Journals

'05 Sled Dog Training

This Journal is an extension of the book, Following My Father's Dreams by James and Christopher.  Enjoy! ************************************************************ 

23 June 2004:  I entered Iditarod 2005 today.  Now I have to find a way to make it happen.  The costs of '04 Iditarod decimated my budget.  I have to find supporters who are willing to team with us and can meet their business objectives by doing so.

 July 23, 2004:  All the Christmas trees are pruned, a great relief.  So I’ve turned my thoughts to gathering the learning from ’04 Iditarod to apply to the success of the upcoming Iditarod.  The key elements revolve around dogs and money.

 The dog team I ran in ’04 Iditarod was great.  They were tough, both mentally and physically, and went the distance with ease even underweight.  They carried me through the rough Alaska Range with only dropping Peg to what may have been triggered by an abscessed tooth.  It was a big accomplishment for a team, trained and selected by a rookie to arrive with a healthy musher, an intact sled and large healthy team at Nikolia.  I credit the dogs for the most of that milestone, but it is evidence that I have learned significantly too.  The team and I have demonstrated a solid capability.  I want to build on it.

 Thinking about the ’05 team, the dogs will all be a year older but I have in the kennel another seven dogs that are 2 and 3 year old and could have run last year.  I will have no shortage of tough, experienced dogs to blend with the youthful ones.  I’d place the ’05 team capability easily in the middle of the pack, no less.  On a good run they can get close to a top 20.  On a bad run; No let’s not go there.  I believe we’ll have a stronger team in ’05.

 Just as the dogs are a resource, money is an important resource and necessary to a successful effort. The family is starting to feel the pinch of college. Chris is starting this fall.  Whit is 3 years away.  The bottom line is we need to find supporters and sponsors to help us shoulder the burden. 

 The Musher will be ready.  I am working through an intensive physical therapy program.  I had only 45% of the strength in my right leg even weeks after the injury.  But the plan is to be in top shape before training begins and improve from there.  It is a lot of work but much better than running a dog team across Alaska when in agony.

 I got an email claiming Joe Redington, the Father of Iditarod, is the only musher that was older than I as a rookie.  I’ll have to verify that claim. 

 So the pieces are coming together.  I am getting excited to get on with fall training. In fact, I can hardly wait!  

 16 August 2004:  The family, wife Jennifer, son Chris, 18 and daughter Whitney, 15, along with 20 of the youngest dogs, are at Sled Dog Lodge for the week.  It is time for family vacation; a time to enjoy the companionship with each other, and maybe work together at some cabin projects.  Then at the end of the week, Christopher will drive away to Michigan Technological University to begin his studies in Civil Engineering.  An era is ending for the Warren family.  It is a bitter sweet change.   

 Jennifer is struggling, actually hurting, with the thought of Chris leaving for college.  Her boy has been the light of her life; someone she could count on in the ups and downs of daily life. Even at his young age, he was someone she could draw on for emotional support. Things were always better when Chris was there.  They really were.

 Whitney is like most younger siblings in that she has taken over the big bedroom at home, and mostly ignores the parental warnings of having some ’big shoes to fill’. 

 For me, it is different.  I know I will miss his physical strength and stamina on the tree farm plus his intellectual stimulation.  But I look forward to celebrating his success in his personal growth and his expanding ability to financially contribute to his own dreams.  I view him as having contributed well to his family while growing up and has earned academically the right to move on.  He is ready; it is time; Dad is proud of him.

 But I just don’t share the sense of separation loss that Jennifer is feeling.  Maybe it is because I have been though the valley in a sense that Jennifer has never had to face.  I know it changed me.

 It happened when son Chris was 10 months old.  I left for a week of deer hunting in Michigan’s UP.  Jennifer flew in from a business trip from Chicago, picked up Chris at the Day Care Center and went home feeling ill.  Two days later, a couple from the church whom we didn’t know came to the house to drop off a pledge envelope.  They found an unconscious woman and a baby crying, unattended.  The medical diagnosis was ominous:  Bacterial meningitis. 

 I arrived at the hospital to find Jennifer in the Intensive Care Unit.  The Neurologists, Dr. Kaul gave me the party line news.  After I pressed him he finally gave me the hard facts.  In his 21 years of practice he’d never had anyone survive with her level of progression of the disease.  His weak comfort to me was that if she did live she’d be mentally retarded, blind, and likely not be able to speak or walk.  As I sat alone in the ICU, holding her hand, I struggled with the impending loss.   She was the love of my life, the mother of my son.  Reluctantly, and with no alternative I gave in to the inevitable.  I emotionally experienced the agony of separation; permanent separation; her death.  But it didn’t end there.

