To truly tell the story of the Iditarod, I should start back in October, when we began putting base miles on the dogs. And progress to December and January, when we began the preliminary races, during which we strengthened both body and mind. I’d mention the hours and hours of cutting and packaging food, bagging booties, and organizing gear. I’d go over every minute detail of Iditarod preparation. But I don’t feel like writing the preface to this story, so we’ll skip to the good part: the Iditarod Start.
Before the official start in Willow, the teams parade through downtown Anchorage in the 12-mile Ceremonial Start. Each musher has a rider in their sled basket and a tag sled pulled behind as they wave and smile their way through throngs of fans. For my first time, I had the opportunity to actively participate and drive Aliy’s second sled. It was an incredible experience. All the dogs feed off the excitement of the crowd and other teams, barking, howling, and screaming at the starting line. Weaving our way through the streets, we try to keep smiles plastered on our face, although Aliy was a bit better at it than I was. Luckily, I could eat the free hotdogs passed out by Iditarod partiers and give my smiling muscles a break.
After the ceremonial start, it was time to get serious. Aliy and Allen packed their sleds and organized all their gear. Bridgett and I gave the dogs some rub downs and pep talks. The next morning, we all drove out to Willow for the official start for which Allen would start 5th and Aliy 16th. Unlike the Ceremonial Start, everyone was a bit more reserved. It was time to get down to business. We managed to get both teams hooked up and walked to the starting line with minimal issues, and as I watched Aliy take off out of the starting shoot, I realized I was wound up like a spring. There was no sigh of relief to see the teams on the trail after all the hard work and preparation, rather I felt like one of the dogs left in the yard. I wanted to start sprinting down the trail yelling, “Wait for me!” Luckily, there are the GPS trackers.
And so began my Iditarod madness. Wake up; check the tracker. Eat breakfast; watch the tracker. Feed the dogs; run back in and check the tracker. Clean the yard; check the tracker. Run dogs; carry my cell phone so that if anything happened on the tracker, Bridgett could call and fill me in. Unhook the dogs, check the tracker. Luckily, my friend James came up from Kansas to experience the Great North, and he kept from planting myself at the table and staring at the computer screen for hours on end.
The day before I was scheduled to fly to Nome for the end of the Iditarod, I entered the Chatanika 100 sled dog race, which conveniently ended at the Pleasant Valley Store just down the street from our kennel. I left around noon on Friday, ran for 5 hours, camped 2 hours, and finished in the wee hours of the morning on Saturday (which is the same day I flew out to Nome). James and Misha were my superstar handlers for the race, sending me out with a spunky young team of Honda, Pud, Sissy, Scooter, Schmoe, Waylon, Lester, Cutter, Viper, Kit Kat, and Newt. They were so fired up, I was on the brake the majority of the race!
Saturday evening, I arrived in Anchorage after a short flight and left the following morning for Nome. However, I wasn’t stopping in Nome. Bridgett and Scotty had given me a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to fly out to Unalakleet, which is the first coastal checkpoint in the Iditarod. Once teams hit Unalakleet, they have about 300 more miles to go. In Nome, I hopped on a little puddle-jumper and flew to the small native community of Unalakleet. For anyone that watches Flying Wild Alaska, this is one of the towns filmed. It’s nestled between the coast and a river, completely susceptible to all ocean storms and weather. The coast has a reputation for being nasty due to hurricane-like winds and whiteout blizzards, but this year the weather gods were smiling on us. Other than a slight breeze, temps were high and mushers’ spirits higher. Aliy arrived at Unalakleet, but chose not stay. Running through a checkpoint can be a real struggle for dog teams because mentally, they see a checkpoint and are ready for a break. But Aliy put young Quito in single-lead, hollered ‘Ready!’ a couple times, and took off down the trail. Aliy’s team, by far, was the most impressive that came through Unalakleet. Shortly after, Allen arrived and stopped for a few hours. It was fun to see him and hear his stories from the trail. Before leaving, he swapped to his lighter sled he’d shipped into Unalakleet, emptied all extra gear, grabbed his two ski poles, and took off. “I’ve only got a Copper Basin left. It’s time to race!”
