At the time of this writing, there are still 28 mushers running the Iditarod race trail. There is much anticipation as to who will win Iditarod each year, and each year, there seems to be a fight to the finish among the top five teams. There are lots of stories of drama, challenges and adversity. This year's race certainly outdid itself in that category.
When the winners come in, it doesn't matter what time it is, the crowds gather. Cameras flash, and fans cheer far and wide. Now that 3/4 of the racers have arrived in Nome, it seems things have died down. When those last 28 roll into Nome, do they find the crowds gone?
I personally tip my hat to the back-of-the-packers, for while many if not all mushers face adversity on the trail, often it is those who are last to come in who face the most adversity, who run their own race despite odds and often in solitude. They're the mushers who run their own race without worry about what the others' strategy is or how far they have in lead. They are the ones who, for them, it's not so much a race as it is an experience, a journey with many places to stop and marvel at the amazing life unfolding.
Really, I have no business writing this. I am small potatoes compared to any Iditarod musher, regardless of where they finish.
But this is an homage to much more than the Iditarod. It is an ode to the lifestyle, to those who live outside the lines, those who run their race without thought about whether or not they are good enough. It's a tribute to those who know that just showing up is enough.
It's about setting goals and sticking to them, despite the odds. Those in the back-of-the-pack are often the ones who face the most adversity, who run in solitude having been left behind by faster teams. They are the ones who can face the toughest set backs, like Minnesota's Nathan Schroeder whose father reported that not only was his team sick with a virus and stalled at the White Mountain checkpoint, but Nathan himself was sick and "coughing blood."
It takes a special breed of person to run dogs. As Robert Service said in his poem "The Men Who Don't Fit In":
There's a race of men that don't fit in, A race that can't stay still; So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will. They range the field and they rove the flood, And they climb the mountain's crest; Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood, And they don't know how to rest. If you're ever able to attend a dog sled race, stick around to welcome the back-of-the-packers. In doing so, you will welcome some of the toughest people with the most fortitude that you will ever meet. *Update: Nathan and Jodi Bailey came into Nome as I was writing this. Welcome in!
Is there such a thing as too much snow in mushing?
It's difficult to believe as I type this, that last weekend the dogs and I were in a veritable winter wonderland. Today it was 50 degrees and raining.
Driving through a blizzard
Driving up to Michigan Thursday morning, a whopper of a blizzard fell across Ohio and lower Michigan. What normally is about a nine hour drive took 13. The dogs and I arrived at the motel in time for a meal and stretch.
The team from left with ages: Perry (2) stretches, Cinder (2), Fiona (6) and Tosh (2)
The rest of the team with ages from left: Dirk (2), Wailer (2), Yeti (6) and leader Ruffian (6)
As I arrived at the mandatory mushers' meeting Friday night, the wind picked up and snow began to fall. And it just kept falling...and falling...During the two hours I was in the American Legion hall in Newberry for the meeting, about seven inches fell. The wind howled like a freight train all night. Sleep didn't come easily; I was worried about what the trail conditions would be like by race time.
The next morning, it was nearly impossible to get out of the motel parking lot. Many mushers were stuck and running late to the race start. By the time we arrived at the race site at Muskallonge Lake State Park, reports of some 18 inches of snow had accumulated overnight. Mushers' trucks and trailers with dogs were lined up along M-407 in the biggest traffic jam that county highway had ever seen waiting for race volunteers to plow the parking area of the race. Once we all made it inside the staging area, race officials delayed the race start an hour and a half. Only the 8-dog and 6-dog portions of the race trail were opened; volunteers couldn't get to the 12-dog course in time to sweep the trail, so it was decided that the 12-dog teams would run the 8-dog course.
