La Grande Odyssee 2005
Preparation Journal
An
enourmous heartfelt "thank you" goes out to all the friends and sponsors who
made this adventure possible; without you it simply would not have happened,
nor quite possibly continued, without your encouragement and support. We
will forever appreciate the generosity, kind words and good wishes - thank
you again. Tim, Dave, Gilligan, Lovey, Toast, Phyllis, Prudence, Steve, Poo,
Jonas, Kiwi, Abby, Eleanor, Mr. Kite, Banjo and Mary
Strike Three Kennels Journal
Saturday, November 27, 2004
We are learning the computer. Figuring out how we are going to keep you
informed. Pictures of dogs and training to come once we figure that out. It
is easier to train dogs.
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Good evening! We hoped to have 1,000 training miles under our
belts/harnesses by December 1 and we've done it! The next goal is for Tim
and I to spend 1,000 seconds with each other.
The crew just pulled into the yard after a run; crispy, navy blue night and
very, very still. I love looking out and seeing the dogs' 'exhaust' curling
and roiling out of their snouts, finishing school posture and unfiltered joy
at the sound of the meat saw and what it brings. Pavlov. After a snack in
line and de-harnessing, most of the dogs run right to their houses, fluff up
their straw, gossip/argue/scold a neighbor and go right to sleep; very
quick, very comical.
We're kind of hostages in our own back yard until we get more snow; running
on a paved road to access the longer trails wears down the dogs' nails and
they really don't like that (revolt!) so we don't do it. Then how in the
heck did he rack up so many miles already? Lots of runs, lots of time and
weekends in Newberry on... long runs. We can go for about 25 miles out of
our back yard on dirt and gravel roads BUT as soon as the snow comes those
trails are 50% choked off as far as running with a four wheeler goes. So in
order to get to longer trails (when there's snow, but not enough to use a
sled) they have to run down a paved road. When we get enough snow to use a
sled then most of their world becomes a stage again. The flip side to this
confusion is that speed and leader skills can be fine-tuned on horter runs,
and there you can't go wrong.
This weekend, if it snows, we'll run to our camp on Au Train Lake, about
fifty miles away (the long way). We'll bring a couple different dogs in the
camp with us also, to sleep, listen to Elmer Aho, watch Tim cheat at Rummy,
bond...it's so important they feel connected to and part of our human family
and vice versa.
I wish everyone could see how happy the dogs are when it snows! Rolling and
stretching and twisting on their backs, burying their noses, sneezing,
rough-housing; canine crack, if you will.
I've got a three-legged shorthair (or one-legged as a dear little friend
says) trying to climb in my lap with a two foot Nylabone, so enough for
today. Cross your fingers for snow!
Wednesday, December 1, 2004
It's a night off - and it looks like we'll get the snow we're hoping for.
Everyone's tucked away in their houses after dinner and so are we.
Goodnight!
Thursday, December 2, 2004
We did get snow. Hooray! That means several runs to camp and back will be on
the docket for this weekend after all; some of the young dogs (Eleanor, Mr.
Kite, Jojo, Prudence) need more experience in situations similar to a
checkpoint, and that's what will be happening this weekend, sans commotion.
Notice I tossed in a French word. I'm also thinking that after our trip I'll
be able to get away with saying and doing things like, "oh pppppfff, in
Europe they ALWAYS eat a row of cake for breakfast" and "well, you tell me
who DOESN'T eat a wheel of brie before bed?!?". Anyway, they'll be sleeping
in line, neck lines undone so they can move about, on beds of straw; the
veterans will conk right out but sometimes the young ones just don't get it
and will talk and talk and stand up, sit down, stand up some more, etc.
until they have to be moved, covered with a blanket (for real) or read to
(not for real). Much like four year olds, with the potential of snowballing
into a slumber party of twelve year olds. It's best to figure out who will
get homesick/start a romance/turn into a witch/have insomnia at camp rather
than a race. On a personal note, I experience three of the four previous
qualities during races. And sometimes at camp.
When Tim does get to camp tonight he'll water the dogs - water jazzed up
with something they like; maybe liver slivers or kibble - rest for a while,
and then hit the trail again after breakfast. The trick will be to get the
dogs to camp out (in line) after the return run tomorrow in our yard;
they're expecting to go to their houses. They're going to think it's really,
really weird. Then off to camp again and the same routine. It's a dress
rehearsal.
Alright, the shorthair is again lugging all manner of footwear up the stairs
and into my lap...so goodnight!
Friday, December 3, 2004
One witch, no romance, no homesickness and no insomnia until Jonas got back
to our yard today, proclaimed himself a sentry and sat stock-still keeping a
watchful eye on...things and ...stuff. If a dog could look like a serious,
hairy buzzard with a dowager's hump, he did - although I'm sure in his mind
he was dressed like a Beefeater. He's all business.
Tim said the run to camp last night was great and they came in looking like
they hadn't run at all; a partridge flew up from the middle of the team,
too, and made a successful getaway, or so I am told. One crabby female
youngster had to be shuffled from spot to spot in the line after they were
watered and bedded down, but eventually she slept. And what a treat to wake
up to that thin, peachy sunlight and straight-up chimney smoke that only
happens on cold winter mornings! It was six degrees when we left camp for
home. Perfect.
The dogs proved us wrong today and thought nothing of camping in their own
yard (except for Jonas) and went right to sleep after Tim watered them.
Sunny + cold = perfect napping weather and six hours later, after everyone
had regained their sea legs, they were on the trail again back to camp.
Saturday, December 4, 2004
The crew rolled in Friday night without a hitch - not much to report -
except that this morning it's 38 degrees and perfect snowball weather but
not so good for the run back home today. Tim was entertaining the idea of
making a third trip to camp and back, but after getting home this afternoon
nixed the idea. It's raining, it's snowing, it's windy , it's raining....
When the dogs came into the yard today they headed right for the straw where
they had camped yesterday and again fooled us; we assumed they 'd want to be
tucked up in their cozy houses, given the weather, but camping out again
must have seemed appealing. And speaking of camping out, Steve (shy, orange-ish
leader) camped IN last night and was on the foot of the bed this morning
when we woke up. He's very much a loner, which makes it all the more
endearing..
Here comes the shorthair again looking for a lap. At the risk of waking to a
smoldering effigy of Balto in the front yard, let's hope for some cold
weather and snow!
Sunday, December 5, 2004
Well, off to camp again! An uneventful run there - always a a good thing -
and Kiwi led the whole way. He's a big blonde male and only has vision in
one eye; you'd think he'd be nervous as a ringleader, especially in the
dark, but he actually does better at night than during the day. What a dog!
Everyone ate and slept really well, too - not a peep - and Steve slept
inside again on the foot of the bed (Bodine, our doberman, is very unhappy
with this turn of events).
Tim said Prudence barks at EVERYTHING along the way; leaves, squirrels,
sticks, cars; her legs may be like chopsticks, but what she lacks in size
she makes up for in pleasant ferocity. Real or imagined.
Monday, December 6, 2004
An early morning run home as Tim had to work in the afternoon. Everyone did
well. The dogs have now run as many miles as they would have by the end
(almost) of any other typical year. That's big. Not much to report, so
here's something strange but true: we have a dog named Isabelle who sounds
like EdIsabelle McMahon when she barks. Time for bed.
Friday, December 10, 2004
The dogs had a few days off; our weather is not cooperating and as a result
the snow covered road leading to longer trails has melted to pavement. It's
so much work to hook up umpteen dogs only to go 10 miles on snow covered
dirt roads that Tim weighed the advantages, gave everyone a frozen canine
confectionery treat and poured himself a modest scotch. Today, however, it's
snowing like crazy to the west and headed this way; after a break in
training the dogs will be itchy to run and if we have fresh snow all the
better...but right now it's humid, foggy and windy - the kind of day where
you think you can get away with a bike ride even thought it's December.
The Grande Odyssee web site has a banner speeding across the top of their
homepage with "X days, X hours, X minutes" 'till the start of the race; I
have to hold a piece of paper up to cover it, but Tim seems unaffected. And
speaking of unaffected, research supports the idea that canines are not
affected by a change in altitude (except going from higher to lower, where
everyone feels bionic for a few days); isn't that interesting? Okay, maybe
not, but it's a relief. Bon soir! (?)
Hey-ohhhhhhhhhhh!
Sunday, December 12, 2004
We're finally on sleds and it's snowing like crazy! Tim went on a run
earlier today on a revamped sled only to find he couldn't reach either of
the brakes, so after returning home (safely) and re-revamping the sled, off
he went with yet another team, which reminds me of a story.... Many years
ago a fellow musher gave us a spiffed up golf cart to use for fall training;
drink holders, cushioned seats, fresh paint job, the whole works; we felt
like the Howells, our regal team bumping us down the narrow trail enveloped
in fragrant apple trees and forget-me-nots, Tim with his top hat and I with
my parasol...wait... Carefree and gaining speed, we approached the ninety
degree turn onto the abandoned railroad grade and Tim realized we had no
brakes. Whatsoever. Imagine a close-up of a screaming, steaming locomotive
and that's a freshly hooked up team leaving the dog yard. Our surrey with
the fringe on top burst on to the grade, hell bent for the Rumely Store, and
if there was ever a more appropriate time for "Flight of the Valkyries" to
be playing, I can't think of it. We lurched from two wheels to four wheels
to wheelies and back again, and I'm telling you the dogs were rearing up and
whinnying; Tim figured the only way to stop the team was to drive the cart
into the "ditch" which paralleled the grade, and he also thought it would be
much, much safer for me to JUMP OUT OF THE SPEEDING CART instead of going
down with the ship, so I did. Chances were good the team would stay the
course to the Rumely Store with Tim in the cart in the ditch and we'd be no
further ahead, but as luck would have it golfcartthey stopped - for now.
