--at least initially.
Slowly day transitioned to night and by about 7pm we were at the Susitna river. I found myself riding with 3-4 other riders including Bob Ostrom and Ken Zylstra. I noticed that my speedometer read 10 mph as we approached the first checkpoint at Yentna Station by about 9pm--amazing. Yentna is a haven in the wilderness, warm comfortable, with great hosts and food. After a nice dinner, I decided to stop for the night and headed upstairs to a comfortable bunk in the guest section. The next morning, I made an early start of it and was back on the trail before 4am and headed to the next checkpoint--Skwentna.
The Ride to Skwentna (Mile 82)
The thirty miles from Yentna to Skwentna is along a the Yentna River with a gradual upriver climb and a slight headwind. But the firm icy conditions made this section even faster than the ride the day before and I arrived at Skwentna Lodge by about 8am in time for a nice breakfast. While there I ran into Erik, an architect, that attended the camp with me the year before. Erik had some kind of cold or flu and was drenched in perspiration. It was a scary sight and I stayed well clear of him as I exited the checkpoint and headed to the first hilly section--the Shell Hills.
The Ride to Shell Lake (Mile 100)
The Shell Hills are a beautiful section, but the snow cover was increasing as I approached the mountains and the going was a lot slower, with even a few sections that I had to push my bike through. I rode for a while with Steve Wilkinson., a veteran racer from the UK. We chatted pleasantly about the terrain and his prior experiences on the trail and arrived at the Shell Lake Lodge--the 100 mile point-- at about noon. Less than 24 hours and I was already 1/3 of the way to McGrath. This was turning out to be too easy. The Shell Lake Lodge is owned by Zoe Brinker, a tough long-term Alaskan who had built the lodge and raised her children there and still ran it into her 70's. Steve and I had a great lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches, dried our gear, and headed out to the third checkpoint, Finger Lake, 22 miles away.
The ride to Finger Lake (Mile 122)
The trail flattens out substantially on the way to Finger Lake and Steve pulled ahead, so I was alone now for the first major stretch on the trail. But I continued to make reasonably good time and arrived in Finger Lake by about 5pm. I had a nice plate of burritos, talked to the racers relaxing there and headed out before 7pm.
The ride to Puntilla Lake (Mile 150)
The section from Finger Lake to Puntilla Lake, the fourth checkpoint, is one of the hilliest sections in the race and can be the most difficult. By about 11pm I as was at my limit and found a spot to sleep for the night. After an hour or so, it started to rain. By 5am my sleeping bag and I were drenched, cold and miserable. I got up, packed up my gear and headed down the trail concerned about hypothermia and whether I had made a smart decision in entering this race. After a few hours, the rain stopped and the effort of pushing and riding in the now soft and hilly conditions warmed me up and improved my outlook somewhat. Although, it was clear that the first day had given me a false impression of just how easy this race would be.
I soon reached the Happy River steps--a series of sharply dropping switchbacks that leads down to the Happy River. The last step was far to steep for me to ride (or even walk) down. I ended up laying my bike on its side and letting it slide down the step under its own power. I then kicked steps into the soft snow on the side of the trail and gingerly walked down the side of the step. In future years I would find my self again and again struggling at this last step, questioning my wisdom, my safety, and even my sanity. But this year I was just happy to be through with it.
Once at the bottom of the step its a few hundred feet to the Happy River. From there it is a short stretch back to the Skwentna River and then the trail heads back onto land--in a section that was far to steep to ride, or as far as I could tell even walk up. I was stumped. The tracks of the racers ahead of me just seemed to disappear. I tried pushing my bike up the incline--no dice. Maybe, I thought, I can take the gear off of my bike throw it to the top of the incline and then get the bare bike up. I spend twenty minutes trying that but the gear kept falling back down. I was still stumped.
We soon we left the roads behind us and returned to the snow machine trails that we would follow for nearly 300 miles. The trails were firm with little snow and lots of ice. But with the secure grip from the studded bicycle tires that most of us had, it felt more like a road race than a mountain bike race--at least initially.
