There is something about a man and his truck.
Hubby is not an extravagant person. He doesn't care if his clothes have little insignia on them or if he has all the latest "guy" toys. The product of depression era parents, he is very conservative. Our farm abounds in examples of his "make do" attitude with left-overs from one project being used in another endeavor. The one place he gets a little carried away is his truck.
His current truck was bought after extensive research, computer searches, test drives, dealership visits, and "brain picking" of everyone he met. (Remember the great tractor hunt? So you know he gets a little obsessive when he is actually going to part with a chunk of change.) We literally visited dealerships in four states when he was deciding on his current truck. It was successful, because he loves his truck.
Trucks are a little different now from the ones I learned to drive on (yes, they did have trucks when I was 16!) This truck has more gadgets and gizmos than a rocket ship. He can call anyone in his phone book by just asking nicely. He has a camera that shows him his rearview as he backs up (nice for not backing into trailers), satellite radio that gets hundreds of channels (he listens to the local AM station), heated seats, remote start, and power mirrors (so he can fit into the garage). There is one more thing that pickup trucks have over the fancy cars. Cup holders. There must be three cup holders for each seat. They are in the console, the doors, on the dash--everywhere. The only thing I can figure, is that guys obviously drink more than girls!
Did I mention that he loves his truck?
Case in point. We were getting ready for a little road trip and because we were taking some things to our daughter we decided to drive the truck. I'm in charge of all the packing, getting the house ready to leave, and setting up pet care. He does the farm chores and gets everything caught up at work. While he is at work, I'll usually load the various plunder we are taking with us, so we are ready for a quick get-away that afternoon. The night before he asked, "Are you going to the gym in the morning?' Wondering a little why he cares, I answer, "I probably won't have time. Why?" "Well," he responds, " I thought I would take the car tomorrow morning to work and you could start loading the truck." "OK", I say thoughtfully, "so that means you want to be sure I won't need a vehicle? You know I can drive the truck if I need to." "Ummm" he mutters.
As we go to bed that night, he again asks, "So, you think you might be going to the gym in the morning?" "Well, I really need to if I'm going to be gone for a week." I mutter sleepily. "Tell you what" he replies, "I'll just take the old green farm truck to work in the morning so you'll have your car." My eyes fly open as I sit up in bed. "So, are you saying that you don't want me to drive your truck or what?" "No, no, I didn't mean that at all." he back-peddles frantically. "Well it looks to me like you are saying exactly that!" I snarl, getting up a good head of steam. "You obviously either think I CAN'T drive it or you are scared I'll damage it if I do. Which is it?" "No, no! Calm down. You can drive it anywhere you want to. You can even drive the whole trip. In fact I want you to drive it. I may even INSIST you drive it!!" Silence reigns.
Then just before sleep, "However, I really don't mind driving the farm truck tomorrow."
The man loves his truck!
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Thursday, March 13, 2014
What Happened to Jeff King?
I know I keep saying I am going on to other things, but so many stories have come out of this year's Iditarod that I feel like I must share one more.
Jeff King, a four time winner and the undisputed leader going into the finish run, ran afoul of Mother Nature and unexpectedly scratched. "Scratched" is different than the designation "withdrawn" which indicates a decision by the musher not to continue on. I was curious, like many others, as to what had happened.
The weather, which had been mild most of the race, suddenly decided to deteriorate. The wind, which is always a concern on the coast run into Nome, reached hurricane proportions. Howling down the mountains it becomes funneled with much the same affect as wind blowing through Chicago's city canyons. Or, to put it another way, much like the air being forced through an air hose. The locals call these "blow holes". King's sled and team ran into one of these blow holes about 50 miles from the end of the race. The force of the wind, concentrated in that spot, literally blew his sled and the dog team off the trail and into a pile of driftwood. King, faced with an overturned sled and a team of traumatized dogs (they aren't used to being picked up and tossed like Dixie cups) found himself unable to do anything but huddle behind the sled. The wind literally was too strong for him to attempt to right the sled and untangle his dog harness. So he did the only thing he could, he called his dogs to him and huddled them all together to wait out the wind.
He had two choices. His dogs were disorganized and tangled. He couldn't get his sled ready to mush back to the check-point. He could attempt to walk back and bring help for his dogs, but that meant leaving them on the trail. Which is the one thing a musher isn't prepared to do. His other choice was to wait out the wind. He waited. While he was stranded, he was passed by a local 84 year old miner, his son-in-law, and granddaughters on a snowmobile treck to Nome. King asked them for a ride to Safety . (Note: The wind was so bad that one of the granddaughter's snow machine was blown over and rolled several times on the way back. They were able to get the machine back on the trail and continue. They are a hardy bunch of people!) Once in Safety, King was able to get other snowmobilers to return with him to safeguard his dogs.
