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"Let’s Go, Let’s Go, Let’s Go!!!"

The Ceremonial Start in Anchorage

by June Price

03/06/2005

Although this isn’t my first Iditarod, it was still a rush to be on 4th Avenue as the clock is ticking down to the beginning of Iditarod 2005. For most, the day begins early, very early, however. After grabbing a rousing four hours of sleep the night before, 6:30 a.m. came much too early but like most fans, I somehow got up, got dressed and found my way downtown. Now, true, I was sleepy and so were many of the early arrivals but we simply yawned in people’s faces all morning, determined not to miss anything. By race time, however, the rush had taken over and you suddenly realize, "I’m awake! Let’s go!"

The morning of the ceremonial start is an interesting one to watch develop. The night before, of course, they prepare 4th Avenue for the snow that will be hauled in for the start. Given its importance, one might think it’d arrive in gilded trucks but what you begin to see is a parade of slow moving dump trucks, each fully loaded with snow. After the race, their path is reversed as the snow is plowed up and carried away. Webbed, orange fencing is stretched along the street and you’ll spy paper plates with numbers written on them being tacked up at regular intervals along both 4th Avenue and some side streets. These are to mark the spot the musher with the corresponding bib number must park.

Just as on the trail, snow conditions on the street tend to vary from year to year. Today’s snow was, well, not packed. Early arrivals could see tire tracks wobbling in the snow as mushers worked to get their vehicles in place. Later in the day, I overheard one musher yelling to another, "How many people did it take to get you unstuck?" Five! I think it’s fair to say, however, that this musher truck probably wasn’t the only one needing help to get off 4th Avenue after its musher had left.

So, what is it like to be on 4th Avenue?

That’s just about an impossible question to answer. Given the size of the staging area and different levels of experience and connections to the race, it would probably be fair to say each fan’s experience is unique. For the new fan experiencing their first Iditarod, it’s often a case of sensory overload. You can hear the dogs barking from blocks away and almost instinctively you quicken your pace, not wanting to miss one moment. For a brief time on the morning of the start, anyone can get out onto 4th Avenue and walk up and down the street, snapping photos, grabbing autographs, or simply gawking. This is prime viewing time for most and the street quickly becomes crowed. If you get bored with the street, the street is lines with a series of fascinating shops, too, so you’re constantly being bombarded with fascinating sounds and colors, not to mention some of the most amazing fur-wear you can imagine. From fur coats and ruffs to some rather unusual head gear, furs are common in Alaska and offer some interesting viewing to those from warmer climates, especially first time visitors.

Other fans, those who’ve been to the race before, not only may be wearing their own fur items, often a parka ruff, but may see the race through different ways. While not all fans move on to become volunteers, many do. They’re the ones you’ll see wearing arms bands that indicate their handling or doing security or one of the many other jobs that pops up. In fact, many return to the same job and even spot on the street every year. A friend, Julie, greeted me today as I entered the street at 4th and G today, her usual spot. Julie’s also been known to show up working as a handler or in Nome, so you just never know where experienced fans might turn up.

The truth of the matter is that the race wouldn’t happen without these volunteers, so they’re a treasured commodity in the Iditarod community. Some, such as Julie, even strike up friendships with mushers over the years. In fact, a dog on Aliy Zirkle’s team comes from Julie’s kennel and I’m still jealous that Julie was out sledding with Aliy yesterday while I was working. Others were downtown visiting Jeff and Donna Gates King at the Aurora Gallery where the Kings host a meet and greet while Donna’s artwork is showcased. One of the things that most amazes me is how they remember the names of fans they only meet at race time but they do, as do many mushers. You may not get to go sledding with Aliy but, wow, what a heady feeling to be greeted by name after a few visits.

Interestingly enough, once these volunteers have the dog trucks in and the fans begin arriving, for at least a short period of time, it seems as if nothing is happening. Dogs are still snoozing in their dog boxes and even the mushers may have gone missing. That can probably be easily explained. Why cook breakfast when you can walk across the street and have breakfast in town? Who knows, you might find yourself having breakfast in the same room as a musher or two. I did, wandering into a downtown deli this morning to see Karen Ramstead at a front table. We waved and kept moving, knowing Karen had better things to do than talk to us but, still, another fun experience.

If there was anything that wasn’t fun this year, it was walking on the street itself. Most years the snow is punchy but only in spots. This year it was soft and extremely difficult to walk in. It took me an entire ten seconds of walking up the street to decide, one, that I was glad I hadn’t offered to handle for anyone this year and, two, that I’d be in search of the sidewalk more often than not. It seemed bizarre to be thinking how lucky those with a nice, clear sidewalk to walk on where while they were envying those of us able to freely walk the street but that was the case this year.

