Since my blog has started to become more about our life in general, with a decent helping of dogsledding still, I have moved it to:

Full Life, Empty Pockets.

I hope the new format will give me more freedom and a cleaner layout. Bear with me while I figure it out.

Short race, long post.

The second week of Feburary will always be, for me, one of the most important weeks of the year because that is the week that the Yukon Quest starts. I have a link to that particular race in that I handled for a Quest musher several years ago. I spent many, many hours on training carts and dogsleds, conditioning the team and preparing them for the toughest race in the dogsledding world. When it came time to leave for Fairbanks, Alaska and the start of the race, I was not able to go because - and this is the main reason why the second week in February is particularly important - Jenn was in labour with our daughter, Hunter.

Our race bibs

Hunter was born as teams from across the continent, and some from another continent entirely, gathered in Fairbanks. Her first day at our cabin saw her arrive at our door by dogsled and her first trip to town a week later was to see the winning Quest team cross the finish line. How, then, do we as parents mark the birth of our daughter? How do we celebrate her four years on this planet? Why, we give her a kid-sized dogsled, pack her up in the truck and drag her to a dogsled race.

Hunter's sled

Jenn and I, along with Jenn's mother and our kid, of course, spent the weekend in Kearney, Ontario at their fantastic race. Although my real desire is to be in the mid-distance circuit, I simply don't have enough conditioning on the dogs this year to ask them to do a 40-mile race so we spent the weekend running the sprints instead.


Friday was Hunter's actual birthday and we had a small party for her where she opened up her gifts, among them the gift-wrapped sled I and a friend had made a week previous. Sled-giving just may become a family tradition with me since my mom and dad gave me one for Christmas a few years ago. It was a busy day Friday: I had the race to get ready for, which included fine-tuning the sled tie downs on the truck to accomodate our wider-stance sled, and the race to pack for, which included the food and all the dog gear. By the time my preparations were made, it was way past dark and we still had to clean the house for the dog- and house sitter we had coming to stay the weekend. We were a tired bunch when we finally fell into bed, five hours before we were to leave.


Our intentions were to leave no later than 05h00 to make the morning musher's meeting and to register for the weekend before the late registration closed at 08h00. As it was, we rolled out of the driveway at the somewhat tardy time of 05h25. Kearney is almost exactly two and a half hours away. I won't say we flew down the road - how could we? We had eleven dogs, five sleds (yes, five), three adults and a kid plus all related gear for the dogs, sleds and people. No, we didn't fly, but we somehow managed to make it with two minutes to spare and that includes the time spent looking for the friggin' turn off to Kearney. I have only been to Kearney once before and that was before they re-routed Hwy. 11 so the road up to the town proved a bit elusive to us. It didn't help that I managed to leave the map on the kitchen table.


The first race to leave the start chute was the mid distance mushers and I was able to see the first few teams leave, but since Jenn's race was to immediately follow, we both had to get back to the truck to get the dogs and the sled ready. While I arranged the gangline and sorted out the sled bag, Jenn dropped and harnessed her four-dog team. Since she was to leave third, we had to keep a close eye on the mushers around us so that we'd be able to get to the starting area on time. We managed to do just that and, as the Race Marshal counted down the last five seconds, I let go of the leaders and Jenn took off. I helped a few other mushers to the line: you wouldn't think that a team of four needs a lot of help - afterall, it's just a four-dog team - but once those dogs know they're going, they get pretty wound up.


It wasn't long after leaving that Jenn was back and when I asked her about the trail and her run, she could only give me a disgusted look and say "What a joke! I was passed by about fifty snowmobiles and nearly hit by some." In the musher's meeting earlier that day we had been warned of certain trail hazards, like trees, steep hills, trail sweepers and possible moose, but the amount of snowmobilers to be encountered was sort of glossed over. Jenn's was not a lone complaint either and by the time it came for my race, I was filled with more pre-race jitters than normal. The six-mile racers had been warned of a few other trail hazards, two notable ones were the public road we had to travel down which was "not heavily used" and a very steep and icy hill with a ninety degree turn at the bottom followed by a six foot drop in the trail as you make the turn.


