Dear fellow followers of The Adventure,
Give ’em credit, our Adventurers can knuckle down and make tracks when they need to! The just can’t make it out of the sack very early. Maybe they were waiting for the gourmet coffee to be ready or maybe it was just post-spa lethargy (they no doubt will claim it was awaiting an improvement in weather–that’s poppycock, don’t listen for a moment). At the crack of noon they stumbled forth back down the hill from Banff in a mild snow and rain environment, having a momentary fright when they hydroplaned with an oncoming semi; fortunately it all worked out and they vowed to have the Phasers armed and ready in case that happened again! The road was mostly dry after the first hour and mostly four lane (helpful to the oncoming trucks, phasers being as deadly as they are). They arrived at the border and encountered the usual faux friendly US CustomeImmigrationHealthAndWhatever Agents who were so appalled at the bouncing glee of our Heros that they forgot their usual suspicious attitudes and nearly waved them through. Fortunately there was nothing for the Adventurers to hide in that mountain of personal effects bound for our new home on RED so maybe they just recognized a couple of post-teenaged girls on a walkabout and declined to make the ruckus that is normally reserved for US Citizens returning from Canadia. Or maybe they knew what a tough winter it has been in Alaska and figured they were refugees hoping for a better life in Cut Bank.
Now both B and F are Iditarod Volunteers in recent past lives (as is Elizabeth (take a bow Liz)) and F&B pestered your humble scribe (who had Internet access–much like George the cat pesters me because I have treat access) for information about who was going to stream live the finish of the Last Great Race. A deep, dark secret is that our Adventurers are, ahem, unabashed sexists. They clung to the faint hope that the lovely and vivacious Aliy Zerkle, aka the Z-Rocket, would overtake the laid-back and even younger Dallas Seavey (3rd generation top finisher/winner, and both Dallas and Aliy are recent rookies). It was not to be, his lust for the keys to the shiny Dodge truck (did I mention the 50-grand in cash) maintained his focus and he preserved a carefully crafted long distance lead topped off with a testosterone fueled first place sprint under the burled arch on Main Street in downtown Nome. The place (Nome that is) went wild! And magically, from some depth of character bread into him by two prior generations of serious long distance sled dog racers, and after 1049 miles of trail, sleep deprived and bone tired, he managed to be at once elated at winning, coherent in his praise of his competitors, and gracious as the youngest champion of the Iditarod. That’s one for the record books if ever there was one. Aliy, also a poised champion (and who has more winnings than Dallas so can claim top spot where it really counts) came in a respectable second. But, campers, just wait until next year! Women have a habit of winning this race so stay tuned and imagine if you can the competition between these young powerhouses…
So, our Heros set forth for Boseman in the Big Sky Country tomorrow morning early where they will stay with former Iditarod colleague Sara and her husband and Fran will Lunch with our dearest friend Johanna who’s home in Anchorage we have had the good fortune to live in these past two years. The cognoscenti will recall that there are three recognizable stages of civilization, namely;
How do we eat?
Why, do we eat?
Where shall we Lunch?
(Just in case you are depraved on accounta you’re deprived).
Catch the continuing saga of F and B Conquer the ALCAN beginning at 8, promise, Pacific time tomorrow.
Your faithful scribe,