Reminder of presentation

Just another reminder of my presentation on my Iditarod run in the Ottertail Power Community Rooms Thursday, April 19th at 7:30 PM. Hope to see you there!

Part 5: The Finish!

As we left Unalakleet, I kept expecting the infamous Bering Sea wind to pick up at any moment. We skidded over several miles of glare ice with patches of gravel before we began to climb into the Blueberry Hills. It was several hours before the sun rose, but as it rose to my right with the Bering Sea stretching out to the horizon several hundred feet below me to my left, I had to stop and take it all in. These were the kind of moments that make everything worth it. On top of that, the dogs were absolutely screaming. I had my foot on the brake almost the entire time and had a hard time slowing them down. The run to Shaktoolik was about 42 miles, and we had 30 of that without any wind. As we came down out of the hills, however, the wind began to pick up. By the time we reached the small village of Shaktoolik, located on a spit with no trees or hills within 5 miles, the wind was at a steady 20 mph.
I had one of the fastest times between Unalakleet and Shaktoolik; thus, I had my team parked on straw before the checkers even realized I was in. What a good feeling! My original thought was to stay in Shaktoolik for 6 hours, but I changed that to 7 when I realized how good the dogs were resting. Luckily, they had us parked behind the building serving as the checkpoint, so we were more or less out of the wind. On top of that, the sun was shining and Snow Buntings were singing brightly nearby.
We left Shaktoolik around 5:30 PM directly into the strong wind. This was hard mentally for the dogs to leave a checkpoint into a strong wind and a poor trail. However, they picked things up soon, and we were heading for the Norton Sound. After 10 miles of overland travel we left the comfort of the tundra and embarked on the sea ice. It was 30 from that point to Koyuk, but it was the longest 30 miles of the entire race. There was little snow on the ice, it was poorly marked, and there was near whiteout conditions for much of the way due to the extremely strong winds in our face. If there is a place on earth to make you feel small again, this is it. Completely exposed to the elements, you have no choice but to follow the trail you can see and keep going.
I was afraid to stop on the way to Koyuk for fear of the dogs turning around and going with the wind. Amazingly enough, the dogs did not seem to mind the wind. I stopped several times to give the dogs a snack, and they reacted by pulling in their harnesses, ready to keep rolling. We saw the lights of Koyuk several hours before arriving. On a clear day, it is said that you can see the lights of the village 4 or 5 hours before you get there. What a trick this plays on your mind! We arrived in Koyuk at about 11:00 PM, very happy to be there. The dogs got a nice warm meal before I ate some musk ox stew and settled down for a nice nap.
I gave the dogs another long break and left around 7:30 AM the next morning. Elim was the next checkpoint, about 50 miles from Koyuk, but this time we had the wind at our backs. And we flew over to Elim, which is mostly over flat beach and sea ice. We arrived in Elim, a small village located on a hill above the Bearing Sea, around 1:30 PM. I was the only musher at the village, and the checkers were very happy to have some company.
I pulled out of Elim around 7:30 PM followed closely by Dan Carter, who was running Frank Teasley’s young team and who I had run with quite a bit throughout the race. From Elim, we immediately begin climbing towards the top of Little McKinley. This again was hard mentally on the dogs: it was warm out and they didn’t have a chance to warm up before the climbing began. But as soon as they warmed up, we were moving very nicely. The next checkpoint was White Mountain, where there is an 8 hour mandatory break before the final 70 mile run to Nome. The run was fairly easy to White Mountain, other than many, many miles of glare ice. Luckily, wind gods gave us a break and the only wind was that which we created by our speed.
We arrived in White Mountain around 1:00 AM followed 50 minutes later by Dan. It was clear at that point that we were going to make it, and although we were exhausted, the adrenaline was rushing. I got a few hours of sleep in our 8 hour break and we pulled out at 9:00 AM the next morning.
This last run into Nome was the best run of the entire race. My happiness was spread throughout the team and we skipped our way to Nome. The first 40 miles were largely big hills and finally over Topkok Mountain before heading down onto the beach for the final 40 miles to Nome. The best part of the run was that the whole thing was in the daylight, and there were several spectacular views to speak of. 20 miles of trail before Safety, the last checkpoint before Nome, were completely gravel. My runners shredded down to the aluminum at one point, and I had to stop and change them, but this was the only issue with the whole run.
The day I arrived in Nome was also the warmest day of the entire race: the mercury reached a whopping 20 degrees! This was slightly warm for the dogs, but if felt great for myself. The feeling I felt the last 20 miles of the trail into Nome cannot be described. I was so proud of the dogs and what we had accomplished. When we set out, they did not know what we were getting ourselves into, and for that fact, neither did I. But they took it like champions, and champions I hope they will be some day.
We loped down front street of Nome and pulled under the burled arch around 5:30 PM on Sunday, just in time for the finish banquet. It was an emotional moment, having last words with the dogs before we staked them in the temporary dog yard in Nome then wisked away to the finish banquet. We had spent 14 days straight together, and all of a sudden I was in a room with over 500 other people without my dogs.
It didn’t hit me for several days what I had done and how lucky I was to have this opportunity. It took me a good week to catch up on my sleep and to get back into my pre-race routine. And it took several weeks before I stopped dreaming about the race and waking up and thinking that I was still in the race. What will never get out of me, however, is thinking about when I will be able to run again, which will happen. It won’t happen for awhile, but it will happen.
Thank you to everyone who has followed my blog and my progress during the race. And thank you to everyone who wrote me emails of support; none went unnoticed, even if I didn’t write back to them all. Thanks again and feel free to email me at any time with thoughts, questions, etc!

