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Rocky Reifenstuhl is finally going to Nome.

After 20 years of racing on the first 350 miles of the Iditarod Trail, Fairbanks’ favorite pedal pusher is hoping to ride the entire 1,100-mile trail to Nome in this year’s Iditarod Invitational, the world’s longest human-powered race.

“I figure I’m not getting any younger,” the 55-year-old Reifenstuhl said. “If I’m going to do it, I need to do it.”

Having competed in shorter 100-, 200- and 350-mile races every winter for the last 20 years, Reifenstuhl has pedaled more miles across the frozen Alaska wilderness than any biker in the state. In race mileage alone, Reifenstuhl has more than 5,000 miles. That doesn’t take into account the mileage he has logged commuting to work for the past 20-plus years, which would probably dwarf his race mileage.

“I don’t think there’s anybody close to him in terms of winter mileage,” said friend and pedaling pal Jeff Oatley, who has raced with Reifenstuhl the past three years in the 350-mile Iditarod Invitational from Knik Lake to McGrath. “He’s spanned a couple of generations of snow biking.”

A competition junkie, Reifensthul is known for his pedal-to-the-metal philosophy.

As fellow Fairbanks endurance athlete Jim Lokken said of Reifenstuhl, “He’s either going to win or die trying.”

Some would — and do — say Reifenstuhl is obsessed. He says he just likes to ride a bike and push his body to the absolute physical and mental limits. That’s what makes his clock tick, or floats his boat, or rocks his chair, or whatever you want to call it.

For Reifenstuhl, winter biking is a lifestyle.

“This is my second job,” Reinfenstuhl said, standing outside the Alaska Division of Geological and Geophysical Surveys, where he works as a geologist in his first job.

Going solo

While he had given thought to riding to Nome in past years, the time was just never right, Reinfenstuhl said. Part of it is that he needs to take three weeks off to do it. Taking a week off to do the 350-mile race was enough to satiate his competitive hunger.

“There are so many better things to do in Alaska with three weeks of your time than pushing my bike from Ophir to Ruby,” Reinfenstuhl said, alluding to the most remote section of the 1,100-mile trail. “I’d rather go for a summer hike in the Brooks Range for three weeks.”

At the same time, riding to Nome is something Reifenstuhl knew he had to do after what he has done for the past 20 years. It is the ultimate winter biking challenge.

“This journey explores Alaska’s Interior as well as the interior of the athlete,” Reifenstuhl wrote on his blog (www.arcticrecreation.com). “Each will include a myriad of twists and turns, and most are unexpected.

“Iditarod Trail racing is never about a support team and predictability, it’s strictly about self-reliance, adaptability, sense of humor, and oh yeah, physical strength, to some degree” he wrote.

The original plan was for him and Oatley, his next-door neighbor, to ride to Nome. The two racers have ridden in the shorter 350-mile race the past three years, but Oatley backed out of the trip after a chance to float the Grand Canyon in mid-March unexpectedly came up.

“I kind of planted that seed in Rocky’s head to go to Nome and then I bailed on him,” said Oatley, who will race in the shorter 350-mile event.

Even so, by the time Oatley found out he couldn’t go, Reifenstuhl was already committed. He had told his two big sponsors, Bianchi and Cycling Ops, that he was riding to Nome

Of the 46 competitors signed up for this year’s Iditarod Invitational, 19 are planning to go to Nome. Reifenstuhl is one of 10 bikers signed up for the long haul, along with six runners and three skiers.

Trail is key

Everything Reifenstuhl takes is carried on his bike, which is why he won’t be taking much. He will have a down sleeping bag with arm and leg holes that can double as a body suit, a bivvy sack, two vapor barrier sleeping bag liners so no moisture gets into his down bag, a stove and pot for melting snow and a small repair kit.

For clothes, Reifenstuhl wears clip-in Arctic cycling shoes, vapor barrier socks, gloves, mittens and shirt, a pair of bike tights and thick, windproof tights over them. He also has a couple of windbreaker tops, a winter parka, a pair of wind pants and a pair of down pants if he needs them.

Racers in the 1,100-mile race get to send out three 10-pound drop bags with food and supplies, one to Finger Lake, one to Rohn and one to the halfway point in Cripple. Other than those re-supply bags, racers are reliant on boxes of food and gear that they mail out to villages along the route before the race or buy in village stores along the way.