In fact, those working as handlers today should get medals. As I said, the snow was very powdery and you just sunk every step. Just walking up the street was a challenge. Add to that the task of seeing to several energetic huskies while moving at a fast pace and it should be self-explanatory why many of us were hiding behind our cameras or other chores today. I might point out, too, that while the handlers who work for one musher only make that trip up 4th Avenue once, those volunteering for this task do it repeatedly. My hat is off to them.

If the handlers job is important, so, too, is that of those who organize the logistics of the race. Teams leave the starting line at two minute intervals. That’s the easy part. The hard part is getting the team there. Again, the volunteers are the key. Mushers have already been given a predicted, individual start time. As a result, they know they have to have the dogs out of the dog boxes and harnessed by a specific time. The next step can be a big more difficult, however. You have to move that team up a crowded street, past other dog teams and trucks and get them into position to leave the starting line at their assigned time. Look around and you’ll see any number of race officials, veterinarians and teams of family and friends that surround each musher and make sure it happens.

As a result, a steady parade of dog teams makes its way up 4th Avenue, only to be stopped just short of the line. The time works such that unless you’re the first musher out, you’re watching another team leave. Your dogs are leaping in the air, barking frantically and, in general, vocalizing their displeasure with this "hurry up and wait" attitude shown by the humans about them. Organization wise, the teams with the higher number are parked closest to the start line. This means, if there are eighty mushers, those teams are passed by every musher with a bib number higher than they drew. This allows the dog trucks of the mushers with lower numbers to pull out unimpeded and safely to go retrieve their mushers at the designated spot. From an organizational standpoint, it makes sense. Try telling that to a run crazy husky, however.

One increasing common sight on 4th Avenue is the presence of the media. While it’s sometimes difficult to tell media persons from fans on first glance, they’re the ones working. Interviews can be spied going on as you walk casually up and down the street. Of course, media types aren’t the only ones walking around with cameras. The closer you wander toward the starting line, the more cameras you’re likely to hear clicking and whirling, my own among them.

"Who was that?" is a common question, I might note. When I first began to attend the race, I was embarrassed not to recognize the mushers. Not to worry. Put most folks in layers of winter wear and they become indistinguishable. It’s the same with the mushers. Knowing bib numbers if vital to most. As a result, over the years, fans have learned the value of snagging a copy of the Anchorage Daily News before heading out for the start of the race. It offers a photo spread of all the mushers and their bib numbers and it’s common to see it clutched in hands as you pass. If all else fails, just as with the banquet, if you see a crowd forming, that musher is usually "someone." Click away, making sure you get the bib number in a photo and you can always go back and identify them later.

I did something this year I’d never done before. As much as I like to see every musher off the street, I left early to head out to the spot where the mushers were to come in with their Idita-Riders. I have to admit, however, it would have been much easier had I really known where I was going.

"Follow the dog trucks," a musher friend suggested, however, looking at me like I’d suddenly gotten exceptionally dense. It seemed an obvious solution except for one small problem. Dog trucks are not an uncommon sight in Alaska, even urban Anchorage. As a result, when we pulled out of town and headed in the general direction of the drop off point, we were not only looking for a dog truck going that same direction but one that looked familiar to us. Actually, it brought back old memories of looking for the restart area one year with a long time volunteer friend at the wheel. She simply fell in behind Mitch Seavey's truck and literally followed Mitch into the parking area. Fortunately, the dog truck we picked turned out to be a great "lead truck." Otherwise, who knows where we could have wound up had it not been an Idita-musher truck?

Having seen this aspect of the start only this year, it’s difficult to know what is unique to this year and what isn’t. We saw quite a few teams coming in, ranging from rookies to the likes of Doug Swingley and Robert Sorlie. Volunteers were on hand to guide teams to their home truck, which had hopefully arrived. John Baker’s team was impressive here. While many teams seemed confused and tended to go in several different directions at once, John’s team snapped to it like well trained solders when he waved away help and took them through a crowd of spectators with uttered gees and haws.

Whether as efficient as John’s team or not, each team eventually made its way to its truck where it was usually at least watered or given what I can only call a kind of dog soup. Most of the mushers indicated the run had been warm and many stopped to allow their dogs to roll in the snow. Ironic, isn’t it? We tend to think of severe cold being the most pressing danger in the Iditarod whereas, as often as not, the warm is just as much of a problem. Of course, today was just for fun. Tomorrow it begins for real.