I began to get nervous. For four months, the dogs had been training with the four wheeler on relatively clean ground without much snow accumulation. We completed our final training run Wednesday before the race, still with the four wheeler. Taking them from that type of training to slogging through 18 inches of fresh powder on top of the already two foot base would use entirely different muscle groups. It's akin to a person used to running on a treadmill moving to running on the beach. I knew going into the race I would be running very conservatively so as not to overly exert anyone. Five of the eight dogs are still only two-year-olds. Just like training with young people, giving young dogs lots of positive experiences is crucial to their growth as sled dogs. I decided to make the best of it, but run slowly and conservatively. If nothing else, it would be a good training run for the dogs.
We left the starting chute at 11:44 a.m. Everyone, including myself, brought good working headlamps because we all knew we were going to be out on the trail for awhile, well after dark. We flew down M-407 toward Grand Marais and I had both feet on my drag mat to slow the team. We had 41 miles to go; best to hold 'em back.
We came upon a familiar place where the trail cuts left into the woods from M-407. I slowed the team nearly to a stop and looked up the trail. Most who follow this blog know that I lived in a cabin three miles from the race start for almost five months last season. I know these trails and I knew that trail. But the trail markers for the race were not there, and there was a clear trail heading straight ahead toward Grand Marais. I hesitated, knowing instinctively I needed to take that left turn into the woods. But I didn't listen to my instinct and followed the tracks straight ahead toward Lake Superior.
Soon, I saw a musher heading straight for me ahead. She passed, and I saw a cluster of six or so more teams up ahead as well, all turning around. We had all taken the wrong turn, and we all had to turn around. Six or seven teams of dogs and mushers all trying to turn around is not my idea of a good time!
Once we were all on the right trail, things were smooth sailing, but slow. Eight-dog teams typically run a fast pace (between 10-13 mph) compared to distance teams (between 7-9 mph). My team, whose running average is between 10.5-11 mph was slogging along at about 7 mph. Most other teams were no different.
My team moving right along in the deep, deep snow
We finally came to a point where the six-dog trail turned right and the eight-dog trail went straight ahead. I called to my leaders, "Straight ahead!" but Ruffian, who seems to love going gee (right) did just that down the six dog trail. I had my drag mat up and couldn't stop the team in time before the whole team was heading down the six dog trail.
I stomped my snow hook to set it and right the team, but they popped it. I stomped again, this time using my extra snow hook too, but in that top 18 inches of powder, there was nothing for the hooks to grab onto and the team kept popping them. Finally, knowing my hooks weren't going to hold well, I tried to set them again as best as I could, ran up to my leaders and turned them around, grabbing onto the sled handle as quickly as possible so as not to lose the team. The hook which wouldn't hold before, now miraculously held, but as the team turned around, the rope to the snow hook wrapped around my brush bow (the front of the sled) and in a split second, snapped it.
CRUNCH!
The new sled, my little Risdon Euro Sprint sled, that I hadn't even used yet was injured on its maiden voyage! Luckily, I think it's a pretty easy fix.
The dogs kept slogging along at a steady pace, but that pace was about 6 miles per hour with all that snow. Thirty-one miles in, when we came to the dog drop (where you can leave a dog who is too tired to finish the race), I asked Dr. Tom Gustafson, one of the race vets, to have a look at a couple of my dogs who seemed tired. They checked out fine with Tom, but I made a decision I've never made before: I decided rather than to burn my mostly young team out on the first race slogging through all of the really deep, slow snow, I would scratch. I'd had a scary experience at the end of the Midnight Run last year (read about that here), and I just didn't feel like finishing the race was worth demoralizing my team at that snail's pace.
The Luce County Sheriff and another volunteer graciously escorted us up snowmobile trail #8 back to M-407. We finished 37 miles of the race according to my GPS. But more importantly, all of the dogs were wagging and ate heartily at the end.
Here is a video of the team and all that snow!
Our next race might be at the end of the month if I can come up with the funds and a decent vehicle! Stay tuned! Mush love!
Sometimes, something happens that throws even my own story telling abilities for a loop. Lots of people have asked for updates about our first race, and when I sat down to tell the tale, I didn't know where to begin. So, I did what I suggest you do: grab a cuppa joe, sit back, and read on for the harrowing tale of Aspen's get away.