So, now a word on the 'jitter's' thing: I have always, no matter the competition or sport, had these to some degree. Part of them derive from the inevitable excitment of the nearing contest but the other part of them are due to my imagination: I visualize all the bad things that can happen; all the missed turns or awful passes or overly-shy leaders folding when they see the crowd. I can deal with missed turns or spooky dogs, but I dread an unclean head-on pass. "Have confidence in your dogs." Jenn told me and I thought to myself: "I am confident they will work hard. I am confident that they won't miss any turns. I am confident that they will see another team and want to visit." Bouyed up by such thoughts, I stood with both feet on my brake as Jenn and another lady helped me to the start line, my dogs barking and lunging at the line the whole way there.


As my two-minute countdown neared the end, a team was spotted coming in to the finish line, which was the same line I was standing on: my first head-on pass was about to happen. "Let him come in." I said to the volunteer sled holders. As we watched the team near the end of its' race, I was aware that the two minute countdown for the team behind me had started so as soon as the incoming team was past me, the sled holders let go of the sled and I shot out of the chute and straight at the second inbound team and one that I hadn't heard about or seen. "Gee side! Gee side, Mouse! Okay, on by... on by... that's it! Good dogs!" and, just like that, we were past. It was as flawless as I'd ever hoped with nary a sideways glance from my team to the other. The trail led away from Main Street, past the liquor store and into the bush and all of a sudden, we were on beautiful, snowy trails with nobody in front, beside or (close) behind me.


We wove through trees, went up hills and down hills and then exited the bush onto a road. The "not heavily travelled" road. For about a mile we ran along with no problems and then came a hill that curved off to the left, and then began to rise again around the corner. Fortunately, I could see through the trees. There was a truck coming and I know he didn't see me. It was precisely this point that my dogs decided to cheat the corner, cutting over to the left instead of following the far right of the road, as we had been doing all race long. My brake was completely ineffective on the icey road: it made lots of noise as it shaved ice from the road's surface but that was all it did. I put down my drag mat - a one-foot square piece of snowmachine track - and stood on it, hoping the increased friction would slow the team down sufficiently so that the driver would see me in time. As I was doing this, I also told the dogs to get back over to the right side of the trail, which they did almost immediately. The problem with their quick response was that it swung my sled sideways so that I was now fishtailing towards the truck, both feet on the drag mat and no idea if the truck had any intention of stopping because there was no way I had gone unnoticed by this point.


I was only about five feet off the driver's side corner and preparing to dump my sled on it's side, away from the truck, and drag along with it until we passed, at which point, I'd figure out a way to right the sled and continue on. Sled dogs, by and large, don't "whoa!" very well. It was a last-ditch plan, and one I nearly used, but at that critical time I managed to give the sled a little shift to the right, like I was stopping with a pair of skates, and we swung wide and past the truck. Just past. The driver and I exchanged a glance: mine, relief, and his a likely mixture of stunned incredulity at what nearly happened and what I took to be an apology. With my heart still hammering, I managed a "Good dogs!" as I picked up my drag mat and continued on.


Barely had my heart calmed down when I crested a hill, saw a trail volunteer on the side of the road and heard him say "Steep hill, hard left at the bottom! Steep hill, hard left at the bottom!" I could see a gang of people gathered behind a section of snowfence, no doubt happy to volunteer at this point to watch the wipeouts. They guy at the top wasn't kidding: it was a steep hill. And it was a hard left at the bottom. Just as we had successfully negotiated the turn and I was feeling good, I felt the trail disappear beneath me. It just fell away and, of the twenty one feet of dogs in front of me, I could only see the front half of my leaders, so steep was the road bank. I didn't even realize I was airborne until I hit the trail with a soft thump and felt the gangline tighten. Above me, I could hear the gathered people congratulate me on making the corner, but I'm sure there was a hint of disappointement in their voices because I managed to stay upright.


With what turned out to be two miles left in the run, nothing else of note happened. I was passed twice and when I arrived back on Main Street, my dogs did a great job of passing by the noisy and active crowd.

My team, coming down Main Street, Kearney.

My wheel dogs getting a post-race scratch.

