I sleep on the couch and wake covered in animals. Max jams himself in between me and the backrest, sprawling halfway on top of me. He is a heavy sleeper and, unlike most dogs, doesn’t fidget during the night and keeps me warm when the fire in the wood stove goes out. On my chest Snowball, one of our three cats, sits on top of me. When I wake, he stares at me the look on his face is blank: What of it? he appears to be saying. He is old and lame on one of his front legs. I carry him most places and spoil him terribly so, when I’m home, he is often by my side. Wrapped around my head is Mama, another cat, her tail flicks my cheek occasionally but otherwise she sits around me like a big black scarf. On the floor I can hear Betty breathing. She sleeps with her head near my hand — in case I should want to pet her in the middle of the night.
My phone rings frequently during the night. If I hear it, I usually answer. Sometimes it is a tourist trying to plan a summer trip and they don’t understand the time change. But more often than not it is Travis calling. He lives with such strange hours now that his days are no longer defined by the movement of the sun. The more you travel with dogs, the more you adopt their way of life. He eats when they eat and sleeps when they do. They have become his reference for all things.
So when he calls at 3:00am I am never surprised. I try, my best, to take it in stride even when it wakes me from deep slumber — a rarity for me. He tells me how the dogs are doing and what is going well.
“I signed up for the Knik 200,” he tells me tonight. “But I was thinking if you wanted you could run it instead.”
So bleary eyed and foggy-minded we talk. The race just announced a change in route due to lack of snow. It will now go from Deshka Landing to Yentna Station back to Deshka Landing, where a 6 hours layover is required back to Yentna station and, finally, back to Deshka landing for the finish. One section trail, run 4 different times. I applaud the Knik 200 for doing what they need in order to run a race and allow many rookie mushers to qualify — and in many ways, I think it will allow for some great passing training but the trail certainly doesn’t sound quite as exciting as the normal course.
We go back and forth. “You’ll run the team more conservatively,” Travis says — and I can’t deny because it is true. I will go slow and take my time. I will have fun but we will not race the way Travis would race.
“But you haven’t run some of these dogs before,” I tell him. I think race experience where you are actively pushing your dogs to their full potential is important. “Droopy, Thunder, Jimbo, Teddy, and Mongoose,” I tell him “have never run in a race with you. You may see something different.” And I believe that. Some dogs are mediocre in training and all-stars on the race trail. You never know until you run them hard.
“But you should do this one,” he says.
I listen. He tells me I should run it and that I’ve done a lot to deserve it but, for whatever reason, it doesn’t pull at me.
“I’d rather watch,” I finally tell him. I have too many concerns to jockey the team he has been carefully sculpting all season.
“Ok,” he says.
He hangs up and I struggle to fall back asleep. I look at the stars and watch as the light behind the mountain fades from black to pink. I spend today writing and sitting by the fire, frequently struggling to stay awake. I bought the dogs a new dog bed but they sleep on the couch so I take it and sleep for an hour on it curled by the fire with the cat and think of all the stories I will have to write in a week’s time and that makes me very happy.
