All photos (more than I could put here) are now on facebook! Go look!

"Next year..."

People volunteer at the Iditarod for lots of reasons. For many volunteers and mushers alike, a little exposure to the race led to not just a desire, but a need to be here. For others they had to be convinced by a friend that they would like it, and haven't stopped coming back every year since. And of course there are those that grew up with mushing, so the Iditarod is old hat. Among these different reasons for coming, there is a commonality in what they don't say. No one who comes to the Iditarod says, "That was fun, but once was enough." Even people who came on a whim because so-and-so has a sister who invited us, etc., can be heard starting to say, "Next time..."

What is it that brings people back year after year? This question has been asked of mushers frequently, and I think Dallas Seavey has it right. He said it's because there's always room for improvement. As soon as mushers reach Nome you start hearing the phrase, "I'll have to work on ____ for next year." I don't think the answer is much different for volunteers. The lifelong commitment to this race isn't a decision you make; it's a fact that sneaks up on you. There is always something bigger to help with, or more responsibility to take on, always a flaw in the system that could be fixed with a little reorganizing, and a new chance to get closer to the dogs, until you find yourself here year after year and still saying, "Next year".

The Re-Start

It was decided among the dog handlers today that the ceremonial start and the re-start should be renamed the parade and the start, respectively. Yesterday was fun and relaxed and today was just unspeakably amazing. I had so much fun yet was physically and emotionally exhausted by the end of the day. Sending teams off into the great wide unknown is so exciting and also so emotional. A few of those dogs won't come back and some of those people might not, either. Some will make it to Nome in the top 10, some will have to scratch and throw away at least a year of preparation.

Okay on to the pictures...

The start at 9 a.m.

When I first got there it was pretty empty, save for some volunteers running around setting up. Once people started arriving, I got assigned the job of running people to their parking spots, which is basically running across the lake in front of the truck to show them where to park, then running back to the entrance and doing it again. I may lose a fair bit of weight on this trip, especially because I was too nervous to eat most of the afternoon.

Dogs lined up and ready to go in the dog lot with handlers holding them back.

The start around 2, when the race began. The fence is packed all the way across the lake. I've heard an excellent spot to watch is just past those trees, on the next lake. Maybe another year (I noticed that I've started saying that to myself without thinking about it. The race commitment really does just sneak up on ya).

A team lined up in the chute with handlers holding them for the count-down!

I only got to handle one team, but I still got to feel the excitement of it, so I don't feel gypped. I handled Tamara Rose's (#26) team, who were a handful! I didn't end up leading Sam's team into the chute because he only needed a few handlers and he used some fellow mushers from the Yukon Quest. I did get to follow him around and write down dog names on the vet list, though, and help keep the dogs calm before they set off for the chute. There was one dog that I guess is usually very shy, but she liked me and I got a kiss from her before they left :)

Sam checking over and talking to the dogs one more time during the countdown in the chute.

It's true that it's possible to simplify this race in words. It's just a bunch of people and their dogs on an extended camping trip across Alaska. But when you're here it somehow amounts to so much more than the sum of its parts, and I'm not even sure I can explain how. The mushers love their dogs and the dogs love to run and the fans and volunteers love the teams and it just works. I can't think of another sport that has this much camaraderie and mutual respect. No one jeers or bad-talks another team, and I can't tell you how many times I heard, "Good luck and be safe," today from absolutely everyone involved.

When I finally got back to Anchorage tonight, I was absolutely beat and starving, and I don't think I've ever been happier to eat a hamburger in bed, but at the same time I'm aware that the small tasks I helped with today are nothing compared to what the mushers face in the coming weeks. Happy trails, mushers!

(tomorrow I will be in dog drop and comms from 1-midnight, so I'll probably write again Tuesday)

Ceremonial Start

Today was the ceremonial race start on 4th St in downtown Anchorage. It is the "fun" start with lots and lots of press, fans, autographs, food vendors, and costumes. I got there around 7am, well before the sun here, and before anyone had really arrived. There are a lot more pictures that will be posted on facebook later, but here are just a few for now.

The start at 7 a.m.

Sam Deltour (R) with a fellow Yukon Quest musher (L) and a fan (I think) in the middle.