 She had been unconscious for 3 days but occasionally would make incoherent voice sounds with no words or sounds that made sense.  Her movements were random, no coordination.  Our only contact was when I withdrew my hand from hers she was visibly agitated. The ICU monitors were keeping track of her vital signs and were ready to sound an alarm if the emergency crew was needed.

 Suddenly she sat-up!  With hoses and wires attached she looked at the empty doorway and spoke clearly and emphatically.  “No, I am not going with you!  I still have things to do here.”  I was stunned.  I stared in disbelief at the empty doorway.  I could see no one.  She continued.  “Now go away!”  She lay back on the bed.  I was spooked!  It was as if she was talking to angels who were there to take her away.  Was I the unwitting spectator to an exchange between earthly and heavenly beings?  My wide eyed consternation was short lived.  The heart monitor triggered the alarm.  The end was near.  The ICU staff asked me to go the hallway while they went to work on resuscitation.  Alone, I paced in the hallway.

 Out of nowhere, Dr. Kaul was walking beside me.  He explained he had a special medicine that he wanted to use but needed my special approval because there were risks.  I had to make a decision very soon, because time was critical.

I couldn’t believe he would ask such a silly question.  His earlier picture was of alternatives that ranged from bad to worse.  Death was the best of the alternatives.  Why in the world would one consider giving a medicine that may improve chances of the worst alternative?  I pressed him with a lot of direct questions.  Finally, with the issues totally beyond my feeble mind, I looked him straight in the eye and asked him, “What would you do?”  I will never forget his response.  In his Indian accent he said quietly, “While there is life there is hope, I’d give it (the medicine)”.  I approved.  Things got worse.

 She stabilized.  But the reality began sinking in.  There was no reason to think her brain damage would not result in the awful scenario of mental retardation and all the rest.  I sat in the hospital thinking that in my haste to preserve life I had done the greatest disservice possible to someone I loved so dearly.  Her early improvements only served to confirm my greatest fears.  She babbled but used no words.  Movements were erratic.  From all appearances I had made an awful mistake by approving the medicine.  I cannot come close to describing my despair.

 But, a few words returned.  Not sentences, just random words.  Then some show of emotion; crying when I left and relaxation and sleep when I returned.  Then more encouraging signs: some words with meaning.  I thought it would help if I brought our 10 month old son Chris to see her. I stood him on the end of her bed and called to her.  She looked at him with no recognition showing and asked, “Who is this?”  A heavy silence followed.  Chris, who had been jumping with joy to see his Mom, spun around and pulled his little body close to me, recoiling from the rejection.  I explained to Jennifer this was her son Chris.  She was confused and didn’t understand.  It was clear that she didn’t recognize Chris or know she even had a son.

 Over the next weeks her recovery was remarkable, maybe even miraculous. Her recovery was even noted in Medical Journals.  But life like it was before meningitis was forever gone for her.  With a lot of work, patience, and frustration she worked her way back to a new life.  She lost all her emotional memory, plus much more.   She was like a person who fell asleep reading a book about a husband, a wife and a baby and upon awaking found she was the woman in the book and now had a husband and baby that she really didn’t have any emotional connections with.  Through the frustrations she did a remarkable job of rebuilding her life.

 Although a Chemical Engineer by degree with 5 years of experience in product development at a fortune 500 company, she had to shift jobs to help in the rebuilding of her professional momentum.  She took an assignment as Computer Systems Support in the Law Department.  Things went well and soon the company offered to sponsor her in going back to school to get a law degree.  Our second child, Whitney was only weeks old.  But the biggest problem was that she couldn’t read beyond a 5^th grade level.  She’d never told anyone but me.  She embarked on a secret 2 year self improvement program to relearn to read at a level needed as a law student.

  She worked like a demon.  Finally with great apprehension she took the LSAT which is an entry screen for law school admissions.  She did pretty well and was admitted to a couple of law schools. 

 She then accepted the company offer of sponsorship and made plans to attend law school at Wayne State University.  I was to stay at home with 2 small children and a full time day job while Jennifer lived 2 hours away at school.  With apprehension she began Law School in the summer, still unsure her newly developed reading skills were adequate to get her through.  They were!  She got an A+.  After her first full semester with stunning grades she qualified for some of the best law schools in the country. She transferred to the University of Michigan Law School and graduated cum laude.  She then passed the US Patent Bar, State of Michigan Bar, and the Bar in a few other states for good measure.

 She had beaten the odds with the help of a miracle.  She is my hero and a tremendous role model in persistence and faith mixed with a lot of hard work.

So this story illustrate why my experience with separation loss is associated with a good out come.  I am happy for Chris and look forward to celebrating his successes with him.