From a distance I noticed that as Tim was turning around the bewildered,
foaming team to head back home again he was shouting and swinging his arms
around like a gorilla...and realized his apish charade was a crude attempt
to inform me, from afar, that he intended to sweep me into the cart as the
team sped past, not unlike the mailbag in Petticoat Junction as the train
goes by. If you ask Tim about that part of the story, he will beat his chest
and say it was just like Indiana Jones. He did scoop me into the cart, we
made it back home and never did that again.
seems friendly enough...
Monday, December 13, 2004
Wow! We got socked last night and all the schools are closed, including the
local university; I heard some areas got 24 inches of snow! Tim was late for
work this morning - with so much snow even the plow truck got stuck a few
times - but we're good to go now and the dogs are LOVING this weather.
Sometimes when there's a lot of snow at once it's difficult to run a team
because they have to break trail and that may be the case today. A run to
camp and back was planned but if the snow's too deep he'll ditch it - no
sense risking an injury due to deep snow.
catdoor Zeusplowing snow dogsnow
Monday update - Tim is sick. : (
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Fueled by a bland diet and a feverish nap, Tim understood the consequences
of the serum not getting to the camp on time and hooked up the team - and by
gum if they didn't make it despite running behind the sled through eighteen
inches of snow and thwarting grizzlies, fires, blizzards and pirates. Their
reward? The knowledge that without their bravery the serum would never rea...
well, maybe he wasn't that feverish, but the mind set necessary to get up
and go when you feel like parking your carcass boils down to a simple shell
game with yourself, and it's not always easy knowing that under every shell
it's the same scene regardless of how sick/busy/energized/strung-out you
are. The flu, no plumbing and a freezing bed do not a comfortable night
make, either, especially when the only provisions at camp are bean with
bacon soup and peanuts - but by noon Wednesday everybody was back home, the
dogs looked great and Tim felt better than he did on Tuesday!
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
It's night, it's cold, and everyone's asleep except Zeus, Bodine and Arthur,
our little orange cat. A few months before my son went off to his freshman
year of college, he thought a kitten, for me, would be a great distraction
from the empty-nest syndrome everyone knew (and dreaded) I would be
suffering to the nth degree; so while Tim was in Boston (coincidence?) we
acquired little Edith, who turned out to be a little Arthur, and when Tom
came home for Thanksgiving that first year we all surmised that yes, young
Arthur had made the transition much easier for me and sighs of relief were
widespread. Then a couple years later Tom said, through a toothpick and as
though it wouldn't crush me, "Mom's unnaturally attached to Arthur."
Granted, there were many, many, mediocre photos and sugary, forgettable
stories, but... well, long story short, later that week we had a house full
of company, and I knew a whisper campaign (spearheaded by Tom) was
circulating about my "attachment". So I went to a rummage sale, bought a
flowery baby dress, put it on the cat and carted him around like it was an
everyday occurrence. The cat was humiliated, I'm ashamed to say, but we all
had a good laugh...and that's the story of Arthur; very ferocious, a little
wheezy.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Another day of rest before the big weekend; Tim's off for four days, not on
call and has plans to run to camp and back 'till Sunday. Friday we both have
plans to be out of here by six a.m. - after helping him cross Highway 94
I'll take off for Ann Arbor and Tim for Au Train, so on that note it's early
to bed and early to rise.
Saturday, December 18, 2004
The MP-3 player has been the salvation of otherwise monotonous hours in the
woods - it can hold up to 3000 songs - and one of Tim's favorites is George
Carlin's ten minute observation on flatulence (not a big surprise); on the
other end of the spectrum, another favorite is a series of Christmas songs
that he says "makes me feel like I'm in a snow globe" on the trail. Tim's
also discovered the pleasantries/importance of napping while the dogs nap;
at camp it's especially easy to drift off with the hemlocks knocking and
what seems to be a tunnel of sound coming from the big lake just down the
road.
Friday the runs went really well and by the time Tom and I got back from Ann
Arbor the dogs were camped out in the yard and didn't think twice about our
arrival or subsequent trips into the house with dirty laundry and books. Tim
saw very few snowmobiles on the trail Friday and Saturday, which is both
good and bad; three miles, tops, of the trail is designated snowmobile
trail, which means three miles less that they have to break trail. BUT those
same three miles can be awfully risky on weekends, especially after dark,
for obvious reasons. And no, I'm not saying snowmobiles are evil and
everyone on one is a careening soak, but I am saying that out of the
hundreds that they encounter every year there's always one or two that make
you think twice about people and all it takes is one or two close calls to
spook a dog for good, or worse.
Normally I would meet the team at the highway and give them the all clear
(or not) to cross, but Saturday night was so bad I couldn't get out of the
driveway and the team would be on their own. Not so bad at night when you
can at least see if headlights are coming, but visibility was so poor that
even if Tim could see headlights it would more than likely be too late to
hook down. Oh dear. We were very relieved when we saw his bobbing headlight
break through the bluster at home. Everyone got fresh straw Saturday night,
too, which is on par with their love of fresh snow. Some of the dogs will
make little beds in the flakes I set down in their circles as I go from
house to house, and a couple dogs, despite fresh straw anywhere, will sleep
in a saucer of ice formed from their own body heat. Who are we to say? After
one hundred and twenty miles, they can sleep wherever they want.
Tom and I were supposed to go to Duluth to pick up a Husky Creek sled and
turned for home when we saw what the weather was like in Marquette - bummer-
but on the way back we saw a HUGE blow up Santa on a bucking sled very
harshly jerking every which way from the wind, and an elegant snow man
frantically bowing and curtsying alongside. We laughed. Then felt bad. And
laughed more.
plowing house snow
Plowing snow Snow in the yard Toast in the snow (sounds like a local
dessert)
Sunday, December 19, 2004
Tim and friends broke trail on a twenty two mile loop to Deerton. Prudence
slept inside Sunday night as though it were something she did every night -
even a little stretch in the morning and a fake yawn; she'd be the type to
wear footy pajamas, wake up cheery and have fly-away hair if she were human.
Monday, December 20, 2004
Another day off for the dogs; Tom and I went to Superior (basically) to pick
up Tim's sled - it's very, very, light and very, very beautiful.
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
The shortest day of the year in every way possible - it only gets better
after this, folks! The crew went on a fifty-four miler today on the new sled
and came back across the highway like a train; amazing animals. As soon as I
am able to figure out why only a handful of the 197 photos I've taken are
uploading to the site there will be more to look at - sorry about that!
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Another day off ...preparation for the trip is starting to overwhelm our
lives and to make matters worse we have two elderly cats who whiz, sans
direction, in an imaginary litterbox...and I've come to realize why there's
not any "solid" evidence of the cats' box usage after snussling Zeus's
muzzle. Yuck.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Friday and Saturday off, too...Tim's turning hundreds of booties
right-side-out, there's wrapping going on, people stopping over and we're
all kind of sick and tired, literally, from all the cookies; what a great
time of year! Everyone - including us - gets extra calories now (usually
beef or pork fat), and some dogs stockpile the fat in their houses, snarling
at the next-door dog for even looking at their cache; their little society
out there is so much more than alpha personalities and pack behavior. The
layers of intricacies and quirks truly make the dog yard a fascinating
place!
booties
Zeus, Tim, Bodine, booties
Friday, December 24, 2004
A beautiful Christmas Eve - went skijoring with Zeus and he pulled the whole
way!
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Arthur
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Back in the saddle again. Tom and I went to camp and met Tim there, along
with Tim's much, much older, very demanding sisters, husbands and
nephew....HA! We (I use the term loosely) set up tip-ups on the lake and
noticed a dramatic front rolling in over Superior; Tim thought for sure he'd
end up going through it on the way home but he missed it entirely. No bites,
lots of left overs, lots of fun...more fun if I could get these *#&% photos
to upload consistently!
Monday, December 27, 2004
Tim and dogs did a forty mile loop - Professor seems a bit sore, so he's
inside for the night - and the dogs have taken to turning in the driveway
instead of the trail to get home; made for an interesting stand off between
Tom (in the driveway, windows rolled up, waiting for the team to go by) and
Tim (hollering Go! Go! to Tom, in the driveway, windows rolled.....) Time
for bed. Goodnight, all!
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Tom here. Came straight from Ann Arbor to inform the world of the diabolical
nature of this entire "European Affair". Here to expose Tim as a
card-carrying member of the Freemasons, a society so evil and drunk with
treachery that it spawned an opposition political party in the 1840s, the
Anti-Masons. Here to muckrake the dregs and bring to light the "rest of the
story": the deposits soon to be made in Swiss bank accounts shared with Ken
Lay and Robert Blake; the soft money lavished (and I'm talking serious $$$)
on both major political parties by Bayshore Veterinary Hospital in the name
of profound de-regulation and privatization of the veterinary-industrial
complex; scorned orphans; constant battery theft at major retailers; where
do I stop?
The real story of the Holiday news cycle, however, is not the questionable
character of the Freemasons. Nor is it the war in Iraq. Or even the least
natural of disasters. In Rock River Township, MI, the only narrative that
has held any weight in the major media publications has been the preparation
for my Mom and Tim's trip to FraSwItaly. Dog booties bundled in ten-packs.
Boots of every age, weight, and level of insulation. Ripped and ineffective
sleeping bags. Add to these ingredients plenty of stress and mix it well
with a handful of derelict housepets. Never mind the over-used recipe
metaphor because it is the only way to describe what's happening. This whole
mess might come out of the oven like a Michelin-rated tenderloin, but right
now it seems to be an overspiced and confused rump roast. Bon voyage, et
j'espère que vous passez la meilleure expérience de vos vies.
Sunday, January 2, 2005
Happy New Year, everyone, although on a devastating note. One week ago the
word was five thousand people had perished; that seemed unfathomable. This
is simply epic devastation.
