Classic: Worst 30 Minutes of My Entire Life
“Don’t lose your nerve,” Ivan said. “They allow a change of drivers only for heart attacks.”
“Well, at least there are alternatives,” I said, then went to bed, where I drifted to sleep to the sound of crying from a baby next door.
Sunday came clear and cold; by 6:30 Ivan had dropped the dogs and was waxing the runners of the sleds. “I want you to cut five minutes off,” he said.
We started slowly, the dogs and I, heading into the wind, and I braced for the worst. But Sobi knew the trail now, and with every stride I realized we would be all right.
We rounded the island and Sobi kept her nose low to the trail. My spirits soared. It didn’t even matter that inexplicably I forgot Sobi’s name. My mind searched madly through a collection of names until I settled on Lobi.
”I’m helping Lobi,” I shouted, “here we go, move it! He wants five minutes — we’ll give him ten off! I’m working Lobi,” surely one of the stranger cries heard on the lake that day. I pumped the sled hard and when I approached the finish I saw Ivan smiling and I didn’t care that at least I had survived.
I wanted to know my time. I had come in at 28 minutes, 11 seconds, nearly seven minutes faster, good for 15th place!
Ivan clapped me on the back. “For a cheechako (greenhorn), you did all right” he said. “I wasn’t sure you could pull it off. If you’d had a whip to crack, you could’ve taken two more minutes off. I’ll make a sled driver out of you yet.
“But you have no sense whatsoever of a big dog learn. I mean 16 dogs, 64 legs, over 1,000 pounds of dogs. Very few drive them successfully. You have to dominate all 16.”
We said goodbye after lunch. Ivan had finished with the day’s second-best time. He was satisfied. The drive home seemed an eternity when darkness came on and weariness replaced my euphoria. The roads were narrow. hugging the woods, and there were few lights or passing traffic.
I remembered reading in a sled-dog book what a young Danish soldier had written upon learning to drive a dog team in Greenland: “Nobody who has been admitted to that mystery is ever the same again.”
I knew the mystery was far from my reach — if anything the dogs had controlled me. But for many days afterwards I was haunted by the demonic yelping of the dogs as they braced to race; of the moment when we would pass another team and the heads of the dogs would snap to the side, and sometimes there would be a low growl and a fleeting nip and then we would be past. And there was a dream of another race, when I would have 16 dogs, their string reaching so far in front I could barely see my leader as we raced furiously, noiselessly, across the snow.