According to the rules, King had no option but to scratch when he asked outsiders for help. He says he has no regrets about that decision because it ensured the safety of his dogs.
The wind did eventually die down and the mushers coming into Nome now are able to do so without the hurricane force winds. However, all along the trail mushers have stories of bedding down and just waiting out the weather. This Iditarod is already going down as one of the roughest and most dangerous in its history. Musher after musher is coming in with tales of broken ribs, fingers, a nose or two, bruises and scrapes from the banging they have taken.
I think about all the complaining we have done over the winter we have had here and I think about leaving on a camping trip in the middle of it. Not to mention running, walking, and knocking about over 1000 miles of wilderness in the process. My admiration for the hardy folks that live in and love Alaska knows no bounds, but the mushers in the Iditarod are truly a special breed!!
Jeff King, a four time winner and the undisputed leader going into the finish run, ran afoul of Mother Nature and unexpectedly scratched. "Scratched" is different than the designation "withdrawn" which indicates a decision by the musher not to continue on. I was curious, like many others, as to what had happened.
The weather, which had been mild most of the race, suddenly decided to deteriorate. The wind, which is always a concern on the coast run into Nome, reached hurricane proportions. Howling down the mountains it becomes funneled with much the same affect as wind blowing through Chicago's city canyons. Or, to put it another way, much like the air being forced through an air hose. The locals call these "blow holes". King's sled and team ran into one of these blow holes about 50 miles from the end of the race. The force of the wind, concentrated in that spot, literally blew his sled and the dog team off the trail and into a pile of driftwood. King, faced with an overturned sled and a team of traumatized dogs (they aren't used to being picked up and tossed like Dixie cups) found himself unable to do anything but huddle behind the sled. The wind literally was too strong for him to attempt to right the sled and untangle his dog harness. So he did the only thing he could, he called his dogs to him and huddled them all together to wait out the wind.
He had two choices. His dogs were disorganized and tangled. He couldn't get his sled ready to mush back to the check-point. He could attempt to walk back and bring help for his dogs, but that meant leaving them on the trail. Which is the one thing a musher isn't prepared to do. His other choice was to wait out the wind. He waited. While he was stranded, he was passed by a local 84 year old miner, his son-in-law, and granddaughters on a snowmobile treck to Nome. King asked them for a ride to Safety . (Note: The wind was so bad that one of the granddaughter's snow machine was blown over and rolled several times on the way back. They were able to get the machine back on the trail and continue. They are a hardy bunch of people!) Once in Safety, King was able to get other snowmobilers to return with him to safeguard his dogs.
According to the rules, King had no option but to scratch when he asked outsiders for help. He says he has no regrets about that decision because it ensured the safety of his dogs.
The wind did eventually die down and the mushers coming into Nome now are able to do so without the hurricane force winds. However, all along the trail mushers have stories of bedding down and just waiting out the weather. This Iditarod is already going down as one of the roughest and most dangerous in its history. Musher after musher is coming in with tales of broken ribs, fingers, a nose or two, bruises and scrapes from the banging they have taken.
I think about all the complaining we have done over the winter we have had here and I think about leaving on a camping trip in the middle of it. Not to mention running, walking, and knocking about over 1000 miles of wilderness in the process. My admiration for the hardy folks that live in and love Alaska knows no bounds, but the mushers in the Iditarod are truly a special breed!!
Danger on the Trail
The Iditarod winners have arrived, tended their dogs, greeted their families, gotten some sleep and still mushers are crossing the finish line. The race, while it has been won, is not over until the last musher crosses the finish line and collects the red lantern.
Before I move on to other things, I have one story that caught my attention from the race. I think it illustrates the rugged individuals that take on the challenge as well as the unpredictableness of racing through a winter wilderness.
Scott Janssen is a very successful mortician with a chain of funeral homes in the Anchorage area. He had been a sponsor and friend of Paul Gebhardt for years and decided in 2007 to try mushing himself. He is an ardent outdoorsman with a wry sense of humor. You can learn more about him on his Facebook page, the Mushing Mortician.