A snowy Olive

I had barely watered and put away the dogs after my race when Jenn came to tell me that the Kid and Mutt races were starting. We got Hunter ready, Ruby ready and Hunter's new sled ready; she'd been sleeping in it only moments before. Jenn's mom was already down at the start chute awaiting the race. With Ruby harnessed and Hunter astride her sled, we gathered with the fifteen or twenty other kids at the far end of Main Street.

Hunter and her dog Ruby

We've been asked in the past how we make things work with a kid and the dogs. Or even WHY we make things work with the kid and dogs. We just do. Some days the successes are great, and others they are not so great, but when I see Hunter in the video below, or in some of the pictures in this blog, those are the days of the greatest successess, the biggest rewards and all the justification I need for having a kid and the dogs.

Hunter's first Kid and Mutt race.

During the wait for her turn, Hunter decided that she wanted only Jenn to run with Ruby and her, so I was sent down to the finish line to catch kid, dog and sled or dog and sled, dog and kid or whatever might make it that far. The timer said 'GO!' and Jenn, Hunter and Ruby were off like a herd of turtles; Hunter, aware of the audience, started to wave to everybody as though she was in a parade. She did really well, though. She hung onto the sled and managed to not fall once and I think that her overall race time, if handicapped to match mine or Jenn's, was faster. We let her drive Ruby back to the truck and help us give Ruby water and take off Ruby's harness and put Ruby away, just like we did for our races. Hunter was quiet about it, but secretly, just below the surface, she was proud of herself. We were proud, too.

Our little racer.

We visited with some friends and ate an early dinner in the auditorium and then dropped our dogs once more before driving to Sundridge and our cabin for the night. Since it was a vacation of sorts, Jenn had found a nice little cabin to stay in. The hotel it was associated with was at the road side but we were behind the hotel and in front of the lake. We could drive right up to our door which was perfect. I looked after the dogs while Jenn and her mom and Hunter went into the hotel to use it's pool. When they came back, it was only around 18h30, but all three of them went to sleep.

I woke Jenn up a few hours later when I went out to drop the dogs one last time before turning in myself. Jenn said she'd help me, so we went outside and let everyone out for a pee. Then, since we were up, we decided to go to the bar in the hotel for a beer. We didn't stay all that long because we had to be up early the next morning to make it back to Kearney for the Driver's Meeting.

It had snowed overnight. When I awoke at 05h30, there was about fifteen centimeters of new snow on the ground. At first, the morning was calm: I fed the dogs, got packed and went back outside to load the truck and practically had to tie a rope to the cabin door so I would be able to find my way back in. A squall had whipped up that hid everything behind white curtains of blowing snow. Driving was pretty interesting: there were no lines on the road to follow, and no light to navigate by so we drove somewhat parallel to the snowbanks - and likely on much of the sidewalk - on our way out of Sundridge. It was early in the morning and anybody who'd've cared wasn't out yet, anyway.

Day two of the race was not much different from Day One. We dropped dogs, loaded dogs, went to the driver's meeting, ate breakfast, dropped dogs again, watered dogs, loaded dogs, wandered around, dropped dogs, harnessed dogs, raced dogs, watered dogs, loaded dogs, wandered around, dropped dogs, harnessed dogs, raced dogs, watered dogs, loaded dogs, wandered around, visited, sat through an awards ceremony in which Jenn and I both won a bag of dogfood, ate dinner, said goodbye, dropped dogs and loaded dogs, and drove down the road, out of Kearney and towards Sudbury.

When racing, it is expected that you conceede the trail when somebody who wants to pass calls "TRAIL!" While driving home, we came upon one of our friends, who was also at the race. Suddenly, Jenn is searching around the truck for something, rummaging through Hunter's bag, in the center console and under the seats until she found what she was looking for. She quickly scribbles something on a piece of paper and holds it up to the window as we drive past our friend's truck. She had written the word 'trail' on the paper. Maybe we were tired, I'm not sure, but it was the funniest thing in the world for the next forty kilometers. "Ha ha ha! You held up a sign that said 'trail'!"

We made it home in one piece and put the dogs away. I fed them, Jenn gave them all new straw for their houses and then we came inside and went to sleep. We both had to work the following day.

Some shots of our team

Ruby

Chili

Mouse

Moxy, Dora, Hope, Risk, Ruby, Chili, Olive, Mouse, Baby

Some race shots

Our friend, Claude

Richard 'Baz' Bazinette

Lou's handler, Thomas

Someone's team

This guy passed me just after the 'crazy' hill. He was racing; I wasn't.

