A Christmas Storm, and a BIG THANK YOU to many

In the 1997 James Cameron classic film Titanic, there is a scene near the end of the film where main characters, Jack and Rose, hang from the back of the sinking ship waiting for its final plunge into the icy Atlantic. In their final moments above water, Jack tells Rose to take her last deep breath before the ship is inevitably submerged under water. Going under is a definite, unavoidable and uncomfortably terrifying fact; survival is not guaranteed. The most Jack and Rose can do is hang on, try to prepare, and keep kicking for the surface. If you haven't seen the film, here is the clip.



This fall, I have thought about this scene often. I could say that we may not be racing this season because of El Nino -like ridiculously warm temperatures, but that would be a lie (although the weather-part of that is true. This has been the warmest fall I can remember in northeast Ohio. Indeed, our first race, the Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Classic in Newberry, MI may not happen in January because, for the first time since many Yoopers in Michigan can remember, there was no snow on Christmas in most of the Upper Peninsula, an area along Lake Superior that usually sees several feet of snow by Christmas). 

The truth is, life has hit incredibly hard this fall, harder than I can recall. Mushers are skilled in level-headed coping skills during adverse and challenging times. But sometimes, life sweeps even the most level-headed off of their feet. Such is the case with this storm.

In a matter of a short three month period, the dogs and I have faced some of the most challenging changes anyone can face in life: job loss, the death of a parent, devastating betrayal, being subjected to pathological lies and the death of a marriage. Most people would struggle to cope with even one of these major life changes, but being hit with three at once in such a short amount of time has left me often in panic, unable to sleep, overwhelmed by grief.

The dogs have taught me so much about dealing with adversity. In challenging times, they conserve resources, rationing where necessary and relying on the pack for support.  In a storm, the dogs often curl up in a sheltered spot, hunker down and wait. The hardest part of waiting out a storm is to remember to breathe. Like the final plunge of the Titanic, I've been holding my breath waiting to emerge to the surface.

Christmas found me holding my breath, wondering how we were going to get through this storm. Like the dogs, however, I've learned to trust in my teammates for support. This fall and winter has been extremely humbling, for even thought it's been the darkest period in my life, it's also shown me just how many people are in our corner.

As Christmas has come and 2015 draws to a close, the dogs and I would like to acknowledge a few beautiful people who have helped us in our darkest moments.

Thank you to:
Jim Conway
Dana Plambeck
Linda Mohney
Vanessa Ivy
Karen Wicks
CoeStar Custom Leads
Penny Agner
Dennis Waite
Stan Bontrager
Pawsitive Results Animal Rehabilitation Center
Dogbooties.com
Michael Hawkinson
Tawny Knight
The Clum Family
Connie Starr 

Ivy McDonald

We will not be racing this season. But thankfully, we are getting by with a lot of support from our friends - and we know now who our real friends are.

CopperDog recap and top 5 mushing myths debunked

I put my sled away today. The dog trailer is cleaned out and put away as well. It would seem the season has come to an end. And I haven't even updated here!

At the very top of a map of Michigan is a wide strip that runs along Lake Superior known as the Upper Peninsula (U.P.). This area of Michigan is confusing to most of the U.S. population and even some Midwesterners. The U.P. is like no other place I've ever been, and has an identity and culture all its own. Separated from lower Michigan by Lake Michigan and the Mackinaw bridge - the "Mighty Mac," - the U.P. is a stones-throw away from Canada. Once, on a pier in Whitefish Point, I walked to the end and my cell phone thought I was in Canada.

If you continue to look at that map of Michigan, and the U.P., you'll notice at the top of that long strip a peninsula, called the Keeweenaw.

Some call Grand Rapids in the lower part of Michigan the "thumb," but the Keeweenaw is the real thumb. Jutting out into Lake Superior, the Keeweenaw is the "thumbs up" of the U.P. - the fat phalange that says "Say yea to the U.P., eh"; the hitchhiker of Lake Superior; the universal symbol of approval. This particular phalange gets quite cold in February. Best bring some mittens.

