Thoughts on our first racing season…I’m sure I’ll have more…

When I started out this season, my first back in the sport of mushing in about 15 years, I had a few goals and a few fears to face. I knew I needed to take things slow, as it were, and let myself learn some stuff, but I also had this nagging thought in the back of my brain that told me I wasn’t getting any younger and I better start getting some stuff accomplished.

So, instead of taking 6 or 7 dogs and training them lightly for a fun season of sportsmen races and shorter stuff, I decided to just dive in and head right for the 8-dog pro races which I knew would give me the race experience I desperately needed. And boy, did I ever need it.

Since September of last year, I have trained my dogs religiously to run mid-distance races. I picked out four in the fall that I thought I could run and finish. They were the Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Race in Newberry, MI; The John Beargrease 150 in Duluth; The Midnight Run (90 miles) in Marquette, MI and the Copper Dog 35 (although I had to withdraw from this to give rides at Klondike Days). Tahquamenon would be my first race ever and a 42-miler…introducing me to the world of “real” racing against mushers who’ve actually won stuff! As you can read from my post “The Rookie Run,” while it did not go as planned – it did go and we did finish. So, I accomplished my first goal.

My second scheduled race was the Beargrease 150, a checkpoint race I wanted to run before running the Midnight Run which takes place mostly at night (a fear I had to face). Well, Beargrease was cancelled due to lack of snow, so we picked up the Apostle Islands Sled Dog Race in Bayfield, Wisconsin instead and had an interesting time. Not a checkpoint race, the 8-dog 80 mile race in Bayfield is held over two days, each with 40 mile runs. While this was not quite the prep I had hoped for before the Midnight Run, I knew it would make my dogs race two days in a row, something they had yet to do (we often run a few days in a row, but the stress of racing was new to them).

That race pitted me against a few more fears, including losing the trail, getting lost, tangling up more and just being glad day one was over. It turned out that the trail markers had been stolen and I was not the only one lost on day one, although I didn’t know that at the time. I thought I was a huge failure. By the time I got back, I was ready to give up mushing. I was so dejected that two races in a row could go so horribly wrong. I thought for sure that I was not meant to mush sled dogs and that I must be a terrible trainer if we couldn’t even stay on the trail! I was not convinced that I would return to the trail the next day. Perserverance be damned, I was exhausted and depressed. It was 50/50 whether I would drive home the Sunday morning or drive to the start. Then the trail boss came into the room in which I was mainlining red wine and said that Sunday would be a do-over because the trail had essentially been fracked. While this was good news for some, I was almost disappointed because I felt like it obligated me to try again when I really didn’t want to. I went to bed Saturday night still unsure of what I would do.

By Sunday morning, things did not look necessarily brighter, but I figured, what the hell, I knew where I could bail out and scratch and go home if things got bad and we were already there – might as well see what was up.

I wasn’t even nervous (which is saying something for me). I didn’t bother switching my stuff over to my fancy racing sled. I just left it in Mr. Indestructable that I used the day before. I also vowed to not wear one piece of clothing that I wore on day one. I changed my hat, wore a different coat, different boots and wore jeans under my snow pants, so unenthused was I about the run. I prayed for a clean run because frankly, I was too tired and sad to want to untangle and turn dogs around.

Miraculously, the trail crew worked hard over night and produced a trail that was not only well-marked, but extremely easy to follow. Sprint (my new super-lead dog) was brilliant without Condee next to him (I think she intimidated him) and worked well with sweet, neutral Pasha alongside. We made every turn except one that was awkward and I couldn’t figure out how to tell him where to go and instead followed another team through it. I was rejuvenated by the thrill of a fun, fast run on a dogsled and happy that I lived to tell…

Facing the Midnight Run was something I was scared of from the moment I put my name on the entry form. This was a “big-time” race. There was a checkpoint and a layover and a ceremonial start.

I won’t lie. For months, when I hooked up a dog team, I was nervous when they took off – whether on an ATV or a sled. I know how powerful my dogs are and even though I’m fine after we take off, I am always a little nervous right before. Riding a sled in the dark terrified me, no matter how bright my headlamp. I don’t know why, but it did. Something about the dark unknown.