Part 4: Iditarod to Unalakleet

I woke around 3:00 AM to the snores of about 5 other mushers in the cabin and a dazzling display of northern lights outside. Alaska is famous for its amazing shows in the northern sky, and this was no exception. It was also quite chilly, well below zero for sure. I watered the dogs under the light of the greenish aura, and we headed towards Shageluk around 5:00 AM.
We quickly climbed into the hills (and snow, finally!) and the mercury rose as we went. It was a beautiful run and dogs were doing well in the chill of the early morning. It is about 55 hilly miles to Shageluk and another 28 to the village of Anvik, the first village on the Yukon River. My plan was to camp during the heat of the day about halfway between Iditarod and Anvik, and skip through Shageluk on my way.
And I did just that. I stopped around 10:30 AM in a sunny, somewhat protected spot and gave the dogs a meal and a 6 hour nap. I remember this campout particularly well because I remember pondering just how wild the country was we were traveling through. There are certainly not many placed like it left in the U.S. or the world as a whole. What a treat!
The run to Anvik was a breeze, and I enjoyed a spectacular sunset on the way. The only problem I had on the way was issues with my headlamp, which I later discovered was due to cracked wires. I had an extra headlamp, however, so it wasn’t a bit deal. I had Anvik to myself that night, and as a result the dogs and I slept wonderful. I gave them a good 8 hour break and we were on our way around 6:00 AM. From Anvik the next 150 miles are on the mighty Yukon River. The Yukon is famous for ferocious winds and extreme cold. Luckily, for the first time in the race, we were dealt a wild card. The temperatures were chilly but not extreme (-30 to -35 during the nights), but the best part was the lack of any wind. It was amazing!
Overall, there is not much to say about the river. It is a wide, mighty river and reminds me a lot of the Mississippi River down South. I camped out one day in the heat of the day and the next day the dogs breezed through the 60 mile run from Eagle Island to Kaltag, the longest run in the race they had done yet.
At Kaltag, it was clear the dogs were only getting stronger as the race went on. Unlike the frontrunners in the race that begin to start cutting rest and incorporate longer runs to try to get further ahead of the competition starting around Kaltag, that was not our plan. We would begin to take a little longer runs and slightly shorter rests, but we were not racing. We were in 49th place, and that was just fine with me. But with every run, it was clear that the physical and mental shape of the dogs was improving.
After 8 hours in the small village of Kaltag situated on the shored of the Yukon, I pulled the hook around the ungodly time of 4:00 AM. I left Ivan behind in Kaltag simply because he didn’t look like he was having a whole lot of fun. He wasn’t physically hurt and he was eating great, but he hadn’t pulled too well up the Yukon, and seeing as he was a young dog, it was clearly best for his mental attitude to call it quits until next year.
The run from Kaltag to Unalakleet, the first village on the Bering Sea coast, is another long run at around 80 miles. Roughly halfway is a BLM cabin called Old Woman Cabin. This is where most mushers take a break, and this is exactly what we did. However, no one told me that there are two Old Woman Cabins: new and old Old Woman Cabins. I pulled up the first cabin, which I later found out was the Old Old Woman Cabin, and I figured that must be it. So I bedded the dogs down, fed them a good meal, and headed inside. Luck be had it, there was an old trapper from Unalakleet staying in the cabin, so it was warm, had nice company, and he cooked me pancakes and sausage to beat!
So no matter what anyone says, even the though the new Old Woman Cabin is nicer, I have absolutely no doubts of staying where I did. I headed out from the cabin after a 6 hour stop and finished the remaining 42 miles to the Unalakleet. This part of the run was all in the daylight and it was fantastic. There was little snow on the trail, but it was smooth with few hills so it didn’t matter much. We saw and the dogs almost caught several ptarmigan (a small grouse-like bird), and the dogs roared into Unalakleet around 8:30 PM to the cheers of a small crowd.
Like I said, Unalakleet is the first village on the coast of the Bering Sea. From here into Nome, the trail meanders on the sea ice and on the beaches, and there is nothing to block the wind except for a few mingled Spruce trees holding on for dear life. The Yukon River is famous for ferocious winds; on the Bering coast the wind never stops blowing. It’s just part of life, so you better get used to it. But the weird thing was that Unalakleet was perfectly calm. It was almost eerie, but I soaked it up.
I was surprised in Unalakleet by my sweetheart Nicole, who had flown out for the night to see me from Nome. The funny part was I didn’t even see her until she said something to me when I came back to the sled after having already bedded down the dogs. I was so focused on what I was doing I didn’t even see her standing next to a few other people right next to my sled! It was a wonderful surprise though.
The dogs and I enjoyed a great 9 hour break after a spectacular sunset over the Bering Sea and pulled the hook around 5:00 AM. Only 250 miles left to Nome… only 250 miles.
To be continued soon!

