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I have never been much of a rebel.
An old friend long-ago dubbed me a “rule follower”. He calls periodically to “get a ruling” not so much as his conscious, but as the authority on obscure rules; whether it is etiquette, or spelling, or something more serious. When starting to prepare for my trip to Alaska, I started by downloading Iditarod Rules and Regulations. Even long-time volunteers in the phone room learned to cover their mouthpiece and ask me the “rules” questions rather than wasting time looking them up.
Nor am I quick to adopt new things.
I don’t follow the trends in fashion. Don’t own the newest technology; no iPhone, no GPS. I don’t pretend to know when new movies are opening. I still think home-made is better than store-bought.
I read this morning of an underground movement that has started in California, though, and I can’t wait for it to make its way to my hometown. This process will, of course, take years. My hometown, as is suited to my general outlook, is far from the cutting edge…of anything.
The movement is the emergence of food raves.
In the NYTimes, Patricia Leigh Brown wrote They Gather Secretly at Night, and Then They (Shhh!) Eat, covering food as the new drug of choice; not as in overeating, but as in using food as the unifying element in a new movement ranging from the not-so-underground, municipality-sanctioned Friday evening farmers markets to pop-up, members-only, outdoor restaurants and markets found in off-beat corners; an entirely new twist on street food.
Many of the new street food vendors are young chefs from the area; eager to make a name for themselves and gather a following, or perhaps merely anxious to spread the love of a favorite cuisine among a new group of epicurean apostles. Other vendors have small farms or unusual produce or a seasonal product. In their low volume business; vendor’s licenses, market membership, state inspection fees and renting a stall are cost prohibitive, so the underground movement provides them market access; access to a new generation of foodies.
Yup, the pop-up restaurants and market are unlicensed,, unsanctioned and uninspected by health officials. To find them you need access to the same technology that has fueled revolution in the Middle East…on Twitter.
They break the rules. They are using the latest in communication.
It’s all very un-me.
And I wanna go…
A dogsled team is made up of dogs who perform several specific functions: leaders, swing dogs, team dogs and wheel dogs.
Leaders are responsible for a number of things; setting the pace, setting the example, following the musher’s course correction, maybe keeping the team in line. Most importantly on a long-distance race through the wilderness, like Iditarod, it seems, is the leader’s job of finding the trail; whether it’s from the scent of teams before, or the footing underneath, or some other innate sense. On a sled with 16 dogs, the leaders may be 60 feet in front of the musher at the back of the sled. At night or in poor visibility, they often see what the musher cannot.
I don’t have all of the details of each team’s condition, but several teams this year scratched with plenty of dogs left in the race. Some of those certainly scratched, because, while they may have had the strength, the dogpower, to keep going, they didn’t have a leader left. A number of teams scratched on the Yukon, where the stretch of trail is notoriously windy. If your leader won’t run into the wind, the sled won’t go that direction either.
Swing dogs are located directly behind the leaders. While the leader finds the trail, it is the swing dogs that get the rest of the team to follow. We’ve all been there. Swing dogs may not be in charge of the big ideas, but they are instrumental making sure that those ideas get executed. They also have to try to take some of the weight off of the guys up front so that the lead dogs are free to make the best overall decision without getting dragged off course by the weight of the sled or the inertia of the team.
Team dogs are in the middle of the pack. Some teams dogs may rotate around to other positions. They may be young and working their way up to being a swing dog or a leader, or they may simply be the dogs who are happy to pull their share of the weight and keep up with the team…all day long.
Every organization needs team dogs; the folks who go where you put them and do their share; keeping an even amount of tension on the towline.
At the back of a team of dogs are wheel dogs, the dog or pair of dogs closest to the sled. On a straight and level section of trail, wheel dogs probably have it pretty easy…but how much of a wilderness trail is straight and level?
When the trail isn’t straight or level, your wheel dogs are more than earning their fish-cicles. These dogs are likely to be the biggest dogs on a team, or the strongest at any rate. When the lead dogs up ahead have started to make a turn to the right, it is the wheel dogs job to pull against the team a little; to temper their course change. Why? Because the whole team is going right, and eventually the sled will go that way too, which is fine, but the wheel dogs still pull left to keep the sled on the trail. The wheel dog keeps the sled from cutting the corner a bit and wrapping around the tree on the inside of the curve.