My nervousness about the Midnight Run was something I couldn’t stop and couldn’t prepare for. I was just a bundle of nerves. We were going. There was no stopping it. The money was spent, the dogs prepared. I had to stand on the runners at the starting line and head out for 47 miles in the pitch black (and snowing, I might add). What the hell had I gotten myself into? It turns out that running dogs is running dogs and once the snow hook is handed to me, it doesn’t matter if I know the trail or not – or if it’s dark or not. I seem to shift automatically into trail finding and dog-butt-looking mode and wasn’t the least bit freaked out by the dark. Phew.

The trail was certainly challenging in places, but my new leader Sprint, was amazing. I wrote a post about Sprint back in the fall after I first brought him home. It’s called, “That Darn Dog.” Sprint is sketchy. He doesn’t like to cuddle. He’d really rather that you leave him alone unless you are presenting him with a harness, in which case he will jump on me and lick my face. But it wasn’t always that way.

In the fall, I had Jezebel. Jezebel I bought for a large sum of money from someone up north because I was informed by someone I trust that she was an amazing lead dog and that I had to get her. A steering wheel with the gas built in. And she is. Jezebel is an amazing dog who is all that and a bag of dog treats. She lines out perfectly, runs faster than any dog I’ve ever had, knows every command without hesitation, and is sweet and lovable with brilliant blue eyes. She will lick and kiss anyone who comes her way.

Sprint knocked her up on one of their first training runs together. By December, it was obvious and she was out for the season. I was screwed.

But ever the optimist, I had purchased Sprint because he had leader-potential. He knew what the commands were, but didn’t always follow them. I put him up front with Condee – who also occasionally knows some commands – and hoped for the best. Then Tahquamenon happened and I knew I had to make a change. Worried that Sprint was too stubborn or Condee was, I put Sprint on a training program that would make him encounter every unfamiliar turn I could find. If he wouldn’t turn or turned the wrong way, we stopped until he got it right. And he started to get it right. Then, at Apostle Islands, I put Condee up there with him and all went wrong again. Dang. It was Condee (quite possibly my favorite dog). For Day 2, I put her in the back (and then she got loose at the start and I didn’t have her at all) and we ended up with that awesome run. Sprint became SUPER SPRINT on Day 2.

By Midnight Run, he was just amazing. I didn’t have to ever pull him to a new trail, stop the team and hook down to turn around or anything else. I have a new steering wheel, and I couldn’t be more pleased with this dog. I am so glad I didn’t let a friend “take him off my hands” when he was giving me trouble! I don’t think Sprint likes me any more than he did, but I think he feels comfortable in his position and he knows I trust him now. I think he trusts me too…a little.

The Midnight Run had it’s events. I lost the team briefly while trying to help someone else. I leaned back a little too far and the sled slipped from my hands. I ended up doing the splits trying to catch it and pulled my hamstring. The guy I was trying to help gave me a lift up the trail, only to find my team stopped in the trail about 200 feet up – looking back at me like, “what the hell, Mom, are you coming or not?” The guy took off and I started to untangle the team. They righted themselves while I was still limping up to the front and I made my way back to the sled.

Such a wonderful team. They made it all the way back and then through the whole next day, climbing up steep hills, with me literally holding onto the back, barely pedaling to help out. Man, if I could have run even a little, I bet we would have caught a few teams! I was awkwardly pushing with my right foot (not the foot I usually pedal with) and encouraging the dogs to get up the hills with their lame-o musher behind them.

We encountered other mushers for sure and some wonderful volunteers. We devoured some meat left in the trail by another musher (thanks a lot) and found some switchbacks that could have eaten a sled whole. But we made it through, happy and healthy, in 22nd place out of 28 remaining teams. Not necessarily the finishing place I wanted, but a finish nonetheless – and it qualifies us to be rookies in the U.P. 200 next year – so look out – Sprint and the gang are on a roll and Jezebel is getting locked up the next time she’s in heat!:-)

Although I’ve run dogs for many years, I’ve never raced before. It definitely was a test of my mettle – as the dogs were just grand! Here’s my account of that day…

Until you train a dogsled team completely on your own and see them standing at the starting line of your first race, it’s impossible to know the pride, joy, excitement, and yes, fear that comes with it. I know how powerful my team is, I train them everyday, after all. I also know how loving, sweet, rambunctious and friendly each dog is from working, playing and caring for them everyday.