Presentation in Fergus Falls

I am coming home to good old Fergus Falls next week and am going to be giving a presentation my winter and my run of the Iditarod at 7:30 on Thursday, April 19th, at the Ottertail Community Rooms. I would love to see anyone and everyone! Spread the word! Email me with any questions.

Part 3: Rohn to Iditarod

After an 8 hour break in Rohn, which was filled with horror stories from the previous 200 miles, we were back on the trail again. I dropped Galway in Rohn for a sore shoulder which I had been nursing along since Skwentna. She had been doing great, but Nikolai was a long 80 miles from Rohn, and I didn’t want to take any chances. Thus, I was left with 14 dogs leaving the Rohn checkpoint. I decided not to bootie before leaving because of reports of overflow several hundred yards down the trail. Overflow is water that seeps up through craps in the ice; the result is free water on top of ice. Thicknesses of overflow can vary from mere inches to several feet.
True to the reports, as soon as we got back onto the river we were met with a hundred yards of 6 to 8 inch deep overflow. The dogs stopped dead in their tracks and depended on me to lead them through the water. Once we got through the water, we had a mile of completely bare ice directly into the wind before we re-entered the woods. The dogs did amazingly well and followed my verbal commands perfectly. The only trail there was to follow were brake scratch marks in the ice from previous teams. Once we entered the woods it was 40 miles of twists, turns, hills, and bumps (very little snow on this section) to Buffalo Camp.
There are several sections of Alaska that are home to Wood Bison; between Rohn and Nikolai is one of them. A hunter has a camp set up about half way between Rohn and Nikolai and he opens it to mushers who wish to camp along the way. I arrived at the camp around midnight and after melting snow for a nice warm meal for the dogs, I crashed in the wall tent for a little nap. It turned out to be a long nap than I planned, however, because when I woke it was light out and I was the only musher left at the camp. Oops! I quickly watered the dogs and headed out of camp.
The last 40 miles to Nikolia cover the notorious Farewell Burn, a large section of woodland that burned many years ago. The result is a tussock and stump littered trail. And this year there was 10+ miles with absolutely no snow on the trail. But we bumped along in the sunshine and arrived in Nikolia around 12:00 PM. Nikolia is the first of many native villages along the Iditarod trail and the hospitality shows that they are trying to be the best. Home cooked chili, a nice room to sleep in, and a wakeup call to beat were all part of the deal.
I packed up and headed out around 8:00 PM for the 52 mile run to McGrath. It was a fairly straightforward and finally easy run. Much of it is on the river, which was nice for a change. I arrived in McGrath around 2:30 AM, and even at this time of the morning I was met by a pack of onlookers! It was great! Among them were my whole family, who spent the entire week in the village of McGrath helping out with the race. It was great to see them out on the trail, and because I knew they were going to be there, I decided ahead of time to take my 24 hour layover at this location.
So, for the next 24 hours I slept, ate, fed the dogs, and repeated many times over. I even took a shower as well! I also got the chance to visit with my family and the other volunteers at the checkpoint, which there wasn’t much time for at the other checkpoints.
I rolled out of McGrath with screaming dogs at 3:30 AM the next morning (Saturday). Although this is an early time for us humans, the dogs love running in the cold of the night and they were moving well. We pulled through Takotna and arrived in Ophir around 8:30 or 9:00 in the morning. It was a cool -27 degrees in Ophir and the sun felt good as its heat warmed us in the checkpoint.
Chaco got to stay behind in Ophir. I had noticed a sore shoulder that he had gotten while running over the tussocks in the Farewell Burn and had been nursing it since, but it was clear he was better off to stay in Ophir and watch the rest of the race from home. I left Ophir with 13 surging dogs around 4:00 PM in surprisingly warm weather. The next section to Iditarod is the longest in the entire race at around 90 miles. Halfway to Iditarod is a little cabin called Don’s Cabin, where most mushers stop for at least a short break.
The first 20 miles were absolutely beautiful: through the woods with good snow, sunshine, and happy dogs. After the first 20, the trail went downhill… fast. Within a stretch of only a few miles the snow pack went from several feet to virtually none at all. From then on, it was a hell ride all the way to Iditarod. The trail was poorly marked and since there was no snow, it was like trying to follow footprints through well-worn grass.
None-the-less, the dogs did excellent and never seemed discouraged by the lack of snow. In fact, they seemed to enjoy rolling in the grass whenever we stopped. We stopped for a good 8 hour break at Don’s Cabin along with many other mushers I was traveling with. I took off from Don’s Cabin around 5:00 AM and the last 40 miles to Iditarod took me over 7 hours.
My sled, which was the sled Jeff King won the Iditarod on last year, finally met its last challenge. Everything fell apart, literally. At one point everything fell out of my back compartment on my sled without me realizing it. I didn’t realize something was up until my cooker fell out and made a crashing noise on impact. I got most of my gear back, but some now belongs to the ghosts of the trail.
By the end of the run all that was still together on my sled was my brake (luckily), my brushbow, and one stanchion of my handlebar. It got many looks and laughs from fellow mushers, but the seriousness was clear. I could not continue out of Iditarod with this sled. Many mushers send second sleds out on the trail was just these occasions. Jeff and I sent ours to McGrath. The issue was I was in Iditarod; the sled was in McGrath.
As a supreme example of the amazing abilities and commitment of the Iditarod volunteers, I explained my issue to the officials at the Iditarod checkpoint and they had my second sled in Iditarod within 7 hours of my arrival. And that was all free of charge.
I arrived in Iditarod around 12:30 PM and after getting my second sled ready for action it was late and I decided to spend the night in the cozy mushers cabin in the ghost town of Iditarod.
To be continued soon!!!!