On an uphill section of trail all the dogs have to pull pretty hard including the wheel dogs, until they get to the top. After the last pair of team dogs has crested the hill, though, the whole team is on a nice easy down hill run, except the wheel dogs. The last effort to get that sled up and over the hill falls squarely and singularly on the shoulders of the wheel dog.
It’s a big job, but someone has to do it I suppose. You know what a wheel dog gets in reward?
Should there be danger or an obstacle ahead, because he is hooked in closest to the sled, the wheel dog has the least ability to maneuver out of danger. The wheel dog has the least ability to even find a nicer bit of trail to run on.
Should the sled come to a sudden stop, that closest-to-the-sled-thing also means that the wheel dog experiences the first and biggest jolt.
Oh and once, having worked so hard to get it to the top of a hill, the sled begins its descent on the trail, it is the wheel dog that is mostly likely to get run over by it.
I am a wheel dog.
The last musher arrived in Nome this afternoon. The Widow’s Lamp has been extinguished, and, by the time most of you are reading this, the Mushers’ Banquet will be well underway.
The Red Lantern Award went to Ellen Halverson, a veteran of the Iditarod, who finished in 13 days, 19 hours and 45 minutes. Halverson has started the race 3 times before but finished only once. In 2007, she was the Red Lantern winner for that year as well, so today she stepped into history as the race’s only two-time last place finisher. It would seem like a dubious honor, but in an event where finishing at all is an accomplishment it would seem to be a nice memento of your (extended) time on the trail. So my hat is off to Halverson.
While I am a bit sad to see the race end for this year, I am relieved that all have made it in more or less in one piece.
All that will be left to do is to pack up teams and equipment and fly home, for there is no road to Nome. There is a dog sled trail, but it seems unlikely that anyone will mush back…
Justin Savidis made his first attempt at completing the Iditarod last year. He did, in fact, complete 401 miles of the race; and in respectable time, too. Early in the morning on the third day of the race, in 40th place among the 65 remaining mushers, he left Nikolai on his way to McGrath with 15 dogs.
Twelve hours later he arrived in McGrath missing a dog. There had been a bit of a tangle out on the trail, and the only way to untangle a knot of sled dogs is to disconnect some of them from the towline. That was when Whitey wandered off.
Savidis, having lost a dog, could not proceed to the next checkpoint. That much the rules are clear on, but what impressed me is that, having scratched and sent the rest of the team home, Savidis spent the next five days searching back on the trail and in the surrounding area.
His wife also sat at her computer, phone in hand doing everything she possibly could to help in the search. Her blog posts from these five days are heart-wrenching.
Throughout the search, area residents were on lookout, officials and volunteers took to their snowmobiles. Sightings were reported and Whitey’s movement was tracked, but Whitey would not approach a stranger. The dog remained seen but not caught, until a group spotted the dog, and Savidis, having hijacked a snowmobile, lured him in with a bit of salmon.
Savidis and Whitey returned to Anchorage only a few hours before leaders were making it in to Nome. It was a bittersweet homecoming, the Iditarod was lost, but Whitey was found.
I had forgotten some of that story, although I had followed it at the time. If I had remembered in time I would have been sure to talk to Savidis at the ceremonial start. I did actually stop by as the Savidis team were unloading dogs. I admired their dog truck. I probably scratched a few ears; maybe even Whitey’s.
I didn’t think about last year’s misadventure, though. When it occurred to me, it was too late to go back and meet the team; and it was too early to say anything about them in my blog, given my record with jinxing teams.
I was indeed rooting for this to be a better race than last year for Savidis and his team.
What I missed in my pre-race fog, was that Justin Savidis’ wife Rebecca had Whitey-proofed their Iditarod start this year. At the ceremonial start, Whitey was wearing a red and white-striped coat, a la “Where’s Waldo?”. The coat included written instructions on where to return the dog should he decide on a solo run again this year.
I did not however miss their re-start at Willow Lake. Minus the red and white striped coat, Whitey and the rest of the canine team head out for the trail with Savidis wearing Bib #63.