Slowly day transitioned to night and by about 7pm we were at the Susitna river. I found myself riding with 3-4 other riders including Bob Ostrom and Ken Zylstra. I noticed that my speedometer read 10 mph as we approached the first checkpoint at Yentna Station by about 9pm--amazing. Yentna is a haven in the wilderness, warm comfortable, with great hosts and food. After a nice dinner, I decided to stop for the night and headed upstairs to a comfortable bunk in the guest section. The next morning, I made an early start of it and was back on the trail before 4am and headed to the next checkpoint--Skwentna.
The Ride to Skwentna (Mile 82)
The thirty miles from Yentna to Skwentna is along a the Yentna River with a gradual upriver climb and a slight headwind. But the firm icy conditions made this section even faster than the ride the day before and I arrived at Skwentna Lodge by about 8am in time for a nice breakfast. While there I ran into Erik, an architect, that attended the camp with me the year before. Erik had some kind of cold or flu and was drenched in perspiration. It was a scary sight and I stayed well clear of him as I exited the checkpoint and headed to the first hilly section--the Shell Hills.
The Ride to Shell Lake (Mile 100)
The Shell Hills are a beautiful section, but the snow cover was increasing as I approached the mountains and the going was a lot slower, with even a few sections that I had to push my bike through. I rode for a while with Steve Wilkinson., a veteran racer from the UK. We chatted pleasantly about the terrain and his prior experiences on the trail and arrived at the Shell Lake Lodge--the 100 mile point-- at about noon. Less than 24 hours and I was already 1/3 of the way to McGrath. This was turning out to be too easy. The Shell Lake Lodge is owned by Zoe Brinker, a tough long-term Alaskan who had built the lodge and raised her children there and still ran it into her 70's. Steve and I had a great lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches, dried our gear, and headed out to the third checkpoint, Finger Lake, 22 miles away.
The ride to Finger Lake (Mile 122)
The trail flattens out substantially on the way to Finger Lake and Steve pulled ahead, so I was alone now for the first major stretch on the trail. But I continued to make reasonably good time and arrived in Finger Lake by about 5pm. I had a nice plate of burritos, talked to the racers relaxing there and headed out before 7pm.
The ride to Puntilla Lake (Mile 150)
The section from Finger Lake to Puntilla Lake, the fourth checkpoint, is one of the hilliest sections in the race and can be the most difficult. By about 11pm I as was at my limit and found a spot to sleep for the night. After an hour or so, it started to rain. By 5am my sleeping bag and I were drenched, cold and miserable. I got up, packed up my gear and headed down the trail concerned about hypothermia and whether I had made a smart decision in entering this race. After a few hours, the rain stopped and the effort of pushing and riding in the now soft and hilly conditions warmed me up and improved my outlook somewhat. Although, it was clear that the first day had given me a false impression of just how easy this race would be.
I soon reached the Happy River steps--a series of sharply dropping switchbacks that leads down to the Happy River. The last step was far to steep for me to ride (or even walk) down. I ended up laying my bike on its side and letting it slide down the step under its own power. I then kicked steps into the soft snow on the side of the trail and gingerly walked down the side of the step. In future years I would find my self again and again struggling at this last step, questioning my wisdom, my safety, and even my sanity. But this year I was just happy to be through with it.
Once at the bottom of the step its a few hundred feet to the Happy River. From there it is a short stretch back to the Skwentna River and then the trail heads back onto land--in a section that was far to steep to ride, or as far as I could tell even walk up. I was stumped. The tracks of the racers ahead of me just seemed to disappear. I tried pushing my bike up the incline--no dice. Maybe, I thought, I can take the gear off of my bike throw it to the top of the incline and then get the bare bike up. I spend twenty minutes trying that but the gear kept falling back down. I was still stumped.
Had everyone turned around? If so, how come I hadn't seen them? Eventually I found a side trail that was just a hair less steep than the main trail and after about 30 minutes managed to wrestle my bike up the 15 feet or so from the river to the section of trail that was actually usable. From there the trail climbed for about 3/4 of a mile at a fairly steep grade before leveling off enough to be rideable again.