September 30, 2004:  The training of Iditarod dogs at SledDog Lodge has settled into the normal routine.   Early morning before dawn is a time to work the computer and take care of correspondence.  By dawn, the dogs are watered.  Harnessing and hooking up for the run is a routine act.

After a short run the dogs are soon back resting in their own little house with their own food dish.  It is their home; their own space.  But I get little rest.  Traveling to get dog food, cutting their toe nails, vaccinations, scooping, and dozens of other things fill the day.  We are hoping to hire a handler to help this year.

 But I love my time with the dogs especially the time with them on the trail. The run through the cool forest trails is nothing but pure pleasure.  My favorite run is during the cool mornings along the shoreline of the big lake, Lake Superior.

The dogs are happy and free and enjoy their time together and with me.  I love the clean air, the dogs, the forest, and the freedom.  Freedom!  I am at peace.

October 4, 2004:  Just before dawn, when I stepped out the door onto the porch to pull on my dog cloths I was met by snow mixed with cold rain.  I quickly slammed the door and retreated to another warm cup of coffee.  There is nothing as bad a cold rain and snow.  The shower soon passed and was replaced with sunshine, typical lake effect weather here. The colors of the fall leaves were dazzling with the sparkle of water drops and melting snow.  I went to the dog yard and weathered the cycles of miserable interspersed with the greatest sights of fall sunshine you can find. 

The dogs were fired up.  They ran hard for the 5 miles.  Swen and Ernie ran in lead with Peg like veterans.  At 35 degrees and damp they were keeping cool and they had fun.  So did I. 

Over the weekend, wife Jennifer and 15 year old daughter Whitney met me and together we drove to Michigan Tech University to visit with Chris for the school’s family weekend.  It was a nice time and good to visit with Chris.  He is doing fine adjusting to University life.  But I am reminded of how we miss him at home.  I knew his contributions to the family were significant but now I better understand just how significant.

October 14, 2004:  I found out that the person coming to sit the cabin this weekend and feed dogs couldn’t make it.  After considering my options, I decided to load dogs and head for home, the Christmas Tree Farm. 

When I walked to the dog yard to scoop and water, I could tell there was something very wrong.  The dogs were nervous, many pacing, and most were quiet.  I saw some quick glances toward the far end of the dog yard.  I noticed Astro lying on his side with no movement.  He had been acting strangely; somewhat sick one day but ok the next.  But he had been running just fine.

 All eyes in the dog yard were watching as I knelt beside Astro.  It was an eerie silence.  As Fire Department Medical First Responder I had done many medical IPSs.  Astro was semi conscious; his vitals indicated he was in shock.  I found a big hard area in his gut.  He had a history of ingesting rocks.  I concluded he likely had an intestinal blockage and infection was overwhelming him.  His life was ebbing.  There was little that could be done in the time he had left.  Medical help was at least an hour away.

 Sad and sobered by the moment, I remained knelling in Astro’s area.  All the dogs were watching.  They seemed to know.   Beta was slowly pacing.  Brutus was peeking from behind his house.   Carter was standing motionless on top of his house.  Some of the younger dogs were watching the older dogs a little unsure of what was happening but reading the somber mood.

 Resigned to the inevitable, I scooped each dog area.  They kept nervously looking at Astro.  After scooping I checked him.  He had died.   I took him away and buried him.  The dogs were quietly almost reverently watching me through the trees.  It was a solemn time for the dogs. 

 It was hard for me to comprehend.  The dogs knew.  They were reverent and respectful of the passing of one of them.  I wouldn’t have believed it had I not been there.

 When I went back to the dog yard, I adjusted Siesta’s collar.  When released she did her typical Taz impersonation by jumping in the air while doing about 3 in-place spirals, then did it in reverse.  The dog yard erupted in barking and motion.  The funeral was over.

 October 26, 2004:  A living legend has fallen!  Beta.  A tangle during a training run resulted in a torn ligament: the muscle attachment of the Achilles tendon in his right rear leg. He will require surgery to repair with the chances low of returning to full athletic action.

 Beta was whelped at the kennel of Jeff King, of Denali, AK.  He and his siblings went on to develop an amazing reputation in some of the toughest races across Alaska and Canada.  Beta, specifically was mentioned by Jeff King in Mushing Magazine, (Date?) as a dog that would just not tire.  He seemed to have muscles of steel and the heart of a champion.  He won the top stud role in the kennel.

 After he ran several Iditarod runs with Jeff, we bought Beta along with a bitch already bred by him.  The litter born at Homestead Huskies kennel went on to have 3 Iditarod finishers for me in ’04; Hartley, Reba, and Stormy.

 But Beta is not a leader.  He is simply the best team dog I have ever seen.  His fame, because he is ONLY a team dog, is truly amazing.  Think of it as a pro football lineman named as MVP of the Superbowl.  It never happens.  It is the Quarterbacks, the Running Backs, or Receivers that get the attention.  So it is the way with team dogs too.