After the nervousness of getting harnessed up and the anxiousness of getting them to the chute across a grassy (yes, grassy) field, I ran up to each set of dogs and gave them a rub and said what I always do before a run, “Are you ready to go for a run?” to which they always reply with either a trembling lick of my nose or a four off the floor jump in the air.

I still had about 20 seconds left to stand on the sled brake and look out at the dirt and ice chute ahead of me. I won’t lie, I was scared. Why? Because I know how well I’ve trained my team and I know how good they are and I don’t really know what’s coming at us beyond the first couple hundred yards.

With a bobble while trying to grab the hook from the guy holding it, we take off and I am laying into the brake for all I’m worth because the dirt leaves little ability to steer well. Fortunately, I do not spend the first mile dragging on my face.

My nervousness subsides a bit and I concentrate on steering and following the markers out into the woods, when, at about 3 miles in, there was a “v” in the trail. Not a big one and there was a clear marker to indicate that we should go straight ahead. Because I don’t normally give a command to go straight ahead, I didn’t say anything. And then my leaders turned left. Ack! With the ice (glare ice at this point) there was no way to stop. So I proceeded about 50 feet down the wrong trail and was able to drag my hook enough in some ice (and holler) to stop. I got the team turned around and headed them back to the trail where I told them to go left (Haw). They did not. For some reason, I have no idea why, they turned right and headed back toward the start chute. Ack! I got them stopped and turned around again.

What happened next? Well. We MADE THE SAME WRONG TURN AGAIN! And I sorted out the ensuing tangle again. Unfortunately, the glare ice made it impossible for me to walk out in front of the team and lead them the correct way. There was just no way to trust that I wouldn’t lose them. So we went back to the trail, where they promptly made the turn back to the start chute AGAIN (we were getting good at this now) and then in my haste to not be back at the starting line, I tipped over my sled and dragged along some cut stumps trying to stop my team. We did stop, but then one dog jumped over another, a team came down the trail and what ensued was the largest ball of dogs anyone has ever seen.

Have you ever had a problem so large, sitting in front of you, that when you looked at it and tried to figure out how to solve it, you were just so completely confounded you thought – “forget it, ain’t happening.” I was ready to scratch 3 miles into the race.

It simply didn’t not look possible to untangle all of the dogs without setting them loose – something I couldn’t do on the race course.

I took a breath, tried to defog my glasses and removed one dog from the team and tied him off to a tree. Then I started trying to figure out the rest. Then a miraculous thing happened. A wonderful musher in the 6-dog class stopped her team and helped me. She was the only one who could stop. Anchoring her sled to a tree, she stopped her well-mannered team and looked at the ball of dogs and said, “Wow, that’s about the biggest tangle I’ve ever seen.”

Only stopping to ask me what dog went where, she went to work helping me line the team back out and scowled with me when other mushers blew past yelling at us to get out of the trail (which we were only half-blocking…there was room to get by).

As we worked together, another savior came up over the rise. A musher who lost his team was willing to hold my leaders out while worrying about his own dogs safety – and he saved the mitten I left behind! And then we accidently set one of my dogs loose. We watched helplessly as Tupelo ran off down the trail. Convinced I’d catch up with her eventually, I set to work on the other dogs.

Finally, with one musher holding the sled so the dogs wouldn’t take off and the other holding the leaders, I was about ready to go when Tupelo came trotting back wondering where we had all gone. I clipped her back into the team and took off, shouting my undying gratitude for my saviors. I still feel horrible that I ate up so much of their race time. We lost at least 40 minutes in the tangle.

What happened next was a little surprising to me. After the tangle and some other minor challenges, I resumed the course, completely demoralized and convinced I wouldn’t finish. I figured I was so far behind the last of the 8-dog teams that they would take the finish line down before I got back – or worse, disqualify me for taking too long on the trail. But I continued on and the dogs were great. They loped almost the entire course and listened well to the commands I gave.