Iditarod Part 2: Willow to Rohn

We left Willow at 4:30 in 76th place. The first checkpoint, Yentna, is 42 miles from Willow and it was a fairly uneventful run. The first 20 miles were filled with people having barbeques, bonfires, and all the while throwing food (and even beer!) in our sleds as we zoomed by. The temperature was warm when we started, so the dogs were biting snow as we went, but the mercury quickly dropped as the sun snuck behind the tree covered landscape. The last 2 hours were in the dark, but the constant snowmachine traffic lit up the trail almost the entire time.
Yentna was a zoo. Teams had been coming and going for 3 hours by the time I got there, and there were still several behind me. Many mushers decide to go right through Yentna and rest at the next checkpoint; however, since I had young dogs I pulled them over and forced them to chill out for a bit and take a little rest. They were not ready for a rest; 81 other teams and the new trail had put dynamite behind their urge to continue running, but this rest was important. Nome was a long ways away, to say the least. I stayed for 6 hours, of which no rest was to be had for myself. It was quite windy, and as I would find out, I wouldn’t get out of the wind for several days.
The next checkpoint is Skwentna, another 30-35 miles down the trail. This section of trail was fairly easy, all on river systems. I did do a complete 360 with the team at one point, however, due to the dogs taking a wrong turn (my fault completely). Other than this and a strong wind in our face, it was an easy run. The hardest part, in fact, was staying awake. After 24 hours of constant excitement, my body was ready for a rest. We pulled into Skwentna at about 7:00 AM and put some straw down for a well deserved rest.
I stayed 8 hours before I pulled the hook mid-afternoon. Again, I got little rest at the checkpoint, but the rest I got was good none-the-less. I dropped one dog in Skwentna due to an elevated temperature and lacking desire to eat. I was down to 15 dogs, but these 15 were raring to go. The temperature was a little warm for the dogs, but we twisted and turned through the shadows of the trees, so it wasn’t too bad.
Again, it was about 35 miles to Finger Lake, the next checkpoint. And yet again, it was very windy. The trail was filled with moguls, caused by the 2,000 mile snowmachine race that follows the Iditarod trail that is run mid-February each year. This caused a few tips of the sled, but it was no big deal and we pulled into Finger Lake around 8:00 PM. The plan at this checkpoint was to give them a good long break and leave early in the morning for the notorious run to Rainy Pass. And we did just that. We were sheltered from the wind, and after a great Mexican meal prepared by the cook at the Finger Lake Lodge, I got a solid 5 hour sleep in the little wall tent they had sitting on the lake for us.
Amazingly, I felt very refreshed, as did the dogs, and we were ready to roll around 5:30 AM. The temperature was fairly chilly for us wimpy humans (well below zero), but it was perfect for the dogs. We cruised out of Finger Lake, and we quickly realized the wind had not backed off yet. It is again around 35 miles from Finger Lake to Rainy Pass, but it is 35 miles of adrenaline, sled-tipping, tree-crashing, roller-coaster ride. No joke. I have never tipped as many times on one run as I did on this 4.5 hour run. This is the section where Doug Swingley, a four time Iditarod champion, broke a few ribs, and Deedee Jonrow, a long-time veteran, broke her hand.