A mid-distance team coming in off a 40-mile run.

Mark, Baz's son.

Damian (I think) of the Jamaican Dogsled Team.

And, lastly, a tired little musher indeed.

Bonfires and picket lines: it's either dogsledding or a union meeting.

I had planned on posting this on Sunday, after the run, but I was awaiting some photos from a friend. I have finally had some time to upload them, and so here, a few days late, is the Sunday Post. (sounds more lofty and important when I say it that way.)

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It occurred to me today - too late, as always - that I don't have enough gangline. I have spent the past few weeks making stuff for the dogs: sled, drop- and picket lines, and new bars for the truck. I can now tie out eleven dogs on each side of my truck at the same time, and I can go camping with eighteen dogs at a time with my new picket lines, but I have no way of getting that many to the site, since I don't have enough gangline. So, I guess that will be my next job: make more gangline.



Despite my lack of gangline, however, we managed to go for a fun run and campfire near a lake north of here today. James, his girlfriend Monique and her daughter Emilie came over and since we have two toboggan (no matter how I spell it, it looks wrong) sleds still, I drove one and he the other; each sled loaded with partner and kid, gear and food.

James, Monique and Emilie, set to return to the truck.

James has been a handler for a friend's dogteam for a while and this winter he has been focusing on other things, so he hasn't had an opportunity to get out with a dog team. I have every confidence in his ability to drive a team, so it was no problem to hook up the team and leave ahead of him. At least, that is what we should have done. Instead, we hooked up beside each other, and I had his dogs over top of my team, and my dogs over top of his team and it was a big mess. Next time we hook up together, it will be with more between us than three feet.



We managed to get everything sorted out and I left just ahead of James since he wasn't familiar with the trail. I'd look back now and then to make sure he wasn't too far behind and I have to say, it's a unique thing to see your dogs being driven by someone else and gaining on you.



Although fun, the ride up to the lake was uneventful and once we arrived, I tied down our sled and strung out the picket lines for my team and James's. Once the dogs were off the gangline and working on digging beds in the snow, James, Jenn and I set about making a fire, getting the food ready and collecting wood; Monique was stuck with the uneviable job of entertaining hungry kids. James may have been a bit overzealous: he was hauling back birch logs that had been felled by beaver this summer. I'm not sure how long he was planning on staying, but I'll bet he hauled almost a cord of wood to the campfire.

Some of the wood James found.

Pretty soon the fire was going and the kids were roasting hotdogs by the fire. By 'roasting' I mean they'd ram a weiner on a stick, point it near the fire for a second or so and then eat it off the stick, cold and raw. Us adults were not much better, though, since we'd put our hotdogs on a stick and set it by the fire to roast and then forget to turn it, so it'd be black and nearly inedible on one side and, as you may guess, cold and raw on the other. We managed to nearly finish off a pack of them this way, however, so it wasn't all bad. Next was the highlight of the meal: s'mores. I've never much liked graham crackers, so I just ate the chocolate. We finished off the meal with a nice mug of hot chocolate and packed up, making sure to dump our extra water and a few pots of snow on the fire.

The family shot.

We returned the way we had come although James went out first this time. I think everybody had a good time in the fresh air and mild temperatures.

Below are some more photos of the day.

Lined up and waiting. These are the new and improved drop bars I have had made for the truck. I STILL can't weld, so I had to appeal to a friends talents. I also have just finished making the drop lines that run front to back. They seem to be working here.

Another angle of the truck and maybe a better view of the drop lines. I don't think Hope will be one of our more photogenic dogs.

See? 100% goof.

The above three shots are not very good, but I included them just for the lake and the nice open area we were able to find.

Chili noticing the hotdogs being pulled out of the wrapper.

Dora, too.

Jenn and Hunter poking the fire with a hotdog flavoured, marshmallow encrusted stick.

Jenn displaying her fine sense of bush-craft.

And, finally, the toughest crowd in the house: Hunter and Emilie.

Ahhh... At last.

Perhaps you can sense my good mood, or maybe you heard my dogs barking and howling way over there where you are.

