Epilogue
It hasn't been quite a month since I crossed the finish line early that morning
in Glennallen. The Copper Basin experience is still slowly sinking in and as
I've reflected on the race I've become more appreciative of the opportunity
and proud of the accomplishment. In the Caribou Restaurant the day after the
race ended I was chatting with a few other mushers and they congratulated me
on the race and said that they thought this was the most challenging 300 mile
race they knew of.
During
the awards banquet, when I accepted my $100 bill for finishing, I had a chance
to thank Bill and Sandy for the opportunity and express appreciation for the
encouragement and support which I received from some of the other "back
of the pack" mushers. When I mentioned that it was a great experience and
I was excited to have completed the Copper Basin as my first ever dog sled race,
according to JJ a few eyes went wide with amazement and mouths dropped open.
I guess I had brought true meaning to the class of "rookie".
I visited the race dogs
at Bill and Sandy's a few days after we returned to the real world in Fairbanks
and there was a very different feeling walking through the dog yard. It was
a feeling like we had accomplished something special together and we had both
grown up a bit in the process. I was proud of them for many different reasons.
Mars, Bob, and Pancho had completed their first race ever. Bob had started out
as an occasional puller and during the race had settled into his own. He and
Pancho were super strong and steady in the wheel dog position. Dale had emerged
as a rock solid leader and an incredible athlete. Goldie, Gertie, Steele, and
Kali all gained more experience as leaders which will give Sandy even more options
for the Iditarod team. Even Jim with his short legs helped the cause and pulled
his hardest to get us up that heck of a hill leaving Summit Lake and climbing
up to the Denali Highway. The $100 bill I got for finishing I passed back to
Bill and Sandy and as is the tradition it went to the dogs.
I jumped back on the
sled a couple of weeks after the race after giving the dogs and myself a chance
to recuperate. It was like jumping into a canoe for the first time in the spring
- a little shaky and unsteady at first, but then the "sea legs" grow
back and everything's right again. I've run over 100 training miles since the
race and during each run something reminds me of a moment or aspect of the Copper
Basin 300. Fortunately those memories which float back are all positive and
I cherish them.
I've been asked repeatedly
and often when I'm going to race next and when I'm going to run the Iditarod
or the Quest. Those two big races require mushers to complete a total of 500
miles in qualifying races (race which the musher finishes) in the previous 2
years. So, I now would have to run just a 200 mile race in the next year or
so to be eligible to run either of those 1000+ mile races. I catch myself thinking
that there are a number of 200 mile races and even some 300 mile races that
would be quite a bit easier than the Copper. Why not just run one so I'd be
qualified? Currently the logical, rational, level-headed, fiscally responsible,
unselfish side of me is guiding my decisions. The other side gains strength
with runs like I had last night.
It was just a 30 mile
run, but the moon was near full again, it was about 15 degrees and snowing.
The team I took out was a mixture of dogs which had been with me on the Copper
Basin and a few others which were race veterans and well trained. I left the
dog yard at about 7:25pm and we made our way down the access trail, across two
lakes and up onto the wood cutting roads on the ridge above our neighborhood.
There were fresh moose tracks and the snow was knocked off the brush in many
places as the moose had recently browsed along the side of the trail. The strong
evidence that they were in close proximity kept the adrenaline level up and
may have also inspired the dogs as they were running extremely well. The snow
was falling steadily and reduced the visibility to what you might see by driving
with high beams on in a snowstorm - lots of white streaking across your face
but not much visible beyond the leaders of the team. Every once in a while a
snowflake would score a bull's-eye and temporarily blind me, and the constant
snow was melting and then freezing on my beard, slowly building up a mini glacier
of sorts.
The fresh
snow falling quieted the landscape and the world was reduced to just that which
was illuminated by the headlamp. The sled runners were virtually silent in the
powder and every step by the dogs' feet were cushioned. It was invigorating
and refreshing and real. No nuances, no politics, no agendas, no timelines,
no pressures - just miles of trail, 11 dogs and a sled making our way through
the snowy Alaskan winter.
Three hours
later we returned to the dog yard and this other world with big smiles on all
our faces. The dogs all got a good helping of food and water and I coiled up
the mainline and parked the sled for the night - more than ready for the next
run, however long it might be.