Snow whirled around in the arctic equivalent of a dust devil on the horizon as we headed across M-28 again for the second time in two weeks. Only this time, it was a balmly 10 degrees. The dogs were tired of riding in their dog boxes - individual wooded dog compartments that, in my case, sit atop a 13-foot flatbed trailer. A traveling dog condo on wheels. We had traveled 582 miles, and still had nearly 200 miles to go to Calumet, the little thumbnail in the thumb of the Keeweenaw, the very tippy-top of the Keeweenaw Peninsula.

Dog races, for me, are a blur of traveling hundreds of miles, scrambling to mandatory musher meetings, gearing up and heading out on the race trail for hours. This particular race - the 40 mile portion of the Copper Dog 150 - is especially blurry. I worked until 5 p.m. Wednesday evening, and left with eight dogs early Thursday morning traveling 760 miles. Our veterinary check was at 11 a.m. on Friday morning, leaving little time for dilly dally. Or sleeping.  Our start time for the race was 8:18 p.m.

It may all sound exhausting from an outsiders perspective. Many have remarked that it sounds "stressful," or "draining." But this is what gives me energy, fills me up and brings me joy. Which got me to thinkin'...

As I drove across the U.P., I thought of all of the things others have said to me about this sport. These mushing myths are so common, I can't begin to recount how many times I've heard them. Aside from debunking the most common myth -- that sled dogs are all Siberian huskies (that only happens in Disney films) -- I thought I'd set the record straight about some of the other myths I hear so often. Here goes.

5. "Do you ever sleep?" I seem to hear this often. I think it's because most of the races I run are at night. Um, yes I sleep. In fact, I guard my sleep time like a proverbial mother bear guards her cubs. And while it might be true that mushers have a higher tolerance for functioning without regular sleep, most mushers I know make up for the sleep they don't get when they're not racing. I prefer running dogs at night, though on this particular race last weekend, my headlamp malfunctioned. Not to worry: mushers are required to carry a spare as part of their "mandatory gear" for just such an occasion. Only my spare was a cheap-o 80 lumen dim flicker I'd bought at a local feed store for $15. Luckily, unlike the Jack Pine two weeks earlier, we ran under the light of a perfect 3/4 moon and clear, star-filled U.P. sky. But I never want to run a race in the dark again! I've already purchased a new headlamp, and I am catching up on sleep - hence the slow blog post.

4. "Your dogs must love the cold!" While it is true that Alaskan huskies are made for cold weather, not all of them are equipped to run headlong into a blizzard at 30 below. Like people, their coats vary; some of them are shorter coated, have less body fat or just prone to being chilled. In fact, we mushers carry just about as much gear to protect our dogs from the cold and wind as we do for ourselves. We slather goop onto our dog's paw pads and cover their feet with booties to protect them from ice and snow. During the race this past weekend, I ran two of my dogs in custom-made jackets to protect them from the temperatures. And, when it gets really cold, mushers have special covers made to protect a dog's "private parts" from frostbite.

3. "I expected your dogs to be bigger." This is probably the number one thing I hear at sled dog demonstrations, races and from non-mushers. I can't speak for other musher's teams, and the sizes of Alaskan huskies varies, but, in general, the average size of my males is about 55 pounds and 45 for the females. My main leader, Big Brown, is 37 pounds. The dogs were bred for speed and endurance, and the fact is, Malamutes are pretty darned slow! My typical response to this comment is "you don't see many large marathon runners, do ya!"

My tiny main leader, Big Brown, on my bed

2. "You must love this weather!" a coworker said to me as several more inches of snow fell the week before we left for the race. My retort is always the same. There is a Swedish saying "there is no bad weather, only bad clothing." 

Taken during the "storm Neptune" a few weeks ago, do I look thrilled? No. 

