Sunday, November 13, 2011
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
The Luckiest Day of my Life
The luckiest day of my life started out as what I'd call a fairly typical day. The crew and I had mushed our thirty-nine dogs out to our remote camp in front of the truck. There was a little more fresh snow than I expected, but we had a great run, and I was excited that even some of my young dogs, "teenagers," had figured out what this whole camping thing was all about.
We got all the dogs cared for and bedded down. We ate supper and turned in for a little shuteye. Since we were still in the truck I was using the cab as my portable office as well as my sleeping quarters, leaving the crew a little extra room in our shelter. At camp is usually where I do my best thinking so I like to stay up a bit after our arrival jotting down observations of our days activities, and working and reworking what we call the playbook which is a list basically of which dog is going to run where in the team. Before I turned in, I had noticed that it had started to snow again, and decided that our layover needed to be shortened in order to ensure we would be able to actually make it home.
I slept for an hour, and when I got up it had stopped snowing and there wasn't really any additional accumulation. I was a little relieved and felt confident that we would have another great run. We fed the dogs breakfast, packed up our stuff and prepared to leave.
Now in order for us to leave camp with the truck, I need to do a little three point turn to get us heading in the right direction. it's really no big deal, there is a small clearing which I use to back into, and I've done this same three point turn in this exact spot a hundred times. But today, on the luckiest day of my life, I missed the clearing slightly and slid just a bit sideways. Apparently the snow cover allowed me to float up and over a stump as I backed up. Unfortunately while backing up, the truck compressed the snow which no longer would float me back off of the stump. So there we were, 60 miles from home with a rope come-a-long an axe and one rather large truck whose transmission and drive shaft where now perched atop a two foot diameter stump.
Chop, chop, chop, crank, chop, chop crank, crank, crank, chop... For six hours. I'm hoping you get the picture. Now for those of you who do not believe that Mother Nature has an interesting sense of humor, after the first hour of chopping and cranking it started to snow lightly. After our second hour of chopping and cranking it started to snow heavily. Three hours of chopping and cranking and the snow was really starting to come down. Yup, I was starting to get a little worried, but as long as the wind didn't kick up I was sure we would still be able to get home.
The Alaska Range is notorious for strong winds, and there are many stretches of the Denali highway where the wind can magically take six inches of snow and pile it all up in one spot creating an impassible drift. Four hours into chopping and cranking, and a slight breeze started to bend the spruce tops, five hours into chopping and cranking and the wind was whistling. Finally, we got the truck freed after six hours of chopping and cranking, but now the wind was down right howling.
We hurried to get the dogs hooked up and off we went. The dogs apparently enjoyed their extra sleep and were easily plowing through drift after drift, the truck on the other hand was bogging down a little deeper with each. But, we were making good progress and the wind had died down and there was even a hint of blue in the sky which told me the snow would soon be letting up as well.
We made it a total of ten miles from camp when we hit an enormous drift which sent the rear end of the truck sideways off of the shoulder of the road. We started digging out the wheels, all the while trying to calm the dogs down who were really confused as to why we were stopped so long. Once I was confident that with the dogs help we should be able to get the truck back up onto the road, I walked up the line asking the dogs if they were ready. They responded with a resounding, "yup, we're ready," I hopped into the truck yelled out the window you boys ready, and they responded again enthusiastically. Alright then, they lurched, the truck began to creep forward, I let up the clutch, and just when I thought we were out of the ditch, "SNAP."
The nano second it took for the gangline to break seemed to happen in ultra slow motion, I swear I could see each individual fiber let go and I sharply remember having the urge to reach out and grab it as it was happening, but I couldn't. Not that it would have helped any. Once that last strand of rope let go there was an audible pop, the truck slipped back, and everything went from ultra slow speed to the speed of light instantly, as thirty nine dogs tore down the highway as if they had just been shot out of cannon.
My heart stopped beating.
But wait. "THUMP" Did they? "THUMP" They couldn't have. "THUMP... THUMP," But it really looks like they did. "THUMP... THUMP" If they did, I don't believe it. "THUMP... THUMP" They stopped. "THUMP" They stopped. "Thump" THEY STOPPED! THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMPITY THUMP. THEY STOPPED!!!
P.S. All thirty nine dogs are one hundred percent safe and sound. Albeit they were awfully confused as to why we wanted to load them in the truck after only a ten mile run. As for the three of us, other then being really tired that evening, we're already back at it.
Until the next time I hope you're enjoying your dog or dogs as much as I am mine, Mike
We got all the dogs cared for and bedded down. We ate supper and turned in for a little shuteye. Since we were still in the truck I was using the cab as my portable office as well as my sleeping quarters, leaving the crew a little extra room in our shelter. At camp is usually where I do my best thinking so I like to stay up a bit after our arrival jotting down observations of our days activities, and working and reworking what we call the playbook which is a list basically of which dog is going to run where in the team. Before I turned in, I had noticed that it had started to snow again, and decided that our layover needed to be shortened in order to ensure we would be able to actually make it home.
I slept for an hour, and when I got up it had stopped snowing and there wasn't really any additional accumulation. I was a little relieved and felt confident that we would have another great run. We fed the dogs breakfast, packed up our stuff and prepared to leave.
Now in order for us to leave camp with the truck, I need to do a little three point turn to get us heading in the right direction. it's really no big deal, there is a small clearing which I use to back into, and I've done this same three point turn in this exact spot a hundred times. But today, on the luckiest day of my life, I missed the clearing slightly and slid just a bit sideways. Apparently the snow cover allowed me to float up and over a stump as I backed up. Unfortunately while backing up, the truck compressed the snow which no longer would float me back off of the stump. So there we were, 60 miles from home with a rope come-a-long an axe and one rather large truck whose transmission and drive shaft where now perched atop a two foot diameter stump.