The course was challenging. For me, anyway. I dumped the sled on a couple of turns that were now severely rutted from 40 teams or more going ahead of me. I was tired from being anxious and disappointed because we were going so fast, I knew we could have placed well. But the run was becoming quite lovely and we were getting lots of passing practice, so I determined this to be a great training run and tried to enjoy it. I wish I could say that I accept disappointment with some sort of graceful and patient Mother Theresa-like attitude. But I can’t. I wasn’t happy for a quite a while.

But on we cruised and fortunately the trail was challenging enough that I had enough to do and no time to feel sorry for myself and the dogs. We hit another challenge when someone left meat in the trail, which my dogs promptly devoured and tangled over. Yay! Thanks for that!

Another tangle sorted and we were off again.

I let out a huge WOOT when I caught another team. I couldn’t believe that after being alone on the trail for so long (and in and among the 6 dog race for a long time) that I was actually catching up to the 8-dog teams. Shocking! The dogs made up 40 minutes on the rest of the field.

It was enough to make me and the dogs a little happier, especially when we ended up passing five other teams and a couple of teams in the 12-dog race. We hit one more snag at the end of the race when an icy road went straight on and we were supposed to turn left. I had to stop and wait for someone else to make that turn before the dogs would believe I was right (we’ll be working on that before our next race)! But on we went and we cruised on to the finish – where I was very happy to have made it back! All in all, we did 42 miles in about 3.5 hours, taking off the 40 minutes for the tangle from Hell. We officially finished 21st at 4 hours and 19 minutes.

It was certainly a challenge and I faced almost every nightmare scenario a rookie can imagine. I will, however, never forget my rookie race, especially the feeling that being on the runners is truly where I belong:-)

Happy Trails!

Misha

In addition to giving rides on our sled, we have also been busy preparing for our first race – the Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Race in Newberry, Michigan. I am entered in the 8-dog, 42 mile event and am very nervous. While I have been reading about dogsled racing for almost 20 years now, have handled for others and volunteered at races, I have never trained and run a team to run for myself. There’s a lot of self-doubt, a lot of fear about what’s to come, a lot of excitement for a weekend with mushers and a lot of intimidation of the other racers, many of whom I have followed and been a fan of for a number of years! For me, it’s a lot like a basketball fan walking out on the floor as a Boston Celtic.

Now, the true athletes, the dogs are amazing. They do anything I ask…except stop on part of our icy road trail! For example, yesterday in order to save the runners on my poor sled, we attach the dogs to the ATV and tow the sled out to the trail. It’s really too close to go by truck and I read about someone else who did this. We then just attach the sled to the gangline, still held by the ATV, and take off. However, on the way home, we have to stop at the ATV in order to hitch back up. Nope. The dogs were not impressed with this idea of stopping and even though I laid into the brake, I couldn’t find a place to hook down (the ATV was still on the wrong side of the road and my well-trained dogs stay well to the right, as I’ve trained them to do). So, we slowed down and looked at the ATV and then the dogs decided to just go home without it!

Fortunately, there was mostly enough snow in the shoulder to make the ride not to painful and as soon as we were in the dogyard they stopped (after dumping Liam and I off a snowbank in the driveway sideways – I saw that one coming literally a mile away).

I am not worried about the dogs doing well in the race. Most of them have more than a few races under their belts, so they know more than me. My leaders are doing really well, which is a relief since my main leader, Jezebelle gave birth to a sole pup yesterday. I have had to train Condee and Sprint to take her place and at first, I was worried I’d end up in Lake Superior during our first race, but they have really come along. They also work together really well – nudging each other the right direction. I’ve tried to do my part by shutting my mouth unless it’s really important! Sprint has even started to believe me that sometimes I know the best direction and will listen to a command even if he started to go the other way. Very helpful!

As for equipment, well, I came up with the idea for an awesome dogfood cooker that cost me only $45 instead of buying a new one for over $100. I’ll post a picture – it works really well. I was able to melt a bucket full of snow into water pretty fast. I have two great sleds and I have to choose which one to run. I also need an arctic-rated sleeping bag (thanks to my traveling son, Matt, I didn’t need to buy this), booties, and other items. Hopefully, we’ll remember it all.

It’s really strange to think about getting to this first race. For me, it feels like a huge accomplishment to get to the starting line, I’ve been dreaming of it so long. But I still want to win:-)