Mushers have no higher tolerance to cold than anyone else. And, with back problems and a family history of Rheumatoid arthritis, I feel the cold, lemme tell ya! When you go swimming, you dress appropriately, right? Well, the same is true for mushers - or any other winter athlete. If you're going to spend hours outside in the cold, you dress appropriately. We invest in good gear, and that usually starts with excellent base layers, wool socks, winter parkas and snow pants specifically made to protect against severe winter cold.

So many people seem to shut themselves off to the unique beauty, awesome silence and pristine views of winter. As we ran the last 15 miles of the race last weekend, I turned my headlamp off (trying to reserve some of the battery). Shadows danced with us across the snow-covered forest and on as we ran along a frozen lake. The moon seemed to reflect off of each tiny crystalline snowflake that rolled on into the distance as each tree, bush and rock created long shadows across the white tundra. I thought about how many would never see that beauty simply because they shield themselves off from winter. I want to be open to take in all of life and what it has to show me. In all seasons.

1. "What kind of dogs are those?" This is, by far, the number one remark I hear. Numero uno. The most common myth - that all sled dogs are fuzzy, blue-eyed beasts - is one propagated by Disney. This is not to say that there aren't Siberian huskies at sled dog races; there are. But the more common type of dog is the Alaskan husky, a "mutt" if I'm being honest. Alaskan huskies are not an AKC registered breed. But they have pedigrees carefully traced back to some key recognized players in the sport of dog mushing: Roxy Wright-Champaigne, Doug Swingley, Lance Mackey, Mitch Seavey. Some Alaskans have blue eyes, but some have brown or even gray and gold colored eyes. Some Alaskans have fluffy gray coats, but others have shorter coats that are black, brown, spotted, or any variation or combination in between. Alaskan huskies are a varied breed.

So, to recap, we placed 10th in the Jack Pine in a veritable blizzard the likes of which I've never run dogs in. We placed 14th out of 21 in the Copper Dog in a very fast field of teams. Considering I didn't think I would be able to race at all this season, I am quite pleased with the fact that we were able to manage two races and place solidly in the middle-of-the-pack.

That's a wrap on the 2014-2015 season! Stay tuned for puppy harness breaking! And as always...

Eben Ice Caves and The Midnight Run - some photos

The day after winter storm Neptune swept dramatically through Marquette, the snow cleared and the sky became beautiful and blue. We decided to stop by our friends, the Curtices, who live in Rumley, a tiny place (can't really be called a "town" because as far as I know, there is only a general store) about 30 minutes outside of Marquette just outside of Chatham. My daughter Sophie and I decided to take a hike with Caitlin Curtice to the Eben Ice Caves, a place I had always wanted to stop but never had been to. The following are some photos from the Eben Ice Caves.

looking up

looking up again

A wall of ice

I also shot some photos of our friends at the Midnight Run....

Joann and Daisy

Larry and Zeus

Martha and Bebop

Another of Martha and Bebop

Mike Bestgen preps lead dogs while Amy is ready at the helm

Friends Mike and Meagan before the race.

Next stop: CopperDog 40! 

When the heart says yes, but the body says no

The snow falls effortlessly, slowly gathering on his gray head as he sits on the roof of his house. It's quiet, save for a dog barking in the distance. He appears stately, as almost a statue, until he slowly raises his head skyward, opens his long mouth and howls.

Soon the others emerge from their houses, shaking off sleep and greeting the day. Bright-eyed and eager, they join his lonely song, a cacophony of 16 dogs singing, and they say "let's go." But there is no going for me.  They see me and stop their chorus in unison. They eye me, all looking at me expectantly, waiting. When are we going. There is no going for me, and that is heartbreaking. Heartbreaking beyond what I'm able to convey. Days like today are what mushers - and sled dogs - live for.