On a completely unrelated topic, Tim's little mom was air lifted to the Mayo
Clinic one week ago today and had surgery to repair an aortic aneurysm. I
told her she shouldn't take such drastic measures to get out of helping with
dishes over the holidays. She's walking a little, talking on the phone and
feeling better every day. Thank God. We're all very grateful to hear her
voice and will be anxious to see her when we get back.
The heat is on here; clutch time. Tim and dogs took their last run before
the race today and for the past week or so I've been waiting for him to
swing open the mud room door, lean way in by suspending himself between the
knob and the jamb and whisper, head down, "So-and-so hurt his xyz" and lurch
back out to the deck shouting So-and-so's name, Brando/Streetcar style...pan
out from the desperate man to the brilliant night sky...and cut. One more
hurdle cleared. The dogs are in fine shape and although Tim and I tend to
circle each other like boxers in the ring while prepping for a race we've
actually done quite well with this one; perspective throws a powerful punch.
Our weather's been strange and cut the possibility of going on a couple more
long runs before we leave Tuesday. Our road is a SHEET of ice, and last year
when that happened one of our neighbors slid his huge truck in the ditch so
badly a real tow truck had to get him out, despite the efforts of several
seasoned gentlemen and their huge trucks. Almost our entire neighborhood was
in on it, and by afternoon's end we'd had snowball fights, skating, towing
feats-of-strength and cake and coffee delivered on a red plastic sled. First
annual "Dorsey Daze". Yes, Dorsey. A suburb of Sundell. Hey, it's in an old
platt book. ANYWAY, they were able to get in a couple solid, longer runs
earlier in the week.
And no, Zeus is not a sled dog, but he is Tim's date whenever he plows,
which is what he was doing in the photo in today's Mining Journal. Have a
good night, all!
Monday, January 3, 2005
Monday night. Lots happening. Dogs are in bed, Tim's in bed, I'm doing
laundry, packing, etc. Tom's back in Ann Arbor already; that was way, way
too quick...and now no Arthur for three weeks! But no poop scooping for
three weeks, either! At least not as much poop scooping. Alright. Time
marches on. More tomorrow.
Tuesday, January 4, 2005
Hello. This is Tim. We are in the truck, packed with too much stuff, just
the right number of dogs and on the road to Chicago. Half a pack of smokes,
full tank of gas and we're wearing shades. Mary utters, "Hit It." Off to the
tax assesor in the windy city to save the orphanage... Wait. Wrong movie.
Don't know how we pulled this off, but a wise man once told me that half of
the race is just getting there. Watched a show on cable last night about how
a plane had it's cargo door fall off at 35000 feet and 9 people we sucked
out. Reminded me of the Airplane movie scene where they show the plane
crashing on board. No worries about flying here, but my bride is a bit
apprehensive. Had to change the channel when Mary came downstairs. Got to
find humor in everything if you can!
Well, I don't believe I will be entering much in the way of personal notes
on the computer during the race, so here are a few thoughts. Long race. Lots
of checkpoints. Just like running to camp and having the dogs sleep out in
the straw. Did it a bunch of times this year so all should do well. I was
actually able to control my nerve to go out and fuss with them while they
were sleeping, so I should be well trained as well. I figure the race is
like eating a steak. Beautiful steak is put down in front of you and one
wants to inhale the whole thing. Not good for the digestion. One bite at a
time and before you know it, all is gone. And you feel good about it. Just
like the race. One checkpoint at a time, one hill at a time. One groan at a
time. It will come together. All of us have the right mindset. Dogs. Tim.
Mary. People staying at our house when we're gone. Good karma.
I want to extend sincere thanks to all that have helped us out this year in
getting to this point. There are too many to mention, but a few I feel the
need to. The Stielstra's for having us over and letting us run out of their
yard and for sharing motivation. All the sponsors. My wonderful staff at
work for putting up with me through the fall. Jeanne Wilcox for sharing
emergency call at night to help me get out to train my dogs. My dogs for
still liking me. My wife for not sending me to the couch too often. Tom for
helping with this damn computer. My mom for getting healthy. And all those
great clients I have that wished me good luck. Thanks again. Means a lot to
me.
All right, I'm sure I have forgotten something, but I am getting carsick. We
ride with John Schandelmeier on the cargo plane tonight, so there should be
much talk and semi truths to share. John is my guru in the world of mushing,
so 9 hours with him is like a seminar that one would pay for to attend. A
real Alaskan who knows how to take care of a dog team. And run a race. He is
running the race with a team of huskies rescued from the dog pound is
Fairbanks. Proving a point in the dog world. It should be a blast to do a
race with him again, the last time we ran together was in the Yukon. That is
for another journal entry, the bugger. We'll see how his 52 year old legs do
running those mountains. No sympathy here. I am going to be begging for air
as well.
Bye for now and happy trails.
At the airport...
We are in an enormous hangar (I think) and everyone from Alaska, Canada and
the lower forty eight made it; a mostly uneventful trip for all. It smells
like cigars, peanuts and dog poop in here, with just an undertone of diesel
and urine. Somehow comforting. And I'm not kidding. Another comfort has been
MY NEW BEST FRIEND, CLAY DABBERT. Thank you, Clay, for all you have done.
Clay has transported EVERY kind of animal except gerbils and hamsters and I
mean everything. The whole world of airport and the goings on just on the
cargo side is a documentary waiting in the wings (pun intended, of course),
and these guys talk about airplane parking, half-a-million dollar vases and
flying to Japan and back in just about twenty-four hours as though it were
an everyday occurance, which for them, of course, it is. There are people
from all corners of the world working there (Air France), too - Bosnia,
Mexico, Tunisia, Brooklyn...
The dogs are loaded three high now on pallets and strapped in so securely
the whole works looks like a ball of yarn with eyes and they are completely
silent.
We're not in the regular O'Hare terminal - did I mention that? We're at Air
France's cargo terminal, and on a personal note I have a terrible cramp in
the arch of my foot as I write this. Anyway, a little cart pulled the
inter-connected pallets of dogs and gear out of view like a train of twine
and strapping and off we went to Air France Cargo's offices for our security
check and met the Air France end of the cargo operation. During all the
packing two official looking guys were in and out of the hangar, motioning
with their hands and wearing badges and seeming very, well, official and a
tad intimidating, like they could shut the whole works down with an X on the
dotted line. Turns out Mike "Two Enns" Dunn and Dan Gadow (I hope that's
Dan's last name - trying to discreetly look at someone's badge can go wrong
in an instant - who wants to make eye contact with someone who's just caught
you staring at their breastbone sideways?) are the guts of Air France Cargo
and pretty regular guys.
TIME MARCHES ON...
Okay, have to be quick....the race starts today and we've been so, so busy
and jet lagged I haven't been able to keep up with the entries, plus I'm
still wasting a shitload (pardon my French?) of time trying to upload
photos, which I'm abandoning at this point. We're six hours ahead here and
FINALLY figured out the phone...seems like it would be easy but it wasn't -
it's called a language barrier for a reason.
In a nutshell: we had a four course meal on the plane, and we thought the
first course was the whole shebang so we ate every scrap of it
(pumpernickel, lox, cream cheese and capers, real yogurt, salad, chardonnay,
beer, cherry tomatoes that at home cost $$$) plus I forced Tim to finish
what I couldn't so we didn't seem like wasteful Americans.....and then came
the poached fish with some kind of sauce, steamed vegetables, tiny
baguettes, rice.....then came the cheese course: camembert, blue, gruyere,
brie...then came a delicious chocolate dessert that everyone's heard the
name of and I can't remember right now, and of course delicious French roast
(which has nothing to do with what you and I buy in the stores) coffee. It
was awesome and the crew were awesome and Air France should be awfully proud
of itself.
We landed in Paris, got our gear unloaded, went throught customs, etc. and
let me tell you this: EVERYONE SMOKES, smells good, wears black, wears a
scarf, is thin and chic and their pants are hemmed to just the right length.
I know it sounds crazy. Even the men wear scarves and aren't afraid to wear
turtlenecks and they're very, very chivalrous....and it's smelled like
delicious roasted chicken everywhere in France since we left the airport.
Oh, and everyone has great hair. Everyone, everyone, everyone.
Okay....we all got in our vans and our temporary drivers took us around
Paris on the way to...somewhere, a fire hall/ambulance station.... "I Feel
Good", of all things, was on the radio and our driver was singing away,
under viaducts and over the rivers, around a big neon carnival, all sorts of
ancient stone buildings and houses right up to the street with steep roofs
and flower boxes and courtyards....tidy little gardens and tiny little cars
and not one truck. Ever. Our driver started shouting "Tour leefel!!!! Tour
leefel!!!!" and pointing and guess what....there was the Eiffel Tower, all
lit up!!!!!!!
We drove ourselves then a couple hours south to Henry and Nadine Kam's
summer home...Henry is the ringleader of the race and he and his wife are
very nice people. All the North Americans stayed there overnight and we had
a great dinner (chicken with lemon, olive oil and garlic, pasta with
emmental cheese and a chocolate pudding for dessert but it seemed to be more
than just pudding)...house is on a lake, it's beautiful, I could go on and
on but won't. Next day on the road and I couldn't help but think of every WW
II movie we've seen; the French country side really does look like that
without the devastation. My Uncle Early, who's been thirty nine for forty
three years, was in France during WW II (as were a lot of other people) and
volunteered to come with us and interpret when we told him we were doing
this; I'll be damned if he didn't start rattling off a bunch of stuff in
French...I guess some things stick with you forever if they're imprinted at
a tender age under the right (or wrong) conditions. Breakfast was brioche
and jams and delicious coffee. All the roofs are red.
Alright - roadsigns with directions for Geneva, Turin, Milan....finally we
start winding our way up the spookiest, most dizzying, not many
guard-railed, narrow road you can imagine - and then make it narrower with
people driving way, way too fast and passing all over the place - and we
keep going and going - and we think "this has to be it" and keep going up
and up and we think "this has to be it" and we go up and up and over and
over again we think the same thing and can't believe there can't be anything
higher than where we are and we keep going and going. Through clouds. And
then we're way above the clouds we went through and we're still
going....little villages with streets as wide as pencils and shopkeepers
signs' hanging from buildings and every building and house has real wooden
shutters that really close...stucco and post and beam and garrets and
dormers and lions and tigers and bears...