The riding was inconsistent however and after another five miles I was pushing again. Soon afterwards, I looked back to see David Johnson jogging along the trail and slowly but surely catching up to me as I pushed my biked along. Eventually he caught me and we chatted pleasantly about the conditions and our approach to the next checkpoint. David was pulling a sled and he suggested that I try riding on the compressed snow that the sled was leaving behind him. I gave it a shot but it didn't help much and I soon continued my slow push as David gradually pulled ahead. About four hours later I finally arrived at Puntilla Lake--at roughly 2:30pm. I checked into the guide cabin that was being used as the checkpoint and learned that a nice dinner would be served at the main lodge.
After checking my gear and chatting with some of the other racers, I eventually headed up to the main lodge for dinner. There I learned that the trail had been blown in before our arrival and would be tough going for a while. David had also decided to eat dinner at the main building and we had an extremely pleasant dinner with the lodge owners Steve & Denise Perrins and their sons, plus Thomas Borst, another cyclist, and also an Anchorage doctor who had flown in for a few days of relaxation at this beautiful mountain retreat. The food was excellent and we were even treated to a bit of red wine. It seemed that a surreal break in the tough going that we'd been through over the last several days.
The Ride to Rohn (Mile 178)
The next morning after the conditions in the Pass had improved some and the trail had been rebroken in the night by some intrepid racers, I headed out with three other cyclists: Jim Barkley, an assistant US Attorney from Anchorage, Troy Szcurkowski, a bicycle mechanic from Australia (and a truly nice guy who would go on to four consecutive Nome finishes) and Joseph Te, a runner who had decide to bicycle the race due to some leg injuries that made a running effort too challenging for him.
(Picture: Me, Jim and Troy)
We pushed together for a few miles before the trail became rideable, but our paces were quite different and soon it was just Troy and me.
As Night fell we made it to the top of the pass and took some pictures and hugged.
In a blog entry about what happened next Troy had this to say:
The riding was inconsistent however and after another five miles I was pushing again. Soon afterwards, I looked back to see David Johnson jogging along the trail and slowly but surely catching up to me as I pushed my biked along. Eventually he caught me and we chatted pleasantly about the conditions and our approach to the next checkpoint. David was pulling a sled and he suggested that I try riding on the compressed snow that the sled was leaving behind him. I gave it a shot but it didn't help much and I soon continued my slow push as David gradually pulled ahead. About four hours later I finally arrived at Puntilla Lake--at roughly 2:30pm. I checked into the guide cabin that was being used as the checkpoint and learned that a nice dinner would be served at the main lodge.
After checking my gear and chatting with some of the other racers, I eventually headed up to the main lodge for dinner. There I learned that the trail had been blown in before our arrival and would be tough going for a while. David had also decided to eat dinner at the main building and we had an extremely pleasant dinner with the lodge owners Steve & Denise Perrins and their sons, plus Thomas Borst, another cyclist, and also an Anchorage doctor who had flown in for a few days of relaxation at this beautiful mountain retreat. The food was excellent and we were even treated to a bit of red wine. It seemed that a surreal break in the tough going that we'd been through over the last several days.
The Ride to Rohn (Mile 178)
The next morning after the conditions in the Pass had improved some and the trail had been rebroken in the night by some intrepid racers, I headed out with three other cyclists: Jim Barkley, an assistant US Attorney from Anchorage, Troy Szcurkowski, a bicycle mechanic from Australia (and a truly nice guy who would go on to four consecutive Nome finishes) and Joseph Te, a runner who had decide to bicycle the race due to some leg injuries that made a running effort too challenging for him.
(Picture: Me, Jim and Troy)
We pushed together for a few miles before the trail became rideable, but our paces were quite different and soon it was just Troy and me.
As Night fell we made it to the top of the pass and took some pictures and hugged.