 Beta never picked a fight; he actually would turn away when threatened by a young feisty male.  Only when actually attacked would he respond but then with terrible savagery.  The fight only lasted seconds with the aggressor pinned on their back begging for mercy which he graciously granted.

 Jeff’s first words to me describing Beta’s demeanor was, “he is not a lover” which means he doesn’t need or want human attention such as petting or hugging.  It was very true.  But Jennifer took this as a challenge and in a few months found a sentimental side of Beta that had been well guarded.  He warmed to her but only her.  She became the big tough guy’s best friend.

 He pulled in harness the equivalent of four normal dogs.  Yes you could always tell when he was on the line. In typical Beta fashion, the tug was tight even for the mile home after the injury.        

 It has to be said, Beta was the dog who for thousands of miles, for many Iditarods, and for the last mile, did exactly what he was born to do. Beta did it better, much better, than any dog.

 It was my privilege to have run him.   I will remember Beta from the miles of training we shared, the races we ran, and Iditarod ’04.  I can say emphatically, “He always had a tight tug!”  Yes, his tug was always tight, very tight.  Even though a dog, he is a role model for many humans.

November 13, 2004:  Training is going well.  The kennel had been split into 3 teams of 9 dogs.  Each day I take two teams, a total of 18, and leave one team back resting.  This gives each dog a day off and two days running.  We are running about 25 miles each day.  Some days we run shorter, hard, and fast runs.  We try to find trails that have obstacles we can expect to see on Iditarod.  For example we have been running a trail with several long stretches of water over the trail.  It helps the dogs to get over their fear of water.  But it is frustrating untangling panicked dogs while standing in an icy water puddle.  But they harden mentally and physically to the rigors and learn to take care of themselves and me under difficult conditions.

 I think of the conditions we will face in Iditarod.  Artic travel with an Iditarod racing team requires an incredible amount of mental toughness of both the dogs and the driver.  But, no mater how much mental toughness you think you have, it isn’t enough.  The rough trail, the cold, and the fatigue, all sap your resources.  The artic charges a high toll.  When you have nothing left, it has no sympathy, it still takes it’s due.  You are operating at a deficit.  You see it in the slow speech, wasted motions and errors in judgment.  Your training and preplanning become crucial.

 I saw the importance of training during Iditarod ’04.  Fortunately I had practiced my checkpoint routine many times.  That carried me when I had no capacity to mentally deal with getting the team ready to leave the checkpoints.  I prepped to leave with little or no conscious thought; I don’t even remember leaving Ruby.

 So you can count on the training of the dogs and musher will be done well.  We will be ready to safely compete in one of the greatest challenges on the face of the planet.

November 19, 2004:  "I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet." -- Jack London

 My wife Jennifer sent me this ‘quote of the day’ in an email and said it reminded her of me; a compliment.  I remember reading this quote many years ago, and I liked it then too.  Only simple words on a page, but enough to take my mind racing back so many years, remembering the times when Dad tossed me books by Jack London with encouragement to read them.  Yes, a memory trip back to a different time, a good memory.  Thanks Jennifer.  This was better than a Christmas gift.

But all is not as I would have it.  Jennifer and I have decided to adjust Iditarod schedule from ’05 to ’06.  It will give me a little extra time at home to wear my Dad hat.  A brutal class schedule is taking a toll on Whitney, 15 and in 10^th grade and some extra support is in order. That is what Dads do and I am happy to have a daughter to support and encourage. 

So, I will re-order my schedule.  Training will remain about the same but this season we will run in several distance events in the lower 48.  It will be an opportunity to hone our competitive skills.  The new objective is a healthy and competitive dog team at the finish line in Nome, March of ’06.

November 30, 2004:  Last night I awoke with the knowledge that I had regained a piece of memory of the ’04 Iditarod race heretofore not available to me.  Now that is strange, real strange.  I had wondered both privately and openly about seemingly inconsistent facts.  Why had I run for 14 hours straight from Cripple to Ruby?  It was only 65 miles.  It just didn’t make sense.

 My race plan called for a camp of 4-5 hours between Cripple and Ruby.  I had in my drop bags the needed dog food for the extra feeding and maybe one dog snack.  Depending on conditions on the trail I could have chosen to run straight through or to rest.  But, my memory did not include any stop.  But I did stop!  I now remember it in detail. 

 I stopped about 4 hours out of Cripple in a little wooded gully where the wind was blocked and the afternoon sun would help warm us.  I fed, and checked dog feet, then settled in for a nap on the sled.  My leg had been noticeably hurting more, and was throbbing with every heartbeat.  I assumed the swelling was getting worse or perhaps it was that I was taking no more pain meds.  So I planned to reverse my sleeping position on the sled and place my inured leg on the sled handlebar at a higher elevation than my head.  Now this is a goofy looking thing to do.