Time is running out....I can't tell you how beautiful it is here....it's
"The Sound of Music" combined with Peter Sellers....the tragically hip
mingling with tan healthy families and lots of fur coats and teensy,
pampered lap dogs...hardly any Americans....quiche Lorraine, potage
Lorraine, delicious tarts (upscale poptarts as Tim calls them - for shame!),
horse drawn sleds with fur blankets all over the place because there are no
cars in the resort - one horse spooked yesterday, broke his bit, dumped the
driver and took off with a woman and her baby - people were running and
shouting and finally someone caught them; the cliffs, the curves, a runaway
horse...
The opening ceremony was last night. Fourteen thousand people there,
hundreds of skiers with red and white torches skiing downhill while music
from "Last of the Mohicans" and "Phantom of the Opera" were blaring....super
dramatic slides of dog teams on a huge screen and the best fireworks I've
ever seen. I got all choked up.
The dogs are fine and eating well and drinking well. They changed the
race/rest schedule so the rest is only half as much as we thought, which
changes how often I'll be able to get to a site to upload updates....I'll do
my best. Tim is amazingly calm. Oh, and yesterday someone's ring on their
phone was "MacArthur Park". HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I know I'm forgetting stuff,
but here we go!
Sunday, January 9?, 2004
The race started under clear blue skies and helicopters taking off and
landing every ten minutes or so right by the start chute - the helicopters
fly from resort to resort in four minutes, and it takes us two hours....Ricolaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
All the dogs that started the race have raced before - in huge crowds the
dogs will get nervous and it's best to put experienced "chiens" in harness.
As soon as the dogs left, we (handlers) packed up and tried to follow a
local to the next checkpoint. Hopeless. It was like something from "It's
Mad, Mad Mad, Mad World". Myself and Jesse Royer's handlers got amazingly
discombobulated as the maps and directions they gave us are all in French;
I'm still not sure if that checkpoint was in France or Switzerland. In any
event, teams started rolling in and the tipsy crowd really roared and
shouted toasts when a team appeared. Even their bonfires are nothing like
ours. The dogs (Jonus, Dave, Steve, Toast, Gilligan, Poo, Banjo and Abby)
looked great when they came in despite Tim's mutterings of it being the
hardest trail he's ever been on.
We switched out all but two of the dogs (Eleanor, Mr. Kite, Prudence,
Phyllis, Kiwi and Lovey) and reorganized, restocked and reprimanded an
outright hammered gentleman who came dancing and clapping into the resting
dogs, singing and weaving and bobbing at such impossible angels he seemed
like a marionette; finally escorted away, we were able to concentrate on the
local high school band playing an oom-pa-pa version of "B-I-N-G-O" and our
regional specialty for dinner; square, tiny pasta with minced onion, bacon,
cheese and cream, delicious slabs of cheese and doubly delicious bread. But
try getting a glass of water anywhere...vin rouge? Vin blanc? Pardon? No,
no, only vin rouge? Vin blanc? There were also dozens of men in leiderhausen
(sp?) and hats slowly marching in sync and ringing cowbells when the band
took breaks....that, combined with cuckoo-clock houses and the the band
playing every tune as a waltz made me think we were in Switzerland, but who
can tell? Back on the trail...and almost off...
Tim's about in the middle of the pack, but in a six hundred plus mile race
that doesn't mean anything right now; there's still hundreds of miles to go,
but whether the trail will remain as planned is hard to tell. The dogs have
been trained this season to fit this race; in other words, thirty to 60 mile
runs with three to six hours rest time between runs...and now the rest time
is half of what we expected. Our layover time went from six hours to three
hours to fifty minutes; hopefully run length will be in the ballpark of
thirty to sixty, but if not, c'est la vie!
Sunday night...
Only one musher has made it into this (second) checkpoint so far on time, if
you will. There's word that four to six mushers are lost but they are
wearing devices that allows them to be tracked....we're in Switzerland and
again there is no way to describe the beauty. We're at a campground and
although it's winter there are people camping; live on the cheap and ski
every day....oh, to be young and broke! Our resting area is in front of a
horse barn and the dogs are going to bark like mad when they get a whiff - a
very pleasant scent to me but very foreign to them (we had a dalmation that
that barked and had a fit every time I cooked lamb because of the scent;
kind of cute the first time, not so cute thereafter....he also barked when
people left and every time he saw the Lazy-Boy in the living room).
Later...
More people in now and rumours are flying that the trail is very dangerous.
Luckily nobody is hurt and I've never seen the dogs more energized coming
into a checkpoint. Tim made it in safely and said it's the most terrifying
trail he's ever been on and even was praying; extremely steep with hairpin
turns and debris from people's sleds dumped and scattered from crashing. I'd
like to think that Tim had syrupy visions of me as he clung by a thread to
the mountainside, dogs cracking the whip and swinging the sled back on track
before the overhang crumbled away, but truth be told he probably was having
misty thoughts about his damn keg fridge...of all the adventurous, dangerous
and noble things Tim has done men are most impressed with this
acquisition..."ya, ya, so you were in a two-seater with a flat tire and had
to land in a blizzard on the Bering Sea with a dozen fragile dogs...what
kinda suds ya got in yer fridge there?"
More later...
We trucked the dogs back to the starting point; no way were people leaving
that checkpoint by dog team. A French musher was hanging by his sled off a
ravine and another musher had to pull him back on the trail, people were
miles off course and Tim went down a double black diamond mogul hill that he
would never, ever attempt even on skiis. Every single musher had something
to say about crashing, the danger of the trail, getting lost and that they
never want to do it again. Somehow, no mushers or dogs got seriously hurt.
In any event, after two hours of sleep we trucked the dogs to another town
where they did the next leg (uneventful) and we handlers took a gondola to
the top of a mountain where we met them, then we all took the gondola back
down the mountain, including the dogs. Due to the nature of the trail, the
race organizers are constantly changing where they are to next traverse and
we are in the dark as to what and when is coming up. We're all also very
comically puffy after our dinner of sausages, french fries and salad at the
ski resort; again, we made the mistake of devouring our ham loaf/pate, sweet
pickles and bread without realizing there was a "hot", which is what the
locals call the second course.
Monday morning...
Off to eat quiche, buy hotdogs for Dave and go to a meeting at noon to see
what's what. We watched dubbed Foghorn Leghorn and Bugs Bunny...the little
chicken hawk that bugs Foghorn sounds really vicious in French. Tuesday AM
Tim here. Where does one start on a trip like this? This has been one wild
journey. My faithful journalist wife has been communicating to you some of
the many happenings that have transpired. I will try to bring some more to
you as we travel by truck through the Alps to the next starting point t for
a leg on the race. The scenery is spectacular and the culture amazing.
Always singing, food, drink and merriment these people seem to have going
on. How do they get anything done? They know how to have fun.
The race; The first 2 legs were truly harrowing. All the mushers had tales
of dangling over cliffs, going g down double black diamond ski slopes with
dog teams, numerous hard crashes, icy trails, quick turns with immediate
drop off, bumps and bruises. Amazingly no one and no animals were seriously
hurt. I can now say I skied in the Alps. I hope to never go through that
again.
The dogs are doing great. I couldn't ask anymore of them. I am always on the
conservative side so we are holding the team together for the longer
continuous stretch of the race in the second half. If that happens. The race
is constantly changing due to snow conditions and the fact the race trail
was put together by someone that never ran dogs. The mushers out in the
cyber world know what that means. Now place your worst non musher trail
maker in the rugged Alps. Yes, that right. Trails on sides of cliffs, I mean
cliffs, no wider than a dog team. Man, I love my leaders. Kiwi, my one eyed
leader took us, alone with Dave, took us through the worst of the trails at
night. What a dog. Never missed a turn. Super dogs.
We just crossed into Switzerland. Suddenly everybody is in funny clothes and
eating chocolate. Was that Julie Andrews?
The race people are trying the best they can and last nights run was 5000%
better than the first 3. A real race trail and no problems. We will see what
happens next. Dennis Laboda from Minnesota is here as a judge and he is
trying to rework the way trails are marked and the conditions we go through.
He is checking things by snow groomer, helicopter and ski do. He is having
fun. Hope he keeps up the good work.
I am sorry the pictures are not transferring over. We have many pictures and
short movies and we promise to publish them after the race if we can't
figure this out sooner. Tekkies we aren't. Damn it.
As a side note, I am proud to say that I only swore 4 times during the trail
horrors. Can you believe that, Sherri?
Mom is back in the hospital. Our best wishes go her way. Hang in there, Mom.
Wednesday, January somethingth, 2005
Okay, where have we been....Monday night we all slept in our trucks in
Abundance, the ski village with the bell people/square pasta/ waltzes etc.
where we were the other day. The teams re-ran a much better marked trail,
everybody had a good run and it got extremely cold. Tim, always the
gentleman, gave me the "good" sleeping bag and I slept in the cab of the van
while he conked out on a bed of straw in the back of the van with the dogs,
in a sleeping bag that's essentially a big rectangular wind breaker stuffed
with nylons. I locked the doors and kept him out all night. He was REALLY
bugging me with his incessant knocking and pleading and the way his teeth
were chattering was really getting on my last nerve. Not really. We both
ended up fitting in the good bag in the cab (can't run the truck -
asphyxiation)...crusty baguettes, jams, hot cocoa, tea and coffee for
breakfast in a pavilion with last night's re-stoked bonfires taking the
chill off...and speaking of last night, cabbage soup, sausages, egg noodles,
crusty baguettes and cheese; I asked Stephan, one of the volunteers for the
race, what kind of cheese it was and he said it was just the cheese of the
village. Simple as that. Stephan is with a group of volunteers that in real
life are firemen that work with dogs...I suspect these firemen wear many
hats and the dogs are used to search for people in a variety of
circumstances, but I'm not sure. In any event, they were very polite and as
the race is done at this resort, "today this is the last you see of
us"...after a group photo one of the younger ones came to me and said, "I
ope ewe weel nevaair forgedduz". Of course we won't. Thanks, guys - you did
a great job.
