This is why I own a very fast car, but never push the limits unless I’m by myself. My goal in pushing the limits is not to draw attention, or show off. The truth is speed is where I find the freedom. Flirting with being out of control. A mix of fear and elation.

This is also why I never really plan on going on wild and crazy vacations, but somehow find myself in a foreign place several times a year. Often without a plan. Throwing myself into potentially difficult situations has led me to a basic faith that I will find the good in strangers. There have been times this has burned me. Without it, however, I never would have found the amazing friends I have all over the world.

When does the running stop? I have come to the conclusion that running is not a solution. But a very good distraction. Do I run until I am broke and running is no longer an option? Or, do I burden myself with debt so that I am chained to a job, and a city. Maybe there is no easy solution.

All I know is I want to run NOW. Blindly run. Trusting that wherever I run I will witness something amazing. Not knowing what it might be.

We wound our way out and down the power lines. The same trail that will be our first and last 8 miles of every run. The trail has gotten a lot more snow, making it a much smoother ride. Wind has blown a lot of the snow off the rivers, and swamps. Bare ice isn’t all too difficult to navigate. It is disconcerting the first couple times you drop down onto a river and the sled slides all over the place. The drag pad is key, the steel brake is useless, and out-rigging has an entirely different effect than on snow.

We took a new trail for the last 8 miles or so. It was nice to get off the same old beaten path. As we reached our 30 mile mark we started looking for a good place to stop. This is when I realized my headlamp wasn’t on my head. Fantastic. I was 30 miles from home. We were just setting up camp, and it would be dark when we got up to head home. Fortunately, the nights have been clear and the moon bright.

The ride home was uneventful. Dark. All said and done it was kind of nice. It is amazing how different the same stretch of trail looks with only moonlight.

We loaded up the dogs and prepared for the short drive to the track. Its only about a mile and a half from the house but there are no trails cut in to get there. After arriving and preparing the teams we pulled the hooks and were off. The track was smooth and hard and even using the drag pad we were cruising along at 10.5-11 mph. A pretty good pace for a distance team.

The first loop was uneventful. Where we ran in to trouble was turning the teams around. After completing the first round we wanted to go another without the drag to see what we could do for speed. The problem is that the track is not designed to be run more than once, and has an in chute and an out chute. They run parallel. Matt pulled his team around and got them going the right way. At the moment I pulled the hook to follow him down the in chute I caught my foot in the steel brake. The dogs swung back towards the truck in the wrong direction. With my foot caught under the brake I was unable to stop them until we reached the truck. Finally I jerked my foot out from under the brake, snapping the crossbar completely in half.

Frustrated by the whole thing, I swung the team back around and down the in chute. I pulled the hooks and off we went, the two halves of my brake dragging up under my sled. As we were flying down the track I tied the pieces of brake up as best I could. Sprint Mushers aren’t big fans of people tearing up their track.

The second lap we picked up a little speed and averaged about twelve mph. Our fastest run to date. All the dogs did really well. Makes me hopeful for the race. Although to do well we will have to keep a twelve mph pace for 44 miles, two days in a row.

I have run dogs for five years. In my first interview I was told there is only one rule, never let go. In all those years I have never let go. At times I have left my sled. In the event that I step off the sled I always stand in a protected position. Meaning if the dogs were to pull the hook the sled would pass me and I could jump on.

Thursday it happened. For the first time in five years I lost a team. I was standing in deep powder. Halfway up in the team I was pulling the dogs over to the trail from our road crossing. They swung to the trail and I let go of the gang line. The second I let go I realized my position. The dogs swung back to the road. I jumped with everything I had in me towards the sled, at the same moment the team popped both hooks and were off down the plowed road.

The chase was on. Running after them in Northern outfitters gear was no easy chore. Think about having a dozen down pillows fastened to your entire body, including feet. In the seconds following the loss of a team many things go through your head. Most notably how incredibly screwed you are. That feeling is only amplified when you are sprinting after a team of dogs and look up realizing they are traveling easily three times your speed. As they rip the sled into the distance its easy to wonder how you will ever get out of the situation you find yourself in.

Right about then a grey pickup rounded the corner. A middle aged gentleman smoking a cigarette pulled over noticing me sprinting down the road shedding my gear, miles from anywhere. Quite a sight I’m sure. He said “was that your team back there?” “yes” I replied out of breath. “I thought they were just going for a little run.” wow….” ya, I guess they decided I wasn’t going fast enough. Mind giving me a ride?”

I jumped in his car and we turned around. As we sped down the road I began to wonder if they stayed on the road. I could clearly make out a drag mark where the snow hook had been bouncing along behind the sled. We followed it. When we finally caught them they had gone about three miles. The sled was still upright. The hook was caught under the runner creating a little drag. The drag kept the team in a perfect line. I had my friend in the truck nose toward the bank to slow them down a bit and then I jumped from the passenger seat into the team. In retrospect there may have been easier ways. One can never think clearly in these situations.

The team was stopped. I turned them around and drove them back to the trail head. In a persons life they may lose a team. That will be all it takes.

The new portion wasn’t too bad at the start. I was tense waiting for the technical parts. It got a little rough. Mostly due to lack of snow in the wooded areas. And then there were moguls. For lack of a better word. Not moguls like you might find on a ski run. These were up and down 3-4 feet. Which makes for a pretty dramatic sled ride.

The last mogul put us out on a frozen river. Crossing a frozen river in itself isn’t too bad. Without snow pack they can be slick, but doable. they really get tricky when you add jumbled ice. This is what happens when the ice breaks up and refreezes jutting up into the air. Mostly the ice sticks up a foot or two. The tricky part is trying to control the speed over the ice to prevent injury to the dogs. Getting up the opposite bank required crossing a substantial block of jumbled ice followed almost immediately by another mogul.

Fortunately that was it for “technical parts.”

Anticipation is a killer. If you find yourself in a tricky section of trail navigating it comes down to balance, and focus. And of course the limitations of the equipment, but you would be surprised what you can do with an 8 ft. sled. At any rate, the anticipation of problems can make a run much more difficult than it needs to be.

The rest of the run was smooth as can be. Forty miles, in roughly four hours. I think that puts us right on par.

We hooked up the dogs, taking relatively small teams, and hit the trail. It was to be a short brisk run as the dogs had a few days off, and we wanted to give them a quickie. The sleds we were running were lightweight, and very different from sleds I have run in the past. Most of my sled time has been spent on heavy duty sleds that have been likened to a tank. Steering required a lot of out-rigging, and weight shifting. These sleds were designed to steer easily with the handlebar and some small weight shifting.

We made it about halfway, and then trouble hit. Stupid trouble. The kind that makes you laugh because it shouldn’t happen. The sled ran up on the side of the trail, I shifted my weight. In a split second I was on my side dragging behind the sled. I found the hook, got the team stopped, tipped the sled upright, and pulled the hook. I shot to the other side of the narrow trail and again found myself dragging behind the sled. The process repeated itself four times. Finally, I got the hang of this new sled.

I escaped the first run with the skin chewed off my knuckles and some scrapes up my arms from dragging. All in all not to bad.