My mother has been training for the Iditarod for four years and this will be her third race. We arrive in Willow, on the frozen lake bed from where the racers of the Iditarod start. There’s a buzzing in the air as one by one another truck full of dogs and gear arrive.

My mother seems calm in the storm.

My mother packing her sled

She unloads the dogs. They begin calling the first numbers. She is number 40, so I have time to walk around and survey the action before she leaves.

People come from all over Alaska and who knows where else for this special event. They spread out over miles to cheer on the mushers as they take off on their epic journey.

The trails are especially precarious this year as there is virtually no snow in some spots. They are calling it the Idirtarod of 2014. My mother has purchased body armor for the occasion.

“Number 30!” I hear on the loud speaker. My mother is harnessing up her dogs. “Number 31!”

My mother looks a little tense now. The course ahead of her is no cakewalk.

They call her to bring over her sled. I stand next to her on the back of it as we ride over and wait to approach the starting line.

Waiting to approach the starting line

“Number 39!” People cheer as #39 takes off down the gauntlet of roaring people. I am instructed to get off the sled and my mother approaches the finish line, alone… her and her dogs.

“10…9…8…”

“Over a thousand miles,” I think.

“7…6…5…”

Moose, and wolves and avalanches,

4…3…2…

“I hope she will be ok”

…1!

…and She’s off into the Alaskan Wild!

Helpers walk to the sidelines after launching my mother and her dogs into the Alaskan wild.

Goodbye Momma, 

I am rooting for you!

Now back to Brazil to do some painting…

More soon