Tuesday's race ended in Le Gets (Les?), which is yet another ski village.
Very hard trail but everyone made the best of it. Tim came in dead last but
fifteenth overall, or something like that, and the town folk had another
huge party with bonfires and the best salami I've ever eaten, celery soup,
cheese, cheese, more cheese and some cheese. And baguettes. And cheese, lots
of wine, music, toasting; life is good even if they're taking down the
banners as you cross the finish line.
A very heartwarming custom we've noticed is women of all ages walking arm
and arm together down the streets...and the literally heartwarming custom of
copper vats of mulled wine hanging by chains from a tripod over a fire with
spotless silver pitchers for dipping; just the ticket unless you're the one
driving.
Today we drove to a little lake tucked in the mountain tops and started
another leg; last night we noticed that Phyllis was limping and despite
several thorough exams couldn't find anything, so she was on the truck for
this one with a little shoulder jacket, a cup of tea and some comics. The
shoulder jackets have pockets sewn in them that hold hand warmers and have
been known to perform miracles, of sorts; we shall see. Dave is now on the
upside of his predictable picky eating swing, and I'll tell you what - if I
were riding in the back of a moving van on these roads I wouldn't feel much
like eating, either.
Later...
A classy outdoor awards ceremony with lots of media and wine, wine, wine
afterward and intricate h'ors d'ouvres...top three finishers for this
loop/leg of the race were awarded silver bells with some kind of relief on
them; very Alpine with a beautiful sound; what a great first week! Tim's in
bed, the dogs are sleeping, a couple is arguing in the street below our
balcony and it's snowing. Goodnight!
Thursday, January 13, 2005
We are in Haute Maurienne (OTE morr-ENNNNNNNNNNNNNN) after an all day drive
through the Alps. Beautiful, but France has a huge hydro thing going on and
it seems every drip of water from the mountains is funneled to the base of
Mont Blanc (I think) and stored in an eerie Crayola aqua-blue "river", where
it's processed and sent out over towering clothes hanger robots. There are
menacing turbines built right into the mountain side, too; talk about creepy
looking. It takes from the magic of the place, but a necessary evil or it
wouldn't be possible for me to tell you about it. I don't think we're in
Italy. Yet.
The gas station coffee over here comes shooting out of a dispenser into a
suspended brittle plastic cup that somehow stays in place despite the fire
hose of boiling liquid blowing it every which way, and it's not an
exaggeration to say you get, TOPS, three tablespoons of coffee. So half a
dozen of those on the road and many paines au chocolate (little breads with
chocolate chips built in it) later, here I sit in our new digs with
breathtaking cramps and hives. Our new place is stucco and knotty pine
inside - very "Heidi of the Alps" with a dash of the seventies, and we even
have those wooden shutters; it's sort of a compound of ski apartments and
knots of roads and bridges...even an ominous castle across an impossibly
deep ravine. I asked one of the Grande Odyssee media/liason people if there
was a laundromat somewhere in the village, and he said if we gave him our
laundry he would have it back to us by mid afternoon tomorrow. Clean. I felt
dizzy and haltingly suggested he must be kidding. He stopped for a moment,
turned in his tracks, and said, "theeees....eeezz no jhoque". Why don't we
live here?
Phyllis is all better. This weekend there's an accordion festival in town as
well as a winter carnival and of course the race will start up again on
Saturday, too.
Friday, January 14, 2005
Good morning! Drinking coffee, waiting for Tim to wake up OH! He's awake and
says bonjour! One more attempt at a photo. Cross your fingers.
The laundry - decided to do it myself since some things need special care
and some things you just don't want anyone else to wash. Everything shuts
down in these villages between noon and two, so we were quickly herded off
to the neighboring village where there is a "lavage automatique", grocery
store and ski shop for waxing runners, and it was eleven forty-five; I
blanched at the thought of the ride. Ever since I turned....older.....I get
car sick in the back seat and naturally that's where I sat on the way into
town, head lurching this way and that, shoulder jammed against the window,
then centrifically jammed against another passenger, then back again;
finally I was dropped off at a non-automatique lavage, my bags were whisked
off like a sick child in the ER and someone said, "doo morroe evenin-g".
After a game of charades I think we pick up the clothes tonight at six, and
God only knows what I actually said to them in trying to convey no drier, no
fabric softener.
We also had a flat tire this morning in which I was accused, by someone who
shall remain nameless but his or her name might rhyme with "limb", of
hitting the curb and causing the flat. Imagine my joy when a huge screw
embedded in the tire caught the sun and sparkled shamelessly for all the
world to see, including Dr. Remainsnameless. But what a pain in the
business... Okay, time to go to town for another feast and pick up the
laundry. Bon Soire!
Friday evening...
No laundry. An official assured us they would pick it up while we were at
the opening ceremonies for the second half of the race and so far it's a
no-show; as a result we were both dressed highly inappropriately - skiers
with torches again, fireworks, emotionally charged music and all the village
kids running in a giant laser-lit circle while the drama escalated. It's
medieval, it's techno, it's "The Never Ending Story" all at once. Doesn't
make sense, I know, but trust me. In the midst of it I ran for a coffee at a
creperie situated in an old stone building. The hard-boiled barrista was
right out of "A Tale of Two Cities" only she was wearing low-slung pants and
to top it of a cat ran through the joint as I fished out the last of my
Euros. There are cats EVERYWHERE.
Now this is strange: there are dozens and dozens of military guys in
uniforms here, including berets, and MACHINE GUNS. What the devil?
Apparently one of the checkpoints is a military outpost (Polar Camp?) at the
top of a mountain, and these guys worked like mad to get the town and their
outpost ready for the mushers. I don't think the guns are loaded but none
the less it's un-nerving.
And now this is just ridiculous: after the ceremony there was a banquet with
finger food; I almost can't describe it...baguettes the size of a Barbie arm
stuffed with pate or crab or eggs; black sausages, copper vats of brown
sausages, greenish sausages, red sausages; one inch squares of various
quiches, pizzas, croque monsieur (inside out grilled cheese sandwiches),
cross-section slices of ...arm...or something and the tiniest, tiniest
chicken drumsticks that looked like hummingbird legs woven with sparklers
and deep fried. Thees eez no jhoque! Thimbles of puff pastry filled with
grass, anything you can think of wrapped in bacon and wine flowing like my
tears because I couldn't be sure it was shell fish free ( allergic!) and
therefore didn't eat any of it, save for a few broiled banana slices
(wrapped in bacon)....then four swarthy, wild-haired men came out and
started playing "Girl From Ipanema" and other Stan Getz/Jobim tunes and one
had an accordion. It is "Festival Nationale Accordione", after all. The
food, the machine guns, the stars...it's no wonder the French are tres
romantique.
Tim drew bib number seven for the remainder of the race, and when asked if
he had anything to say, in front of hundreds of folks and TV cameras, he
shouted "Vive le France!" and ran off. Good night!
Saturday...very early
Tim Here. As the princess snores away in her cozy bed, I am just in from
dropping the dogs in the crispy morning air. The dogs need to come out of
the truck roughly every 4-6 hrs to do number one or two and it is a great
time to get acquainted with the canine trusts. Not to say we talk over the
bathroom stall, but I have to relate that the French do converse in the open
toilettes, be it man to man or the fairer sex. Enough of that. It is a
stunner though to walk in on a lady doing her numbers in the open. Good
grief, Charlie Brown.
The dogs are all doing fine and are eating. Like Princess Leah said, it
helps when they are not in a car on curvy roads all day. I believe they will
do fine. We are here to finish he race, but the large lady hasn't sung yet.
Still a lot of gas in the of the dogs and will. They are getting better. And
the altitude hasn't affected us. We all hope the trail is better ahead as we
don't want to run those types of trails again. Do have to admit it was
amazing watching Grant Beck go down a hill for 300-400 yards hanging on to
his bar brake and riding behind the sled on his belly. A guy who is 55 yrs.
old. One tough musher. He did have his dog draped in a hockey jersey with
that maple leaf on it for the opening ceremonies last night. Canucks.
I have received numerous e-mail wishing support as we go along and thanks a
ton for that. It is difficult to get on the computer so we will do our best
to answer. But if not, we have read them and it buoys us in those times
where we wonder what the heck we are doing. It is those darn French notes
that we we just guess on.
For those that asked, Mom is doing better. If she is reading this, don't get
your hopes up of me going back to church soon after praying on the trail.
The guy in the sky and I have an understanding. Just have to give up
chocolate for awhile.
The continuous race coming up should be more of our forte. We train all the
time for this, so the dogs will be better suited for this. The teams ahead
are very good and many are quite fast. We will see how they do. Watch the
crafty Finnish musher, though. There is something sneaky about a guy that
wears reindeer hats and jackets. His name is Reijo. Doesn't speak much
English, but it is fun just to hear the sing song of Finn. As they say, he
has a lot of Sisu.
Well, back for a catnap and then get things started for the beginning of the
second leg. It is amazingly beautiful here and the people are nice. Just
have to be sure to phrase all discussions around the fact we did not vote
for Bush. As they say here; "Despicable messiure."
Au voir for now.
Tuesday morning, January 18?, 2005
Saturday's race start was spectacular. We got our laundry back an hour
before the start, and had some of the best pork roast (they ran out of
rabbit), creamy potatoes, petit-fors, eclairs, cheese, bread and wine
around. WHAT?!?! Zees ees not spishee-al, jhust reg-you-laire foods vore us!