I'm not one to let pain stop me. I joke often that my middle name is "tenacious." A very special person once told me that I train and race dogs "against all odds." I pride myself on that.

But sometimes, things happen that force our hand. Like a football player with a sudden injury forced to sit out the season, I now mull over the "should haves" and "if onlys." I should have worn the back brace. Regret is a bitter pill.

A bone density scan showed degenerative disc disease in 2007. I get it honestly. My mother's mother had rheumatoid arthritis, her fingers curved in deformed "S" shapes. Still, she crocheted. My aunt had back surgery when I was young. I remember hearing stories of her in traction. My mother has the tell-tale signs of her mother's genetics as well. And, two years ago, I saw my first rheumatologist.

For the last two years, I've struggled with the glaringly obvious effects of this "disc disease" - what I call the result of a life well-lived. Backpacking, long bouncing rides with my mountain bike, and miles and miles of cross-country running in college undoubtedly jarring tiny fragments into my L5. The last nine years on the back of a dog sled undoubtedly further eroded bone, like water washing away rock. This erosion. Spine turning to dust.

I was in denial. This past spring, I took up trail running again, determined to be stronger for the upcoming dog season. It hurt like hell, but with my back brace - a black nylon support wrapped around my waist - and firmly gritted teeth, I could bite through the pain. I worked up to four mile runs, sweated out sets of crunches to firm my core and stabilize the spine, muscles forming support for bone. I was determined. Tenacious.

Friday, winter finally set in. Excited, I loaded nine dogs in the dog trailer, strapped my sled to the roof, and we headed to Punderson State Park for our first run with the sled. I met my friend Ron there with his dogs. In my haste, I forgot the back brace. I never went without it last season on any sled run.

The trails were gorgeous, and despite the lack of a good base, I hooked six dogs for a 10 mile run, then another.

My six dogs with Ron and his six leading ahead of us

On the second time out, I noticed my sled kept tracking to the right. To compensate, I rode with more weight on my left side. I also noticed during that second run that the area in my back with the herniated disc began to hurt. Our second run was short.

When we returned to the staging area, I hobbled through the pain to unhook, unharness and put the dogs away. I put the rest of my gear away, but mentioned to Ron that I was in a lot of pain. I felt better on the 40 minute drive back home, but as I started to get out of my car once at home, my left leg practically gave out from under me. Breath-taking pain shot through my back and down my leg. I limped inside.

Saturday morning found me in excruciating pain and unable to walk. I ended up at the emergency room where I received injections of morphine and toradol, both powerful pain relievers. I filled scripts for vicodin, two kinds of muscle relaxers and an oral steroid for inflammation, and was on bed rest for the remainder of the weekend.

The best laid plans of mice and men. And mushers.

At the time of this writing, I am still awaiting results from x-rays. But the tech allowed me to take a peek at them after I had them done, and what I saw wasn't pretty. Spinal stenosis - a narrowing of the spine - with a possible fracture on the vertebrae, and undoubtedly, sciatica - a pinched nerve that shoots pain down the leg.

For the safety of my dogs, other mushers' teams and myself, I have withdrawn from my favorite race, the 90-mile Midnight Run. I am able to walk now thanks to medication, and I am still debating on running the IronLine and Copper Dog 40, which are shorter, six-dog class races.

My heart wants to be out there on the trail with them. More than anything. But my body says no. And the argument that has ensued between the two is heartbreaking. 

Where my heart longs to be

Mushing in Ohio: mud and diligence

Training a team of sled dogs is not an easy task. It is often chaotic. It requires dedication and is back-breaking and messy. On a recent training run, I kept smelling dog poop. I suspected it was on one of the dog's harnesses or tug lines - something that happens frequently - but every time I checked when we were stopped, I saw nothing. Imagine my surprise when I realized, on finishing the run, that the glob of doggy doo-doo was in my hair! It had flown off the back tire of the four wheeler and flipped up onto my head!