The dogs and I arrived in the Upper Peninsula on Thursday - just enough time for a short 15 mile run to stretch the legs before race day on Saturday. I had been fretting before we left because one of my main dogs - Tak - had come into full standing heat. I decided to bring Aspen, who I had dropped from training for obnoxious behavioral issues like neckline chewing, and turning around on the gangline. Aspen was also coming into heat, but was not as far along as Tak.
Our pre-race run went off without a hitch. The team looked great, and I was only going to take them 10 miles, but they looked so strong, I let them go a little further.
My team stopped on the trails outside of Nature's Kennel
Things seemed beautiful on our short run, with more than adequate snow cover - enough to hook down with snow hooks. When we arrived at the drivers' meeting Friday night, however, we received a different message. Trail boss, Bob Shaw, went over the trail conditions for the race course, warning that there were bare spots and lots of ice in the beginning right out of the starting chute. Conditions up at Rainbow Lodge where the race start is held can be very windy, which was the case the morning of the race start. Wind had apparently blown much of the snow cover off the open parts of the course, and with the mild temperatures and thaw a day or so before the race, and then the freeze again, the start was an ice rink.
I spotted my friends Larry and Joann Fortier parked in the 8 dog pro parking area and walked up to Joann.
"Have you walked the chute yet?" she asked.
"No," I replied.
"Go walk it. It's scary," she said.
Sure enough, it was every bit what Bob Shaw described. Barren with mostly ice, some rocks, and a big mound of dirt/sand about 30 feet from the starting line.
"Okay, it is what it is," I thought. "We will make the best with what we've got."
Mushers always have the option of not running a race course if they think it is unfit or are worried about it for whatever reason. But, I had driven nine hours for this race, and it is always one of my favorites. Tahquamenon country is some of the most beautiful winter country I've ever experienced on a dogsled. Not running it was not an option.
The Start
I was super delighted to be joined by my friend and supporter, Dennis Waite, at the race site. Dennis has single handedly contributed more to our success this season than any other sponsor.For whatever reason, Dennis believes in me. He says I have "grit." :)
Dennis and me with overstuffed pockets at the race site before the Tahquamenon race
The race site was barren. I wondered briefly if we'd even be able to make it to the starting line, there was so much grass exposed.
Hooking up eight mutts
I was most nervous about the very beginning. But, really, it was clean sailing through the starting chute. It was afterward that things began to get hairy, and it had nothing really to do with the trail initially.
Leaving the starting line
Yeti, my big male leader (on the left in the photo above) has this habit of stopping the team on a dime to poop. When this happens, I have to quickly react with the brake - otherwise, I have a tangled up bunch of dogs on my hands. Ruffian, my other leader (white dog on the right in the photo above) has an equally annoying habit of turning around to look at the team and me when we stop for Yeti to poop. Within the first mile, this scenario happened, except, we were on solid ice - nothing for my brake to grab onto in order to stop abruptly. Before I knew it, I had a tangled mess up front, and no way to stop the team in order to fix things.
I frantically began looking for a tree or anything to hook to, but there was nothing. The eight dog pro class was full with 20-some teams signed up, including Ryan and Erin Redington, and blazing fast competition. While I struggled to find anyplace to hook to, the competition was flying past me and my dogs became increasingly tangled. And furious with each other.
Tangled dogs tend to blame their neighbor for their entrapment. It's like they can't wrap their doggie brains around what's happening and have to lash out at someone in their frustration. This situation was quickly happening between Ruffian, and Gwennie, my point dog just behind Ruffian who were beginning to fight. I desperately needed to right this situation, and fast.
I finally took a chance. I managed to vaguely hook down on the berm along the icy roadside and jumped off the sled, running up to my leaders and whoaing the dogs repeatedly praying to God they didn't take off without me. They were so tangled, however, that they likely couldn't have gotten very far if they had taken off without me. I got my leaders and point dogs untangled, but missed Aspen, in wheel, who had other things in mind.