This year is Scott's third Iditarod and although the conditions were far from ideal he was enjoying his experience. The going was rough, over ground that was just sparsely covered with snow. The dogs were strung out in front and going at a good clip, which means the sled is banging along behind like the end of "crack the whip" when Scott looked up and saw a tree stump directly in the path. Sleds don't come equipped with steering wheels so he lurched to one side of the sled in an attempt to by-pass the stump. Unfortunately, he hit a tussock of grass that caused the sled to turn over and slammed him into the stump. In Scott's words, he then went "night-night". He awoke to find his dogs had returned and were huddled around him sleeping. He thought that was odd, especially when he noticed a light covering of snow on them. Instead of being out for a minute, like he had thought, he actually had been unconscious for about 2 hours.
In true mushing tradition, he checked himself out, decided he was o.k. and proceeded to repair his sled. He admits it probably took him a little longer than it normally would but he eventually got his dogs and sled back on the trail. He's getting along down the trail and thinking he's got everything under control when one of his dogs runs on the opposite side of a tree from the gang-line. (On this part of the trail they are literally running through the woods.) Fortunately the harness is designed for just such an event and breaks away, freeing the dog. The dog runs ahead of the team and down the trail. Scott, fearing that the dog would get lost, calls to him and begins to run after him. In by-passing the team (which has stopped) he hits a thin spot in the stream he must cross and breaks through the ice. The dog meanwhile has returned to the team, so Scott climbs out of the shallow water to run to the sled to reattach the dog. The water on his boots turns to ice and he slips, falling and breaking his right leg.
Now he is lying down hill from his sled and unable to drag himself to it. He does manage to get out of the water, but he is wet and doesn't have his gloves on. It doesn't take long before he begins to fear hypothermia and frostbite. He knows that there are mushers behind him on the trail, but he doesn't know when they will come. He can only hope it is in time. Just when he is beginning to wonder if he'll turn into an ice cube he hears the approach of a team. Soon he is looking into the concerned face of Newton Marshall, the Jamaican musher who has run in three previous Iditarods. "Hey, Mon. What can I do to help?" Newton locates Scott's sleeping bag and ground cloth and is able to begin getting him warm. He then retrieves the GPS tracker device that is mandatory for each musher and is attached to the sled. This device also has a SOS button which they activate. Newton, then stays with Scott until help arrives in the form of some of the snowmobile riders that travel up and down the trail doing some of the thousands of jobs needed to keep the trail clear and the race running. Rescues, being one of the jobs. Assured that his fellow musher will be taken care of, he continues with his race. (Note: During a race only another musher may help a musher. Accepting assistance from anyone else is an automatic scratch. In this case, a moot point, since Scott is out of the race anyway.)
Because of the inaccessibility of the location the only way to get Scott out and to a hospital is by air. The Army sends a Black Hawk helicopter to swoop down and retrieve the injured musher. The snowmobilers will gather up his gear and dogs and take them to the closest check-point for them to be returned to Anchorage.
Scott was checked for head injuries - not serious- and had his leg set and in 24 hrs. was ready to head for Nome to welcome in the winning mushers.
Comments from Scott: "Maybe helmets should be required equipment." "The coolest thing was refueling the helicopter in mid-air on the way to Anchorage. They propped me up so I could watch. Neat!" On a serious note, he does think that the GPS trackers should be worn by the mushers at all times instead of on the sled. Because he couldn't reach his tracker to signal for help, he very well could have died.
Before I move on to other things, I have one story that caught my attention from the race. I think it illustrates the rugged individuals that take on the challenge as well as the unpredictableness of racing through a winter wilderness.
Scott Janssen is a very successful mortician with a chain of funeral homes in the Anchorage area. He had been a sponsor and friend of Paul Gebhardt for years and decided in 2007 to try mushing himself. He is an ardent outdoorsman with a wry sense of humor. You can learn more about him on his Facebook page, the Mushing Mortician.
This year is Scott's third Iditarod and although the conditions were far from ideal he was enjoying his experience. The going was rough, over ground that was just sparsely covered with snow. The dogs were strung out in front and going at a good clip, which means the sled is banging along behind like the end of "crack the whip" when Scott looked up and saw a tree stump directly in the path. Sleds don't come equipped with steering wheels so he lurched to one side of the sled in an attempt to by-pass the stump. Unfortunately, he hit a tussock of grass that caused the sled to turn over and slammed him into the stump. In Scott's words, he then went "night-night". He awoke to find his dogs had returned and were huddled around him sleeping. He thought that was odd, especially when he noticed a light covering of snow on them. Instead of being out for a minute, like he had thought, he actually had been unconscious for about 2 hours.