It requires sacrifice. Inevitably, every year, there are nights when, after a long day at work, the last thing I want to do is trade in my heels for Muck Boots and head out into inclement weather for several hours in the night. But as I pass people snug in their houses watching reruns of Seinfeld for the umteenth time, I look up at the stars overhead, or see a pair of glowing eyes watching me from a thicket of trees, and I know where I am is better and that there's no place I'd rather be.

Training a team of sled dogs in northeast Ohio certainly has its challenges. When other mushers are on sleds, I am still on the four wheeler at Christmastime this year. While there hasn't been any snow in northeast Ohio this winter, there has been no shortage of moisture. Mud has become like my second skin. The dog's harnesses are so muddy when we return from training runs that they can practically stand up on their own. I'm so sick of mud, I could scream.

This season has brought a slew of unforeseen challenges in addition to the normal challenges of training a team in Ohio. For one, in October, when training runs are typically kicking into high gear, I was focused on trying to save Mojo and Feist, my two pups who died of parvo. It was emotionally and financially draining, and my training regimen and pocket book quickly became depleted. It seems I have played catch up in both areas ever since.

Additionally, a year and a half ago, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder. Without going into too many boring details, there have been moments this season when I honestly felt my body wasn't going to allow me to do what I needed to do to train up the dogs. I pride myself on having high tolerance for pain, and the ability to function well even with a lack of sleep or in pain and around chaos. But this season, some days have been practically debilitating.

I have done what I could, trying to take things in stride. As John Lennon said, life is what happens when you're busy making other plans. It is a rookie mistake to set out at the beginning of a season thinking race plans are set in stone. Whenever living creatures are involved, there are always unknown variables, and first and foremost, mushers are taught to deal with adversity and always be prepared with Plan B. At one point, I resigned to potentially sit this year out race-wise.

Plans are fluid. Since I started mushing nine years ago, I have always attended the Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Classic. Unfortunately, because life happens, this will be the first year we will not be at that race since I started this sport. I am behind on training miles with where I would normally be at this time of the year, and rather than pushing the dogs, I have chosen to forego this favorite race in favor of a new race happening at the end of  January: The IronLine Sled Dog Race. This will give us more time for training runs and conditioning.

As Christmas Eve rounds the corner and we settle in with family, friends gifts and merriment, it is 55 degrees and raining here in northeast Ohio. More moisture. More mud. Doesn't feel much like Christmas. So I must rely on pictures to help me remember.

Merry Christmas - may the season bring peace and lots of doggy howls (and not doggy doo-doo).

Mid-fall updates: "Watch out where the huskies go, and don't you eat that yellow snow..."

Several thoughts come to mind this time of year regarding training. One, and I've said this before, November is "make it or break it" month as far as training. The runs get longer, the temps get colder (at the time of this writing, it is like full-blown January instead of mid-November), and this is the time when running dogs isn't necessarily always fun. Today, we did a touch over 15 miles, and it was 24 blowing, blustery degrees with six inches of fresh, heavy snow.

Dreamed I was an Eskimo
Frozen wind began to blow...

The team stopped along one of the snow-covered trails we run on 

Training was compromised somewhat during October because of Mojo and Feist contracting parvo; my days were consumed with caring for them. We are subsequently behind a bit on miles to where I would like to be. But we are hitting it hard again with runs every other day and the dogs are looking strong. 

Under my boots 'n around my toe
Frost had bit the ground below

A panoramic of my favorite spot on our training trails

This is also the time of year to count our blessings, and I count seven of them every day: their names are Buddha, Bonanza, Blaze, Cisco (The Cisco Kid), Voodoo, Halo, and Mirage. 

Elise and Halo

Sophie and Voodoo

The rest of the puppies are thriving and growing like crazy. I cannot wait to harness break them in the spring. They will no doubt bring the kennel into a new level of competitiveness in the future.