Chop, chop, chop, crank, chop, chop crank, crank, crank, chop... For six hours. I'm hoping you get the picture. Now for those of you who do not believe that Mother Nature has an interesting sense of humor, after the first hour of chopping and cranking it started to snow lightly. After our second hour of chopping and cranking it started to snow heavily. Three hours of chopping and cranking and the snow was really starting to come down. Yup, I was starting to get a little worried, but as long as the wind didn't kick up I was sure we would still be able to get home.
The Alaska Range is notorious for strong winds, and there are many stretches of the Denali highway where the wind can magically take six inches of snow and pile it all up in one spot creating an impassible drift. Four hours into chopping and cranking, and a slight breeze started to bend the spruce tops, five hours into chopping and cranking and the wind was whistling. Finally, we got the truck freed after six hours of chopping and cranking, but now the wind was down right howling.
We hurried to get the dogs hooked up and off we went. The dogs apparently enjoyed their extra sleep and were easily plowing through drift after drift, the truck on the other hand was bogging down a little deeper with each. But, we were making good progress and the wind had died down and there was even a hint of blue in the sky which told me the snow would soon be letting up as well.
We made it a total of ten miles from camp when we hit an enormous drift which sent the rear end of the truck sideways off of the shoulder of the road. We started digging out the wheels, all the while trying to calm the dogs down who were really confused as to why we were stopped so long. Once I was confident that with the dogs help we should be able to get the truck back up onto the road, I walked up the line asking the dogs if they were ready. They responded with a resounding, "yup, we're ready," I hopped into the truck yelled out the window you boys ready, and they responded again enthusiastically. Alright then, they lurched, the truck began to creep forward, I let up the clutch, and just when I thought we were out of the ditch, "SNAP."
The nano second it took for the gangline to break seemed to happen in ultra slow motion, I swear I could see each individual fiber let go and I sharply remember having the urge to reach out and grab it as it was happening, but I couldn't. Not that it would have helped any. Once that last strand of rope let go there was an audible pop, the truck slipped back, and everything went from ultra slow speed to the speed of light instantly, as thirty nine dogs tore down the highway as if they had just been shot out of cannon.
My heart stopped beating.
But wait. "THUMP" Did they? "THUMP" They couldn't have. "THUMP... THUMP," But it really looks like they did. "THUMP... THUMP" If they did, I don't believe it. "THUMP... THUMP" They stopped. "THUMP" They stopped. "Thump" THEY STOPPED! THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMPITY THUMP. THEY STOPPED!!!
Because they just stopped.
That is why this day was the luckiest day of my life.
P.S. All thirty nine dogs are one hundred percent safe and sound. Albeit they were awfully confused as to why we wanted to load them in the truck after only a ten mile run. As for the three of us, other then being really tired that evening, we're already back at it.
Until the next time I hope you're enjoying your dog or dogs as much as I am mine, Mike
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Snowy Day
 |
| Twain |
Here at the Den I got to walk puppies in the snow. We are having a bunch of fun, except they are getting faster than me. Last week one of them ran all the way home from the top of the hill without stopping. That was when I decided I was better off taking them in two groups rather than all at once. Angus has moved inside for the winter. I really think he would have preferred to retire to Florida.
 |
| Angus the champ |
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Summer in Denali
Now that the snow has finally melted I've decide to spend my free time this summer helping those who have helped me, and to do what I can to get you all to visit Denali this summer.
Rick McMahan of Denali Fly Fishing http://www.denaliflyfishing.com was the first person to come on board when I signed up for last year's Iditarod. Rick was not only instrumental in helping us with the substantial cost, he also was a big part in helping us acquire other sponsors, and he has gone out of his way to introduce us to the business community of the Denali Borough. The moral support he provided cannot be understated.
On a totally different note, for the past several years Rick has been involved with a program called Dine Out for Life. http://www.diningoutforlfe.com It's a program in which all of the proceeds from the meals sold at a participating restaurant on a specific evening are donated to the Alaska Interior Aids Association http://www.interioraids.org This past spring Rick brought the first ever Dine Out for Life event to the Denali Borough, which was held at the 49th State Brewing CO. http://www.49statebrewing.com It was well attended and I'm sure it will be bigger and better next year. I'll post dates for next year's event as it approaches.
What I really enjoyed the most about my time with DFFG, which may not come across in the video, is how passionate this crew is about fishing. Fishing is what these guys do, regardless of whether or not they are guiding. Jared, who was my guide and instructor for the day and also one of my neighbors, is hardly ever seen without his waders on. If you are in the Denali area this summer and you are looking for an authentic Alaskan experience give these guys a call. I promise you won't regret it.
A great day of fishing might have been exactly what I needed to concentrate on finishing my recount of this past year's Iditarod.
Guest appearance by Wilson, Rick's dog
Another great reason to visit Denali this summer, is the Cantwell Bluegrass festival, July 8th, 9th, + 10th, http://www.cantwellodgeak.com Mike and the crew at the Lodge have worked really hard this summer, to make this year's Bluegrass festival a big success. They've built a brand new stage, and removed the old hotel off of the property opening up the viewing area a ton. Hope to see you there!
Got to go play with my puppies, until the next time I hope you are having as much fun with your dog as I am with mine.
Mike
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Down the Avenue and On Our Way to Yentna Station
Over night, 4th Avenue relinquishes its familiar habits, and awakes as center stage for what many consider the greatest drama of the modern world, Iditarod. Adventure, history, sport, challenge, spectacle, excitement, fear, thrill, accomplishment, sacrifice, attainment, controversy, relevance, love and hate. Iditarod leaves no element of humanity untouched. It is impossible for me driving to the staging area downtown, not to think of the personal journeys of everyone we encounter on our way, not only the mushers, but their spouses as well, their families and supporters, their handlers, the volunteers, the fans, the media, everyone who participates, imagine the story that could be told if only it were possible to chronicle how we all ended up here.