In a blog entry about what happened next Troy had this to say:
"Lars fell into a deep snow hole, hyperextended his knee as he was extricating himself. It was almost a game changer for him - the leg could not bear weight and we were descending into one of the most remote areas of the 350 race - into the Dalzell Gorge and to Rohn checkpoint. I could not leave him, I later found out that he'd left his sleeping pad at Rainy Pass, so there was no chance of a bivvy for him. We worked through a strategy, had a snack and some anti-inflammatories, he rode slowly ahead to set the pace, I had time to meander and fuss with my camera."
It was not a good night…but Troy really saved my bacon. He later ran into problems of his own after I had moved on down the trail--I wish I had been there to return the favor.
After a while we entered the Dalzel Gorge, a steep and narrow section with multiple river crossings and icy trails. Bill Merchant had set the trail through this section on his snow machine a few days before the race started and I'll never understand how he managed to get through. The dog sled race planners, knowing the conditions, had elected to instead start in Fairbanks and avoid this section entirely. I am glad we'd been able to go through it, it was a truly beautiful and challenging section. As we continued on, my leg gradually improved and so did the trail.
We arrived at Rohn at about half past midnight and found a little slice of heaven: a warm tent, a comfortable spruce bough sleeping area, some warm food, and the most helpful volunteers in the entire race. I took a nice break here and headed out alone at about 9:30 am.
The Ride to Nikolai (Mile 250)
A few miles after Rohn, I looked back at the mountains I had just come through and was overcome with emotions. This was my fifth day on the trail. I was entering the most remote and desolate section. I had never done anything close to this hard and I still had days left to ride. I missed my wife, Dawn, my children, Zoe, Jack, and Olivia, and my mom. I began to sob uncontrollably. I collapsed into ball on the side of the trail and let all the fear, loneliness, and exhaustion come out. Eventually, I was able to compose myself and resume riding. Similar waves would overcome me two more times during the race and it would happen again once or twice in later journeys down the trail, but this one was the most intense.
Arriving in Rohn marks the end of the true mountain racing, but there are about 20 more miles of rolling hills which can be surprisingly difficult. Eventually though, they give way to a long flat section that lasts another 25 miles or so. Unfortunately, the low snow cover on this side of the range had failed to cover the tussock plants that line the trail floor. Tussocks are bowling ball sized plants spaced about 6 inches apart.
It was mostly rideable, but just barely. By about 6:30pm I had arrived for the turn-off to the Bear Creek Cabin. The cabin is about a mile off the main trail and I could see from the marks in the snow where a few cyclists had made the turn in front of me. The route to the cabin looked extremely rough and after about 10 minutes the bicycle tire tracks disappeared. Everyone in front of me had turned back around. But I was stubborn and pushed on to the cabin. It took me about 45 minutes of very hard pushing to reach the cabin. It was cold and had very little firewood, but I managed to scrounge just enough to start a small fire in the wood-burning stove to make the place comfortable. It was then that I discovered that I had mistakenly left my sleeping pad at the Puntilla Lake checkpoint. I found a large styrofoam insulation pad to sleep on and settled in for the night. As I slept the cabin slowly filled up—Troy, Jim, and Peter Ripmaster (a runner!) would eventually join me. After a good night's sleep I headed out at about 9am.
The snow cover gradually improved covering the tussocks nicely. By about mid-day I arrived at Sullivan Creek Bridge. Sullivan Creek is about 25 miles from the last Checkpoint in Nikolai, and provides year-round potable water. I took the opportunity to refill my Camelbak and enjoy a nice lunch. The section from Sullivan Creek to Nikolai features flat riding through beautiful birch forests alternating with spruce forests. It was a truly magical section that reminded me of the frozen forests of Narnia, that my mother had read about to me in my childhood.
I arrived at the Petruska home, where the checkpoint was that year, at about 3pm. I enjoyed a nice dinner of spaghetti and the hospitality of Nick and Oline Petruska and their granddaughter, Stephanie. Nick was a craftsman who had built many an Iditarod Dog sled and was well known in Iditarod circles as friendly, kind, and helpful. He would pass a few years later of cancer; I was truly glad I'd had the chance to meet him. They had a flush toilet, the first in almost 200 miles! They even offered me a room to sleep in for a while, but I was feeling good and the weather outside was turning bad. I decided not to risk another blown-in trail and headed back out at about 5pm.