Aspen's Getaway
Remember I said I had dropped Aspen from training? She had probably chewed through thirty necklines this fall alone. I tried everything - running chains so she couldn't chew for a month, doing mock hook ups to correct the behavior - but as soon as I put a poly neckline back on her, she was back at it, chewing her way through the thin 6 millimeter rope in one snap.
Unbeknownst to me, while I busily untangled the mess I had in the front of my team, Aspen was chewing away like a beaver in the back of my team. In a flash, suddenly, she chomped through her neckline, backed out of her harness, and was gone loping beautifully and freely up the trail without us like some wild and gorgeous gazelle, all legs and flash.
I have to admit, it was a sight to see, watching her loping up the trail next to other teams. She was having a blast! And luckily, I free run my dogs daily, so she comes faithfully when I call her.
Only, this time, she had apparently lost her hearing...or she was just having too much fun to pay attention to me, because she didn't seem to notice me screaming her name.
I hopped back on the sled and off we went, chasing Aspen up the trail.
We chased her for a good mile before we came to a turn off where the trail goes into the trees. Former musher-turned-trail-help Lyle Ross stood at this turn off.
"Did you see a loose dog?" I yelled at Lyle
"Yea," he said nonchalantly. "There are people at the first road crossing. They'll catch her."
We turned the sharp left into the trees. I saw Aspen two teams up still loping along joyfully. Then, she stopped abruptly, looked at me, and then suddenly darted into the woods. I feared the worst. If she didn't come back to me, I would be disqualified. Worse yet, I didn't want her loose in those woods, which are populated with wolves.
I began to get a bit angry. I thought, "if I catch Aspen, I am dropping her at the first dog drop! That's it!"
But then I remembered my own mantra: they're just dogs.
It wasn't Aspen's fault she was causing such chaos. She was having fun cavorting about with her fellow doggie friends. She was just being her silly, flirtatious, fun-loving doggie self.
We turned the curvy, winding trail and I continually stopped to attempt to hook down. In vain. I thought if I could just stop the team and call her, she would come to me and I could hook her back in the team. Meanwhile, teams kept passing me. Once, while I attempted to hook down, Bruce Magnusson, winner of the 8 dog pro race, suddenly came up behind me and his leaders necklined the back of my knees. He apologized profusely, but I felt bad too as if my dog wasn't loose, I wouldn't have been trying to hook down in the first place!
Finally, after at least 45 minutes of attempting to hook down in vain, my friend Liza Dietzen came up behind me. She passed me and asked if I was alright. I explained briefly that my dog was loose, and just then, Aspen appeared on the trail. Liza and I somehow managed to hook down - me to a tree and I'm not sure how Liza stopped. Liza reached down and gently grabbed Aspen's collar, and I ran up and grabbed her. I thanked Liza, telling her I owed her one, and she was off.
In seconds, I had Aspen back in harness, a new neckline attached to the mainline, and had her back in the team. I hupped the dogs, and around this time, we headed into the trees where the trail was more normal for this time of year in the U.P. Aside from a little bumpy ride at the first road crossing, and a little icy section through a logging yard, the trail was gorgeous, and everything I remembered. We had a fairly uneventful rest of the 42 mile course. Before I knew it, we had reached the road crossing back that marked five miles left of the race. And for all of the craziness, I had a blast.
A beautiful photo by my friend and fellow photographer, Aladino Mandoli, of my colorful team running down the race trail
A little bumpy ride at the first road crossing leaves me looking a bit nervous :) Another beautiful capture by Dino - thanks Dino!
Red lantern
No matter how long I'm out on the trail, I don't ever want our runs to end. I started running dogs thinking 10 miles was long. We gradually moved into 20 and 30 miles because I just couldn't get enough. I can honestly say, at the end of this 42 mile race, I didn't want it to end.
I said when I started this journey six years ago that I wanted to eventually run the U.P. 200 - a 240 mile checkpoint race and Iditarod qualifier. I have also said I had no interest in ever running the Iditarod.
But, for the first time, not only can I see that goal of running the U.P. 200 becoming a reality, I am not opposed to doing a super marathon like the Iditarod. Someday...