Unfortunately, the only story I know is my own. So, how did I end up here? Well, I don’t have a very interesting answer to that question, but my mother does. She has said all along that when I was young I fell off a horse, hit my head and haven’t been right since. Don’t remember the event, but that might explain my dislike of horses, just can’t trust a prey species.
For those of you who don’t know me well I’ll confess, I absolutely love the whole downtown thing. I even love saying downtown, (sounds so Rat Packish. Question to self, why do I love Dean Martin so much?) Maybe it’s because I live in a village of only a hundred people, (need to get out more.) Or just maybe, it’s because my little brother is taller then me, was also a better athlete and a better student, or perhaps I’m just a big ham, but I love, love, love the attention, I love meeting new people, I love talking to people, and perhaps most importantly I love seeing people excited about something I’m passionate about, (even if they don’t get it.) I’m also addicted to the way Caitlin looks at me when I’m about to step on the runners at the beginning of a race, (my baby really, really likes cowboys, but she LOVES me.)
I’ve been on the Avenue every year since 2006, as a part of Jeff King’s entourage. And although he never gave me the opportunity to drive the tag sled, (can you believe he actually made me run.) I cannot say that I didn’t get a first class education in regards to how this whole downtown thing works. I felt right at home now that it was finally my turn, and enjoyed the experience all the more because of my past involvement. Shades? Check! Sharpie? Check! SHOW TIME!
I’m a very visual individual, and stuff like dreams, visions, and memories usually come to me in high-definition 3D surround sound clarity, but as we worked our way up to the start line all I was receiving on the old brain wave station were still images. Nothing but snap shots, glimpses of people I’d known or met over the years, places I had visited, dogs I’d driven, and a plethora of the more ridiculous situations I’d been in with dogs. (book on that one coming, need another lifetime.)
What would it take to get to Nome? I didn’t know and as it turns out I guess I still don’t, but I do know what it has taken me to get here. I can remember with crystal clarity the many, many sacrifices I’ve made over the years. But, right here, right now, I wouldn’t change a thing. Even all the dark cold morning trips to the outhouse seem worth it.
3, 2, 1, lift off. I quickly glanced over my shoulder to verify if Lindsay was up right. She was, relief. Her million-dollar smile however wasn’t as fluid as it usually is. It seemed to have a nervous rigidity to it with a slight twist of excitement. Problem, she was driving my very new hardly tested Iditarod sled, which she had never driven, and I really wanted her to make it around with my sled remaining very new and untested. Solution, what she needs is a distraction. A hot dog? Perfect! I grabbed the wiener out of the spectator’s hand as we sped by. I asked Lindsay if she was ready, she nodded.
Now passing something, anything, from one sled to a second sled both moving forward at eleven miles an hour attached with an eight foot rope requires a rudimentary understanding of physics, (before you start assuming that I might be more learned then you would’ve thought, I’ll confess that I’ve never taken physics, but I have passed many objects, successfully and otherwise, from one sled to the other.) All you really gotta do is have a little faith in a well respected phenomena known as gravity. It’s all really simple, and much like a good golf shot, one must calculate wind speed, mass, force, and trajectory. Having made my calculations, I lobbed the magic wiener, (bun ketchup and all,) straight up into the air with enough force to propel it’s mass, launching it on a trajectory, which would hopefully give it just enough hang time to allow her to basically, “catch up to it.” She made a spectacular grab.
Whether or not she actually ate the hotdog I do not know, maybe, simply making the catch was all that was required, but her smile was now flowing as easily as the Jack River in July, and more importantly, her knees and elbows suddenly re-realized that they could bend and we were now a seriously cohesive unit.
My Iditarider Mike Smith was a lot more knowledgeable about sled dogs and the Iditarod then I would have guessed, I thoroughly enjoyed his company. We talked dogs, while tossing out gloves, ball caps, and ear bands supplied to me for the occasion from my sponsors, Ringer Gloves, http://ringersgloves.com and Grainger Industrial supply http://www.grainger.com to the fans lining the trail.
To say that I was having a blast would be an understatement, but I’m confident that if anyone in Anchorage was having more fun then I was it was the twelve dogs I was driving. The dogs I’m privileged to own all possess a certain, “joie de vie,” which is expressed whenever they encounter something new. Anything, a loose dog, a dog team in front of us, a car, a pink elephant with it’s tail on fire, everything that is new is exciting. The number of fans was enough to get them fired up. When the crowd cheered, the dogs barked, the crowd cheered louder, they barked louder, the barking, (I call it trash talking,) can usually be attributed to a couple of individuals within the team, but it is contagious, and when one dog barks, the others feel like they have no choice but to join in. The barking itself is now the new thing which needs to be celebrated. How do a pack of half crazed sled dogs in peak physical condition celebrate? They go like the devil’s horse hell bent on home. That’s how.
The eleven mile trip from 4th Avenue over to the Campbell Airstrip provided my crew plenty of reasons to get excited. A culvert, boom, fourth gear. A pedestrian overpass, boom boom, fifth gear. A Martin Buser banner, kablam, wait a second, where did that gear come from? I didn’t bother to time our trip, but we must have been really hauling a**, we passed three teams and beat my rig to the staging area by ten minutes.
In Willow on Sunday morning, I was feeling confident (some who were there might even say I was overly confident) however there are two reasons why I felt the way I did. One, well I never met a dog musher who ins’t confident, and two, the dogs were in great shape. I’m positive that we had prepared (or conditioned) this team for the upcoming event remarkably well. We had worked tirelessly over the past couple of weeks tending to their feet, and we also managed to get an extra pound on them while maintaining their appetites.
