Iditarod 2010, Part V

Sunday.
Today is the race "restart" in Willow. After the hooplah of Saturday's ceremonial start in Anchorage, the Willow restart feels more like going to a rodeo.
My mom is having a meltdown in the basement, overwhelmed by the organizational nightmare of packing for Iditarod. I am pushing my crisis management skills to their limits to stay serene and be helpful without getting in the way.

***

I feel more and more nervous as it grows nearer to my mother's turn to ride out into the chute. Finally, when it's time, I ride standing on one runner of her sled all the way to the "Start" banner.

I feel dazed after she leaves.

Iditarod 2010, Part IV

KTUU-TV in Anchorage covered my mother's story! Enjoy, as I put the finishing touches on the next few posts.



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Iditarod 2010, Part III

Look, a frog! Each musher has an 'Iditarider' who pays to ride in their sled for the first 17 miles.

Saturday.
Official race start in Anchorage. It's a big deal. Wearing my "Musher Handler 2010" arm band lets me wander freely past the fences holding back spectators, of which there are many:

Here's my mom, coffee cup in hand, as she readies herself for the big time:

And this is what she's worked all these years to see:

Iditarod 2010, Part II

Our table at the Iditarod Mushers' Banquet. From the left, you see Caleb, Andrew, Sarah, and Laura.

A few days before every race, there is a Mushers' Banquet in Anchorage. It was surreal. The banquet was in a huge convention center, filled with tables and people. One of my mother's favorite musicians, Hobo Jim, was strumming away on his guitar. Hobo Jim holds an honored spot among the very small number of CDs that my mother regularly plays in her truck, so I am well-acquainted with the man's music.

ExxonMobil, a sponsor of the Iditarod

See those ExxonMobil bags? Inside each one is an Iditarod 2010 poster.
My mom wanted her poster autographed by every musher, so she assigned the project to my sister and me. Like a brother-sister con act, I identified the easy marks (that is, mushers I recognized), then my sister would swoop in for the kill (that is, ask them for their autograph). Sadly, the mushers usually seemed to be shoveling steak into their mouths just as we arrived to coax an autograph out of them. Nevertheless, we got a nice handful of celebrity mushers to sign my mom's poster: mission accomplished.