 I awakened when a snowmobile engine stopped alongside of us.  A man and a woman were sitting on the snowmobile just a few feet away curiously looking at me.  When I said this was the way I always sleep on the sled they just looked at each other and changed the subject.  I asked where they were going, knowing there was nothing for a hundred miles back up the trail?  They said they were going to Caribou camp to communicate with nature.  OK….that made as much sense as my comment.

 A half hour later a second snowmobile stopped, again curious.  This time it was a man and a teenage boy looking for a man and a woman.   The man said his son had run off with the wife of a village man.  He hoped to find them and return the woman before there was trouble.  I told him what I had learned earlier.  He roared off.

 An hour later the two snowmobiles drove by in the opposite direction and waved happily.  It seemed like a soap opera scene, Alaskan style.  But it was time for us to move on.  There were serious hills to climb before Ruby and I was in no shape to enjoy them.

 But, this very clear memory had been unavailable until last night.  I don’t understand.

December 4, 2004:  Far away from the dogs and the training trails near Sled Dog Lodge, I am in a different world.  It is the commercial world of selling choose-and-cut Christmas trees.  It is my farm, my trees, and my choice.  Hundreds of families come to search for their perfect tree to celebrate a special family time, a good time.  The fields are filled with happy voices and faces.  This is a heart warming time and I like it. 

But it is a lot of work.  I spend more hours working in a weekend than the local labor unions allow their members to spend in a week, before they get paid time and a half.  One person calculated I’d be paid more than 60 hours if I were a union member. Well I am not.

 I stopped and just stood still for a few minutes today in the tree field.  Happy voices were coming from all corners of the field.  But my mind was far away.  I thought of Alaska, the open country, the mountains, the eagles, and more.  The dreams of my father still live.  What is there about Alaska, the dogs, the Iditarod?

 I was amazed to learn how much media coverage there was on Iditarod ’04 that featured me.  I was even more amazed at how many people, hundreds, maybe thousands, who followed us all the way to Nome on the Iditarod web and our Warren Enterprises web.  We received several hundred emails. There were numerous newspaper articles.  Our tree customers by the dozens tell of following us. Of course being the oldest rookie didn’t hurt.  On the surface it might be easy to think this is all about me, but it isn’t.  It is much bigger.  I just happen to be a small part in something that captures human imagination, something that reaches into the heart and soul and touches us in ways we don’t understand.

 Yes, I am amazed at the media coverage we received, and I don’t understand why the ‘great land’ has such a great affect on some people; on me. 

January 22, 2005:  Between training runs at Sled Dog Lodge I am downstate at the Christmas tree farm taking care of business…. bills, budgets, sales  and income taxes, employee w-2s.  Outside the temperature is hanging at about 12 degrees with snow on a 30-40 mph wind.  As I watch the snow and wind outside the window of my home office, I hear the frantic weather broadcasters work themselves into a tizzy calling the weather vicious, dangerous, and more.  They make it sound like a national disaster. 

Actually, I am feeling a little warm and uncomfortable.  I am unused to spending this much time indoors.  I have acclimated to the cool weather with the dogs.  Outdoors is normal for me.  I feel crowded too, not enough space indoors.

This kind of weather on the Iditarod Trail would be thought of as a good day, maybe a little windy, but nobody would call it bad, or stormy.  In fact, this would be a toasty day, and considered pretty ‘good’.

I had a couple of runs in Iditarod ’04 where the winds were similar.  Coming out of Rohn as darkness fell it seemed a little cool.  Later I heard the temps were in the range of 40 below.  Then across the Norton Sound to Koyuk again at night it seemed cool, actually cold.  My sled thermometer had bottomed out at 30 below. I didn’t want to know what it really was, and I didn’t ask.  I can’t describe how vulnerable one feels crossing 50 miles of sea ice in the dark facing the wind and cold.  The lights of Koyuk were a very welcomed sight even though it took over 3 hours to arrive after spotting the lights.

It seems a little strange to get so worked up over weather like our broadcasters do.  Would you expect it to be cold and snow in winter?  Of course.  So, why all the drama?  On the trail you just deal with it.  Don’t misunderstand, the weather is a big factor.  You read it, adjust to it, fear it, plan for the worst and pray you don’t have to face it.  It can stop you in your tracks, it can kill you, and it will if you try to face it with your strength.  Your brain is your big advantage, smart decisions keep you alive.  