One of the absolute highlights of my Iditarod was the short trip from my truck up to the starting chute. Caitlin had informed me that Brandon Lee, one of my neighbor’s boys, who we rely on throughout the season to cover dog chores and odd jobs around the kennel when we are away, was going to be at the restart. Brandon is a great kid and an excellent worker, and I was really excited to be able to provide him with an armband that would grant him access to the staging area. I initially thought that he’d get a kick out of helping us get the team to the start line.
As our time to go nearer I became a little worried about Brandon running up with our team. He had never done this and he had never even been to a sled dog race. Also, I had plenty of handlers and friends there who knew how this all worked. What to do? I told Brandon that I thought that we had plenty of folks to help with the team, but what I really needed was someone to ride the sled with me to help keep it under control. His eyes lit up like a Vegas slot machine. I had him stand on one runner, I on the other. The wows started the second I pulled the hook and we began moving. I’d bet that he managed to get in at least a hundred wows during our short trip, perforated with other expressions of excitement like “They’re crazy” “This is sick” (I think sick is good) and he even let a holy crap slip (don’t tell his parents please). We got to the line and I thanked him for his help and off we went.
If there was one thing I was worried about it was getting lost on this first stretch. There is a spiderweb of trails stemming from the surrounding communities of Big Lake, Wasilla, and Knik that access the river and I have gotten myself turned around on this particular trail system a couple of times over the years. As it turns out I had nothing to worry about, because the party that started down in Anchorage was apparently just the warm up for today’s festivities. Practically the entire trail from the start all the way up to Yentna and beyond was lined with people. The trail was wide and, due to all the traffic, it was well put in which made for really easy going. A great way to start the race.
We checked into Yentna station, where I turned in my bib, grabbed a bail of straw and off we went. There were a few teams parked there. There was anther team who had come in just in front of me also preparing to leave and another team approaching the checkpoint from behind. I thought I had recognized a couple of teams around me, but it was too early to be concerned about the grand scheme of things. However, I cannot say that I didn’t secretly wish to have access to my Iditarod Insider account. Now that would’ve been cool, wouldn’t it?
The sun started to set soon after leaving Yentna, and the glow of the numerous bonfires could be seen for miles making it impossible to get lost. I passed one bonfire, and a spectator yelled out, “Ten miles to Skwentna.” I found a quiet spot off the trail a ways and camped. I had planned all along to stop shy of the Skwentna checkpoint and then blow through it and head straight over to Finger Lake.
I felt that it was imperative not to put a long run on them straight out of the gate. The dogs devoured their first meal of the race, which reaffirmed my race plan thus far. The dogs, knowing the drill well, settled down for a nap. I cooked a second meal that I would feed them just before we were ready to continue. I prepared snacks for the next leg, then sprawled out on top of my sled for a little rest. I had a hard time sleeping though, watching the headlamps of the many teams silently slipping up the trail. Were they the teams I had seen parked earlier, now rested enough to skip Skwentna and camp somewhere shy of Finger? Or were they the teams that started behind me making their initial run longer, planning to spend some time in Skwentna? Impossible to know really, and practically impossible not to think about. Just enough ways to slice this pie to make it interesting.
Until next time, WOOF.
Unfortunately, the only story I know is my own. So, how did I end up here? Well, I don’t have a very interesting answer to that question, but my mother does. She has said all along that when I was young I fell off a horse, hit my head and haven’t been right since. Don’t remember the event, but that might explain my dislike of horses, just can’t trust a prey species.
For those of you who don’t know me well I’ll confess, I absolutely love the whole downtown thing. I even love saying downtown, (sounds so Rat Packish. Question to self, why do I love Dean Martin so much?) Maybe it’s because I live in a village of only a hundred people, (need to get out more.) Or just maybe, it’s because my little brother is taller then me, was also a better athlete and a better student, or perhaps I’m just a big ham, but I love, love, love the attention, I love meeting new people, I love talking to people, and perhaps most importantly I love seeing people excited about something I’m passionate about, (even if they don’t get it.) I’m also addicted to the way Caitlin looks at me when I’m about to step on the runners at the beginning of a race, (my baby really, really likes cowboys, but she LOVES me.)
I’ve been on the Avenue every year since 2006, as a part of Jeff King’s entourage. And although he never gave me the opportunity to drive the tag sled, (can you believe he actually made me run.) I cannot say that I didn’t get a first class education in regards to how this whole downtown thing works. I felt right at home now that it was finally my turn, and enjoyed the experience all the more because of my past involvement. Shades? Check! Sharpie? Check! SHOW TIME!
I’m a very visual individual, and stuff like dreams, visions, and memories usually come to me in high-definition 3D surround sound clarity, but as we worked our way up to the start line all I was receiving on the old brain wave station were still images. Nothing but snap shots, glimpses of people I’d known or met over the years, places I had visited, dogs I’d driven, and a plethora of the more ridiculous situations I’d been in with dogs. (book on that one coming, need another lifetime.)
What would it take to get to Nome? I didn’t know and as it turns out I guess I still don’t, but I do know what it has taken me to get here. I can remember with crystal clarity the many, many sacrifices I’ve made over the years. But, right here, right now, I wouldn’t change a thing. Even all the dark cold morning trips to the outhouse seem worth it.
3, 2, 1, lift off. I quickly glanced over my shoulder to verify if Lindsay was up right. She was, relief. Her million-dollar smile however wasn’t as fluid as it usually is. It seemed to have a nervous rigidity to it with a slight twist of excitement. Problem, she was driving my very new hardly tested Iditarod sled, which she had never driven, and I really wanted her to make it around with my sled remaining very new and untested. Solution, what she needs is a distraction. A hot dog? Perfect! I grabbed the wiener out of the spectator’s hand as we sped by. I asked Lindsay if she was ready, she nodded.