A rookie no longer, late last night (or early this morning here in New York), Savidis crossed under the burled arch in Nome. Finishing in a little over 12 days and 6 hours, he was the 39th musher to arrive this year.
Rookie Magnus Kaltenborn is the latest finisher of the 39th Iditarod. After 12 nights on the trail, hopefully he will sleep on a warm bed tonight; if not in plush accommodations, then at least out of the cold.
Of the 62 finishers to start nearly two weeks ago, 33 have finished and 15 have scratched, leaving 14 teams still on the trail. Fewer than half of those remaining will finish today. Several won’t make it to the finish line tomorrow either. All of the remaining teams have checked into Koyuk, though, which means that they are off the ice.
The leg of the Iditarod trail that runs between Shaktoolik and Koyuk crosses out onto Norton Bay. Nearly all of that 40 mile leg is run on sea ice. For some teams that probably means great visibility and level trail. For others, the ice is not so well appreciated.
For rookie Kelly Maixner, the ice was nearly his undoing. Whether it was simply fatigue, or the unfamiliarity of the terrain, the lack of landmarks or the windswept snow that covered the trail, Maixner’s team struggled there.
Upon reaching Nome, Maixner confessed he nearly quit; nearly just stopped right there out on the ice. As it was, he spent more than 13 hours on a leg that, even for fellow rookies in the middle and back of the pack, took most teams 5 or 6 hours. Spotting the lights of Koyuk, Maixner finally opted to run ahead of his team, abandoning his post as musher to become lead dog for a while.
It’s what you do…when you are stuck out on the ice, I suppose.
But the ice will be no one else’s undoing this year. Current Red Lantern, Ellen Halverson, checked into Koyuk just before dawn this morning. She has more than 150 miles of trail left ahead of her, but the sea, at least, is behind her for this year.
Yesterday, John Baker won the Iditarod! He did it in under 8 days and 19 hours, shattering the previous record time by 4 hours. Baker is a resident of Kotzebue in western, coastal Alaska and an Inupiaq Indian. A native Alaskan has not won since 1976.
In videos from several of the last checkpoints, in towns that are predominately native Alaskan, you could see the excitement building among the residents. I’m sure many are excited to just see the race come through, but it seems that at least some of the excitement built from the pride of seeing one of their own leading the way.
For Baker, throughout the course of his race, there was no room for excitement. There was just the reality of the cold, harsh trail and the routine of taking care of his dogs. Less than 100 miles from the finish and with a substantial, if not insurmountable, lead, he put off a reporter’s question about winning, saying that winning would be just a dream but for now he had dogs to take care of.
So winning was a dream come true. Word on the street is that no one has worked harder than John Baker. It was good to see him win.
One of the things I like about Iditarod is that man and women compete equally. Libby Riddles won in 1985. Susan Butcher put together a record of 4 wins in the late 80′s and 1990. You can buy t-shirts proclaiming that Alaska is where “Men are men and women win the Iditarod”.
We didn’t have a woman winner this year, but the earliest female finishers came in three in a row in the middle of the night. Jessie Royer, from Fairbanks had the fastest time among the three, finishing 10th in 9 days and 9-plus hours. An hour later, Aliy Zirkle and DeeDee Jonrowe finished 11th and 12th respectively just two minutes apart.
Second year Iditarod musher, Michael Williams Jr., finished in 13th place just shy of 9 and a half days after leaving Willow Lake. His stated goal before the race was to improve on his 2010 finish. I think 19 hours faster and 13 places higher certain qualifies this year’s race as a success. I hope his mom is celebrating with him. I am certain she is proud.
Lance Mackey, who has won the past four years, struggled with the health of his dogs. He said early on that he was confident in his team that he had seven he knew would go all the way to Nome. At a later checkpoint he was forced to admit that he did indeed have seven dogs that would take him. It just wasn’t the seven that he thought.
At the finish line, nearly 24 hours and 15 finishers after Baker, Mackey was gracious and thoughtful; offering admiration for John Baker. Mackey, refusing to be disappointed, called the race a great experience; he now had 7 new Iditarod veterans to round out his kennel. He had a new leader. And he learned a few things along the way; mostly that, because with a large team you ride uphill, with a small team you push uphill, he might could use a little extra fitness training for the next time.
