Iditarod 2010

Ever since we watched The Last Great Race series on television in Ohio, Jack and I were transfixed on the Iditarod mystique. We watched Lance Mackey win that year... was it 2008? So we were very excited to be a part of this event our first year as Alaskan residents. My co-worker Cindy K. told me about her family plans to cheer from "Camp Flamingo" which was so "out there" I couldn't understand what that would entail, but she invited us, sent us a map to get there, and we did it!
After parking along the road and walking in following snow machine trails, we walked along the Iditarod trail, all along wondering if someone would yell at us to get off the trail since the race was starting in Willow at any minute. I was nervous and determined to get to their spot on the trail before we were redirected.
Cindy's family has been cheering from this spot on the trail outside of Willow for 16 or 17 years. They decorate the spot with countless plastic pink flamingos and enthusiastic members sport flamingo hats, boxer shorts (Jim), and share food for the long wait for 71 mushers to drive their dog teams through. Jack and I were greeted warmly and immediately made to feel more than welcome.
As the mushers came by, I cheered primarily for the true athletes... the dogs. They were amazing...quietly focused on their task... the next 997 miles from Willow to Nome. Tongues already hanging low, when one musher (the famous 4 time winner Martin Buser) stopped his team for us, they failed to show much interest in the spectators, just wanted to get back on the trail. One team had a dog fall while passing us by, but the harnesses are arranged such that the dog fell on its back and twirled back up into position without any detriment to the team's progress.
Some mushers were happy to see the small crowd we had gathered to greet them, and some were somewhat put out. Many put both hands out to "high five" people on each side of the trail, and some declined to take their hands off the sled for an instant. On the chance that the mushers wanted to tap hands in support, I began to extend a hand to each musher as they passed. Sometimes they were attending to the other side and sometimes their hand missed mine, but often I felt they were appreciative of the congratulatory gesture as they continued on their solitary journey. I was able to be a true fan when Lance Mackey drove his team through, yelling "Four in a row" with enthusiasm, and got my hand slapped to boot:)
Between mushing teams, snowmobiles paced between our camp with their offensive odor, but some riders decided to reach for a "high 5" of their own. Although most of us felt the snowmobiles on the track during this 3 hour time frame was unnecessary and disrespectful, it appeared to be the norm as the Iditarod trail was not managed in any way after the Willow area restart.
The same race in Ohio would have been micromanaged with fences all along and with security patrolling. There is no way anyone could reach out and touch these brave folk... except in Alaska.