You're going where? When? WHY?

Most people don’t journey to Fairbanks, Alaska, in February.

“Doesn’t it get cold there?”  Yes, it does. There’s potential for mind-numbing cold sometimes down to -50F.

“Aren’t the days really short?”  Well, yeah. Sunrise is around 9 am; sunset about 4:30 pm. That’s not so bad.

“Why don’t you go to the Caribbean?”  Because they don’t dog sled in the Caribbean (except for the Newton Marshall/Jimmy Buffet collaboration, but that’s a story for another time).

The minute I mention dog mushing, the next question always seems to be “how did YOU--a California native raised in the perpetual sun of northern San Diego County--get interested in dogsledding?”

Honestly, it’s Susan Butcher’s fault. Many years ago, must have been the late ‘80’s or early ‘90’s, I saw a news clip on CBS Sunday Morning about this woman who took a team of dogs into the Alaska wilderness to compete in a 1,000-mile race. What’s not to like about that scenario? After all, remember that my life’s ambition, never realized, has been to be a hermit. Being alone in the Alaskan bush with 16 of my best canine friends. What a picture that painted in my mind.

I have followed the Iditarod for years, especially when I discovered that one could be an “armchair musher” via the Internet. It’s virtually(!) the only way to follow the race in real-time. I watched in awe as Lance Mackey  won the 2007 and 2008 races. Never mind that the finish took place during working hours. I have always been blessed with understanding employers who acknowledge and allow peeks at the race trackers and webcams during race season, especially as the first-place finisher arrives.

In 2011 I fell in love for real with another race:  The Yukon Quest. It’s also 1,000 miles, but those in the know have said it’s the hardest dogsled race in the world. Its start alternates between Fairbanks, AK (in even years) and Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, Canada (odd years).

One of the best articles I’ve read on the Yukon Quest appeared in the US edition of The Guardian newspaper:  Yukon Quest: 14 sled dogs, 4 mountain ranges, 1,000 miles – and total devotion . It explains the call of the race better than anything else I’ve ever read.

Although I’d given up hope of ever seeing Alaska again after the trip to the Iditarod in 2013, which was both awesome and awful, I secretly harbored the bucket-list wish to be present for either the start or the finish of the Yukon Quest. Let’s be real here. Someday I’d really like to do the whole trail, which can be done by car with the exception of the Eagle, AK, checkpoint.

After losing 60+ pounds, regaining lost strength and mobility and focusing for the first time in a long time on what really means the most to me, I decided to give it a go.

Next inevitable question:  “Who are you going with?”  I’m going alone, but I’m meeting friends who I’ve never met in person before.

The armchair mushing community is huge and comprises people who either participate in dogsledding or follow it as I do. I have Facebook friends from around the world:  Canada, Ireland, Austria, Switzerland, South Africa, Australia, Norway, Finland, Britain and throughout the United States. My FB friends list numbers 512 today; of those probably 400+ are friends because of dogsledding.

I was going to meet a small portion of those friends, pulled together through our love of mushing and our support of Brent Sass of Wild & Free Mushing, as members of The Bears Den Fan Club of Wild & Free Mushing.

The trip started in a most auspicious manner. For the first time ever, I prepared for airport security carefully, making sure to wear slip-on shoes, carry just the right things in the right places for quicker processing. And for the first time ever, I was “pre-checked” and didn’t have more than a cursory TSA screening. Nice. I could get used to this.

My beading station at SEATAC

The flight to Seattle was a breeze. Even the 4-hour layover wasn’t too bad. I ate lunch, found a table near my Fairbanks departure gate and pulled out some beading to while away the time.

As the time got close to board the plane, I noticed a fellow who looked familiar. He actually looked like an acquaintance from home who occasionally travels to Alaska as part of a TV show he and his brother produce, but I knew he wasn’t scheduled to fly north. Still the fellow looked familiar.

I boarded the plane, took my seat and waited. Suddenly this familiar face starts to pass by.

“Judi, is that you? I’m Josh Horst . . .”

He was one of Brent’s handlers who I’d met at Iditarod 2013, and I realized exactly who he was the minute he started to speak and why he’d looked so familiar standing among the airport crowds.

What a great way to begin the Alaskan adventure.