February 6, 2005: The Pellston Icebox Sled Dog Race was a bitter sweet day for the Warren family.  Whitney, age 15, left the start chute with a strong fast 8 dog team.  The snow spray from the sled brake almost masked her from sight as she entered the first turn into the pines.  I always say a little prayer for safety as my one of my family disappears from sight with a hard charging dog team.  Things can and do happen.  Jennifer left with her 6 dog team shortly after. 

I helped Ryan Finch and his 4-dog team get off.  He was running a new leader, Eore, one of our favorite dogs who had recently been purchased by Ryan’s Mom.

 I drove down to the spectator point at Douglas Lake.  I noticed a group of Fire Department EMS people walking around, some talking to Whitney.  Her dog team was tied off nearby. Whit looked a little dazed and I could tell from a distance she was hurting.

 She had flipped the sled at high speed as the trail came out of the woods to parallel a roadway, an asphalt roadway with no snow. The rocketing team pulled her down the roadway ripping away her clothing and tearing away flesh from her hips and legs.  She was forced to let go.  She was assisted in retrieving the team and was heading back along the roadway to re-enter the race trail.  Well, our dogs are taught to gee-over, run on the right side.  They did.  Back onto the roadway at full speed, maybe 20 MPH, they headed at a parked van.  At the last instant Whit had to jump, literally for her life.  Even more battered and bruised she was able to recover the team.  She went on, trying her best to drive a very strong and fast team through the woodland trail.  A few miles later she came to a dog-drop area and asked for help from an official.  Bleeding, bruised, and somewhat in shock, she gave up her team and scratched.  This was a tough decision knowing she was driving a team that could win.  Pain had taken its toll.

 She wasn’t amused when the she was told by the Firefighters who saw both the crashes they rated her a perfect 10.  She didn’t hear it but they also gave her a bonus 10 for guts and competitiveness when she got back on the sled and disappeared into the woods even though tattered, torn and bleeding.  Firefighters don’t give out very many 10s.  She convinced them she is one tough lady. 

 But she was hurting today as she went back to school.  The doctors have her on crutches and will re-evaluate the torn cartilage in her swollen and bruised knee at the end of the week. She has over a square foot of ‘road rash’… a very painful loss of skin.  She also has a 1 inch thick hemotoma on her thigh about 8 inches long.  Her elbow is swollen and bruised.  She has numerous other bruises.

 She took responsibility and called it driver error.  She tried to tell Hartley, one of our dogs named after her Grandfather, she was sorry but he had no sympathy and ungraciously turned his head and just looked the opposite way.  The message: If you are going to run with Hartley, you have to be ready to run with the BIG dogs.

 On the brighter side, Ryan Finch won his very first sled dog race.  Eore received hero treatment.  What a fortunate dog; boy.  Every dog should be so fortunate to have their own boy!

 Jennifer rested/cooled her dogs often in the 45 degree temperatures so she finished in the back of the pack.  She has now finished two events of over 25 miles, evidence she is toughening to the rigors of running a racing dog team.  We are proud of her.

Driving home from the doctors 24 hours after her injury, I told Whit, “If that had been Iditarod, by now you would have traveled another100 miles of trail!”  Not minimizing her suffering in any way, I saw displays of incredible intensity and examples of overcoming great adversity.  Herbie (Eskimo name; have to check spelling) said it so well after coming into Rohn in very bad shape, “I am hurt.  I am tired.  But we’ll figure out something.”  He went on, another 800 miles, to finish in the money.

Jim:  February 22, 2005:  The UP 200 Sled Dog Race is history!  Chris seemed to be a camera magnet and received much media attention.  ESPN sports channel covered the event selecting a few mushers to focus on, Chris was one of them.  Click for Article in Mining Journal.  His fans from Michigan Tech were there too.

The start is nothing short of spectacular.  There were thousands of people lining the street in downtown Marquette and it seemed they all had a camera when the flashes started.  With all the attention, Chris’ could hardly find a moment to help harnessing the team.  Finally, he and his team of 12 rocketed out of the start chute waving at the cheering crowd; a big rooster tail of snow coming off the sled brake as he tried futilely to slow the speed of the fired-up dogs.  This is a team that can run fast and far.  They were about to get plenty of both.

I was chaperoning the ESPN crew to prime photo locations along the trail.  We arrive at Sand River crossing just to see a dog team fly past.  The ESPN crew was amazed at how fast the dogs travel. I estimated for them a speed of 14-16 miles per hour.   I was pleased to find later it had been Chris’s team; really moving well.

Chris told me later the team was moving very fast but there were problems with the protective booties.  They failed completely with the dogs feet through the bottoms.  He had to stop twice and replace booties for the entire team costing about an hour.

