Seven miles from the airport they came to the base of Palani hill, a long, shallow incline that led toward the highway’s intersection with Palani road, marking the edge of Kailua town proper and the starting point of the race’s last mile. The corridor was filled with ghosts of Ironmans past. Another few minutes brought them to the place where, walking in the opposite direction, Mark had been passed by Dave Scott in the ’84 Ironman. A few minutes down the road they reached the spot where, heading in the same direction, Mark had been forced to begin walking in the ’87 Ironman. At the intersection they made a right turn onto the thoroughfare that accounted for almost 100 miles of the Ironman racecourse. They packed their belongings into a rental van and left the airport by a narrow two-lane access road that led to the Queen K highway. Mark again reminded himself of his new attitude. Mark and Julie sweated through their light, loose travel clothes as they waited for their suitcases and cumbersome bike boxes. The baggage claim also is shaded but otherwise unprotected from the elements. The ticketing area is ceilinged but unwalled. The waiting areas at the gates are outdoors. Keahole (as it was known until 1993) is an outdoor airport.
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Mark and his soon-to-be bride, Julie Moss, stepped from the air- conditioned cabin into the equatorial heat of the Kona afternoon as they followed other passengers down a portable stairway and onto the tarmac. The small jet, an island-hopper from Honolulu, landed, taxied, and stopped. he remembered the reeds he had pulled from San Elijo Lagoon and stashed in his suitcase, which now lay in the plane’s hold. he pressed them back by reminding himself of his new attitude of embracing the island and its harsh elements. The bird’s-eye perspective on this crucial section of the race’s cycling and running routes is particularly daunting to athletes who have experienced Ironman and know what that lava field feels like, and is especially threatening for those who, like Mark Allen, have come undone there.īad memories threatened to creep into Grip’s consciousness as he took in the severe vista below. The Queen K highway passes right by the airport, through the tar pit. This bleak aerial panorama could not have been better contrived to intimidate athletes arriving to compete in the Ironman World Championship, all aware that they are looking at the racecourse. Its lone runway appears to be helplessly floating in, perhaps sinking into, a bubbling tar pit when viewed from the perspective of a descending aircraft like the one Mark Allen stared down from on the afternoon of Thursday, October 6, 1989, nine days before the greatest race ever run. Kona’s airport lies smack in the middle of a lava field. Read an entire chapter from the new book by Matt Fitzgerald titled “Iron War: Dave Scott, Mark Allen, & The Greatest Race Ever Run”.
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