Yes I met Sam today. To catch most of you up: I stumbled upon his website before leaving for the Iditarod when I googled "Iditarod MS" to see if there was any kind of corporate, fundraising, or musher presence there related to MS research. I found his site because his mom has MS and he has been mushing to raise money for MS research. Also, he is the only Belgian to finish the Iditarod, 25, finishing med school, and very attractive. I signed his guest-book, he wrote me back just saying some kind words and that he hoped to see me there. So today I'm wandering around the approximate 7-block stretch of mushers (including parked on side streets) and snapping pictures, not really thinking about meeting him specifically, because there are just so many people. In the end, I actually ended up passing him four times: once not realizing it was his team because he uses Seavey's kennels, twice hearing his accent when he was sticking out of a car and being pretty sure that was him but too scared to introduce myself, a third time being really sure that was him, having heard someone call his name, but still chickening out, and the fourth time (after completely walking away and almost giving up) I grew a pair and introduced myself. At the very beginning of the conversation he offered me a chance to be one of his handlers tomorrow at the restart, even giving me an official musher armband to make sure I could be on his team. Then we chatted for a bit and he introduced me to some people who's names I, of course, don't remember, and then I had to get to my post so I said good luck and see you tomorrow and walked away beaming.

Wow that was a lot longer story that I expected... sorry to get all fangirly on ya.

Some very good dogs! And this isn't zoomed too much, I was really this close to them.

Lance Mackey, currently the most famous name in mushing. He beat cancer before winning three consecutive Iditarods.

Aliy Zirkle! I really like her. She's a good musher and she's said some things I very much agree with about women in the sport. Specifically that they are not women-mushers, but just mushers that also happen to be women. It didn't even occur to her at first when she won the Yukon Quest that she was the first woman to win it, because that's just not how she, or the other mushers, think of her.

So that was the gist of the ceremonial start. Tomorrow is the re-start or official start, which is in Willow about an hour north of Anchorage. It is not for show, but for serious preparation, which is why it's an even bigger deal that I'm helping Sam :D The dog lot is on a frozen lake, which will be the first time I've been on one, for good reason. But it will be snowy and very chaotic, so I'm sure I'll forget to think about falling through.

Oh! I ate at the Fancy Moose tonight, which is the more casual of the two restaurants in the Millennium, and ended up sitting next to a table of pilots and their families where I decided that three things in life should be equally hard to do: have children, get a pilot's license, and bear firearms. These also happen to be three things I think those people did all too easily. ("His dad was hilarious! He crashed more planes than all of us put together have owned!") mmhm.

Gwennie's Old Alaskan Restaurant

I had dinner at a little restaurant down the street called Gwennie's Old Alaskan Restaurant. It looked a little dodgy, but the hotel guide said it served traditional Alaskan food, so I tried it tonight. Well, if that was traditional Alaskan food, I know I can always hit up Denny's for a taste of Alaska in CU. Though I was accompanied by a gawking, badly taxidermied beaver and a capsized styrofoam crab in the coin pond behind me, so I at least didn't have to eat alone.

Oh and fyi, reindeer sausage tastes just like polska.

dogs dogs dogs dogs dogs

I got to see sled dogs for the first time today while sitting at lunch! I could see the morning handling class have go of it in the parking lot and my heart started beating faster just seeing them trot by for a second, because I hadn't seen any yet and I knew I'd be out there with them in a couple hours.

The handling class was good. Heard from the start and restart handling coordinators (I'll just be handling at the restart) about logistics and then from a past Iditarod musher about what to expect and how to handle the team.

(the photos got posted backwards, so start at the bottom)

Going onto one runner to avoid the parked car.

Pausing for instruction.

Even just on this little run around the parking lot, the dogs are just fighting to pull.

Getting the dogs hooked onto the line.

This is only a 10-dog line. The ones we'll be handling at the restart are full 16 dog lines, which are around 84 feet long.

The musher's dog truck full of kennels.

The dogs' power and energy is phenomenal and it's so clear that these dogs just simply love pulling a sled. Each dog's personality still comes through, though, and dogs needed to be switched around based on who was overly excited, peeing and barking at everyone, and who was shy and liable to just lie down in submission to the dog next to it.

I keep forgetting to post this in an actual post, so it will be its own little story...