Our cool temperatures have moderated somewhat. Our week last week was lows in the -30's and highs that never made it much above -18 Celcius. It was awesome, too, because it was about the only nice clear, calm and sunny days we have had all winter. The sun was bright, the sky was blue and the air was crisp... and I was stuck at work thinking about how nice it would be to be running back to the truck with a happy and strong team of dogs, my new sled and an anorak that dares to be challenged. As it was, we warmed up considerably last night: by seven this morning it was -11C and it continued to climb to a high of -3 today.

Taiga

I wasn't about to let this warming up deter me from my perpetual daydream, so I loaded the strong, happy dogs, the new sled and yes, the anorak, too into the dogtruck. Jenn and Hunter were not long following me out of the house. They were also eager to get out and enjoy the day.

Once we were set up, we started hooking up the dogs. We took ten this time and man! they howled and barked and screamed their excitement non-stop until I finally pulled the hook and we were off.

Before I get into how our take off went, let me first say that the new sled is two inches wider than I am used to, and the runners are only an inch and three eighths wide and are equipped with brand new, super slick plastic. Also, let me add that the foot grips are experimental and the handle bow is slippery plastic. So, with all of this as a disclaimer, how'd the take-off go? I just - and I mean JUST - managed to grab the handle as the sled shot out from under me. I pulled the hook and stepped to where I am accustomed to finding a runner but this time, I found only snow. A frantic, reactionary flail with my one hand managed to find the handle bow and latch on and before I could even take stock of the situation, I was being dragged on my upper knees down the trail.

Jenn, not aware of what was going on behind her because she and Hunter were in the basket, asks: "How's the new sled, hon?" What was I to tell her? We were a hundred or so yards down the trail and I hadn't yet driven the thing. Finally, my composure reestablished and control firmly back in my hands, I stood on the runners of the new sled and marvelled at how different, how responsive and how ours the sled is. It handled great; it is effortless to steer, the wider stance is more comfortable and is it ever sturdy. We managed to bash it over a few open creek crossings and a couple of frozen ones, too. I'll have to let my friend know how great it is.

Moxy

We ran on a trail that I used extensively last year. It was nice to be back in the bush again, but it was also a reminder at how behind I am in conditioning the dogs. We ran to a lake that parallels the trail for a while; this lake was just part of the scenery last year as we zoomed past it on our way to distant trails and longer runs. It was easy to see that the dogs were getting tired as we neared the truck today. It was a lot of new work for the dogs because this trail is rather hilly, but also because the trail surface was like beach sand and anyone who knows what loose beach sand is like to run in can symapthise with the dogs.

All of the dogs were great, and Baby continues to impress me. Jenn wanted to put him in lead for the last half kilometer or so, just to see how he'd do, so I switched him with Chili and after a few false starts and a couple of looks back, Baby was as focused a leader as you'd expect for an 18 month old puppy; maybe even moreso.

Baby (l) and Horton (r)

I decided to wear the anorak because I have been dying to do so since I got it. It will be great in the cold weather. It was a bit much for minus three, though. I really like how easy it is to put on; I managed to pull it over my head as we were on the move. Originally, I had stopped the team to get the anorak from the sled, but they wanted to keep going and even though I had my foot on the brake, which was as deep into the snow as it could go, that's what we did: we went. With my anorak over my head and my arms half-way into the sleeves.

Lastly, if you notice a difference in the quality of the pictures, it's because Jenn has a new camera. It's hard to get it out of her hands and she is forever taking pictures or videos with it. It's a Canon A650 IS and it takes great, high quality, high resolution photos. Our old camera, a Nikon Coolpix 2500, also takes great pictures, but the resolution is comparitively lower. I say all of this because we have decided to make the Nikon the DangerCam and by this we mean that we'd rather use the Nikon around potentially damaging or misplacing situations. At least, until we figure out how to comfortably chain the new camera to our wrists.

I love how the dogs stick their noses out of their box-holes, so here are some photos Jenn got today:

Chili

Dora

Hope

Indulge me, a little: these are some more photos of the sled, now that there is daylight to shoot them in. These will likely be the last sled-only photos, so bear with me as I wean myself off the newness of it all. It just about has a new-car smell.

Still waiting.