In true mushing tradition, he checked himself out, decided he was o.k. and proceeded to repair his sled. He admits it probably took him a little longer than it normally would but he eventually got his dogs and sled back on the trail. He's getting along down the trail and thinking he's got everything under control when one of his dogs runs on the opposite side of a tree from the gang-line. (On this part of the trail they are literally running through the woods.) Fortunately the harness is designed for just such an event and breaks away, freeing the dog. The dog runs ahead of the team and down the trail. Scott, fearing that the dog would get lost, calls to him and begins to run after him. In by-passing the team (which has stopped) he hits a thin spot in the stream he must cross and breaks through the ice. The dog meanwhile has returned to the team, so Scott climbs out of the shallow water to run to the sled to reattach the dog. The water on his boots turns to ice and he slips, falling and breaking his right leg.
Now he is lying down hill from his sled and unable to drag himself to it. He does manage to get out of the water, but he is wet and doesn't have his gloves on. It doesn't take long before he begins to fear hypothermia and frostbite. He knows that there are mushers behind him on the trail, but he doesn't know when they will come. He can only hope it is in time. Just when he is beginning to wonder if he'll turn into an ice cube he hears the approach of a team. Soon he is looking into the concerned face of Newton Marshall, the Jamaican musher who has run in three previous Iditarods. "Hey, Mon. What can I do to help?" Newton locates Scott's sleeping bag and ground cloth and is able to begin getting him warm. He then retrieves the GPS tracker device that is mandatory for each musher and is attached to the sled. This device also has a SOS button which they activate. Newton, then stays with Scott until help arrives in the form of some of the snowmobile riders that travel up and down the trail doing some of the thousands of jobs needed to keep the trail clear and the race running. Rescues, being one of the jobs. Assured that his fellow musher will be taken care of, he continues with his race. (Note: During a race only another musher may help a musher. Accepting assistance from anyone else is an automatic scratch. In this case, a moot point, since Scott is out of the race anyway.)
Because of the inaccessibility of the location the only way to get Scott out and to a hospital is by air. The Army sends a Black Hawk helicopter to swoop down and retrieve the injured musher. The snowmobilers will gather up his gear and dogs and take them to the closest check-point for them to be returned to Anchorage.
Scott was checked for head injuries - not serious- and had his leg set and in 24 hrs. was ready to head for Nome to welcome in the winning mushers.
Comments from Scott: "Maybe helmets should be required equipment." "The coolest thing was refueling the helicopter in mid-air on the way to Anchorage. They propped me up so I could watch. Neat!" On a serious note, he does think that the GPS trackers should be worn by the mushers at all times instead of on the sled. Because he couldn't reach his tracker to signal for help, he very well could have died.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Iditarod Upset
When I went to bed last night I thought the story of the Iditarod was all sewed up. Jeff King had established about an hour lead over Ally Zirkle and all he had to do was just keep on to Nome for the win. However, Mother Nature took a hand and it wasn't that simple.
Coming down from the mountains onto the shore they began to experience extreme winds, gusting up to 55 mph and creating a ground blizzard of blowing snow. King, with a comfortable 1 hr. lead over Zirkle is struck by a severe gust of wind and blown off the trail and into a pile of drift wood. There he would spend the next 1 1/2 hours untangling his dogs and sled and getting them settled and back on the trail. The dogs were unhappy with the wind conditions and King decided that he just couldn't push them to finish and scratched. Ally, not knowing that this had occurred, persevered down the trail and into the next check-point, not realizing that she had passed King on the way. Once there she took stock of her dogs reluctance to run head-on into such a gale and decided to rest and hope the wind died down. (This is not just a breeze but hurricane force winds, at below freezing temperatures with ground snow blowing in sheets parallel to the ground. The winds are flipping snowmobiles over and tearing off windshields. All along the trail mushers are pulling off and seeking protection for themselves and their dogs.)
Now it gets weird. While she is resting in the check-point, Dallas Seavy, who was in third place behind her, charges into the check-point and out again without stopping for a rest, thinking he has to catch the leaders, who he thinks are a couple of hours ahead. Ally, realizing she has just lost the lead, hurries out after him. They tear off down the trail in the wind and snow, on the final 22 miles into Nome. The funny part is that Dallas thinks the light he sees dogging his trail is his father, Mitch Seavy, who was running in fourth place behind him. Remember, he still thinks he is in third behind the leaders. Now, he knows that if he lets his 54 year old father run him down and pass him his family will never let him live it down. With that thought he goes all out on his drive for Nome, running beside the sled or ski-poling to help push them along.
