COMPLETING HIS QUEST
There’s a sled dog race tougher than the Iditarod, and a 78-year-old crazy enough to try it
FAIR BANKS, ALASKA The battle wounds incurred over nearly two weeks in the Arctic wilderness were on display as Jim Lanier sat down for breakfast with his wife at a downtown hotel.
He hardly made a move on his bacon and eggs. His fingers were stiff from frostbite. “They’re still really sore,” Lanier said as he eased his grip on his fork. “It’s hard to tie my shoelaces — they’re so sore.”
His ribs ached, and a thin gash trickled down his right cheek. The cut was scabbed over, like the frostbite that blossomed on the tip of his nose.
Still, Lanier could smile. He is a 78-year-old rookie who on Feb. 2 began what is often billed as the world’s toughest sled dog race. He finished the 1,000-mile course in 24th place on Feb. 14, three days before meeting for breakfast. And even his injuries had the benefit of giving Lanier cover from having to explain the real story behind the new gap in his teeth.
“The truth is I broke my tooth biting on a frozen cookie,” he said with a laugh.
Lots of folks told Lanier he was crazy when he signed up for Yukon Quest 1,000-Mile International Sled Dog Race. The father of four and grandfather of five from Chugiak, Alaska, outside Anchorage, is hardly a greenhorn. He made his debut at the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race in 1979 and completed that more famous event 16 times. But the Quest’s identity is grounded in being even tougher, more selective and less atten- tion-seeking than the Iditarod. The Quest was created in 1984 by a musher and a historian who wanted a race so rugged, only purists would participate. It follows a trail through hellish terrain between Whitehorse and Fairbanks, the hub of Alaska’s interior. Mushers can use only one sled, while those in the Iditarod may use up to three. The Iditarod, which is run entirely in Alaska from Anchorage northeast to Nome, has 22 checkpoints for mushers and their dogs to rest in relative comfort. The Quest has nine checkpoints along a course of roughly similar length, which means mushers pack their sleds for longer runs and endure more camp-outs in bush country. Because the Quest embraced a grassroots approach, it has less corporate presence and a smaller financial reward. Quest mushers pay a $2,000 entry fee and vie for a piece of the $115,000 purse, which is dispersed among the top 15 finishers. The Iditarod has a $4,000 entry fee and a $500,000 purse, and every musher who finishes goes home with a paycheque. Another significant difference between the races is the weather. The Quest takes place a month earlier, which leads to colder days and longer, darker nights. With con- siderably fewer mushers participating and fewer checkpoints to stop at, Quest mushers can travel hundreds of miles before encountering another team on the trail. All those were factors in why Lanier had not previously competed in the Quest. In addition, various bouts with frostbite on the Iditarod trail had forced the amputation of two of his fingertips and one of his big toes.
“I was a bit intimidated,” Lanier admitted. “I figured, if it was going to be 50 below or colder for days and days and days, I probably wouldn’t be able to do that because my fingers and toes are so compromised by previous frostbite.” But he views those surgeries as trivial costs of his mushing habit. And ultimately, his itch to take part in the Quest outweighed his trepidation.
“You lose those things, and then you realize that’s not the end of life,” says Lanier, who retired from his day job as a pathologist 15 years ago. “I’m still kickin’. I’m still functioning, more or less.” Despite his at-all-costs outlook, the cold that pinched Yukon at the start of this year’s Quest was a hurdle. Lanier said that camping in temperatures of 45 below zero the first night — after he and his team of nine dogs began their 90-mile run from the start line to Braeburn, the first checkpoint on the Canada side — accelerated his understanding of the situation he put himself in. Temperatures began to climb as Lanier and the 29 other teams travelled northwest up Yukon River, but that didn’t simplify the trail for him. After leaving Carmacks, the second checkpoint on the Canada side, he took a spill on jumble ice — jagged, hazardous conditions that can occur when ice forms atop flowing water. That accident caused the aches and pains that hung around after Lanier finished with a total run time of 12 days, five hours and 44 minutes.
“I hurt a rib — I thought I broke it, but I didn’t — and I got some cuts on my face,” Lanier said.
The Alaska side of the trail made the rookie wonder if finishing his dream run was an obtainable goal. The toughest test was a climb over Eagle Summit, a 3,624-foot peak located about 115 miles from the finish line. Blizzard conditions forced the 78-year-old and six other mushers to hunker down at Central, the last checkpoint before teams begin their climb. When the group began ascending the summit, they were met with whiteout conditions and vicious winds. “The top of my eyes started freezing shut, and then I really couldn’t see a thing,” Lanier said. “I had to tell the teams in front and behind of me, ‘Please! Please! Stop! Stop! I can’t see you guys!’” Lanier, who ran with his signature all-white team of Alaskan huskies, relied on his eight-yearold leader, Almond, in addition to a one-year-old puppy named Jesus, whom he describes as his “inspirational dog.”
“It was like he was resurrected on every run,” he said about Jesus. The final 93 miles were a breeze for Lanier, who was 17 years older than the next-oldest competitors and 57 years older than the musher who won the title of Quest Rookie of the Year.
I figured, if it was going to be 50 below or colder for days and days and days, I probably wouldn’t be able to do that …