The Ride to the Finish (Mile 300)
It's about 50 miles to McGrath and at about midway the trail forks into an overland and river route. The river route is used by the Dog Sled race and the overland route is used by the locals and the Iron Dog snow machine racers. Depending on the year, either route can be good or bad and it's always a tough call which to choose. This year all of the ITI racers followed the river route and I did likewise. As I progressed, however, the trail and weather conditions continued to deteriorate. Soon I was in a full-blown blizzard with the trail literally disappearing behind me. Eventually, I came upon a lone snow machine rider returning home to Nikolai from a day-trip to McGrath. He asked if I was okay and offered me a libation (I declined) and after talking a bit more we wished each other luck and continued on. I was glad that his tracks had improved the trail a bit. As night progressed into day and I approached McGrath the weather improved, and I could see from my GPS device that I was within a few miles of the finish. Unfortunately, I missed the final turn off of the river and detoured a few miles out of my way. Realizing my error, I backtracked to the fork and headed back toward the finish.
I arrived at the home of Tracy and Peter Schneiderheinze at about 8:00am, roughly 6 days and 18 hours after my start. The Schneiderheinzes were serving a magnificent breakfast of omelets and giant pancakes. After Kathi took my finishing picture, I sat down for a wonderful breakfast.
I talked at length about my experience on the trail with Jason Buffington, a multi-sport finisher who did a lot to help me start putting the race into perspective. In some ways, the psychological recovery from the race can be as hard as the physical and Jason's help with that mental recovery was really appreciated. In future years, I would always try to make myself available to finishing racers who needed to talk through what they had just completed.
Soon I was on a plane on my way back to Anchorage. It was an amazing experience that I never could have done without the support of my family, fellow racers (especially Troy), the race support crew, and many others.
After a while we entered the Dalzel Gorge, a steep and narrow section with multiple river crossings and icy trails. Bill Merchant had set the trail through this section on his snow machine a few days before the race started and I'll never understand how he managed to get through. The dog sled race planners, knowing the conditions, had elected to instead start in Fairbanks and avoid this section entirely. I am glad we'd been able to go through it, it was a truly beautiful and challenging section. As we continued on, my leg gradually improved and so did the trail.
We arrived at Rohn at about half past midnight and found a little slice of heaven: a warm tent, a comfortable spruce bough sleeping area, some warm food, and the most helpful volunteers in the entire race. I took a nice break here and headed out alone at about 9:30 am.
The Ride to Nikolai (Mile 250)
A few miles after Rohn, I looked back at the mountains I had just come through and was overcome with emotions. This was my fifth day on the trail. I was entering the most remote and desolate section. I had never done anything close to this hard and I still had days left to ride. I missed my wife, Dawn, my children, Zoe, Jack, and Olivia, and my mom. I began to sob uncontrollably. I collapsed into ball on the side of the trail and let all the fear, loneliness, and exhaustion come out. Eventually, I was able to compose myself and resume riding. Similar waves would overcome me two more times during the race and it would happen again once or twice in later journeys down the trail, but this one was the most intense.
Arriving in Rohn marks the end of the true mountain racing, but there are about 20 more miles of rolling hills which can be surprisingly difficult. Eventually though, they give way to a long flat section that lasts another 25 miles or so. Unfortunately, the low snow cover on this side of the range had failed to cover the tussock plants that line the trail floor. Tussocks are bowling ball sized plants spaced about 6 inches apart.