Plans are underway for the 2014/2015 racing season. They are here. If you would like to sponsor a puppy or an active member of the race team, please throw us a bone. We are currently actively looking for sponsors for this season.

As always...

....and watch out for the yellow snow

Puppy Update

I'm beginning to think the Ohio tourism slogan "so much to discover!" was written with puppies and not Ohio in mind. The puppies - a.k.a. the "little monsters" - were seven weeks old this week and have settled into their home outside in their own private kennel run with mama, Cinder. Every day they spend hours outside of the dog kennel ...discovering. And it seems, like some fish and reptiles do, the puppies have also grown tremendously to adapt to their bigger space.

Halo, also sleeping in the dirt under the propane tank...

And they are increasingly adventurous. On our daily puppy outings at the ranch, they venture around the property, wagging at the other dogs...

Buddha brazenly barks at kennel patriarch, Yeti

...running along the puppy paths ... 

Elise: official puppy trainer/herder

and making other discoveries like garden hoses...

Halo and the garden hose

...giant holes dug by the other dogs out of summer boredom ...

Buddha and Halo rest inside one of Tosh's giant excavation projects

...chickens...

"Come here, chicken!"

...and even coffee! 

Blaze slurping from my coffee mug

They have discovered that pulling on your sister's tail is great fun....

BIG BROTHERS! UGH!

...and how to annoy your very big brothers...

Three-year-old, Tosh, rolls his eyes at me as if to say, "mom, can you make the toddlers go away?"

...and the joys of running...

Cisco 

There are more puppy portraits on the Diamond Dogs Facebook Page

Sweet dreams ....

and, as always...

"I am so over this damsel in distress nonsense." Daphne, TheScooby-DooMovie, 2002

A few months ago, some friends were teasing me about a reputation I have developed. My friends, Sandy and Karyn, "rescued" me, my two kids and my dog crew last fall when I had not one, but two flat tires on the dog trailer on separate occasions during a trip to Michigan. After that, we had a good laugh. I said, "I'm going to develop a reputation for these kinds of things!" Sandy replied without missing a beat, "I think you already have!"

I have a vehicle that is four years old for a reason. I wanted something reliable for the amount of driving I do, but also fuel efficient. I abandoned my V8 truck last summer for a fuel-efficient SUV, but hauling a 13 foot dog trailer through blizzards proved too difficult for it last season. I drove 10 hours in a snow storm to Newberry, Michigan for the Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Race in January, only to have 18 inches of snow fall over night. I woke up stranded the morning of the race. Were it not for a friend and fellow musher, Ron and his big diesel Dodge, I wouldn't have made it to our first race of the season.

This pattern continued throughout last season. It seemed every time I went to a race, some small disaster was sure to follow. Freezing rain and snowfall trapped my little SUV at the hotel in Marquette, MI before the Midnight Run last year. And once again, I got by with a little help from very good friends who, by now had to be growing weary of my damsel in distress nonsense. This time it was Sharon Curtice, and her brother Paul.

Amazingly, I went to my final race of the season last year, The Copper Dog, without mishap.

This weekend, I had planned a trip to the Pocono Mountains to meet friends Susi and Eric, who were adopting two of my dogs. The girls and I had really been looking forward to the five-hour drive through the mountains and forests of Pennsylvania and a mini-vacation with like-minded folks.

But Friday night, my car had different plans.

I work nights, and as I fired her up to head to work at 5:15 p.m., I heard a noise. It's never good to hear strange noises coming from under the hood. I stopped at the end of my driveway, and popped the hood. There, I found a half way shredded serpentine belt flipping wildly. I quickly shut the engine off.

After some fretting, I decided to tackle this project myself. After all, I was raised knowing how to do routine car work - oil changes, tune ups, etc - how hard could it be, right?  A quick trip via a friend up to Autozone for a new belt, I dove headlong into the project, determined not to be a damsel in distress. Armed with Google, YouTube and diagrams, what could go wrong?

a handy diagram of the serpentine belt of my car ... sort of

Only, when I started removing the remaining pieces of the old belt, I found copious amounts of oil all over the engine.

