Sledding and driving

I've missed a couple of days due to being very tired from my activities.

The day before yesterday the three of us went dog sledding.  We were picked up from the hotel by a very cheerful young woman - and I do mean cheerful (that cheerful where if I was with her every day I think it could become a tiny bit irksome) - with a van, who took us out north towards the abode of Jen and Dallas, the dog mushers.  As we drove a long we learnt that Dallas had finished fourth in the Iditarod dog mushing competition only two weeks previously, and for Alaskans, this is a really big deal.  Dog sledding died out maybe fifty years ago, but it has been revived as a country sport, and people take it very seriously indeed,  The Iditarod race is a thousand mile killer mushing competition where one musher and a team of sixteen dogs race against one another.

The scenery was breathtaking on the two hour trip, and we eventually arrived at the Yurt the family lived in.  Dallas was out, still recovering from the race, and we didn't get to meet him, although he was meant to be returning later in the day.  We did met Jen, his wife, who was a lovely down to earth lady, who told us all about the life of mushers and how they lived (six months in Anchorage doing dog show work to pay for their six months out where we were in the Yurt doing dog mushing).  The Yurt was fabulous.  A raised circular structure, with wooden bones that a canvas walled hood went over, with a band of metal tensioning the structure.  There was a basement with a toilet, and a loft with their sleeping quarters.  They had a baby, a cat and a spoilt indoor dog along with their sixty lean mean husky beasts.

I must say that the actual mushing we went on was pretty disappointing.  Very tame and touristy.  It was only forty minutes or so, and although the environment was lovely, it was pretty uninspiring.  I just stood on the sled and ducked a little as we went around.  It was interesting, and I'm glad I've done it, but it was not what I had been hoping it would be.

Next day, yesterday ...

Ah, now if dog sledding was something of a let down ... the snow mobiling was anything but.

I was picked up by "Andy" (I've forgotten his surname) and his little van and driven out south to Girtwood where he has his snow mobiling business.  He was a young friendly guy, who was only willing to come and collect me in Anchorage because he has a girlfriend there, and kind of sums him up for me.  Friendly, sweet, a tiny bit crazy, very Alaskan and a bit feckless all at the same time.  Really nice guy, whatever.

When we got to the the little hut where we were to kit up, I met the other four people who were going out with me (along with Andy and the other guide Gus).  They were an airforce couple, recently posted to the base at Anchorage, and were awesome, and an older lesbian couple (well, I'm pretty sure they were a "couple", although everyone was too polite or whatever to actually find out).

We drove up into the hills, which were absolutely breathtaking, to where the snow machines were.  We got puled over by the cops on the way, which was pretty  cool.  Not for speeding, but because the guys didn't have a number plate on the front of their van.  This is apparently a little tricky in Alaska, at least if my complaining guides were the truth of it.  You aren't legally required to have one on the front, since you are legally allowed to have a snow plough attachment, which covers the plate.  But the laws seem to be changing, and at the moment conflicting one another.

Anyway, we did eventually arrive, and the snow mobiles are great big beasts of machines.  Six hundred cc two strokes with automatic gears.  When asked how much experience we had had, everyone else had at least two hundred hours on the machines, and basically they'd all grown up on them ... except me.  Never been.  Never mind.  Brake, accelerator, don't lean too much this way, and if you slip don't grab the handles in case you just feed more power.  Okay.  How hard can it be, right?  Right?

And gosh the mountains looked good.  I mean good in a way I can't really describe because I come from Australia and we have only one word for snow, and it mostly means wet and unpleasant.  Suddenly we were told to go, so I breathed deeply, mumbled a prayer, and squeezed the throttle.  With a savage screech from the engine, and a jerk as Newton's theories grabbed at me, I was away.

These snow machines are really powerful.  Beastly powerful.  I was behind the leader, and ducked low over the windshield and bucked and jerked and did my best to follow in his path.  The track was narrow, and we had a number of sheer drops and river crossings.  I managed them, and we climbed into the snow covered mountains.  It was so damned lovely.

We stopped at a snow clearing, where there was a little hut, that turned out to be for gold miners who had put in a recent claim and were hoping to get rich.  Their door had broken and was hanging open, so Andy took a while to fix it.  It was that kind of place.  These are the places that can be romantic because it kicks you in the teeth so hard if you slack off or do someone a bad turn who won't help you in return that everyone is kind of forced to "be good".  It makes it look like humans are cool, by not allowing our nasty bits to be revealed too much.  Pretty nice.

We drove many kilometres, and saw amazing sights (I have some pics, which I'll attach when I can, although not as many as I'd have liked due to it being basically impossible to take them on the trip.
I am proud to say I did not in any way hang back or slow anyone down, and in fact was one of the more accomplished drivers.  One of the guys actually got stuck on one of the tight climbs, wedging his bike in a ditch with a tree stump.

Eventually, and I'd say after about three hours, we made it to this massive open plain of snow, with a deep sloping ditch in the middle.  I do mean massive, too.  It was around a kilometre by two kilometres.  Andy and Gus said we could be let off the leash, and so long as we didn't hit one another could go crazy.
It was brilliant.  I drove around the edges a little, getting the feel of the bike at some speed, then I started doing jumps driving down into the deep hollow and revving out the top.  I got quite a bit of air, and managed at one point to get about a metre off the ground.  I rattled my teeth and hurt my back and arms.  The speed is hard to describe, but just pulling away I made my head dizzy many times, and got so fast my head started buzzing.
We had a little competition, and I got the highest speed (being small and light I think), topping out at 69 miles an hour.  It's exhilarating, and makes me want my bike more and more.  I nearly tipped at one point, but managed to right the machine, and man, it was just brilliant.

We packed up the machines after driving back to the truck, and Andy drove me back to Anchorage.  Now THAT was three hundred dollars well spent for seven hours of awesome thrills.  Jeez the place is beautiful.  I talked to Andy, and he said there's plenty of somewhat extreme stuff I can do around Girtwood, and that mountain climbing and mountain biking are all things I can do next time with a longer stay.


Now that was yesterday, and today (Monday in Alaska) is my last day.

We intended to go ice skating, and walked to the skate hire place, but my body and mind froze on the way.  It's a bit colder today, and we don't have good enough clothes, and I went into emergency shutdown mode, and just couldn't cope.

I also managed to take a great spill on the icy walkways, despite generally being able to walk around better than Adam and Amanda.  It's always the way with me.  Pretty good coordination, but kind of retarded so I rush in and don't really pay any attention to anything around me.  Serves me right.

So we huddled inside a coffee shop for a while, and eventually walked back into downtown and did some gift store shopping instead.  That's pretty much it, as I pack and prepare for departure.  It's been ace.  I hope I've made some people want to come to Alaska, because I'll be back, and company is welcome!