I don't care where we place in our standings. I knew going into this race that the competition was fierce, and that we would likely be at the back of the pack. I don't race to hurry through and get to the end, never seeing the beauty all around between the start to the finish line.
We ended up finishing the 42 mile race course in 4 hours, 58 minutes and some seconds, and winning the red lantern. But I am super proud of my fur kids. They held a steady pace, and finished tired but happy and healthy, which is all I could ask for. And five hours out on that beautiful trail wasn't possibly enough, so after a day off, we headed out for another 20 mile run :)
And, maybe I shouldn't even race, because really, I just love being out there in solitude with my dogs in the woods. It's the ride I adore, not the end point.
There's a new photographer on the mushing scene. One who is only 12 years old.
His name is Sigurd Utych, and he's from Newberry, Michigan.
I met him recently at the Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog race. He immediately saw the Canon 7D in my hands and honed in on me like a hawk.
"Nice camera!" he said excitedly. "Can I hold it?"
He handed me his Canon Rebel and I handed him the 7D. "Wow, this is like my dream camera," he said.
Sigurd has a passion and focus not many 12 year old's share. And he conducts himself completely professionally. Not only did he shoot photos of me and all the mushers at the race, at the end of the day, he approached me and asked if I wanted him to send copies of the photos.
Well, the disk arrived in the mail today, along with a piece of hand torn paper with these words handwritten:
Photos by Sigurd J. Utych S.J. Photography
Thank you, Sigurd! You did an exceptional job, and with your focus, talent and drive, you will go far.
My team and me leaving the starting chute at the Tahquamenon Race. Photo by Sigurd Utych
*UPDATE: just after I published this post, I realized my friend mentioned in it, David Gill, won 3rd place in the UP200! WAY TO GO DAVID!!! This is definitely your year, my friend!
Mackinaw Bridge connecting the lower peninsula to the upper peninsula of Michigan
What a whirlwind!
Lake Michigan shoreline along Route 2 - Michigan's Upper Peninsula
The dogs and I headed up to the Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Race for our long-awaited first race. We ran 13 miles on Friday before the race, 28 miles on Saturday for the race, and then 8 1/2 miles on Sunday after the race - about 50 miles in three days.
Ten dogs and I on a 13 mile "warm up" pre-race run
For the first time that I can remember, I never wanted to come in from a run. Even after nearly four hours on the trail, I didn't want it to end. The dogs ran like a well-oiled machine, settling into a groove and an even paced trot. We started out in snow squalls and fierce wind, but half way through the run, the sky opened up, and I could literally envision myself being on the runners all day.
As I raced, I thought of my friend Jodi Bailey who was racing on the Yukon Quest trail. My little 28 mile race was such a dinky little thing in comparison. And yet, this is where it starts: with a love for the trail, being in the woods in the snow with a bunch of dogs. Along one of my favorite stretches of the Tahquamenon race
I am happy to report we finished the 28 mile Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Race with a respectable time of 3 hours, 36 minutes and 46 seconds.
The team catching up to a musher in the distance
And then, in one weekend, winter is over.
As I write, the temperature outside is about 45 degrees. All the snow around the Ranch is nearly melted. The Jack Pine 30 - the race I had planned for this weekend - I've decided not to run because even in Marquette, Michigan temperatures soared to an unseasonable 55 degrees this past week, which deteriorated trails to dirt in some spots and glare ice in others.
What's happened to winter?
Here are some more photos from the Great North Woods - the land that I love:
Tangled up in red
My friend David Gill coming out of the chute at the start of the 12 dog race at Tahquamenon. At the time of this writing, David is finishing up his first UP200 race and doing well despite crazy trail conditions that have left several mushers hurt and their sleds banged up. Go David!
I could write more, but I need to put this entry - and myself - to bed! Good night, and until next time...