Now passing something, anything, from one sled to a second sled both moving forward at eleven miles an hour attached with an eight foot rope requires a rudimentary understanding of physics, (before you start assuming that I might be more learned then you would’ve thought, I’ll confess that I’ve never taken physics, but I have passed many objects, successfully and otherwise, from one sled to the other.) All you really gotta do is have a little faith in a well respected phenomena known as gravity. It’s all really simple, and much like a good golf shot, one must calculate wind speed, mass, force, and trajectory. Having made my calculations, I lobbed the magic wiener, (bun ketchup and all,) straight up into the air with enough force to propel it’s mass, launching it on a trajectory, which would hopefully give it just enough hang time to allow her to basically, “catch up to it.” She made a spectacular grab.
Whether or not she actually ate the hotdog I do not know, maybe, simply making the catch was all that was required, but her smile was now flowing as easily as the Jack River in July, and more importantly, her knees and elbows suddenly re-realized that they could bend and we were now a seriously cohesive unit.
My Iditarider Mike Smith was a lot more knowledgeable about sled dogs and the Iditarod then I would have guessed, I thoroughly enjoyed his company. We talked dogs, while tossing out gloves, ball caps, and ear bands supplied to me for the occasion from my sponsors, Ringer Gloves, http://ringersgloves.com and Grainger Industrial supply http://www.grainger.com to the fans lining the trail.
To say that I was having a blast would be an understatement, but I’m confident that if anyone in Anchorage was having more fun then I was it was the twelve dogs I was driving. The dogs I’m privileged to own all possess a certain, “joie de vie,” which is expressed whenever they encounter something new. Anything, a loose dog, a dog team in front of us, a car, a pink elephant with it’s tail on fire, everything that is new is exciting. The number of fans was enough to get them fired up. When the crowd cheered, the dogs barked, the crowd cheered louder, they barked louder, the barking, (I call it trash talking,) can usually be attributed to a couple of individuals within the team, but it is contagious, and when one dog barks, the others feel like they have no choice but to join in. The barking itself is now the new thing which needs to be celebrated. How do a pack of half crazed sled dogs in peak physical condition celebrate? They go like the devil’s horse hell bent on home. That’s how.
The eleven mile trip from 4th Avenue over to the Campbell Airstrip provided my crew plenty of reasons to get excited. A culvert, boom, fourth gear. A pedestrian overpass, boom boom, fifth gear. A Martin Buser banner, kablam, wait a second, where did that gear come from? I didn’t bother to time our trip, but we must have been really hauling a**, we passed three teams and beat my rig to the staging area by ten minutes.
In Willow on Sunday morning, I was feeling confident (some who were there might even say I was overly confident) however there are two reasons why I felt the way I did. One, well I never met a dog musher who ins’t confident, and two, the dogs were in great shape. I’m positive that we had prepared (or conditioned) this team for the upcoming event remarkably well. We had worked tirelessly over the past couple of weeks tending to their feet, and we also managed to get an extra pound on them while maintaining their appetites.
One of the absolute highlights of my Iditarod was the short trip from my truck up to the starting chute. Caitlin had informed me that Brandon Lee, one of my neighbor’s boys, who we rely on throughout the season to cover dog chores and odd jobs around the kennel when we are away, was going to be at the restart. Brandon is a great kid and an excellent worker, and I was really excited to be able to provide him with an armband that would grant him access to the staging area. I initially thought that he’d get a kick out of helping us get the team to the start line.
As our time to go nearer I became a little worried about Brandon running up with our team. He had never done this and he had never even been to a sled dog race. Also, I had plenty of handlers and friends there who knew how this all worked. What to do? I told Brandon that I thought that we had plenty of folks to help with the team, but what I really needed was someone to ride the sled with me to help keep it under control. His eyes lit up like a Vegas slot machine. I had him stand on one runner, I on the other. The wows started the second I pulled the hook and we began moving. I’d bet that he managed to get in at least a hundred wows during our short trip, perforated with other expressions of excitement like “They’re crazy” “This is sick” (I think sick is good) and he even let a holy crap slip (don’t tell his parents please). We got to the line and I thanked him for his help and off we went.
If there was one thing I was worried about it was getting lost on this first stretch. There is a spiderweb of trails stemming from the surrounding communities of Big Lake, Wasilla, and Knik that access the river and I have gotten myself turned around on this particular trail system a couple of times over the years. As it turns out I had nothing to worry about, because the party that started down in Anchorage was apparently just the warm up for today’s festivities. Practically the entire trail from the start all the way up to Yentna and beyond was lined with people. The trail was wide and, due to all the traffic, it was well put in which made for really easy going. A great way to start the race.
We checked into Yentna station, where I turned in my bib, grabbed a bail of straw and off we went. There were a few teams parked there. There was anther team who had come in just in front of me also preparing to leave and another team approaching the checkpoint from behind. I thought I had recognized a couple of teams around me, but it was too early to be concerned about the grand scheme of things. However, I cannot say that I didn’t secretly wish to have access to my Iditarod Insider account. Now that would’ve been cool, wouldn’t it?
The sun started to set soon after leaving Yentna, and the glow of the numerous bonfires could be seen for miles making it impossible to get lost. I passed one bonfire, and a spectator yelled out, “Ten miles to Skwentna.” I found a quiet spot off the trail a ways and camped. I had planned all along to stop shy of the Skwentna checkpoint and then blow through it and head straight over to Finger Lake.