With that determined light behind him he charges down the street toward the finish line, running beside the sled. Reaching the finish he collapses onto the seat and drops his head in exhaustion. An official drapes his arm over his shoulders and says, "Do you realize you just won the Iditarod?" He looks up in amazement and just two minutes later, Ally Zirkle comes rushing down the street to her third, second place finish in the last three years. (Dallas' dad, Mitch didn't finish for third place until about 2 1/2 hrs. later.
The time---8 days, 14 hours, 9 minutes. A new record.
Maybe there is something to youth and strong legs after all.
Coming down from the mountains onto the shore they began to experience extreme winds, gusting up to 55 mph and creating a ground blizzard of blowing snow. King, with a comfortable 1 hr. lead over Zirkle is struck by a severe gust of wind and blown off the trail and into a pile of drift wood. There he would spend the next 1 1/2 hours untangling his dogs and sled and getting them settled and back on the trail. The dogs were unhappy with the wind conditions and King decided that he just couldn't push them to finish and scratched. Ally, not knowing that this had occurred, persevered down the trail and into the next check-point, not realizing that she had passed King on the way. Once there she took stock of her dogs reluctance to run head-on into such a gale and decided to rest and hope the wind died down. (This is not just a breeze but hurricane force winds, at below freezing temperatures with ground snow blowing in sheets parallel to the ground. The winds are flipping snowmobiles over and tearing off windshields. All along the trail mushers are pulling off and seeking protection for themselves and their dogs.)
Now it gets weird. While she is resting in the check-point, Dallas Seavy, who was in third place behind her, charges into the check-point and out again without stopping for a rest, thinking he has to catch the leaders, who he thinks are a couple of hours ahead. Ally, realizing she has just lost the lead, hurries out after him. They tear off down the trail in the wind and snow, on the final 22 miles into Nome. The funny part is that Dallas thinks the light he sees dogging his trail is his father, Mitch Seavy, who was running in fourth place behind him. Remember, he still thinks he is in third behind the leaders. Now, he knows that if he lets his 54 year old father run him down and pass him his family will never let him live it down. With that thought he goes all out on his drive for Nome, running beside the sled or ski-poling to help push them along.
With that determined light behind him he charges down the street toward the finish line, running beside the sled. Reaching the finish he collapses onto the seat and drops his head in exhaustion. An official drapes his arm over his shoulders and says, "Do you realize you just won the Iditarod?" He looks up in amazement and just two minutes later, Ally Zirkle comes rushing down the street to her third, second place finish in the last three years. (Dallas' dad, Mitch didn't finish for third place until about 2 1/2 hrs. later.
The time---8 days, 14 hours, 9 minutes. A new record.
Maybe there is something to youth and strong legs after all.
Monday, March 10, 2014
2014 Iditarod--The End is in Sight
Those of you who have followed me know that I am an avid follower of the Iditarod sled dog race in Alaska. I have been enthralled for the past week following the various mushers and their dogs across 1000 miles of frozen trails. Thanks to the Internet, I can follow from my kitchen table with instant GPS tracking, video interviews at the rest stops, streams of written articles, and more statistical information than I can possibly interpret. I feel like I am cheering on old friends as the familiar names march across my screen.
This year's leaders are fast approaching the end of the race as they close in on the finish in Nome. With only about 80 miles left to cover, the world is waiting to see which team will cross the finish line first. Unlike most sports the competitors are not all under the age of 30. In fact, age has it's definite advantages in this sport, for it is a race demanding knowledge and wisdom as well as fitness and strength. Each racer (called mushers) will face 1000 miles of Alaskan terrain with only his abilities and his dogs. Speeding along for hours on end without seeing another human they will have only themselves to rely on as they deal with whatever the wilderness will throw at them.
This year the weird weather we have been experiencing has taken a toll on the Alaskan weather, too. The beginning of the race was over trails that were often rock and dirt rather than packed snow. This meant the sleds were being thrown from rut, to rock, to tree, to dip, to rut instead of gliding on a cushion of snow. The sleds survived but the mushers were a mass of bruises, sprains, and bangs. Several scratched due to the conditions. Later they faced snow that had melted and refrozen into sheets of ice, that made the hills and mountains into torturous toboggan runs. Rivers that normally would be frozen into flat roadways, had thawed and refrozen, creating piles of ice blocks that made for hazardous travel. Add to this temperatures that reached -40 degrees and fierce winds and you have a race to remember--if you survive.