The trail was almost entirely through thick woods and is constantly either steep up hills or down hills. Luckily, there was good snow cover through this section, which helped matters some. However, over 60 teams had already gone in front of me on the section. This means that there was a brake groove going down every hill, and this makes keeping the sled under control for us back-of-the-packers very difficult. We pulled into the Rainy Pass checkpoint (very happy to be there) with happy dogs and only a few broken pieces on the sled. It was extremely windy at the checkpoint, which is on Puntilla Lake, and by the number of teams parked on the lake, I could tell something was up.
From the Rainy Pass checkpoint, the trail winds upwards for about 10 miles to the highest point in the race, Rainy Pass proper, located at about 3,100 feet. This means that what was windy on Puntilla Lake, was an all out wind storm at Rainy Pass. Several mushers had left earlier that morning, but had had to turn back because of an inability to see the trail. My original plan was to stay 8 hours in Rainy Pass before we tackled the infamous Dalzel Gorge, but it was obvious we had to wait until the wind died down at least a little.
How long did this take? Well, we ended up staying 17 hours in this checkpoint located amongst the striking mountains of the Alaska Range. But I was not the only one; about 20 mushers spent the night crammed into a 1 room log cabin. I left around 5:30 AM with a couple other mushers. The wind was almost calm on the lake, but within 20 minutes we were being blown with gale-force winds. It was incredible, even scary at points. I put my two most experienced leaders up front, and let them do there thing. There was nothing that I could tell them to help, they knew what to do.
From Rainy Pass on, the trail, for the most part, was lacking snow. On this particular stretch, the trail was blown free of snow for much of the way. We traveled from marker to marker, hoping that at any moment we would head downhill into the safety of the trees. Eventually we did, but it was on a steep ride through the Dalzel Gorge. Steep, little snow, and even tighter trees than the ride to Rainy Pass, but it was much shorter and I thought easier overall. After exiting the Dalzel Gorge, I held on as we crossed and recrossed the Dalzel Creek many times over narrow ice bridges.
Finally, we flew out onto a wide river, and it was obvious the hardest of the trail was over. Or so I thought… before we earned our right to rest in Rohn, we had to cross several miles of glare ice with a strong side wind. Glare ice is slick ice with NO snow on top. If dogs are used to it and there is no side wind, it’s no big deal. But we had both to deal with. My young pups had never seen glare ice and the side wind wanted to blow my sled clear across the river into the trees. To keep a long story short, we did several circles around the river before I finally found the right leaders to bring us to the safety of land several miles later. From there, it was an easy run into the heavenly Rohn checkpoint.
The Rohn checkpoint is a small one-room cabin, which was built in the 1930’s, situated in a mature spruce forest. This spot brought to our first wind-sheltered rest of the race. It felt like heaven on earth, and everyone was very happy to be there. We had traveled only 250 miles, but it was the toughest trail we would face and we had crossed the Alaskan Range successfully. But there was still a very long ways to go, and there was no letting up here.
To be continued soon!!!