From Unalakleet, Bridgett and I flew back to Nome. This time, however, the pilot flew closer to the shoreline so Bridgett could point out the trail route. With zero trees and a few small hills, I can’t imagine traveling by dog team during one of their coastal blizzards. Incredible.
That evening, Bridgett, her friend Rochelle, and I packed up a couple snowmachines and drove the 70+ miles out to the last checkpoint on the Iditarod trail: White Mountain. Seventy miles on a snowmachine is about all I can handle, so when we arrived at the village of White Mountain around 7 AM, I was ecstatic. Forty minutes later, Aliy checked in. Mushers are required to take a mandatory 8 hours of rest here, so there was no way that Aliy could take off without visiting with us first (Aliy stayed in maybe five checkpoints the entire race!) A short nap and a meal later, Aliy was excitedly talking about her race thus far. Only one leg of trail left! Right after Aliy left, we jumped back on the snowmachines and headed back towards Nome. I would have liked to have seen Allen in White Mountain, but if we waited we would miss Aliy’s finish.
During the drive back, we hit the infamous “Blowhole.” You can see it from a ways off. It looks like low hanging clouds, or perhaps a layer of fog. The closer you get, the sooner you realize that it’s no cloud, but a raging ground blizzard. On a snowmachine, the ten-mile section of powerful wind, blowing the machine sideways was exhilarating. On a dog team…I can only imagine. Aliy’s video can help you get an idea.
Safe and sound in Nome, we all prepared for Aliy’s finish. To see her one last time before she arrived, we drove a few miles out of town to where the trail crosses the road. Of course, don’t forget during all this, we are continually checking the GPS tracker. And it was on the tracker that we realized the race was about to get even more exciting: Aliy was gaining on DeeDee Jonrowe. At the road crossing, DeeDee came by and Aliy passed about one and half miles behind her. With only a few miles to go in the race and Aliy not peddling or ski-poling, we believed that Aliy would not have time to catch DeeDee before the finish. At the finishline, under the arch, we stood there “having a pity party” as Bridgett put it, surrounded by DeeDee fans. Finally a dog team came up onto front street, and it wasn’t until the team was twenty feet away that we realized it was Aliy. All the SPK crowd erupted, smothering the DeeDee fans in cheers and hollers, and rushed towards the dogs. Quito and Biscuit barely managed to slide under the arch before they were bombarded with praise. A perfect end to a perfect race.
While we’d been following Aliy’s trek from White Mountain to the finish, Allen was having an adventure of his own. Out on the sea ice, a fellow musher’s team had quit, leaving her stranded and cold. When Allen came upon her, she was hypothermic, so he strung their teams together and drove both groups of dogs into the next checkpoint. This demonstrates not only Allen’s character, but the strength of the dogs as well. They didn’t feed off the other dog’s negativity, rather pulled harder to carry another team.
Allen finished the Iditarod shortly after with a strong healthy team of dogs. They relaxed in Bridgett’s backyard and flew out of Nome shortly after I left. In Anchorage, Doug (Aliy’s dad) and I picked up all the canine athletes and drove them back to Two Rivers. This evening was the finish banquet, where Aliy earned the prestigious Humanitarian award for best cared for dog team, and Allen won the Sportsmanship award for saving a fellow musher's life. I’m so impressed and honored to call myself part of the SP Kennel team.
It’s hard to believe that the racing season is actually over. So much excitement packed into just a few months. However, when there’s snow on the ground, there’s dog sledding. Aliy and Allen will be leading week-long adventure trips on the Denali Highway. I’ll be taking a team of dogs out on the highway for a 350-mile run in preparation for the final treadmill study of the season. I’ll make sure to post a blog about the trip. Yes…what athletes. Just a 350-mile run like a walk in the park. The REAL athletes.