I felt that it was imperative not to put a long run on them straight out of the gate. The dogs devoured their first meal of the race, which reaffirmed my race plan thus far. The dogs, knowing the drill well, settled down for a nap. I cooked a second meal that I would feed them just before we were ready to continue. I prepared snacks for the next leg, then sprawled out on top of my sled for a little rest. I had a hard time sleeping though, watching the headlamps of the many teams silently slipping up the trail. Were they the teams I had seen parked earlier, now rested enough to skip Skwentna and camp somewhere shy of Finger? Or were they the teams that started behind me making their initial run longer, planning to spend some time in Skwentna? Impossible to know really, and practically impossible not to think about. Just enough ways to slice this pie to make it interesting.
Until next time, WOOF.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
The Anchorage Ceremonial Start
Across this great country of ours there seems to be a tremendous amount of confusion regarding the phrase, “March Madness.” In forty-nine of the fifty states, many people believe that March Madness has something to do with college basketball. Here in Alaska everyone knows that March Madness means only one thing, IDITAROD!!!
If you are one of the confused, I would like to invite you to reconsider. The Iditarod kicks off on the first Saturday in March. Sixty to eighty dog teams converge on Anchorage prepared for the challenge known as the Last Great Race. Thousands of fans from around the state who by March have succumbed to varying degrees of cabin fever, looking for any excuse to get outdoors and have a little fun, come out to wish their favorite mushers well, enjoy the almost spring like weather, and to celebrate the historical role that huskies and mushers have played in Alaska’s history. Add to the mix the enlightened few from every corner of the globe who show up to see what this Iditarod thing is all about, and you’ve got a world class championship sporting event mixed with what only can be described as an Alaskan version of Mardi Gras.
Some say that the downtown Anchorage start is merely ceremonial, others think of it as a spectacle, some mushers even think of it as one of the challenges to running the Iditarod, few folks if any think of it as the official start of the Iditarod. For me, the Iditarod officially started on that preceding Thursday, when I arrived at the Millennium Hotel to attend the driver’s meeting. The crystal water glasses placed at each seat made it obvious that this was a little different than let’s say the Copper Basin or the Knik race. The meeting itself wasn’t much different, just longer.
The first half of the meeting was spent taking care of business. We were informed about how the GPS tracking device worked and who would be installing them and when. I received my vet book, which I must sign and have signed by a vet at every checkpoint. I signed for receiving the symbolic mail cache, which I also must have at every checkpoint. I then got an hour or so of practicing my autograph. I signed posters, hats, and five bottles of wine with my mug on the label.
Just before lunch, they had the Iditariders come in, these are folks who won online bidding wars in order to ride in the sled of one of the mushers on Saturday’s ceremonial start. As each stepped up to the podium, their respective musher was announced and stood up, so the Iditariders could get a chance to put a face to the name they were obviously anxious to meet.
We were then escorted out into the foyer for the annual champagne toast and photo shoot. We were short a couple of seats, and I got sandwiched between Zoya Denure, and Brendan Norden. Any guesses as to whose chair I opted to share? A comment was made as to how silly this was. I responded by saying that I thought it was really cool. I couldn’t help but think of all the old grainy black and white photos of all the great dog mushers, the explorers, trappers and miners of that era that I relished as a kid. These images have a lot to do with who I’ve become. I can’t help but think that in a hundred years people will look back on our current mega pixel digital images as archaic relics, just like we do those old black and white photos of yester year. Perhaps, in the future some kid somewhere will relish these now current photos, and emulate all of us as I did my predecessors, and just maybe they will inspire that person to challenge themselves in their own personal way.
After the photo shoot there was a pizza lunch for Iditaroders and Iditariders. I didn’t have an Iditarider just yet, so I got a little break. My sled was randomly pulled from the bidding. Iditarod does this just in case an Iditaroder were to pull out before the event placing the Iditarod in the sticky situation of having more Iditariders than Idtaroders. In the event that no one pulls out, the Iditarod puts the remaining sleds up for bid at a live auction held on Friday night during their presenting sponsors diner party, which was the case this year.
The remainder of the meeting was dedicated to the trail and conditions. Very frustrating for a rookie, “In and out of Rainy just like last year,” “Hot water available at the same spots as last year,” And my personal favorite and the line that every race marshal needs to memorize before accepting the position, “The trail is in the best shape it’s ever been in.” Guess I’ll just have to figure it out as we go along.
That evening we headed over to the banquet, which was held at the Dena’ina center downtown. I drew bib number twenty-seven and got a chance to thank my sponsors. Caitlin thought that twenty-seven was a really cool number because it was a cubic number and she thought it was a really, really cool number because it’s cubic root was three. Yikes!
Until all of the personal pre-race parties start, Friday is sort of an off day, unless you’re still putting your sled together or something like that. Kidding, my sled was good to go despite what you all might have heard. It had five miles on it going into Saturdays run.
Now I’m not the kind of guy who believes in rituals, or superstitions, I even have a hard time believing in luck. However, I do have one particular quirk, which I myself find difficult to explain, and that is, I must stay at the Inlet Towers on Good Friday, (that’s what I call the day before Iditarod.) It’s where I’ve stayed on Good Friday every year since 2006, or since I’ve been in Alaska. Just good vibes I guess, (vibes, that’s not superstitious is it?)
