The promoter calls this race, a 17-day dirt stage race across Australia, "The world's longest and hardest bike adventure." What I wonder is, how can this be so hard if you sleep in a bed every night? The meals are catered; mechanics work on bikes; they even have complimentary massage. After 17 days on the Iditarod Trail, the Crocodile sounds like a vacation to me.

From Adelaide to Kuranda, we travel 1700 miles south to north across the Sturt's Stony Desert, following the Birdsville Track. According to AAA of Australia, tracks are affected by adverse weather conditions; they are typically primitive in nature and we're told to use caution when traveling. In other words, a sandy washboard road cutting across the heart of a vast continent.

Last year's winner, Japp Viergever, said, "Nothing is similar to this. It is the toughest, hardest and most adventurous off-road staged race in the world." For me, the Crocodile is an opportunity to go across the temperature spectrum, having raced in the extreme of winter across Alaska, to here in Australia, in the heat of racing coast to coast. The race pace adventure of experiencing Nowhereville, Australia on a bike in front of an audience made up entirely of kangaroos, emus, cattle and mosquitoes is exactly what ultra-endurance cycling is all about. What could be more interesting?

It is what little is written about the Crocodile that reminds me of the Race to Nome — the mental isolation of focusing on the horizon day after day. "Your concentration is on the back of the rider who is in front; or your next goal, a tree in the distance. It is mostly the constant pain screaming from your body you think of," explains Swiss Alex von Euw. Others reminisce of the physical pain associated with a 17-day stage race. "The handlebars become a pneumatic hammer, knees and arms hurt, the buttock is roughened, muscles grow hard."

Austrian Peter Raymann relates how his concentration became so badly lost, mistakes lead him to a flat tire. he asks us to imagine the heat pounding down on his back as he hunched over, sweet stinging his eyes, swatting flies and frantically working to replace the tube.

These descriptions brought back reciprocal memories of my own physical limits during the Race to Nome. The fall that cracked my tailbone on the Kuskakwim River forced me to ride the next thousand miles with a mitt stuffed down my shorts. Or when I physically fell apart while crossing the Kaltag Portage, my numb, swollen arms and hands stopped working, demanding me to bivy the next 12 hours.

I can totally relate to Austrian Gernot Ruzicka when he talks about sleeping in remote villages; spots with populations in the single digits that are unknown to most Australians. Even after a day of racing, Ruzicka spends hours working on his bike equipment in preparation for the next stage. At the same time he stuffs his face with food trying to maintain the 10,000 calories needed to sustain the intense competition. Sounds to me like The Iditarod on Wheels all over again.

Join me for daily updates of life on the road — Australian Outback-style; log-on and experience a cyberactive day with an offroad stage race. The folks Down Under say this event is the Tour de France of offroad stage racing, well, let's find out. Follow two North Americans as we try our best to stay within sight of Europe's top cyclist.

For me, the search for a race harder than Alaska is definitely a reason to enter the Crocodile, but I would be lying if I said that was the only reason. I fantasize about dropping the hammer on some Euro pros. The image of me looking back as I stand on the pedals pulling away from the competition; knowing they are asking, "Who is this guy?" is a hefty goal. The reality is that the only stage race I've encountered has been on TV; I'm out of my element in this race. So kickin' back after a punishing day on the bike, feet up with a Foster's oil can in hand sounds like the right attitude.