(…continued)
Willow, Alaksa
My mother stands on the main dog sled and i sit inside it. Her friend Cindy is trailing on the back in another sled… this one to keep us from going to fast. The ceremonial start, taking place one day before the official start, is not competitive.
Photo by Donna Quante
We speed through the gauntlet of crowds of people, smiling and waving and shouting. We wave back to them as we jet down the street and around the corner. These dogs are crazy fast! The course continues, weaving through the back trails of Anchorage, sometimes along the highway, over many bridges and up and down hills. “This is wonderful,” I think as the cold wind hits my face. In front of me is a bag of worn dog booties that I toss to the kids for souvenirs.
Dog “booties”
They are fanatical about these dog shoes. As we cruise by the kids yell, “BOOTIES BOOTIES BOOTIES!” Some hold up colorful handmade signs and one clever parent used a basketball hoop over a bag that had “Booties here!” Written on the backboard. I am impressed at how much people want these old worn out dog socks. They are a part of history now i suppose. I try to be fair in my throwing… attempting to count the number of children far ahead of us so that I can throw the right number and not leave anyone out. It’s a fun game to play.
As we cruise down the trail people toss muffins, bottled water and hotdogs in our sled.
I am smiling and waving and extending high fives back to all the kids who reach out their hands. All the sudden we fly down a big steep hill and my stomach leaps into my throat. It’s thrilling like a roller coaster ride. We swing around a sharp turn at the bottom of the hill and we lose Cindy, our tail rider. My mom throws down the ice break and we come to a skidding stop. The dogs look back at us, as if to say “What’s the holdup now?!” Cindy hops back on resiliently and we take off straight away, narrowly escaping a collision with the team behind us.
Cindy’s sled tips. She holds on for dear life. At the Iditarod, if your dogs leave you behind, you’re pretty screwed. Photo by Jeff Schultz
We pick up speed and round another sharp corner and onto a wooden bridge. We slam into the side of the bridge while trying to straighten out and somehow the ice break comes loose and sticks into one of the wooden fence posts. This time all of us are shocked. Cindy, my mother, me and the dogs are snapped to a forceful stop and I fear we are going to tear the whole bridge down! We don’t get out of this one with out some bloodshed. Cindy’s finger is smashed and bleeding profusely, but we manage to yank out the metal ice break from the fence and she, feeling that it’s broken, heroically laughs it off and we push on. After about an hour and eleven miles on the trail we come to a gradual stop at the finish. I look up at my mother and her eyes are beaming. She wears a passionate smile. “Thanks momma,” I say, looking up at her. “Oh you’re welcome, kiddo,” she beams.
Tomorrow begins the official Iditarod race. I look forward to sending my mother off on her epic journey across the Alaskan wild over 1,000 miles away, all the way to Nome!