I don’t know.
The way I see it; if you’re still attached to the sled when it comes in, you’ve done all right.
As I write, 18 teams have made it to Nome. Fourteen teams won’t make there this year, having scratched or been withdrawn.
Another 30 teams are still on the trail. Among them is five-time winner Rick Swenson. He won’t be into Nome for another several hours, yet I am tempted to see those results posted.
Swenson has been racing with a broken collarbone since Day 2 of the race.
And so it goes…
Even if I can say something nice, maybe I should hold my tongue anyway. It seems my Iditarod jinx continues.
Although I tried not to let on, I was, indeed, hoping for yesterday’s Red Lantern to finish. Alas, James Bardoner scratched today. So from now on, I’m sticking to the facts. No rooting. No backstories that might reveal my inclinations.
No nothin’!
Just the facts.
So, for today, the leaders, John Baker, Ramey Smyth and Hans Gatt, are on their way from Elim to White Mountain, where they will stay for their last mandatory 8-hour stop. Tomorrow they will depart White Mountain for their 55 mile leg to Safety. From there, they will leave for their final leg, the 22 mile leg to Nome.
More than 900 miles are behind the teams in the lead.
Others have much farther to go. Lance Mackey, perennial winner, is about a hundred miles behind the leaders. Mackey, currently in 17th position, is running with just 8 dogs. At the back of the field, rookie Brennan Norden, while past the official halfway point in Iditarod, has nearly half the trail left before him. The Red Lantern’s Iditarod, whoever that may be, will not be over for some time.
In any case, there will be a celebration tomorrow.
Now that I am back in New York, and, even worse actually, working away from my usual home computer, I am sure I won’t be the first to know. So I will be tracking it as best I can.
Fortunately, my new best friend M. flew to Nome today and has promised to call me as soon as the warning for an incoming team sounds.
I will be working with a group of strangers in a lab; hardly the place for celebrations.
For the record, though, I have absolutely no intention of remaining dignified and “Mm-hmm”-ing and “I see”-ing my way through the phone call.
Update: I just published this, then I thought I should just double-check the spelling of Brennan Norden’s name. As of 15 minutes ago they have posted that he has scratched.
In light of recent events, I would like the Iditarod gods to know that I have no official position on who wins, or who or how many teams finish. I am rooting for no one.
The good news is that the current Red Lantern is suddenly SO much further down the trail…
The Anchorage Daily News has run a great series on the dogs of Iditarod. They are adding more dogs each day if you are interested in meeting a few of the athletes, you can follow this link.
Some of the profiles were done before the start like this interview with Sebastian Schnuelle, who is currently running among the leaders, about one of his lead dogs, Skunk.
Meet the sled dogs: Sebastian & Skunk from Kyle Hopkins on Vimeo.
Other interviews have been done along the trail, so you get a slightly different perspective.
Enjoy!
While there are, of course, big names and veterans who are in the Iditarod to win it, and there are probably rookies who have high hopes of being the newcomer who shows the old hands up; many who sign up for this endurance run simply wish to finish. I, being in awe of those who would even attempt this race, think that “just wanting to finish” is a lofty goal indeed.
But there are limits, of course. At some point the checkpoint volunteers will need to move on or come home. At some point, enough is enough for the musher and the dogs, too. While some mushers will scratch along the way as their dogs fatigue or as even they themselves become trail weary or injured, the trail committee reserves the right to remove a musher and his team from the race for a number of reasons
To scratch is to make the decision for yourself and your team. To be withdrawn is to have officials make the decision for you, although that is not, necessarily, meant to be punitive.
Mitch Seavey was withdrawn on Thursday morning after cutting his hand, nearly severing a finger, we’re told, while opening a bale of straw. In a brief interview while walking to an aircraft for his ride home, he called the trail committee’s decision a good call. Still, he did not look happy. Like the dogs who had been dropped for injuries or illness, that he would rather still be racing was written all over his face.
Seavey’s withdrawal was for injury; both for his own good and for the sake of the race; loss of life or limb being very bad publicity, you know.
Other withdrawals may stem from rules violations; unethical or un-sportsmanlike behavior.
