Rovaniemi 150 Arctic race
Rovaniemi 150 Arctic Race
Goodbye to the closest thing we had to the ITI in Europe
There are races you finish… and races that finish you. And then there are the rare ones that become a meeting point, a yearly pilgrimage, a shared reference for an entire community. For fat bikers and winter adventurers around the world, Rovaniemi 150 was exactly that. And the strange part is: it’s gone now.
The event was cancelled for good in 2022. For many of us, it didn’t just feel like the end of a race. It felt like the end of an era.
Start of the Rov 300km race!
How it all started
I first crossed paths with the spirit of this race back in 2018, while in Rovaniemi—Lapland’s capital—preparing an Arctic project connected to the Baltic region. That’s when we “discovered” what was happening every February: a winter endurance event you could tackle on foot, on skis, or by fatbike, in real Arctic conditions.
The event’s heart and identity was always the main 150 km race—that was the reference, the one that gave the race its name and reputation. Over time, the organisers also added two other distances: a shorter 66 km option and the long, serious 300 km epic.
The race was organised by Àlex Simón Casanovas from Polar Guide Logistics. And this is personal for me: Alex is a good friend of mine, and he also helped us massively with the logistics of our Baltic Sea crossing back in 2017. Rovaniemi 150 was never “just an event” for him—it was a community effort, built with volunteers and the kind of experience you only get from spending your life guiding and working in polar environments.
Those longer routes also attracted the global fatbike crowd for another reason: the 300 km course carried serious weight because it was linked to the path toward Alaska—one of the races that could serve as a qualifier for the Iditarod Trail Invitational (ITI). For many riders, Rovaniemi was the closest thing to the ITI you could find in Europe—raw, cold, remote, and honest.
Rovaniemi in February: beautiful… and unforgiving
Rovaniemi sits right on the edge of the Arctic Circle world: rivers, forests, endless white, and that special winter light that makes everything look calm—right before it tries to hurt you.
In February you can get crisp, “fast” snow and manageable cold… or you can get the kind of temperatures that turn every stop into a risk assessment. It’s the type of cold where hydration systems freeze, batteries die, metal tools bite, and the simple act of fixing a layer or opening food becomes a time penalty that can spiral.
Rovaniemi 150 was always a race, yes—but it was also a winter judgement test.
Rovaniemi 66 km in 2020
I finally lined up in 2020, choosing the 66 km on a fatbike. “Short” is a funny word in the Arctic—because even 66 km becomes a different sport when your body is spending energy just to stay warm.
That year, things clicked. I found rhythm, kept the stops tight, managed the cold properly, and rode into 5th position. It was one of those results that stays with you—not because it’s a podium, but because it confirmed something: I belonged in this world.
Rovaniemi 300km in 2022
Then came 2022—the year the Arctic reminded everyone who was in charge.
I went for the 300 km, the one with that ITI-qualifier aura and the reputation that makes you respect it before you even start. But that year wasn’t “hard”. It was dangerous.
The cold steadily stole fine motor skills. Hands stopped working the way hands should. At around the 160 km mark, I made the decision to retire. I was feeling the warning signs in my fingers—numbness that wasn’t normal fatigue anymore, but something far more serious.
Even with that decision, the consequences were brutal: I later ended up with severely frozen fingers, blackened, frighteningly close to amputation territory. That’s not drama—that’s the price winter can charge when conditions cross the line.
That year, the race was essentially broken by the weather. Only two participants finished the 300 km, and both did it on foot, paying their own heavy price with freezing faces and hands. For the rest of us, it was survival and smart decisions, not glory.
And then, just like that, the race was cancelled for good.
The end of an era
For many of us, Rovaniemi 150 wasn’t only about the route—it was the February meeting point. You’d see the same faces, the same kind of quiet madness, the same mix of athletes and adventurers who like suffering—but only if it’s meaningful.
After 2022, a lot of the international fatbike crowd drifted to Norway, to events like Fat Viking: similar in distance and prestige, often faster, more “race” than “adventure”… but still one of the few international roads that can lead toward the ITI dream.
Still, it’s not the same.
Rovaniemi had a particular kind of magic: Lapland rawness, volunteer spirit, and that feeling that you were stepping into a European echo of Alaska.
The story behind the Rovaniemi 150 finisher’s medal
The Rovaniemi 150 finisher’s medals are made from natural dead pine wood, known in Finnish as “kelo.” This isn’t ordinary timber. In the far north, trees grow slowly, shaped by long winters and short, intense summers. When birch and spruce reach the end of their lives, the inner heartwood often rots away. Pine is different. As it ages, its grain tightens and the resin helps protect it from decay.
That’s why pine trees can remain standing even after they die.
Over time, the dead pine dries into “kelo.” The bark and needles fall away, the surface turns grey, and the wood becomes something distinct—weathered, hardened, and preserved by the Arctic conditions. This process can take decades, and these standing “kelo” trees can remain in place for hundreds of years, enduring deep frosts through the long winter and constant daylight through the summer.
What makes the medal even more meaningful is where the wood comes from: the shores of Lake Inarijärvi, a place held as spiritually sacred by the Sámi people. Inarijärvi is Finland’s third-largest lake and is scattered with hundreds of islands. One of the most well-known is Ukkonkivi, a tiny island that remains a place for Sámi ceremonies (and is also visited by tourists).
These medals aren’t handed out to everyone—they’re only for finishers. And each one carries something personal: the participant’s name, written by hand by a Sámi woman who lives near the Porohovi checkpoint.
Even the smallest detail has a connection to place. The medal’s cord is made from reindeer skin, tying the whole piece back to the north and its traditions.
Why Rovaniemi 150 still matters
Even though the race no longer exists, its legacy does. It helped define winter ultra fatbiking in Europe, created a real bridge toward the ITI, and taught the most important lesson winter can teach:
Finishing is optional. Coming home isn’t.
Rovaniemi 150 was never just a GPX file. It was a place, a season, and a community.
And if you were there—you know.