My pre-race party was held in the lounge of the Mixx Grill, at the Inlet Towers. A few of my neighbors from Cantwell came down, as well as a few of my mushing buddies, Mark, (Prez, as in president of the ITC,) and Debbie Moderow made an appearance, Lindsay’s, (one of our handlers,) mom and grand-mom flew up from Oregon to attend, a few of my sponsors and plenty of folks that were staying at the hotel for the Iditarod joined us. My friend Scott Smith presented me with a bundle of shaved spruce bows and pipe clamps wrapped together neatly with pink duct tape, (didn’t even know they made pink duct tape,) as a repair kit for the sled I’d built which he was confident was never going to make it. I christened it the Spruce Bow Award. I’m thrilled to report that everyone had a great time. The manager excitedly reported that it was his second biggest night of the year. Can’t imagine what the biggest night of the year was, but I’m confident we will rise to the challenge next year. I will be very disappointed with myself if I haven’t already convinced you that Anchorage is the only place on the planet to be on Good Friday, so I’m just going to assume that all of you will be in town next year. So here it is, in writing, a personal invite to our pre-race party.
When: Good Friday, 2012.
Where: The Inlet Towers 1200 L Street.
Time: 6:00 P.M.
Why: Help us be number one!
I mentioned earlier that the Iditarod was planning to auction off my sled on Friday night, and I thought that I was obligated to be there for the auction. Well, I was really disappointed when they told me that they didn’t need me there. So I asked if I could come if I wanted to. They said sure, but they didn’t sound so sure. I just couldn’t believe that they would raise as much money for the ceremonial ride as they could if I was present. I mean who would go crazy bidding on a no name rookie musher like me without knowing a darn thing about me. Lets face it I’m not exactly Martin Buser. So, despite the hesitation I perceived, I showed up anyway.
I entered the banquet room, and to my surprise there was Lance, as in Sir, strutting around the room in a full-length fur coat that the crowd was very actively bidding on. Apparently, admittance to such events is one of the perks of being ordained, “Sir.” The auctioneer saw me standing there and jumped over the remaining items to put my ride up for bid. I didn’t get as much, “Mike time,” as I would’ve liked but I managed to get one joke in and, yes, even Lance laughed.
The bidding started at what I thought was a ridiculously low dollar amount, but it quickly increased which made me feel a whole lot better. A live auction is something I’ve never participated in, and after having been involved in one, I now have all the admiration in the world for auctioneers. I thought I could talk a lot, but wow, the dialogue was so fast it was impossible to follow. I didn’t understand a word the guy said. I never saw a hand go up, nothing. All I can remember was that occasionally a higher dollar amount was announced. That’s got to be good, right? I hope so, because every time I heard the figure go up I stuck my thumb up like I knew what the hell was going on. Before I could determine if attending was a good idea or not, a gavel struck the podium and I had been sold to Meg Smith. I practically jumped from the stage and gave her a big hug. Although I was ecstatic to be the first musher in Iditarod’s history to attend the auctioning of their Iditaride, I was at the moment very relieved to have had the whole ordeal behind me. As it turns out Meg had been an Iditarider in 2009, and was bidding on behalf of her husband Mike. I retreated form the event thrilled to finally know who my Iditarider would be, and more than happy to hand the remainder of the evenings festivities back over to Lance.
I haven’t had the opportunity to watch much TV since the glory days of serial television, when Dallas was the must see on TV. And I would like to remind readers that the reason they didn’t tell you, “who shot Jr,” in the first episode of the season was because the network wanted you all to stay glued to your sets for the remainder of the season. So if you really want to know how the 2011 iditarod unfolded from my perspective, you’ll just have to drag your laptop along with you all summer. I’ve got a lot of miles to cover, and I’m just not as fast as I once was.
Our trip down the Avenue, as in 4th, and the re-start coming soon.
WOOF
If you are one of the confused, I would like to invite you to reconsider. The Iditarod kicks off on the first Saturday in March. Sixty to eighty dog teams converge on Anchorage prepared for the challenge known as the Last Great Race. Thousands of fans from around the state who by March have succumbed to varying degrees of cabin fever, looking for any excuse to get outdoors and have a little fun, come out to wish their favorite mushers well, enjoy the almost spring like weather, and to celebrate the historical role that huskies and mushers have played in Alaska’s history. Add to the mix the enlightened few from every corner of the globe who show up to see what this Iditarod thing is all about, and you’ve got a world class championship sporting event mixed with what only can be described as an Alaskan version of Mardi Gras.
Some say that the downtown Anchorage start is merely ceremonial, others think of it as a spectacle, some mushers even think of it as one of the challenges to running the Iditarod, few folks if any think of it as the official start of the Iditarod. For me, the Iditarod officially started on that preceding Thursday, when I arrived at the Millennium Hotel to attend the driver’s meeting. The crystal water glasses placed at each seat made it obvious that this was a little different than let’s say the Copper Basin or the Knik race. The meeting itself wasn’t much different, just longer.
The first half of the meeting was spent taking care of business. We were informed about how the GPS tracking device worked and who would be installing them and when. I received my vet book, which I must sign and have signed by a vet at every checkpoint. I signed for receiving the symbolic mail cache, which I also must have at every checkpoint. I then got an hour or so of practicing my autograph. I signed posters, hats, and five bottles of wine with my mug on the label.
Just before lunch, they had the Iditariders come in, these are folks who won online bidding wars in order to ride in the sled of one of the mushers on Saturday’s ceremonial start. As each stepped up to the podium, their respective musher was announced and stood up, so the Iditariders could get a chance to put a face to the name they were obviously anxious to meet.
We were then escorted out into the foyer for the annual champagne toast and photo shoot. We were short a couple of seats, and I got sandwiched between Zoya Denure, and Brendan Norden. Any guesses as to whose chair I opted to share? A comment was made as to how silly this was. I responded by saying that I thought it was really cool. I couldn’t help but think of all the old grainy black and white photos of all the great dog mushers, the explorers, trappers and miners of that era that I relished as a kid. These images have a lot to do with who I’ve become. I can’t help but think that in a hundred years people will look back on our current mega pixel digital images as archaic relics, just like we do those old black and white photos of yester year. Perhaps, in the future some kid somewhere will relish these now current photos, and emulate all of us as I did my predecessors, and just maybe they will inspire that person to challenge themselves in their own personal way.