One last rule deals with a musher and his or her team’s failure to stay competitive, although one might argue that “competitive” might not be precisely the right term, as this rule deals with the musher at the back of the back. Like I said before, though, at some point volunteers must leave and checkpoints must get shut down. To that end, the last guy through, called the Red Lantern, must make certain cut-off times.
Those cut-off times are evaluated at McGrath, Grayling and Unalakleet and are dependent every year on the time the leader passed those checkpoints.
The current Red Lantern is #57 James Bardoner.
Bardoner had 72 hours from the time the leader entered McGrath to arrive there himself. He checked in at McGrath just a little more than 56 hours after Martin Buser, the leader at the point on the trail. The Red Lantern will have 96 hours from the point the leader entered Grayling to make it to that checkpoint. Hugh Neff arrived there at 4 p.m. on the 11th, so Bardoner, or anyone else who follows on the trail will have to make it to Grayling by Tuesday afternoon. With more than 100 miles to go over the next day and a half, it remains to be seen if he will stay in the race.
I won’t jinx him by saying whether I hope he makes it or not.
New Yorkers are known for a lot of things. Being nice is probably not what comes to mind initially, though. That’s not to say that there aren’t nice folks here in my home state. I know a lot of folks here who would give you the shirt off their back. I have neighbors who routinely look out for me. With each year I spend here, I become increasingly attached to these folks and this place.
Still, when you think of New York, “nice” is not the first thing that comes to mind.
Other states seem to fare better in the “niceness” category. About a year and a half ago, I wrote a blog post about losing my class ring in a gas station bathroom in Moorhead, Minnesota. Someone turned it in to the lost and found, and it was still there the following morning. The gas station attendant mailed it to me, express mailed and insured, at his own expense. One of the commenters on the post informed me that this is a pretty typical example of what they call “Minnesota Nice”, a more extreme example of “regular nice”, I think.
Alaskans, I have found, practice perhaps the most extreme kind of nice I have yet to run into. They start conversations with perfect strangers, but no one stays a stranger for long. They stop and give rides. They stay till the last musher passes by, and they make you free hot cocoa while you are waiting. If you have had more than a 10-minute conversation with them, they will introduce you as their “new best friend”. Chat a little longer and they will give you directions to their cabin and tell you where the key is hidden, if, in fact, they lock the cabin at all.
Even snowmobilers follow guidance from race officials, cut engines so people can hear race announcements and move slowly through crowds. They, too, will stop and offer you a ride.
While watching the ceremonial start of the race last Saturday, I began a conversation with a pair of women standing next to me. I had bumped into them earlier and had pointed them to the only heated public restroom on the course. As we talked later, they admitted that they didn’t have a favorite musher, since their friend, Jane, wasn’t running this year.
“Jane Faulkner?” I asked. Their jaws dropped that a New Yorker knew who they were talking about. It was an instant bond. After the race, they bought me lunch and gave me a ride back to the hotel.
After it became known that I did not have a car, one of the women I met when I was checking in as a volunteer, texted me each day as she was headed to the hotel to ask if I needed her to pick anything on her way in. Another volunteer picked me up one afternoon just to take a drive down Seward Highway along the Turnagain Arm inlet. She refused both gas money and the offer to buy her lunch.
Everyone asks where you are from and if you are enjoying your stay. Tell them where you are going and they will give you the name of someone to call if you have trouble, advice on the best viewing points or a list of the best things to see along the way.
Tell someone that you would have gone up to McGrath to see that checkpoint, but you couldn’t get lodging reservations, and they will tell you to take a sleeping bag and go. Someone will put you up in their house. In Nome, they keep an official list of folks with available floorspace.
Along the course, townsfolk and volunteers keep 24-hour vigils; turning out at all hours to welcome every musher; keeping a pot of coffee and a crockpot of stew going for anyone who needs a little sustenance. The woman who sat next to me on the flight from Anchorage to Seattle told the tale of her flight from McGrath being delayed. The commercial flight waited for an injured musher coming in from Ophir. Apparently not one person grumbled about sitting on the ground or potentially missing their connections.
It’s like an epidemic of “nice” has infected the whole state.
So, if any of you have reason to head on up to Alaska in the near future, call me. I’ll introduce you to some of my new best friends…
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