While many people associate March Madness with basketball, here in Alaska it can mean only one thing: Iditarod. With intensity equal to the growing daylight, mushers and fans come together in Anchorage to celebrate this Last Great Race. It is a fascinating experience. The draw is so strong that I talk to fans and volunteers who have given up their entire year’s vacation time and money to come to the frozen North and get a chance to be near these incredible dogs. They come year after year, giving me the feeling that, like the mafia, once you are in the Iditarod family, there is no getting out. As a dog musher, the Iditarod is like an addiction. We made the decision this summer that Mike would not be racing this year. He wanted to have more time at home with Max before he starts kindergarten. However, I cannot begin to tell you how extremely difficult it is to not be racing. I am sure this feeling is shared by any of the others who have participated in this race either as musher or behind the scenes. We watch longingly, immersed in our personal memories.
For the race start, Mike, Max, and I traveled to Anchorage to give a presentation to some of the fans. As we were getting ready, I was coaching Max, reminding him that people like to ask him questions and encouraging him to answer. I suggested that they might ask him “How old are you? “Who is your favorite dog?” and gave him a chance to think of his responses. I also suggested they might ask “Do you like the Iditarod?” to which he said, “Well, I don’t know because I haven’t been in it.”
The mushers are making their way up and over the Alaska Range. The trail leaves the starting line and follows the Susanna and Yentna rivers. It begins to climb up and over the mountain range before plunging down the infamous Happy River steps. The trail description, which you can read on the Iditarod website, says things like “the trail will vanish over the edge of what looks like a cliff. It is a cliff.” After passing this obstacle, the trail climbs over Rainy Pass, makes its way down the harrowing Dalzell Gorge and eventually drops out of the mountains. The deep snow this year gives cushion to some of rough terrain, but brings its own challenges. Deep trenches develop where teams have pushed down hard on their sled brakes. Mike describes hairpin turns with big trees in the corners, sleds that are tipped nearly on their side as they ride through the trenches. I remember being especially glad that Mike’s journey through these sections was not dramatic enough to make an Iditarod video clip.
The race itself is a puzzle to follow. Mushers take their breaks at different places, both in checkpoints and on the trail. I find myself continually refreshing the standings and GPS tracker looking for insights. Where did they stop? How long did they stay? What speed are they moving at? Have they withdrawn any dogs? It is so much less stressful to watch when my team is not the one on the trail. I worry less about every blip in speed. Its funny, I have watched these standings so intensely the computer font is burned into my memory. Just the look of the letters brings back the strong emotional highs and lows that the Iditarod can create in both mushers on the trail and family members back at home.
At this point it is difficult to say who is leading the race. For much of the first half of the race mushers need to travel comfortably rather than “race.” Because of the different rest schedules they leap frog. When asked about who to watch in the race this year, Mike mentioned last year’s champion, Mitch Seavey, as well as Aliy Zirkle, Nic Petit, and Wade Marrs as being potential front runners.
I will send you a few more updates during the race. But if you want to experience the same addiction as me, you can find the current standings on www.Iditaord.com. You can also sign up for the GPS tracker and see pictures and video.
Until next time, I hope you are all having as much fun with your dogs as we are with ours. Mike, Caitlin, and Max