 There are deadly serious mushers in that race who are after that
prize money, and a few of them will get it. But there are also the
taildraggers. They know they won't win. What they want to do,
really, is finish this most difficult of all races. And more than
that … to find out exactly what's inside them.Thirty-nine years
ago this week, that was me.
I had seven dogs. The minimum that year. And I had to borrow two
to make the minimum. Most teams were in the 12- to 16-dog range.
This translates to putting a VW Bug in the Indy 500. Forget any
prize money.
The front-runners have snow machines half a day ahead of them,
packing trail. With packed trail, those teams can average something
like 80 miles a day. Without packed trail, you're lucky to get five
miles, on snowshoes. And all it takes to turn a packed trail into
snowshoe time is half an hour of wind.
There have always been "recreational mushers," like I was back
then. I lived 12 miles from a road in those days, and for six months
each year, the dogs got us back and forth to the village. They were
basic transportation and basic family.
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column]
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But this race, this monumental journey from Anchorage to Nome,
makes a person want to hook up the dogs and head out.
I wasn't able to finish the race that year, 1973, because of an
injury, and while I was on the trail, everyone passed me. And I
guess it's because of that, that each March I say a little prayer
for all the mushers and all the dogs, but especially for the
recreational mushers, for the taildraggers. They'll be out in the
cold and the lonely longer than the winners, looking to find that
certain personal something.
Packed trail and fresh dogs, people. It's a very long way to
Nome.
[Text from file received from Slim Randles]
To buy Slim's books, go to
www.slimrandles.com.
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