Iditarod part 1: The Start

I made it back to my home for the winter in Denali Park this past Tuesday after the adventure of a lifetime. It was everything I wanted it to be, and I am already dreaming of the next time. Because I couldn't possibly put it all down in one blog update, the details of the race will come in several issues... Enjoy!

The day I had dreamed about for half my life was almost upon me. What lay between that day and the day we left the kennel in Denali Park with 20 dogs was 3 days of meetings, visiting with friends and family, taking care of 20 crazy huskies in the big city, and 3 sleepless nights. The Thursday before the race start found 82 mushers sitting in the ballroom of the Millenium Hotel in Anchorage listening to race officials go over the rules (there really aren’t that many, which might surprise some), media protocol, what we should do at the ceremonial start and the real start, and finally 1000 miles of trail (this part took them all of 45 minutes!). In the end, the meeting lasted well less time than normal and we were out of dodge by lunchtime.
Thursday evening found us 82 mushers along with 1,000 + Iditarod fans packed into the Sulivan Arena. Dinner was served and autographs were signed, but the main purpose of the night was for the mushers to pick their starting position. Each musher, in the order that they signed up in, went up on stage and picked their starting position, along with thanking sponsors, family, etc. I signed up 63rd, but by March several ahead of me had dropped out, so I was somewhere in the 50’s. I went to the stage and picked number 76. Why 76? No scientific reason, other than 6 is my lucky number and I wanted to leave towards the end of the pack.
Friday was filled dog care and purchasing of last-minute supplies. Saturday is dedicated (informally) to sponsors and fans of the race. What takes place Saturday is the ceremonial start. We take off from 4th Avenue in downtown Anchorage and “race” 11 miles through town to the finish line for the days run. Thousands of people come to watch the start, not only at the start line on 4th Avenue, but all along the trail. There are people having barbeques, sitting in lawn chairs, and almost every one of them has food of some sort to slap in your hand as you wiz by. Each musher also has what is called an Idita-rider in their sled for this run. In December each year every musher’s sled is auctioned off for the chance to ride in his or her sled during the ceremonial start. The price for this 1 hour ride can easily go upwards of $2,000! So if you ever wanted to run the Iditarod, but don’t want all the work, cold, and scooping dog crap to go along with it, here’s your chance!
All went well on Saturday, including my dad making it around the track with no troubles (during the ceremonial start every musher has a second sled towed behind their sled for extra control; my dad rode this sled). I slept like a baby on Saturday night, believe it or not, and was all business Sunday morning. We drove the short drive out to Willow, this year’s official starting line of the Iditarod. The problem was we needed to be there by 11:00; I wouldn’t leave the starting line until 4:30. Waiting = lots of nerves! But the day passed quickly, and we were soon on our way. It was a hard choice of which 16 dogs to start with, but here are the ones I decided on: Texas, Tahoe, Tin, Claire, Jester, Dublin, Shannon, Klarney, Ross, Chandler, Pheobe, Monica, Ivan, Galway, Choco, and Danner.
So we were off… to be continued soon!