We should be so lucky. The dogs were ready, Tim was ready and now in
retrospect I can't remember where we ended up Saturday night. Wait! I
remember! We ended up back here in Bramans. There's a little valley with a
little bridge over a rocky, volatile river between the staging area and
where we are holed up; Saturday night the outdoor speakers were jummping
with accordian music, fires in barrels every other step of the way on the
closed off streets, bell wearing mules pulling carts, life sized carved
camels (?), a couple vin "shoe" huts, an enormous igloo that led into a
heated building and in a warm canvas tent the most stereotypical looking
French people drinking "La Parachute" wine....toasting, shouting, filterless
cigarettes smoked to the quick; but enough of that; let me tell you about
the lasagna we had. Only three layers, possibly two, of pasta....MAYBE
cheese between the layers, but I don't think so. Pasta, Bechamel sauce, red
sauce, repeat and top with Emmental....unbelievable. Of course bread,
blueberry tarts, and racous, young accordian players getting the crowd so
pumped I thought it was curtains when they broke into "Roll out the Barrel".
We've got to figure out how to upload the photos and video with audio.
There's a deep, feverish chest cold making it's way through the mushers, and
Grant, Annu and Fabrizio are sick and weak - also GI blowouts among the
dogs...Fabrizio will take a "150 % of the slowest time for this leg" penalty
today as he opted out of this leg back up to Base Polare; more on that place
later.
By the way; Tim got a two minute penalty for not having a sleeping bag in
the sled bag. Remember when we slept in the truck? Well, we left the
sleeping bag in the truck, and when he had his bag check that morning he
mistook (as did the bag checker) his parka for the sleeping bag - so when he
had his bag checked after that leg, voila, no sleeping bag but an extra
parka. So that's what that's all about.
Back to Base Polare. We rode a chairlift for 15 solid minutes up, up, up and
then rode in a 12 seater industrial snowmobile, of sorts, for about twenty
minutes; everything beyond the chairlift is camoflauged white, believe it or
not. Blinding white. Except for the shepherd's houses, which are ancient
stone and stucco. This whole trip just keeps getting better and more
bizarre. Anyway, the French military has a base way the hell up there, and
it's just like a M*A*S*H unit. Cafeteria, the whole works, and an igloo with
curvy hallways leading to ice toilets, where you have to go in a bag, take
it out with you and leave it in an ice trash receptacle. It's all carved
out/built into a valley-ish mountainside and most of it's covered with white
and grey netting. Also, the army guys up there wear brilliant white
jumpsuits, berets and ski all over the place. Even rappel down mountainsides
with their skiis. Apparently, in the summertime a rode cuts through the
base, and according to one base official it's as popular in Europe as our
Route 66; there's a beautiful lake there, too, and in warm weather lots of
milk cows (hence the shepherds). Those army guys, though...skiing with
machine guns up and down steep mountains, dressed like aliens or heroes or
Pac-Men or scrubbing bubbles or something; so young and brave. And spooky.
Some just returning from Bosnia, Afghanistan, who knows where else. We go
there for a third time today, and I can't wait to see what's in store for us
food-wise. The first time, it was cheese, bread, wine, duck with au jus,
scalloped potatoes, belgian waffles with cream and fruit tarts. Beautiful
fruit tarts. Yesterday it was salmon ravioli, pickled beets, coleslaw, peach
pastry, cheese, wine, bread and a bluish loaf of some sort. I asked someone
what it was, and he said, "It is pigs and things". Language barrier. Pork
turrine.
Reijo Jaaskalainen. What a guy. Doesn't make a peep the whole race, and last
night (Monday) in the town hall/igloo after a wonderful dinner of, yup,
creamy potatoes, sausages, mustards, eclairs, etc. he takes off his reindeer
hat, runs his fingers through his hair and starts
whisking/waltzing/weaving/polka-ing the village ladies across the dance
floor - beautiful, fluid, effortless dancing, people clapping it was so
amazing...then he picks up his hat, semi-bows and leaves. I could have
cried. Vive la sisu!
The accordian festival must go on all week, as well as the hot wine,
bonfires, friendly folks and frisky community cats; I suspect the last four
are year-round. Let's cross our fingers and hope Tim, Dave and Kiwi can keep
it together back up to Base Polare. Oh ya, everybody's in heat, too. So all
the boys are love-sick, the girls are terribly crabby and if they were human
they'd be filing their nails, snapping their gum and rolling their eyes.
I'll try to give you an update after we make our way back down from base
Polare this evening. P.S.- we are so, so tired - hit the hay close to
eleven, Tim up and feeding at one, musher meetings at four-thirty a.m., on
the trial by five thirty, day after day; we're punch-drunk, everything's
funny and I even made a phone call to Tom thinking it was noonish and he
said to me "it's the dark noon here, Mom, not the light noon". I feel like
I'm five and have a pretend watch.
Good Lord. I skipped a whole day. The trail ended (one of these days) in a
town called Brassans. Beautiful alpine village and when we got there they
told us there were beds in the chalet, showers, a hot meal and breakfast. We
thought we were sleeping in the trucks. Roast pork, crozettes, soup, poached
pears, down comforters, bread, cheese, wine, bunks, fluffy towels, heaven,
toothbrush, up at four a.m., crabby, bright lights, loud, snarly hair, too
much talking, bread, jam, coffee, slowly coming 'round, off they go, what
the hell just happened.
Tim requested I buy more chicken for the dogs yesterday, so after making my
way back down from Base Polare, wind burnt, sun burnt and filthy I went to
the "butcherie/charcuterie" and we were all in tears by the time I left -
none of the three workers spoke English, I was yammering to the other
customers, "parlez-vous Englaise? Parlez-vous Englaise?", brows knit,
wearing so many layers I looked homeless. We were laughing so hard, the only
thing we all understood, and finally after drawing a picture of a crude
bone, pointing at the chickens in the case and saying no! sans! no! sans! we
figured it out, I got my chicken and left. The chickens here have their
heads on, by the way, with a little scarf of feathers left on the neck.
Their feet are still attached, too, and at first I thought they were big,
gristly prawns tucked in as a garnish. Yech.
Partially unaware of my gruesome qualities, I went limping (blisters) with
my dripping boneless chicken breasts (you can imagine the charades at the
butcher shop) into a very sexy lingerie and perfume shop. I think I told the
busty, doe-eyed kitten of a sales girl that I loved her and my husband was a
dog. She backed out through a filmy curtain, I sprayed myself nauseaous with
perfume and beat it. Almost forgot: at a gas station there was men's cologne
called "Craps" and the bottle was a huge dice. Ha ha ha. Need to sleep -
sorry about the stream-of-consciousness writing.
Wednesday morning
As if it couldn't get stranger, we had to be rescued from Base Polare as a
vicious storm came up and the mushers had to go down by convoy, led by the
army. We rode on big carts covered with plastic, pulled by some kind of
vehicle....very dramatic...to the chairlift, which they had closed. Anyway,
they started it back up agin and we rode down in a terrifying wind on the
chairlift. I wish I could write more but time is of the essence. The weather
is good this morning, they left Brassons about 1.5 hours ago and we are all
waiting for them in Langslebourge. It is a true race. Shortened to 55
clicks, as they say; Tim wishes it were longer but what the heck. More
later. I THINK HE'LL STAY IN EIGHTH
PLACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BRAAAAAAAVO! ALLEZ!!!!
ALLEZ!!!!!!!!!
Finishing the race
As we cascaded around the final 40 mile loop in the valley somewhere in the
Alps, a lot went through my mind. The main thing was not to make a wrong
turn and blow the 40 minute cushion we had on Isable Travadon, who was in
ninth place. No one will remember tomorrow who came in eighth or ninth
place, and quite possibly the same can be said of who actually wins a race.
I think it is more of a personal note to finish where you think you should
than to prove something to someone. We are all adults. Most of the time. We
went through many small towns. One in particular was called Bonneville where
we shot through it on alleys just wider than the dog teams and it was
obvious this place was old. Way old. Felt like Sir Lancelot. Or Sir Galahad.
Or a Sir Loin.
Many, many people along the way and many a worn out bootie from the dog team
was tossed as sovegneirs to kids. What a hoot. One classic little old French
woman grabbed my hand tightly as I went back and said Bravo and started to
cry. Quite a people. I suppose my pre existing images of French people have
been redefined on this trip. I would go back to France in a second. Maybe to
a beach the next time. Warm beach. Lots of vin. And time.
As we slowly knocked off the remaining kilometers of the race I sensed the
dogs knew this was the end as well. Something was different about them..
Maybe it was something clouding my vision. Those rascals got the best of me
again. I think the French understand emotions as well or better than most.
We could hear the call of the man that has been doing the loudspeaker
descriptions and the dogs immediately picked up.. The valley allows his
booming voice, which of course I cannot understand except for the names of
mushers being called off, to be heard for some distance. Up and down we went
over the hills until we saw that heralded sign, "Checkpoint 800 meters."
Down the hill we went and the finish line lay ahead. The dogs ears picked up
and we loped on past the finish line. Mary stood there crying, people were
kissing everybody on the cheeks and I gave each dog a well deserved hug.
Especially Steve, my solid as a rock leader that lead us through many days
of up and downs. He earned the MVP award of Strike Three Kennels for his
performance in this crazy excursion. I think he could drive a car if I gave
him a chance.
As we went to the truck to unhook the dogs and snack them with some treats,
I was still astounded as to how the dogs performed. We came here trained up
to just finish the race and finish it we did. Eighth place or eighteenth
place, who really cares. We not only finished what we set out to do, we
exceeded it. I wished I had had the patience I have know when I was 20 years
old. Guess the gray hair tells the story better than anything else. Met some
fantastic people, saw sights that not many get to see without the benefit of
a dog team, and despite feeling that my body had been dragged over a rock
quarry, felt refreshed. Clean air, lots of sunshine and a load of animal
friends that never complained. What a combination and I am one lucky dude.
