Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Nancy climbs into the basket, Carl onto the treads in back of her. Carl pulls the ice an-
chor and the dogs take off as if they have been shot out of a cannon. We run to the top of
the hill just in time to see the the team disappear around a curve, dark figures against the
white snow.
Nancy is red-cheeked and laughing on the treads with Carl in the basket on their return.
Susie's next. Again, the team flashes out of sight, plumed tails up, tongues hanging over
their shoulders, and although Susie comes back in the basket, she's got a big grin all over
her face.
I climb in and we're off.
What neither Nancy nor Susie has told me is that once down the hill, Carl wants to
trade places. With the dogs still moving. The basket is shaped so that the rider sits on the
small of her back, so it's not easy to lever oneself up. I start laughing, which doesn't help,
but I manage, finally, to gain my feet, turning so that I'm facing Carl, swing one leg over
the side and put a foot on the now vacant runner while he balances on the opposite runner.
I bring my second leg over and he hops into the basket. I plant myself on both runners and
cement my hands to the handlebar. The dogs, of course, haven't even looked around.
The snow shushes beneath us, the trees flash by, the sun beats down. It is absolutely si-
lent and still but for the padding of the dogs' paws on the snow. I am mushing.
“I can't believe I'm doing this,” I say.
Carl laughs. He's heard that before.
I lean into the turns, shifting my body weight from one runner to another, and miracu-
lously, we turn like we're supposed to. This isn't hard, this is fun! Then, as we come
around the last turn, just before the lake gives way to the rise up to the dog lot, the dogs
catch wind of home and lunch and take off. Immersed in a dream of gliding beneath the
burlwood arch in Nome, I am jolted loose, to sail through the air in a perfect parabola. I
miss the trunk of a spruce tree by inches and plow headfirst into the snow.
Yes, I have let go of the sled. The sled continues on without me. “Come on, Dana!”
Carl yells, “hurry up!” but he's laughing so hard he can barely speak. The trails are
packed for dogs and sleds, not hikers, and the snow gives way at every step. I, weighted
down by parka and boots, not to mention a snootful of snow, am not exactly moving fast,
but finally Carl manages to slow down the team and I catch up and hop back on board.