The leaders at this point illustrate the value of experience as well as training and endurance. The lead is virtually tied at mile 891 where the three top competitors are checking in and resting at White Mountain, 77 miles from Nome. Ally Zirkle, 44 years old, is the only woman in the leaders, although far from the only woman in the race. Ally has come in second the last two years and has been a strong leader during the last part of the race. Virtually tied with her is Jeff King, who is 58, and is striving to win his fifth Iditarod. Coming on strong right behind them is Dallas Seavy, who at 26, is the youngest of the leaders. Dallas is hoping for a repeat of his 2012 win, when he became the youngest winner in the Iditarod history. Following him is his father, Mitch Seavy, aged 54, who won the race last year. Next is Martin Buser, 56, a four time winner, and Sonny Linder, 64, who finished 2nd in 1981. It fascinates me that in a world that worships youth and considers athletes to be "over-the-hill" by 40, this race that is a grueling physical and mental challenge should be dominated by those with some age and wisdom.
Just to clarify, this is the top six of 53 racers that are spread out over the course of the race, with 14 more that have already scratched. Men and women, young and old, all competing equally. The test being in their knowledge as a musher, the athletic abilities of their dogs, their fitness and strength, and their strategy for the race.
Another point to know, although Ally Zirkle is the only women in the leaders, should she win, she will not be the first. Libby Riddles won in 1985 and claims that honor. While Susan Butcher won a total of four times in 1986, 1987, 1988, and 1990.
The next few hours and 77 miles will see some real excitement as the leaders jockey for position and race for Nome.
This year's leaders are fast approaching the end of the race as they close in on the finish in Nome. With only about 80 miles left to cover, the world is waiting to see which team will cross the finish line first. Unlike most sports the competitors are not all under the age of 30. In fact, age has it's definite advantages in this sport, for it is a race demanding knowledge and wisdom as well as fitness and strength. Each racer (called mushers) will face 1000 miles of Alaskan terrain with only his abilities and his dogs. Speeding along for hours on end without seeing another human they will have only themselves to rely on as they deal with whatever the wilderness will throw at them.
This year the weird weather we have been experiencing has taken a toll on the Alaskan weather, too. The beginning of the race was over trails that were often rock and dirt rather than packed snow. This meant the sleds were being thrown from rut, to rock, to tree, to dip, to rut instead of gliding on a cushion of snow. The sleds survived but the mushers were a mass of bruises, sprains, and bangs. Several scratched due to the conditions. Later they faced snow that had melted and refrozen into sheets of ice, that made the hills and mountains into torturous toboggan runs. Rivers that normally would be frozen into flat roadways, had thawed and refrozen, creating piles of ice blocks that made for hazardous travel. Add to this temperatures that reached -40 degrees and fierce winds and you have a race to remember--if you survive.
The leaders at this point illustrate the value of experience as well as training and endurance. The lead is virtually tied at mile 891 where the three top competitors are checking in and resting at White Mountain, 77 miles from Nome. Ally Zirkle, 44 years old, is the only woman in the leaders, although far from the only woman in the race. Ally has come in second the last two years and has been a strong leader during the last part of the race. Virtually tied with her is Jeff King, who is 58, and is striving to win his fifth Iditarod. Coming on strong right behind them is Dallas Seavy, who at 26, is the youngest of the leaders. Dallas is hoping for a repeat of his 2012 win, when he became the youngest winner in the Iditarod history. Following him is his father, Mitch Seavy, aged 54, who won the race last year. Next is Martin Buser, 56, a four time winner, and Sonny Linder, 64, who finished 2nd in 1981. It fascinates me that in a world that worships youth and considers athletes to be "over-the-hill" by 40, this race that is a grueling physical and mental challenge should be dominated by those with some age and wisdom.
Just to clarify, this is the top six of 53 racers that are spread out over the course of the race, with 14 more that have already scratched. Men and women, young and old, all competing equally. The test being in their knowledge as a musher, the athletic abilities of their dogs, their fitness and strength, and their strategy for the race.
Another point to know, although Ally Zirkle is the only women in the leaders, should she win, she will not be the first. Libby Riddles won in 1985 and claims that honor. While Susan Butcher won a total of four times in 1986, 1987, 1988, and 1990.
The next few hours and 77 miles will see some real excitement as the leaders jockey for position and race for Nome.
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