Yessir, that is oil...Oil that is, black gold, Texas tea. 

Putting the belt on proved far more difficult than I could have imagined. I texted my friend Julie to see if her husband could come help. Within minutes, Denis and Nick, their daughter, Hannah's boyfriend, were in my driveway; within an hour, they had the belt on. I was so relieved.

But this still didn't explain the oil, which was also concerning to Denis.

I took it out for a test drive, and it seemed fine. No noises. I thought that possibly the oil happened when the belt broke, but it seemed to run fine. So, the next morning, we loaded up the car bright and early and headed to the Poconos.

The girls and Sirius the puppy pose with a Totem just over the Pennsylvania border

Elise and Sophie

It rained the entire drive into the mountains

It rained the entire drive. We were relieved to finally make it to Saylorsburg and the beautiful home and kennel of friends Eric Walker and Susi Marsh of Arctic Paws Dog Sled Tours. The trip was bittersweet because Susi and Eric had purchased Sirius, one of Cinder's beautiful puppies and my long-time fearless leader, Yeti, who had been the backbone of my kennel for the last six years. At nearly seven years old, Yeti was dropped from training last season because he just couldn't keep up with the speed the rest of my dogs run. It just about killed him to watch me hooking up teams and leaving him behind. So I made the very tough decision to rehome him. And I cried a lot this past weekend.

Eric and Susi took us to a great little winery for some brick oven pizza and Sangria, and we laughed and laughed over dinner telling stories. 

The wait staff was overwhelmed with a wedding party at the winery, so Susi jumped in as a server! 

During dinner, I mentioned to Eric, who is an automotive engineer with 30 years' experience in the trade, that my oil light came on during the short drive to the winery. Given the issues I'd had the previous night, he became alarmed. We checked my oil before heading back to their house, and Eric went to get more oil, strongly warning me against driving my car one more inch.

Back at their house, we degreased the engine and everything under the hood to try to pinpoint a leak, if any. After degreasing and hosing off the engine, we started my car and there appeared to be no leaks. I breathed a sigh of relief, and we had wine. 

Elise and Susi cuddling puppy, Sirius

The next morning, I promised the girls a small hike behind Susi's house. There was an awesome Easter Island-type statue in the woods that the kids thought was pretty cool. 

Easter Island in the Poconos

The girls found a salamander and skipped rocks at the pond. 

Little salamander 

Skipping rocks

We packed up to head for home. But 20 minutes into the drive, I heard a loud squealing when I changed gears. We were only about 20 minutes from Eric and Susi's home when I stopped at an Exxon station. There, under the hood, was my engine caked in oil again. I feared the worst.

We limped back to Susi and Eric's home, and Eric took a look again. Then he said, "well, you're going to have to take my truck home." Surprised, I said, "what? I can't take your truck." His truck is my dream truck! It's a 2013 Chevy Silverado 4x4. It's a beautiful vehicle. I was humbled and awe-struck by his generosity.

So, in the end, we drove home happily and I woke up to find a beautiful truck in my driveway! I am awaiting the final diagnosis of what is wrong with my SUV from Eric. But the moral of the story is this:

If you MUST break down, do it at the home of a 30 year mechanic who is mind-bogglingly generous! 

It's true that I have had my share of issues with vehicles on my adventures traveling to places mushing has taken me. But I am continually amazed and grateful for the generosity of mushers! Several years ago, I started writing a book about the culture of mushing - the people, the dogs - the places. Mushers are such an awesome group, and this experience has rekindled my desire to finish that book!

Thanks so much to Susi and Eric! 

Eric's truck

To add to my list of vehicle troubles, my four wheeler is still in need of repair and we haven't even begin fall training yet! Prayers that my luck will change soon!! 

As always, thanks for reading and ...