Time to have a few beers and tell some more lies to the other mushers at the
finishing banquet.
The Day after the race finished...I don't know what day of the week it is
and I don't want to know.
Tim here. What a race. I am so proud of these dogs of ours. They stood up
without a hitch to all the troubles of the trail and never questioned what
was ahead. They are amazing creatures and I am constantly caught off guard
by their will and abilities. Wow...
Well, hells bells, we finished eighth and far exceeded the expectations we
had on this race. We had planned the training to give the dogs a bottom,
which is to say, to make them tough , so we could hope to finish this 1000
kilometer race. Once we started to get a rhythm going and the team started
to gel, the realization started to come that there was more than a last
place team here. And the dogs deserved to go for the best finish they could.
And they responded. Really responded. It was a lot of fun working with the
dogs, thinking only of the race and the upcoming course. Our own little
world away from reality. Like a cartoon. And I am Foghorn Leg horn.
So much to tell about the trail and the towns. After reading Mary's entries,
I figure that you have a pretty good gist of the food over here. The people
here were just amazing. Everywhere we ran people would appear and yell
"Bravo" and "Allez". Very, very supportive. It really was like what you see
on TV for the Tour De France with the crowds. Just no cowbells. What a trip.
Teemohtee. From Da OHHESS. Very friendly. Old ladies, little kids, grown
men, people on skis going by us. Like a fairyland. I can't wait to get the
pictures on line so you can see. Pictures say a 1000 words. Soon, I hope.
The mushers in the race were terrific as well. People from all over, but
with a very common interest, that being dogs. And loving being with their
dogs. What a fun thing to do when the crew is all working for a common goal,
that is to finish the race. All different languages going. YOu wouldn't even
have to understand the words to understand it something to laugh at. Lots of
camaraderie and helping each other out when it was needed. And of course I
couldn't let this go without giving them nicknames. Chocolate train was from
Switzerland. The playboy was from France. The Ice Princess and the dancer
were from Finland. Of course you know where the crazy canuck was from. The
spaniard. Was he Antonio Banderas? The Italian Stallion. Chocolat Soo.
Enough said. They were fun.
We are trying to get on the road to Paris, always a struggle to get this
many people going. Like herding cats. I am tired and will type more later
What good dogs. And a good handler.
,
Day to fly home...Again, not sure what day of the week it is.
Musher man here. At De Gaulle Airport and have gotten all the gear and dogs
loaded into kennels for the flight home. We have 12 hours at the airport
before the flight, so we have managed to hitch a ride into Paris for some
food and sightseeing. Can't wait to see Gay Paree. And eat more cheese.
The trip back to Paris was a fun one. We had a convoy of dog trucks with
lots of mushers with little sleep. That equals high jinx and mayhem. At
least when I am around. Saw many castles from the road. Drank much coffee
and laughed a lot.. Good group of people. Lots of lies and tall tales. Dogs
are getting their feet back on the ground and eating well. Mary is getting
up to speed on her french. She was able to read a menu at a restaurant to
us. When I ordered what I thought was pasta I did end up with tripe. Oh
well.
This trip[ has been one of many hurry ups and waits. I think a lot has do
with the fact that the race was a first time event and people were learning
as they went. We felt like clowns in a circus many times and marionettes
during the rest of the day. How it goes. Races are shows for the public. The
cultural difference was difficult for some, but to us, it was a welcomed
challenge. So many differences over here from home that it will be a shock
initially when we get back. No more ordering frommage, vin or baguettes. The
food is so much more flavorful in France then anywhere else I have
encountered. Wow, MAry just conversed with one of the firemen in French.
All right, getting carsick. Another really fast french driver. Time to stop
writing for now. Off to Paree.
So much for Gay Paree...Afternoon same day
Well, we had just gotten to downtown Paris when Xavier's phone went off and
we found out there was a loose dog. Running on the tarmac at De Gaulle
Airport. And if we couldn't catch it, they would shoot it because of the
planes taking off and landing. Around we turned and back we went. We arrived
to the airport to find badges and jackets thrown onto us and off we went
onto the runway searching for Jessie's loose dog. Apparently, as they moved
the cages, one fell over and the dog popped out. Scared to death. Well, it
was a seen out of a JAmes Bond movie with numerous cars, fire trucks, police
vans and people on foot. We chased the dog up and down the hills across the
runway as jets roared overhead and through hangers. we would speed around at
a zillion kilometers per hour with the doors open and the stop and jump out
after the renegade mutt. The french drivers were like western cowboys using
the cows as horse and trying to herd this dog towards people. After 2 hours
and much running, guys yelling in french and english, "what do we do to
catch the dog?", we chased the woebegone husky back into the hanger with the
other caged dogs where the Michigan musher apprehended the villain. Mary
will have to describe it in her way when she gets back to making entries.
She just hasn't had a chance. Anyway, it was a fitting way to end the
adventure in France. Cars swarming in and out, all over the runways, tarmac
and side roads. And I thought I was done running my butt off in Europe. It
was a scene right out of some cop show. Or Blazing Saddles. Or The Pink
Panther. You get the idea.
We spent many hours in the airport before the flight going through numerous
customs, police checks, waiting, waiting, waiting. Have I mentioned before
it is nearly impossible to call out of France? We finally gave up. Finding
an internet connection was only slightly easier.
Steve Miller serenaded us aboard another jet airliner, a big 747. Amazing
machine. French pilots. Four course meal with beds to sleep in. This cargo
stuff is ok .Dogs were loaded last and the doors were shut. Off we went back
towards North America. On the way we were shown a terrific light display as
the northern lights went into high gear. Seeing them at 35000 feet was
great. I think it was a dog I lost last year, who was named Lolita, letting
me know all was well and she was watching over us. Her puppies had made her
proud.
Arrived in Chicago to a blizzard, never saw the runway until we touched
down. Spent a good 2-3 hours with our pal Clay at the livestock hanger
taking apart dog crates, letting dogs out, doing those sort of things. He
said he had heard the North American mushers had kicked butt. Guess he was
right. But those European mushers are known to get into the game pretty
quick, as they are fast learners. All the staff there wanted to know how it
went and they said they had been following the race via the internet as
well. Good to know there has been support all over. Clay continued to press
for a percentage of the purse we had gotten, but we informed him that the
race hadn't yet paid us and we would have to get back with him. He gave us
his address which we promptly used as bedding for the dogs.
We are now in transit back towards Marquette, but not before we go to the
Ikea store. Bargained with the princess in that if we won some moolah, she
could go to her favorite store. Good thing there isn't too much room in the
truck.
Au voir for know.
Oh, it's a long, long, time...from May to December...i.e....what the hell
day is it anyways?
Cracked my first pop in almost three weeks. I asked someone why nobody has
ice in anything they drink, and was told they just don't, except for vin
rose. That's it. Something called "Gini" is a very popular drink there, a
bitter limeade. So when we found out that little Pancake had two even
littler girls and a teensy boy a couple days after we left (STIELSTRAS- YOU
ARE OFF THE HOOK. PUPPIES LOOK LIKE STEVE. OVER) I decided to name them Gini,
Clio (a little car we saw everywhere) and Henri (pronounced ah-REEEEEE)
after the two terrific Henris we met. But for now, let's go back in time,
now that there is time.
Blizzard at Two Thousand Meters
The ride to the chair lift. Oh boy. We sat on benches in a cart sealed up
with rubber or canvas or something. Pitch dark except for the headlamps of a
few. I was the only North American in the limo and if you think a lurching,
tipping, high-seas ride in a blizzard down a crude road with only elementary
understanding of the conversations is fun, welcome to my world. It was like
sailing down steps in a sealed up box with nothing to gauge your
whereabouts. And how do I know this? Because my siblings put me in a box and
sent me down the steps very, very long ago. And don't try denying it, Chris,
Carol and Tom, or I'll tell the world about playing "Octopus" with you guys'
legs as the "swimming" octopus as I retrieved your socks from the bottom of
the bed that we were all in. Ahem. Where am I going with this....so in a
lull in the intensely animated French conversations, I said to the very
flirty, perfect English-speaking vet, "Come here often?" and it went over
like lead balloon. Oh, the humility! Pardon? I told him it's a pick-up line
in the States, making things one thousand times worse. A culture barrier
this time. I shut my yap for the rest of the ride and braced myself for the
chair lift; rode down with the goofy male masseuse (available to the mushers
at the base- WONDERFUL massages) who was singing "Star of the Snow" at the
tops of his lungs....it's a song about a flower, maybe an old traditional
song. Very surreal, coupled with the fact that many men wander hither and
yon wearing a creamy 1965-ish pink sunscreen on their lips, seemingly
regardless sun or not, as did my lift partner. Off to the next village once
at the bottom and the trucks had chains on them, as "zee hhrrrrrrode eez
vay-hhhhhree dan-ger-uz".
The day before at the base Tim peeled off his shirt as two elderly ladies
walked by, and honest to God, they said "Ooh la-la!" and the next day they
were back with some caramels for him, wanting another show! Okay, enough
about the Base Polare.
We thought we'd be sleeping in the trucks again at the next village, but
when we got there we were told hot showers, a hot meal and warm beds in one
of the ski lodges. Nothing could have been better after what we just went
through and what we just drove through. Legume soup, crozettes, pork roast,
cheese, baguettes, poached pears...and beds so tight you could hardly get in
them. We slept dorm style and within seconds everybody, four to six to a
room, was crapped out. Up for a breakfast of bread, jams, coffee, teas and
juice the next day. We slept in this little place again a few days later and
had delicious pumpkin soup (the soup is brought to the table in a tureen -
common place- and the food is served family style), pasta, a dash of meat
sauce with grated Emmental cheese and of course the cheese course and
dessert. Can't remember what it was, though. In any event, that second night
Tim ended up on the dining room floor in the good sleeping bag as one of our
roommates, Sylvia Fuhrtwahngler (forgive me - it can't be spelled
correctly), was coughing so terribly he couldn't sleep. I sleep like a
corpse in most situations and didn't even know he had been in bed and left
again. It was the last leg of the race the next day and we were starting to
feel melancholy.