My sled, runners buried in snow, waiting to go on its first race of the season
A few random snowflakes fall from the sky haphazardly over an expansive, white horizon. There must be a foot of snow on the ground here at the Ranch. The only color is a jagged, rust-colored tree line inching its way upward on this gray and white canvas - as if a painter dabbles his brush neatly in the distance. As the colors come closer, their focus sharpens.
So, how can it be, then, that in this expanse of white that surrounds me, there isn't enough snow up north in snow country for my first race of the season?
It's hard for me to fathom.
I am very disappointed that the first race of my season, the Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Race has actually been postponed twice for lack of snow.
So, I am modifying my race plans for this season, and trying not to be too disappointed. Tahquamenon is rescheduled for February 12, but that is a week before the Jack Pine 30 which is another race I usually run.
We'll see...
In other news, Ella, one of Aspen's puppies, went to live with my good friend, Jenn, at her kennel in PA this last week.
Jenn and her family have a small sprint racing kennel. We miss Ella but know she is in excellent, loving hands!
We are down to six puppies, and all but the runt and Etta, the one who recovered from pneumonia, are outside now, much to their dismay!
I have several talks coming up from now until March, so check out the calendar of events and stop on by if you happen to be in northeast Ohio.
People rarely meet others with an ability to see or accept them exactly as they are. Whether we admit it or not, we inadvertently meet others with judgement or expectations about what they will or will not be. We may look up to others, or we may look down.
Part of the beauty of the U.P., and of the mushers I call friends, is I have never been met with anything but a "come as you are" acceptance. People are real. There is no pretense. This is part of the allure of the Upper Peninsula for me.
Growing up in a family who spent so much time on the water, I looked forward to every weekend on the boat, anticipated it. It seemed I could smell the water in my dreams. Some look forward to a long-awaited, exciting vacation to Disney World or an amusement park; nature was always my amusement park.
This season, and this race - the Jack Pine - meant so much to me this year. Working toward that goal, training my young fur kids, making sacrifices. Even fora 30 mile race, these things are present.
But getting together at races is more than just about racing. It's about seeing old friends, meeting new ones, and celebrating - sort of like a reunion.
Driving over 2,000 miles in four days is exhausting enough. But add to that running a 30 mile dogsled race, staying up chatting with friends, not eating well, sleep deprivation...and saying good bye to five of my beloved Gwennie puppies ...to say I am exhausted is an understatement!
I'll start with the pups. One by one, I loaded them into a small crate in my truck, and Gwennie became increasingly distressed to see them loaded, one by one.
First we arrived at the home of sprint racer, Jane Schramm and her beautiful family.
Jane stands with her son and their two new pups, Annie and Two Star
Jane has been driving dogs a long time, and has a small kennel of thirteen dogs in Indian River, in northern lower Michigan. She also spends her days working in the Cheboygan County Humane Society, so she knows a lot about dogs. She helped me vaccinate all the pups with their first puppy shots, and left me the sweetest gift: a three page note from Annie and Two Star about how happy they will be as real racing sleddogs! Jane also sent me off with a sweet little treat: a five gallon bucket (mushers always need buckets!) chock full of goodies for the trail. What an amazingly generous gift!
Jane's son holds his new puppy, Two Star
Then it was off to Marquette to meet friends Tim and Angie Looney from Iowa, and Kathleen Kimball-Baker from Minnesota.
New sleddog mamas Kathleen Kimball-Baker (left) and Angie Looney (right) get acquainted with their new fur kids, Ginsberg and Maggie, respectively
I held my emotions in check while passing off Gwennie's babies to begin new adventures. Kathleen, however, got emotional on seeing Gins, who she calls her "dream come true."
Kathleen tears up while hugging Gins
On the way down from Marquette, in Manistique along the Lake Michigan shore, it all hit me. My puppies - who I watched take their first breath, eat their first bite of food - were gone. The weekend I had trained for and looked forward to, was over.
In a whirlwind, the weekend, the race, the reunion - it was all over before I knew it. Suddenly I was alone, exhausted, heading southbound on Route 2. The only thing to do was to stop along the way and shoot some photos. Hopefully they express the beauty and peace I see in this landscape.