Yesterday, I wrote about how nice the night was and how much I wanted to get out and run the dogs in such a beautiful night. I'm still waiting.

This wouldn't have been a big deal last winter, since I was employed in a seasonal-work situation, but this winter, I have a full time, year round job and it kind of sucks. I can hardly wait until I have enough seniority or vacation time saved that I can start taking winters off again. Mostly December, January and February. That's not too much to ask, is it?

That aside, however, I decided to write a new post so that I could put on the video of Hunter in our chicken coop. She's chasing chickens around, trying to catch them while Jenn's mother's new Poodle (or, if you are Hunter "Ploodle") puppy, "Jack Frost" looks on. Hunter named him, too, and I have to say I'm a bit jealous. Afterall, when she named our puppies, we got 'Baby' and 'Triangle' but 'Jack Frost' would fit nicely in our yard. The name, not the dog.

There is also a video of Jack Frost meeting some of our dogs. It's a two-part video, but it takes forever to upload these longer files, so I will have to save it for later, if at all.

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!

Tonight it is absolutely cloudless, the moon is almost as bright as the sun, it seems, and is casting shadows over nearly ten inches of newly fallen snow. There isn't a hint of wind and the night, although cold -- it's 33 degrees below zero -- is completely still. I am so sorely tempted to break this stillness with the sound of excited dogs as I load them into the truck to go for a night run. I've got the clothing (look for my dorky picture in the previous post), and now, I've got the sled.

When we moved back to Ontario from the Yukon, almost all of our winter gear and equipment was left in our cabin just north of Carcross because we had expected to return. When we didn't, we faced a winter without a sled and proper clothing. We begged or borrowed the clothing that we needed from family but it was pretty difficult to find a sled, so I phoned our one contact here in Ontario who runs dogs like we do: over marginal trails for long distances. Surely he'd know of someone with a sled to borrow or buy. As it turned out, he didn't; but, he offered us one of his training sleds. That was three years ago.

The following spring, I went back to our cabin and collected all of our remaining belongings, including a sprint sled. Now, we had two sleds; one, we used on long runs where we could either pack people or gear; and the other, the sprint sled, we used to whip around our property or to give visitors the thrill of driving a small dog team

I was supposed to build a sled for us the following summer, but for one reason or another, it never happened. So, winter number two was spent on the back of our friends loaner sled. I have to admit, I was getting pretty comfortable on it, too. This past summer, I ran into a mutual friend and since I was having a difficult time contacting the lender of the sled, I mentioned to our mutual friend that I'd like to buy the sled and could he pass along the message.

A few weeks later, the phone rang and it was the sled lender. "I'm really sorry," he began, "I can't part with that sled. I wish I could sell it to you, but it's more valuable to me than the money I'd get for it." He felt bad for not being able to sell it to us and I felt bad for having borrowed it for so long, so we set about arranging how we'd return the sled to him. In the meantime, I spoke to another friend who used to build sleds for a living and owned a successful sled and harness shop in Southern Ontario. He promised to build me a sled as long as I was there to provide input.

Today was that day.

Sitting out by the dogyard now is our new sled. I know it was dark when I pulled in the driveway, and it didn't get any lighter as I fed the dogs, however, when I was done feeding, I just had to take pictures of the sled. Here it is, and believe me, more photos will follow.

How I spent my winter vacation.

Even though everybody claims to enjoy the holiday season, when it comes right down to it, they are all stress cases with a short fuse and a list of things to do that is longer than the paper it's written on. That is why, when we found out that we wouldn't be having everybody come to our house for the holidays, Jenn and I decided to pack up a few dogs and go on a dogsled/visit-her-family trip. Originally, we were just going to take a dozen dogs, our sleds and gifts and such and make Lindsay our anchor point for the week. Originally. Try to find a dogsitter who is willing to stay at your house over the holidays. In the end, we just said what the hell -- we'll take 'em all. As the day of departure drew ever closer, I finished putting the sides on the trailer, packing the necessary gear and food. Jenn had emailed the Haliburton Forest to see if we'd be able to run our teams there since it was not too far from where we planned to stay. The nice people at Winterdance Dogsled adventures or whatever the heck it's called summoned up all their holiday spirit and said "no." The reason given was because they had 'problems with other dogteams in the past'. I can understand how this would happen, too, because the Haliburton Forest encompasses a paltry several thousand square hectares: far too little a space to run dog teams in. Thanks, Winterdance. I hope we can return the favour.