It was mostly rideable, but just barely. By about 6:30pm I had arrived for the turn-off to the Bear Creek Cabin. The cabin is about a mile off the main trail and I could see from the marks in the snow where a few cyclists had made the turn in front of me. The route to the cabin looked extremely rough and after about 10 minutes the bicycle tire tracks disappeared. Everyone in front of me had turned back around. But I was stubborn and pushed on to the cabin. It took me about 45 minutes of very hard pushing to reach the cabin. It was cold and had very little firewood, but I managed to scrounge just enough to start a small fire in the wood-burning stove to make the place comfortable. It was then that I discovered that I had mistakenly left my sleeping pad at the Puntilla Lake checkpoint. I found a large styrofoam insulation pad to sleep on and settled in for the night. As I slept the cabin slowly filled up—Troy, Jim, and Peter Ripmaster (a runner!) would eventually join me. After a good night's sleep I headed out at about 9am.
The snow cover gradually improved covering the tussocks nicely. By about mid-day I arrived at Sullivan Creek Bridge. Sullivan Creek is about 25 miles from the last Checkpoint in Nikolai, and provides year-round potable water. I took the opportunity to refill my Camelbak and enjoy a nice lunch. The section from Sullivan Creek to Nikolai features flat riding through beautiful birch forests alternating with spruce forests. It was a truly magical section that reminded me of the frozen forests of Narnia, that my mother had read about to me in my childhood.
I arrived at the Petruska home, where the checkpoint was that year, at about 3pm. I enjoyed a nice dinner of spaghetti and the hospitality of Nick and Oline Petruska and their granddaughter, Stephanie. Nick was a craftsman who had built many an Iditarod Dog sled and was well known in Iditarod circles as friendly, kind, and helpful. He would pass a few years later of cancer; I was truly glad I'd had the chance to meet him. They had a flush toilet, the first in almost 200 miles! They even offered me a room to sleep in for a while, but I was feeling good and the weather outside was turning bad. I decided not to risk another blown-in trail and headed back out at about 5pm.
The Ride to the Finish (Mile 300)
It's about 50 miles to McGrath and at about midway the trail forks into an overland and river route. The river route is used by the Dog Sled race and the overland route is used by the locals and the Iron Dog snow machine racers. Depending on the year, either route can be good or bad and it's always a tough call which to choose. This year all of the ITI racers followed the river route and I did likewise. As I progressed, however, the trail and weather conditions continued to deteriorate. Soon I was in a full-blown blizzard with the trail literally disappearing behind me. Eventually, I came upon a lone snow machine rider returning home to Nikolai from a day-trip to McGrath. He asked if I was okay and offered me a libation (I declined) and after talking a bit more we wished each other luck and continued on. I was glad that his tracks had improved the trail a bit. As night progressed into day and I approached McGrath the weather improved, and I could see from my GPS device that I was within a few miles of the finish. Unfortunately, I missed the final turn off of the river and detoured a few miles out of my way. Realizing my error, I backtracked to the fork and headed back toward the finish.
I arrived at the home of Tracy and Peter Schneiderheinze at about 8:00am, roughly 6 days and 18 hours after my start. The Schneiderheinzes were serving a magnificent breakfast of omelets and giant pancakes. After Kathi took my finishing picture, I sat down for a wonderful breakfast.
I talked at length about my experience on the trail with Jason Buffington, a multi-sport finisher who did a lot to help me start putting the race into perspective. In some ways, the psychological recovery from the race can be as hard as the physical and Jason's help with that mental recovery was really appreciated. In future years, I would always try to make myself available to finishing racers who needed to talk through what they had just completed.
Soon I was on a plane on my way back to Anchorage. It was an amazing experience that I never could have done without the support of my family, fellow racers (especially Troy), the race support crew, and many others.
If you liked this post, my race reports on my subsequent foot and ski finishes can be found at the following links:
1. 2020 Ski: http://larsdanner.blogspot.com/2020/03/2020-iti-race-report.html
2. 2018 Foot: http://larsdanner.blogspot.com/2018/03/2018-iti-350-race-report-introduction.html
If you have any questions or comments, please leave a note below and I'll do my best to promptly respond.
Always fun to read ITI reports.
ReplyDeleteI am glad you enjoyed it, Phil.
DeleteThat was a great read Lars! Good stuff to get me fired up for some winter biking!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Bob. Glad you enjoyed! The days are getting shorter for sure.
Delete