In marginal or just unrideable snow, there would be a lot of pushing or exhausting jumps on and off the bike. When it was really cold or the snow machine trails were packed down then we would whizz along with time to take in our surroundings. Sometimes we’d be on snow-machine highways many metres wide and disappearing straight into the horizon where they met distant mountains. The light in Alaska is absolutely amazing – a piercing blue that you can lose yourself in as you ponder miles and miles of barren snow.

During each ride, we would practice setting up a bivvy. Getting the process as quick as possible now would make it far easier when it came after 20+ hours of continuous riding during the race. Each time we’d get better at making sure everything necessary was in reach of the sleeping bag and the minimum amount of time was spent losing heat between riding and getting wrapped up. With some off-trail snow pounded down to be firm (off-trail is important – Bill once collided with an ill-placed bivvy, snapping his forks and having to finish the race on foot), a sleeping pad and bag laid down and the stove set up we would melt more snow and have hot food. Practice time over, there would be more riding before returning to the main camp in darkness.

Riding in the dark is often a good time to travel the snowy trails. At this time of year there are only six hours of daylight anyway, but the major advantage is the lower temperature. Low temperature means firm snow and much faster riding. Combine that with the advantage of lights picking out all the ruts and surfaces of the trail and night-riding out here is an important skill. If you can pick out the track of a single ski from a snow machine this can provide an excellent low-resistance surface to speed along.

Each day would end back in the big, warmed tent with more stories and chat. Dinner was always laden with butter to up the calorie count. Every day during the race we could be expecting to burn in excess of 6,000 calories so finding the right ways to get that into yourself is an important skill. Fortunately, this wasn’t the race yet so out would come the rum, whiskey, port, cognac, and whatever else we could get our hands on. Laughing out the day we exchanged tales of adventure, biking, and biking adventure until finally retiring back to our bivvies.

The Iditarod trail is no walk in the park, but having spent a few days living and riding out there it doesn’t seem like a mercilessly hostile environment that should send you scurrying back to civilisation. It is a place of beauty that demands respect but can be worked with to have a enjoyable time. And hopefully, come March, 49 other racers and myself will have a good experience out there…