After the photo shoot there was a pizza lunch for Iditaroders and Iditariders. I didn’t have an Iditarider just yet, so I got a little break. My sled was randomly pulled from the bidding. Iditarod does this just in case an Iditaroder were to pull out before the event placing the Iditarod in the sticky situation of having more Iditariders than Idtaroders. In the event that no one pulls out, the Iditarod puts the remaining sleds up for bid at a live auction held on Friday night during their presenting sponsors diner party, which was the case this year.
The remainder of the meeting was dedicated to the trail and conditions. Very frustrating for a rookie, “In and out of Rainy just like last year,” “Hot water available at the same spots as last year,” And my personal favorite and the line that every race marshal needs to memorize before accepting the position, “The trail is in the best shape it’s ever been in.” Guess I’ll just have to figure it out as we go along.
That evening we headed over to the banquet, which was held at the Dena’ina center downtown. I drew bib number twenty-seven and got a chance to thank my sponsors. Caitlin thought that twenty-seven was a really cool number because it was a cubic number and she thought it was a really, really cool number because it’s cubic root was three. Yikes!
Until all of the personal pre-race parties start, Friday is sort of an off day, unless you’re still putting your sled together or something like that. Kidding, my sled was good to go despite what you all might have heard. It had five miles on it going into Saturdays run.
Now I’m not the kind of guy who believes in rituals, or superstitions, I even have a hard time believing in luck. However, I do have one particular quirk, which I myself find difficult to explain, and that is, I must stay at the Inlet Towers on Good Friday, (that’s what I call the day before Iditarod.) It’s where I’ve stayed on Good Friday every year since 2006, or since I’ve been in Alaska. Just good vibes I guess, (vibes, that’s not superstitious is it?)
My pre-race party was held in the lounge of the Mixx Grill, at the Inlet Towers. A few of my neighbors from Cantwell came down, as well as a few of my mushing buddies, Mark, (Prez, as in president of the ITC,) and Debbie Moderow made an appearance, Lindsay’s, (one of our handlers,) mom and grand-mom flew up from Oregon to attend, a few of my sponsors and plenty of folks that were staying at the hotel for the Iditarod joined us. My friend Scott Smith presented me with a bundle of shaved spruce bows and pipe clamps wrapped together neatly with pink duct tape, (didn’t even know they made pink duct tape,) as a repair kit for the sled I’d built which he was confident was never going to make it. I christened it the Spruce Bow Award. I’m thrilled to report that everyone had a great time. The manager excitedly reported that it was his second biggest night of the year. Can’t imagine what the biggest night of the year was, but I’m confident we will rise to the challenge next year. I will be very disappointed with myself if I haven’t already convinced you that Anchorage is the only place on the planet to be on Good Friday, so I’m just going to assume that all of you will be in town next year. So here it is, in writing, a personal invite to our pre-race party.
When: Good Friday, 2012.
Where: The Inlet Towers 1200 L Street.
Time: 6:00 P.M.
Why: Help us be number one!
I mentioned earlier that the Iditarod was planning to auction off my sled on Friday night, and I thought that I was obligated to be there for the auction. Well, I was really disappointed when they told me that they didn’t need me there. So I asked if I could come if I wanted to. They said sure, but they didn’t sound so sure. I just couldn’t believe that they would raise as much money for the ceremonial ride as they could if I was present. I mean who would go crazy bidding on a no name rookie musher like me without knowing a darn thing about me. Lets face it I’m not exactly Martin Buser. So, despite the hesitation I perceived, I showed up anyway.
I entered the banquet room, and to my surprise there was Lance, as in Sir, strutting around the room in a full-length fur coat that the crowd was very actively bidding on. Apparently, admittance to such events is one of the perks of being ordained, “Sir.” The auctioneer saw me standing there and jumped over the remaining items to put my ride up for bid. I didn’t get as much, “Mike time,” as I would’ve liked but I managed to get one joke in and, yes, even Lance laughed.
The bidding started at what I thought was a ridiculously low dollar amount, but it quickly increased which made me feel a whole lot better. A live auction is something I’ve never participated in, and after having been involved in one, I now have all the admiration in the world for auctioneers. I thought I could talk a lot, but wow, the dialogue was so fast it was impossible to follow. I didn’t understand a word the guy said. I never saw a hand go up, nothing. All I can remember was that occasionally a higher dollar amount was announced. That’s got to be good, right? I hope so, because every time I heard the figure go up I stuck my thumb up like I knew what the hell was going on. Before I could determine if attending was a good idea or not, a gavel struck the podium and I had been sold to Meg Smith. I practically jumped from the stage and gave her a big hug. Although I was ecstatic to be the first musher in Iditarod’s history to attend the auctioning of their Iditaride, I was at the moment very relieved to have had the whole ordeal behind me. As it turns out Meg had been an Iditarider in 2009, and was bidding on behalf of her husband Mike. I retreated form the event thrilled to finally know who my Iditarider would be, and more than happy to hand the remainder of the evenings festivities back over to Lance.
I haven’t had the opportunity to watch much TV since the glory days of serial television, when Dallas was the must see on TV. And I would like to remind readers that the reason they didn’t tell you, “who shot Jr,” in the first episode of the season was because the network wanted you all to stay glued to your sets for the remainder of the season. So if you really want to know how the 2011 iditarod unfolded from my perspective, you’ll just have to drag your laptop along with you all summer. I’ve got a lot of miles to cover, and I’m just not as fast as I once was.
Our trip down the Avenue, as in 4th, and the re-start coming soon.
WOOF
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