Two weeks and counting...

For five months, no make that 13 years, I have been dreaming of the day when I would run my first Iditarod. Dreaming of the dogs I would have… the feeling of pulling away from the starting line in Anchorage… the feeling of pulling into Nome after 1000+ miles. In reality, I couldn’t begin to say how many times I have thought about the day I would get to the starting line.
Now it’s starting to hit me Barry Bonds hits baseballs. In less than two weeks it will be upon me. Two weeks from now I will be on the trail on my way to Nome. The next two weeks, I wish I could say, will go fast, but they won’t. With each passing day, the next will only go by slower. Am I nervous? You bet, but believe it or not, it’s a calm nervousness. I am nervous, but more excited than anything. I am ready for this, mentally and physically.
I brought my dogs out for their last long run before the race this past week; I brought them out for an overnight run on the Denali Highway. They looked great and I think they are ready for what’s to come, although they have absolutely no idea of what’s to come. They will be ready for new trails to run on, that’s for sure.
A big project this past week was packing everything into bags that are sent out to 20 or so checkpoints along the trail (see picture). Everything I and my 16 dogs will need in the two weeks we will be on the trail will be in those bags. Dog food, booties, snacks, personal meals, snacks, clothes, dog jackets, dog blankets, spare sled parts, and the list goes on. In all, I sent 1500 pounds out on the trail. At 40 cents per pound, it ends up being quite the hefty bill, but it’s one area where you do not want to hold back. If you don’t have what you need on the trail, you are out of luck.
The next two weeks will be filled with taking the dogs on short 20 mile runs, vet checks for all the dogs, banquets, meetings, banquets, and more meetings and finally the race start on March 3rd in Anchorage. Set your watches, folks. The time we have been waiting for is almost here.

Winter: Gone and Come

I would have never thought that I could run dogs in shorts and t-shirt in January in Alaska, but such was the case last week. There was a record heat wave across the state: it down right rained in spots, it got to 59 degrees in Palmer, and we hit close to 50 degrees three days in a row. Ok, so maybe shorts and t-shirts would be a bit extreme, but it sure was darn warm.
Although this type of warming trend can never come at a good time during the winter (at least according to mushers), it especially didn’t come at a good time for Iditarod mushers throughout the state. We were all busy preparing our food drops for the race, which are due this coming week. This means that thousands of pounds of raw meat meant to be fed to hungry dogs running a thousand miles across the state of Alaska thawed to dripping mounds of thawed beef, chicken, beaver, fish, and whatever else type of meat you can dream up. Luckily the warming trend was relatively short-lived and the meat stayed cool enough to prevent it from becoming spoiled.
Needless to say, the warm weather had adverse effects on our training trails. I think we would be better off skating down the trails than running the dogs in front of our sleds. There is still snow (rather ice now) covering the trails, but unless you are craving for a death wish, 7 is about the maximum number of dogs that can be run safely. Even that number is a little hairy.
Luckily, the Denali Highway avoided much of the warm weather and is in excellent shape. I have made two trips out to camp in the past week and will be making another trip tomorrow. The run is 52 miles out to camp, making it a 104 mile round trip. This is a pretty long run for the dogs, and with the race fast approaching, we will soon be finished with runs this long and will taper them off until the race.