Jumble ice along Lake Michigan, Manistique, Michigan
More jumble ice
Some are drained by the snow and cold. I leave the Upper Peninsula recharged, focused, and sad to return to Ohio every time.
Lighthouse along Lake Michigan, Manistique, Michigan
With love, from the U.P. winter
Many, many thanks to this guy, my friend Jon Mattsen, who is as real as they come and helped me get to the Jack Pine this season. Jon also won 7th place in the race! Congrats, Jon, and thanks for being there
The story of how I came to receive the red lantern in the Jack Pine, and the significance of the red lantern award, belongs in a post all its own...
It's been five years since the Punderson Sled Dog Classic has happened in the snow belt of beautiful northeast Ohio. Ironically, there wasn't enough good snow conditions for the race. But that definitely changed this weekend!
Snow fell, and fell, and fell steadily for days before the race, leaving an awesome foot of snow for the doggies.
Team coming out of the starting chute
Saturday saw beautiful blue skies and 22 degrees - perfect!
I am not a sprint racer, and Punderson Sled Dog Classic is a sprint race. Sprint races are shorter distances depending on the number of dogs, i.e. 2-dog = 2 miles, 4-dog = 4 miles, etc.
Punderson is exactly 55 minutes from my house, so I figured, what the heck, let's have a go at it! Big Brown and Ruffian are yearlings, so it's an excellent opportunity to expose them to a race. Dogs need to get used to all the other dogs, passing other teams, and....spectators. Lots and lots of spectators.
Big Brown loved getting acquainted with the fans...
BB reaches out for a pat from a fan. BB loves fans, both big...
and small
We had some snags on the first day of the race which significantly costs us some time. Mainly, a "team" of Airdales (yes, you read correctly) jumped my team as I tried passing them on the trail and caused a huge tangle. I had to actually hook down and unwrap Big Brown's back leg three times!
Here's a hint people: if your dogs are dog-aggressive, please do us all a favor and stay off the racing courses!
Then, my bar brake broke. I ran the entire winding, zig-zagging course without any brake whatsoever.
But, today, I had a virtually flawless run and made up time significantly. The trail set up nicely with the zero degree temps we had last night, and was hard and fast today...and so much fun!
Surprisingly, I won 2nd place!
Me with my 2nd place trophy! It will go right under the Jack Pine trophy from last year
And, more than that, I got to hang out with Amanda.
Amanda Stanoszek at the starting chute of the 3-dog class. Her team is made up of all rescues
Amanda is someone I've met through this blog!
Amanda and me at the Punderson race today
She is just getting into sleddoggin, but is hooked after her first race this weekend. All of her dogs are rescues! To think, they were days away from being euthanized, and now, they're livin' it up on the trail! What a great second chance!
Stay tuned as we head to another race next weekend!
After some set backs that have had me quite depressed this week, I've had some time to reflect. This blog is about so much more than dogs. It's about life, adversity, perserverance. And it's about mushing.
Mushing is something that is in you. You either get it, or you don't; there's no in between. Marriages break up because of those who "get it" and those who "don't." Friendships change, lifestyles change, everything changes because of the passion for this sport. And, if you're reading this, I suspect it's in you too. And there's no changing that. No race can "qualify" that; no person can take that away.
I personally like having a race to train towards. It helps me have a goal and helps to focus my training with the dogs.
But it looks like I may forego all my plans for this season. The reasons for this are several, first and foremost, my health. I have recently realized I not taken the time to process everything that happened in September. I was so anxious to jump into fall training, I stifled or "compartmentalized" the pain and trauma I felt from my hospitalization.
So, at least for the time being, I am canceling plans for racing this season. Races will be there.
Instead, I'm hoping to have lots of sled time with my family. I plan to teach Sophie the fundamentals of dogsledding this winter.
Sophie ice skating on New Year's Eve
And I plan to heal finally from all that happened in September.
It's a bitter pill to swallow, I admit. But I think it's the right pill for now.
Besides....someone has to be here to care for puppies....