It was a week before Christmas, a Tuesday, and it was the day that we were to have our truck looked at and the brakes done when I got a phone call at work from Jenn. As she was pulling out of the driveway to go to the truck appointment, our engine blew a sparkplug out of the block. Normal? Not unless you drive a Ford with the Triton V-8 made between 2001 and 2004 - but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Jenn asked me if I thought it was safe to drive the truck the 40-some kilometers to town. "Go slow, I guess." I said. Jenn limped the truck in to the dealership and received the first bit of bad news: this happens to this engine all the time (same plug, even) and the repair isn't cheap. The repair involves removing the head, re-machining the threads for the plug, inserting a spacer because in re-machining the threads, the hole is too big now, putting the head back on (complete with new gasket and oil) and then putting the plug back in. Jenn was understandably shocked at this news since the very same thing happened to us last year and we were helped out by a local mechanic in Verner who took twenty minutes and used only a new plug. We were on the road with change from thirty dollars. This time, however, we were looking at about $2,500 worth of work, just to re-install the plug; the brakes hadn't even been done yet. The worst part about it all though was that the head mechanic didn't think the truck would be ready for Friday, the day we were supposed to leave. And if it wasn't ready Friday, chances were good that no mechanics would be working on it Saturday, Sunday, Christmas eve day and certainly not Christmas. Our plans to spend the holidays dogsledding around the Kawarthas and taking our nieces and nephew out for rides were over.

Understandably, Jenn was crushed. She went to work that night with eyes red from crying and when it was discovered the reason for this, her friends got together and rented us a truck, which made Jenn cry even more. It was such an incredibly generous thing to do and Jenn kept saying "they don't know what they've done; they think that they've just rented us a truck." But it was more than that; it wasn't just a rental of a truck. They had given us the ability to spend the holidays with family and our dogs -- the two things that Jenn most wanted.

It turned out that we didn't need the rental of a truck. The mechanics at Ford stayed late and worked overtime to get our truck ready by late Friday evening. We were packed on the road by 10h30 Saturday morning.

When all of our travelling was done for Saturday, we were in Lindsay for 0h30 Saturday night/Sunday morning. We'd visited a friend and made an appearance at a family dinner, but for the most part, we were on the road that day. It's an odd feeling, driving through downtown Brampton with a truck and trailer load of dogs and dogsleds strapped to the roof. You certainly don't have to look hard for your truck in a parking lot.

We spent the next two days running the dogs around a farm field on a trail we put in ourselves, with the help of our lead dog, Risk. We ran in the rain because it seemed sort of foolish to have brought our entire kennel down only to be sidelined by poor weather. Perfect conditions does not a hardy musher make. Risk was flawless: she was faced with an open farm field about forty acres in size and she took directions well enough to put in a figure eight trail that used two different fields.

Then, as if downtown Brampton wasn't enough, we loaded all the dogs up and drove down to Oshawa for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We parked the dogs on a subdivision street and, when we dropped them to feed them or pee, took up a lane and a half. Yep, we certainly turned some heads in Oshawa. We even had the across the street neighbour taking pictures of us and a cop stopped by 'just to chat'.

On Christmas day, after all the presents had been opened, we set up in the small park across the street from Jenn's sister's house and let the neighbourhood kids take turns on the dogsled with Dora and the ever-tolerant Ruby.

We packed up early that night and headed back to Sudbury at around 21h30, arriving at our house in the early hours of Wednesday morning.

It certainly was a busy trip, and one that nearly didn't happen but for the thoughtfulness and hard work of some people.

I'd like to tell you that I have lots of pictures of the whole thing, but I don't. Jenn was given an awesome new digital camera for a gift and she was so excited that she had the memory card full within the hour. We couldn't download the pictures (and make room for more pictures) until we got home.

Triangle and Baby, our two 'puppies' running around the back yard in Oshawa

Hunter, skating on our driveway. It rained enough to make it a literal skating rink.

The obligatory pose for the camera in my new Skookum Brand Anorak. (!)