And now, the end is near, and we must face... the vinyl curtain...
Of which there aren't any because the showers are open to the rest of the
bathroom or in a room that is called a douche with a drain in the floor.
Very cool. And very sunny that last morning. Off they went, ever-present
helicopters hovering, for the last fifty-five kilometers. We handlers packed
up the shit, which is what it devolved into as time went on (gear to
equipment to stuff to goddamn stuff to shit) and raced to the village also.
Apparently, kids in Europe 'till age fourteen don't have regular school on
Wednesdays; they do a physical activity instead, as a school group, such as
skiing, skating, etc. and every Wednesday there were hoards of kids wherever
the race started that day. Again, very cool. Anywho, the finish was at a ski
resort (naturally) so there were HUNDREDS of kids there lining the chute,
shouting out names of mushers in unison and jockeying for position and a
good glimpse/autograph of the unbeknownst-to-us famous Nickolai V. The crowd
went mad as Jacque approached, first one in and second over-all, then
exploded when Jesse came 'round the bend. "Yessie! Yessie! Yessie!" Film
crews everywhere, lots of people kissing people kissing dogs kissing people;
it was fantastic mayhem. Reijo came in, legs parallel to the ground,
gripping the stanchion. Tremendous dancer AND athlete. Apparently, in the
off months (as I understood it) he trains his dogs to form pyramids and
catch tennis balls. He also trains reindeer and those that are untrainable
make a tasty supper. They were a mysterious group, those Finlanders, and
Stacy, a fellow handler, became partly obsessed with them after she heard
"we have many beasts in Lapland". Perfect.
When I picked out "Teemotee Unt" over the loudspeaker my knees went weak.
And the kids started shouting "Oo-ess-ay! Teemotee Unt! Oo-ess-ay!" and I
started crying and there they were! Steve, Dave, the whole crew and Tim
smiling so big, kissing every man, woman and beast within reach. What a
tremendous relief to have everyone back healthy and at the same time the
start of a tremendous bittersweet spiral towards the end.
Another delicious afternoon banquet afterwards where we had choucroute (sp?)
which is not typical to the region but the Europeans were bonkers over it,
as were we. From the region of France near Germany, it was sauerkraut,
different sausages (one looked like a hunter orange hot-dog, the other
looked coarse and raw; both outstanding), pork of some type and potatoes all
cooked together. By the time this feast rolled around, Sylva, the handler
who earlier in the race was saying "zees is jhust reg-u-laire food", was
saying, "zees? IT IS GARBAGE TO US!" and winking like crazy. He also made up
all sorts of lies about what we eating. Great laughs. Amazingly, we didn't
have sauerkraut hangovers and let's just assume at this point that every,
every meal had cheese, baguettes, wines, desserts, soups, pates, tureens,
etc.
ANOTHER banquette that night. Unbelievable. The military, the food, the
accordions, the emotions...Jessie gave her bib, number thirteen, to the
battalion that took care of us as they are the thirteenth battalion. If you
don't think people were crying about that you're wrong. And the guys swarmed
her. Freshly shaven, in uniforms, dozens of them surrounding her. Later on
in the evening all the folks were arm in arm, swaying and singing in a huge
circle, surrounding the young military accordion player, to what I assumed
to be familiar, old French folk songs. Damnit! I wish we could upload this
stuff!
We were a huge family about to be split up, most likely forever. Someone
said it felt like we were step kids who's parent's were getting divorced.
Promises of emails and meeting again, visiting us, visiting you, please come
back. And the kissing. Each cheek. Pierre, the other Swiss musher, told me
"in Zwitzerlond zay kees vour timez" Hmmmm. But I guess it's true, because I
mentioned it to Sylva (who told me I was the first American lady that's ever
kissed him) and he said, "oh yes, both cheekz, then again, and zometimez zee
mouth eef you have luck". Wink wink. On a side note, two days later we
dropped him off at a McDonald's situated next to the Museum of Natural
History in downtown Paris, where he caught the train to somewhere. Beauty
and the capitalist beast.
We're outta here.
Off to Paris in a convoy the next day. Several folks with big heads from the
red water, as they say. Frank and his handlers and Tim and I had dinner at
our hotel once we got there while the rest of the North Americans went off
to sight-see in town; we were so tired, needing to find our visas and
tickets and health certificates that we opted to stay back. Tim fell asleep
in his clothes on top of the covers. We had to be in the lobby of the hotel
at six am, ready to go to Charles De Gaulle airport the next morning; only
fifteen kilometers from the hotel, we had to allow two hours travel time
there because of traffic, and you've never seen the likes of it. Motorcycles
weaving between cars, a bumper-to-bumper death ride only to loose the
convoy. Good God. I'm not going to tell you about the panic and swearing
involved, only that we got there and everyone cheered. And I won't tell you
why Tim wore a dog costume at the Air France Cargo dock and pretended to
feel amorous about everyone while wearing it. But I will tell you that after
everyone was on their plane and the dogs were packed up, our dear Xavier
Beauregard drove us into Paris for lunch and shopping. As we crossed the
Seine the terrible call came and we high-tailed it back to the airport. At
least we got to drive around a little bit, and at the risk of sounding trite
it was awesome. It's not possible to describe.
As I lay gagging...
The airport. A nightmare. Dozens of tiny, flashing airport vehicles on the
tarmac, perfect profile of the dog, wolf-like, running away from the
vehicles over ridges, into ditches, us wearing badges we couldn't read
thrown at us as we exited Xavier's van along with safety vests, running
under very hot, very big jets taking off and landing, and our poor panicked
driver....spinning out, speeding, we'd hop in, doors open, hanging on,
jumping out, running, creeping, back in the car, speeding, "faster? slower?
what shall I do? too fast? I'm so sorry! We apologize! They shoot her if we
can't catch her! Is there an aircraft coming? This is very, very, dangerous.
Is there an aircraft coming in this lane? There she is! Jump out, back in,
the weirdest thing possible. Finally she ran back to the other dogs, Tim
nabbed her and everyone was clapping and shouting Bravo! Bravo! Two hours of
this. Running like I was fifteen, gagging when I stopped and the most
embarrassing flood of tears when she finally was caught. Oh, for the love of
God you'd cry too. Her little frame, running, scared as shit, tongue
hanging, cars and fire trucks trying to funnel her away from jets barreling
down the tarmack....
Lutherans and St. Christopher medals: there the twain did meet
Now that we're back I can safely tell this story. Prior to the trip, I was
petrified, PETRIFIED, of flying. Family and friends, through hushed
whispers, wondered how in the hell I was going to do this...drink? drugs? I
visited a couple web sites for "nervous flyers", got some tips and buried my
head in the sand, for the most part, thinking that ignorance is bliss and/or
a little bit of knowledge in the wrong neurotic hands (mine) would make
matters worse. Besides, once I was on the plane I would simply have to deal
with it. What's the worst that could happen, right? The plane would nosedive
because I got up to go to the bathroom (how can you walk around on carpeting
seven miles up in the air, flush a toilet and get away with it?), that's
what. Fast forward/rewind to Christmas. My dear, dear friend Wendy handed me
a wrapped box, cleared her throat and said, "I hope you don't take this the
wrong way". What the.... A flood of memories....years and years ago...THAT'S
what those things were! Pinned onto the drooled-up undershirts of babies,
pinned onto the shirts of the kids we went to school with, pinned onto the
jackets of kids at recess who had brothers old enough to drive and sisters
still in diapers...God bless her straying Catholic heart. A Saint
Christopher medal, the patron saint of travel. Around my Miracle Whip neck.
Now I felt safe. More later. Time for Arrested Development.
January 30, 2005
Home for one week now and we're suffering from gastronomic post-partum
depression. Liver sausage and Peter Piper Sweet Midgets do not a pate and
cornichon make; as I type there's the third stab at those buttery apple
tarts in the oven, and while the legume soup I tried recreate languished on
the deck in preparation for skimming, certain naughty dogs got into it which
caused them to poop their pants in the TV room the next day while we were
gone. God works in mysterious ways. I don't know what I mean by that either,
except it's Sunday and can't hurt. I've also found a bread machine recipe
for brioche - I KNOW, I KNOW; it's like duplicating the Shroud of Turin on a
poly blend or Venus out of Sculpty, but I'm starting a new job Monday and
will be pressed for time. Seems I have a religious theme going...so on that
note, at the Kam's summer place a crazy, tiny car zoomed up as we dropped
dogs and out stepped a Woody Allen look-alike, glasses and all, in pajamas,
bedroom slippers and a silk robe, enveloped in cigarette smoke, pacing like
Columbo...and a ferocious, turbulent mane and beard of wiry, salt-n-pepper
hair akin to Jesus, only half-bald and possibly nuts. Or Moses, parting the
Red Sea, smoke in hand and paisley robe. He must have been a neighbor and
curious as to the commotion; turned out to be a friendly guy. Stories keep
popping up the longer we're home...
I'm not a proud woman, so here goes: Stacy, Frank's handler, asked me what
kind of animal I'd be and why, so I told her a cat because I have whiskers
and like to take naps; speaking of which, Arthur continues to punish us by
remaining stand-offish yet saucy and burying self fabricated treasures in
the plants; however, I did catch him sleeping on Tim's head the other night
so forgiveness is near.
The puppies are bumbling around in their house and mama tries to escape
every time the gate is opened; they're also at the stage where it seems like
we have eye contact, but in reality they're probably just seeing dark and
noisy lunging figures. Tim's been going on fourteen milers (give or take)
with the dogs, and up next - the UP 200!