"This is, by far, the toughest event Iditasport has ever put on," declared race director Dan Bull. With my head down and facing into the 30 mph headwind and the temperature around 0°, kicking steps into the 3000-foot climb, I wasn't about to argue with those strong words. I wasn't even halfway and this was already an epic battle.

I have been to Alaska 10 times to compete in various Iditasport events on bicycle, but having retired from professional racing last year I thought I'd try something new. The Iditasport Classic was going to be my fist race on cross-country skis.

The old Iditasport events were based on the Iditarod trail and were generally flat along rivers and swamps. This one was right in the heart of the Talkeetna Mountains. Over the course's 100 miles of snowmachine trail there is close to 15,000 feet of vertical climbing, much of it above treeline.

Sheep Mountain Lodge is ground zero for the start and finish of this survival race and 25 people lined up thinking they were prepared. Bull is fond of saying, "We don't give out much information, we think rookies should pay their dues." At least he's honest. A scan of the entrants' gear was very interesting and at times entertaining, such as the two Finnish skiers who looked fast and strong but upon seeing their small backpacks I knew they could never finish a race of this length in these conditions.

Some other entrants pulled sleds that were piled so high with gear they looked like they were going across Greenland self supported.

It is a fine line between carrying enough gear to get to the finish line and carrying so much that the weight itself prevents you from finishing. There are no gear drops so you have to carry everything you think you might need. You have to be prepared for any weather condition and carry enough food even though when you start you don't know if the race will take 20 hours or 50. What if a ski tip breaks, or a pole? You need to be prepared to fix it, or be prepared to walk out. The event has very little support and if anything goes wrong you have to assume that no one will be there to help you. It's sometimes scary, sometimes invigorating — just the way wilderness races should be.

I had my Ultimate Direction backpack filled with everything I thought necessary and nothing else.

The clothing I wore was critical to success and survival. To exercise in potentially extreme temperatures, breathability is paramount. And it is amazing how little you need to wear as long as your output remains high. I had only R1 tights and pullover covered with Patagonia's Integral shell jacket and pants. At -5° I was totally comfortable; I stayed dry and happy the entire 31 hours of my experience.

Steve Reifenstuhl was there to race the course on foot, and because of the severe difficulty of the terrain he was a favorite to not only win the foot division but possibly beat the skiers and bikers as well. He is a world-class adventure athlete and of course he had just the right amount of gear in his sled. And that sled came in handy on the descents as he rode down some of the passes on top of it.

The Finn skiers took off right at the start and led going into the first checkpoint at 22 miles. When I looked up the trail a few miles before the checkpoint I saw two skiers skating towards me, going the wrong way on the course. It was the Finns. "Hey what are you guys doing, you're going the wrong way," I said. Their reply, "we got to the checkpoint and the soup was cold and there was ice in the drinking water. This trail is too narrow, we came here to skate and our skis are too long, we didn't bring kick wax." I replied, "Welcome to Alaska, things are different here."

— John Stamstad, MountainZone.com Correspondent
John Stamstad is retired from mountain bike racing and is now sharing his mountain bike knowledge with enthusiasts who come to Singletrack Ranch.