His time into the Wetmore checkpoint was still respectable; actually it was great considering the delays for booties.  Wetmore is an unassisted checkpoint where the Musher does ALL the dog care.  I watched helplessly while Chris cared for his team.  He secured, snacked, pulled booties, started the cooker, dropped straw, fed, and bedded the team.  It was difficult for me, very difficult to just watch.  But his discipline and practice made it look easy.  Finally, he bedded down on the straw alongside of the dogs for a 2 hour nap.  It was 14 below zero but he didn’t seem to notice after running a fast, trail hardened team for 65 miles.

I returned at 5am to wake him but he already was tending the dogs.  I was encouraged by his enthusiasm at 5am and at 14 below.  The dogs left, running strongly, for Grand Marais on trails we have used for training. The dogs knew where they were going.

In the Grand Marais checkpoint, I waited until long after his targeted arrival time.  I began checking his time at incremental points and noticed the team had started strong but had slowed significantly.  Finally, he arrived with Falcon unhappily riding in the sled basket.  I was concerned.

I checked the dogs, first quickly, then in more detail while pumping question at Chris. They just didn’t look right to me, but I couldn’t find anything unusual.  Then as the Veterinarian was doing his check we noticed coughing, then more.  There were 5 dogs coughing at once.  Kennel Cough!  My heart sank knowing the flu like disease was likely going through the entire team.  Chris was in the check point getting a warm lunch.  I talked with the Vet looking for ways to manage the situation and still keep going.  It was not to be.  The best team I had ever trained, a team in its prime, a team that could go fast and far, was about to be withdrawn from competition for the good of the dogs.  This was not a good moment for me.

I told the vet I needed to talk to my driver.  I met Chris coming out of the checkpoint, smiling with a full stomach.  I laid it on him quickly, “We have a decision to make. Five dogs have Kennel Cough and can’t go on.  The others are likely sick too, but aren’t coughing yet.  The alternatives are to scratch or try to continue with 6 dogs.   What do you think?”

In his typical fashion Chris replied after a short pause, “The dogs rely on us to take good care of them.  We’ll scratch!"  As we walked to the dog team I thought I heard a quite, “Damn!” come from Chris, but I didn’t clarify.  After a final bit of advice from an experienced dog driver and a short walk alone around the checkpoint, I was ready to support Chris' decision.  We scratched.

Disappointed by the bad luck but not unhappy with the decision, we made plans to wrap up and take care of the dogs.  Within earshot of a number of people, Chris said to me, “Hey Jim, sign me up for next year.  Let’s come back and try to win this.”  I heard someone say in the crowd, “It looks like Warren’s aren’t going away any time soon!”  I sincerely hope not.

Jim:  24 Feb 05:

A Profile of a Young American

 “This is me…the driven, focused, determined me.”

Christopher Warren, a sophomore studying Civil Engineering at Michigan Tech University, wrote this motto on his dorm door before he left to compete in the prestigious 260 mile sled dog race, the U.P.200. The motto nailed it!  This is Chris.  It serves him well with the grueling demands of distance sled dog racing.

 There are few who have what it takes to do distance sled dog racing.  It takes physical toughness and endurance, mental toughness through days and nights of cold and sleep deprivation, and most of all, great compassion to care for your dogs, first, and always, better than you care for yourself.

 What was it that made the man, Christopher Warren?

 Chris was born to a working couple.  His early years were spent in daycares which is similar to living in an extended family. At home his best friend was Aaron, the Golden Retriever, who treated him as his own puppy.  Baby Chris loved that dog and explored him from toenail to his big teeth.  But Chris was sickly.  He had allergies, asthma, and suffered pneumonia several times.  But he survived.

 As a soccer player, he was a little heavy and with asthma he couldn’t breathe well.  He was always the slowest kid playing, always last in a footrace, but never gave up.  He once played 3 games in one day in driving cold rain in a tournament. Even he at the end happily noticed he wasn’t the slowest kid anymore.  He eventually found a way around his deficiency and became one of the best goalies in town.  He was a star when his team won the city championship.

 In little league baseball, his deficiencies were not as noticeable but he seldom was a first string player.  He finally found his niche as a tough and gutsy catcher.  His last game with a championship on the line was played with a 100+ fever.  The coach named him MVP.

 Chris entered the UP 200 as the youngest rookie at 19.  He was running the well trained Iditarod team that had taken his father, Jim, to a finish in Nome the previous year.  It was a team that loved to run fast and far; it was capable of winning.  With a lot of media attention on him, there was pressure to do well.

No stranger to adversity, Chris was about to face one of his greatest tests. At the halfway checkpoint the Vets checked the dogs thoroughly.  Several had come down with the flu-like disease, Kennel Cough.  When presented with the situation, Chris knew he could continue with the remaining dogs but there would be risk to the dogs.  He responded without hesitation, “My dogs rely on me to take good care of them.  We will scratch!”