So I've been at least thinking about, if not planning, this trip for about a year now. As I realized it was something I not just wanted, but needed to do, it's sort of become the consummation of all the ups and downs of the last 4 years for me. It's hard to explain why this is, by you have to understand that I'm not good at being proud. I graduated and accepted congratulations without ever really feeling like I had done something worth congratulating. But for some reason, this trip has made me to feel proud of everything I've done and been through, and I don't really know why. So anyway, I've already got this emotional bond about this trip, and the flight over was hell, and when I got in I was tired and sick, but I had still made it. When I got to the hotel I got some bland snacks and a Sobe from the little market thing and got to my room, collapsed on the bed, opened the Sobe and glanced at the message Sobe puts inside the caps (like Dove chocolates puts on the wrapper). It just said,

"Got there?"

My breath literally caught in my throat and I answered out-loud, "yes."

Another aside: the dogs are going crazy outside. I think they know it's getting close to race time.

Today was much more successful than yesterday.

I ate better and went places and talked to people, which is much nicer than wondering up and down Spenard and eating at a gross taco place.

The out of state volunteer meeting was today and I instantly fell in love with the Iditarod volunteer personality. It's a very Hunt/Cutler sense of humor that's sometimes biting and usually very dry. In short, I feel very at home with these people. Also you can see the dog-ness in the dog people, which I love. They're often a little rough-looking and share some subtle dog mannerisms like vigorously scratching their neck with one eye squinted (with their hand, not foot, guess that's a difference), or sneezing only through their nose.

Pretty much every word of advice or warning here is also accompanied by an anecdote. Like the one about the hand injury that made an EMT faint after having to thaw the injured woman's hands to remove her gloves, which were frozen to the blood filling them. She sustained the injury from trying to break up a dog fight. Warnings are also all the same in that they end up with the same moral - protect the dogs. We were told not to get dehydrated, less for our own health, but more because it makes you sluggish and make poor decisions, which makes it harder to take care of the dogs. I also learned not to wear anything pointy, and to never lean over a husky, as they can jump around 6 feet flat-footed and it's not uncommon to end up with a broken nose. Also that some of these dogs are very friendly family dogs, but some are bred to just love running, but not much else, so it's important to keep an eye on small kids running around because they could be mistaken for snacks. Sled-dogs are serious business and I am soooo excited about hanging out with them.

This evening I took a bus downtown to wander around. I found my way pretty easily after having looked at a map a few times before leaving, and found some cute boutiques and the 5th Avenue mall mixed in with stores like Alaska Fur and Anchorage Outfitters. Just like any downtown, the contrast between the people in the cafe in Nordstrom (yes I had dinner there: missed you mom!) and the people waiting for the bus in the transportation center was also striking. This is something I always loved about being in a big city; the types and breeds of people you see are infinite and the range is expansive. But in this big city, there are also mountains and snow and (nearby) lots of dogs. I like it.

An aside: I caught The Daily Show last night and Stewart did an excellent job ripping Fox News a new one (not that he does this infrequently) and also expressed the exact same feelings I had stumbling upon Sarah Palin on Leno late Tuesday night. I'm not sure it was a new episode last night, but it's the one with the guest who wrote the book about American and British media during WWII, which also sounds very interesting, and I recommend you find the show on Hulu.

The Fur Rendezvous is a series of dog-sled races, community events, a carnival and general Alaskan festivities starting the end of February and continuing through the beginning of the Iditarod.

If I lived in Anchorage there would be dog-sled races and fireworks on my birthday EVERY YEAR. Just sayin...

Entering Anchorage with a Wobble

The flight in was... interesting. I was seated next to two very large men who snored and snorted the whole 6 hour flight, but luckily didn't smell. And one was even intently reading Going Rogue. ech. At least we had a tail wind, so the flight was 6 instead of 7 hours, but the weather proved to maybe not so much be our friend when it tossed us around like a tin can during descent (including one of those 5-10 second nose dives I love so much). Nauseated and stiff I stumbled off the plane and immediately into a News store for Rolaids and Advil.

But I'm here now! And I can hear dogs and see mountains from my hotel window! I haven't checked the weather or been outside yet today, but it looks like there's plenty of snow, too!

I suppose now would be the time to talk about expectations, huh... Well I've heard people say that being involved with the Iditarod changed them forever; it made mushers out of some, vets, and chronic volunteers out of others. I can't say I'm expecting my life to be changed, but I can definitely say I'm expecting to miss this very much when I leave. And maybe it will change me. Maybe I'll get my OT degree and start a mushing camp for kids with disabilities. Just hafta wait and see.