Reifenstuhl carries topographical maps but no GPS.

“You’re either on the trail or you’re not, and you know pretty quickly if you’re not,” he said.

Part of the reason Reifenstuhl races is to see Alaska. Crossing over the Alaska Range on a bike never gets old, no matter how hard it is, he said. This year, Reifenstuhl is looking forward to riding on the Bering Sea pack ice.

“I want to see the coast,” he said. “I’m really looking forward to that.”

The one section of trail that concerns Reifenstuhl most is the 170-mile stretch through the Interior to the Yukon River from Ophir to Ruby, the most remote and sometimes coldest part of the trail.

“That’s a pretty out-there section,” he said. “If the trail is good, we might get to Ruby in good time. If the trail is awful, it could take days.”

The trail holds the key, especially for bikers like Reifenstuhl. When the trail gets too soft to ride, bikers have to push, which slows their physical progress to a slow walk and eats away at their mental fortitude.

Unlike many snow bikers today, who have opted for specially-made bikes called Pugsleys that have 4-inch wide tires and are designed to float on soft trail conditions, Reifenstuhl still rides a conventional Bianchi mountain bike with traditional 2-inch wide Snow Cat Rims, though he is experimenting with 29-inch tires this year instead of traditional 26-inch tires.

Reifenstuhl said he has tried the “fat boys,” as they are called by riders, but doesn’t like them, even though he concedes they go better in soft trail conditions.

“They’re absolutely no fun to drive, but when trail conditions are marginal they are the thing that goes,” he said.

It was raining in Southcentral Alaska this week, though the forecast called for cooler temperatures this weekend. If the trail freezes up, it could be like riding on asphalt. If it doesn’t, it will be like mashed potatoes. In 20-plus years, Reifenstuhl has seen both types of conditions.

“It’s different every year,” he said.

Pre-race pain

Five days before the race, Reifenstuhl was worried about a pain in his lower left back and left quadricep, which he suspects is some kind of pinched nerve. The problem had gotten worse in the past week and Reifenstuhl was planning to get it looked at before leaving, but pulling out of the race at this point is not an option.

“It’s a bummer,” Reifenstuhl said. “You kind of want to be at 100 percent of whatever you have left going into something like this.”

The toughest part of the race for Reifenstuhl, assuming his body holds up, will be pacing himself over the 1,100-mile trail and not getting caught in race mode, especially during the first 350 miles when bikers who are traveling only to McGrath will be pushing hard.

“I’m going to approach it as more of an expedition,” Reinfenstuhl said.

Of course, for Reifenstuhl that’s easier said than done.

“The only way Rocky is not going to compete is if there is nobody in front of him and there is nobody behind him,” Lokken said with a laugh when told Reifenstuhl planned to take it easy.

Reifenstuhl swears he will manage to turn his competition meter down a notch.

“I’m getting older and more sensible, believe it or not,” he said. “I just have to make sure I don’t start thinking, ‘Oh, this isn’t that hard; I can go harder than this’ or ‘Oh, I don’t need to sleep; I can do that when I die.’”

Oatley, who has finished the 350-mile race the last three years, including a second-place tie with Reifenstuhl last year, said Reinfenstuhl said knows he can’t go as hard as past years when they were racing to McGrath.

“Whether or not he will be able to do that or not only time will tell,” Oatley said.

Either way, it’s not as if Reifenstuhl is planning to lollygag.

The record time for a bike rider reaching Nome is 17 days, 2 hours set in 2002 by Colorado’s Mike Curiak, regarded as the top endurance mountain biker in the country, and Reifenstuhl is hoping to reach Nome in 21 days, an average of about 52 miles a day.

“I’m not chasing the record; the guy who holds the record is half my age,” Reinfenstuhl said. “I’m going to try and keep it under control and try to enjoy it.”

Assuming Reifenstuhl is physically able, the only thing that can stop him from getting to Nome is the weather, Oatley said.

“I don’t think anybody can approach the trip to Nome and say, ‘I’m going to make it to Nome no matter what,’” Oatley said. “The weather can just put up a huge stop sign out there. There are years when nobody makes it.”

Reifenstuhl is hoping both the weather and his body cooperate.

“If it’s doable, I’m going to do it,” he said.