 Chris had passed the test with flying colors.  His compassion for his dogs was foremost.  He put his personal desires aside for the good of his dogs. (Maybe he should add ‘compassionate’ to his motto?)

 At 19, much of this profile lies ahead. But for now it is clear, young men can serve as positive role models.  

 Keep up the good work, Chris.

Jim: 20 March 2005:  Well, I am fed up.  I’ve watched Iditarod via the web.  I’ve lived with schedules, time driven silliness, and perfectly good sounding nonsense coming from the mouths of people who should know better. I’ve spent two day in Detroit; the land of concrete, roads built by idiots, and dirty air.  It is time to head for the trails with my dogs; time to find more space for me; time to breathe clean air; freedom!

One thing was rather neat.  We had been invited to do Iditarod presentations at the Detroit Kennel Club Dog Show at COBO Hall.  It was almost not enough reason to go to Detroit.  But we went with 5 of our Alaskan Huskies, tons of posters for display, sled, and more.  We even set up our computer with digital projector and ran a continuous presentation.  And to top it all off, each time we did a presentation to the crowd, we ran the dogs around a little show ring to show them off.  The people loved it; the dogs thought I had gone nuts.  The dogs just couldn’t understand why we only ran 200 feet and then went back to the box.  Hartley voiced his opinion while I was talking to the crowd and woo-woo’ed  up a storm. So it was an opportunity to highlight the outstanding dog care of Iditarod and talk about our dogs and how we worked with them from early training to the actual running of Iditarod.  We did 8 presentations over two days.  There were a number of people helping and was a great help. 

At the show there was every kind of dog you could imagine.  People were happy and intensely poofing-up the fur on dogs. There was enough dog dander in the air to make anyone’s nose tickle.  

 We didn’t get too fussy with our dogs.  We simply scrubbed them with pet shampoo then hosed them off.  They weren’t really clean but good enough.  They just wouldn’t smell right if they were too clean.  We almost got Swen house broken.  Brutus refuses to be broken.  Hartley jumped completely over the fence of the dog potty.  Alto is hopeless.  These Alaskans just aren’t civilized dogs. 

I am amazed at the people who get excited to just talk to a real person who has run Iditarod, and see some real dogs who have run.  I am not comfortable with the hero worship; I do not seek it; actually I dodge it.  But if someone is encouraged or has a better day because of it, then I am pleased. 

I have noticed the notion of the Iditarod seems to reach out and affect people in strong ways.  I would really like to leverage that response in a way to encourage folks to think bigger, to dream bigger dreams, to encourage someone who needs it, and to become an active participant in worthwhile work.  I would dearly love to talk to someone who has a good idea on this topic.  I really would like to find a way to make a significant difference.  I sense there are ways; I just can’t quite figure it out. 

But it is time to go where there is more space, clean air, and freedom.  I want to be on the trail with my dogs.

Jim: 7 May, 2005:  Farming is done, at least for the present.  Hunters are harvesting a number of very nice wild turkeys; big birds.  Chris is beginning his summer school, Engineering Physics.   Jennifer is flying to Minneapolis for work.  Me?  At SledDog Lodge I broke concrete floor with a sledge hammer and installed plumbing for 14 hours today.  There is a very good chance I’ll sleep well tonight. 

A special treat is coming tomorrow.  Ramy Brooks will be in Marquette for a presentation.  I will have to be up early to get things in shape here so I can get away.  It is a 2.5 hour drive.

  Jim: 8 May 2005:  Well the Ramy Brooks presentation was nice.  As usual, they are always too short and then after it is over, a few more questions come to mind.  I should start writing them down and be ready to pummel the next presenter with a whole list of questions… he he! 

The drive back to SledDog Lodge was vintage Michigan Upper Peninsula along the Lake Superior shore.  A stiff North wind was pushing 8 foot breakers into the shore.  With the setting sun at my back the view was spectacular.  I had plenty of time to think.

Even with the spectacular view I was planning my tasks for daybreak.  I would have only a few hours of sleep before I would charge into the last few plumbing tasks and wanted to get as far as possible before I had to depart for downstate in the afternoon.  I wondered why I am so driven to get things done when I could be soaking in the splendid view as I drove.

I have always been driven by a philosophy of, ‘get the work done, sleep fast, and play hard’.  I have been known as the person who gets more work done by 10am than most finish all day.  It has served me well but you’d think I would back off a little now that I am into my 4th year of retirement from a full time day job.  I wonder how I got that way?  I don’t really know anybody who I learned it from. 

It is probably better to let the deep thinking be done by those who are better at it than I.  So I’ll let that one go and keep my energy focused on getting things done so I can play hard!  Yes, I will have to sleep fast tonight.