964 Miles to Nome
When Wally Robinson saw a dog sled team in full flight for the first time, he was 14.
No moment except his marriage and the birth of his children charted the direction of his life more than standing next to his father, Walter, on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, mouth open and eyes opened.
Walter, an inside wireman at Marquette, Mich., Local 906, brought Robinson to the race because he'd helped light it. A tragedy the year before left a racer dead after he strayed far off course on a frozen lake. The contractor where Walter worked stepped up to pay some journeymen to make the trail more visible.
Robinson was just tagging along with his father, who wanted to see what he had built in use. It was also a good excuse for some ice fishing. Make a day of it.
Robinson made a life of it.
The connection between the people on the sleds and the graceful, strong, determined animals was like nothing he had ever seen before.
He read everything he could about mushing, and soon he was tying up the family coonhounds to some cheap plastic sleds. He ground through the bottoms of three sleds that winter.
That's when the Upper Peninsula started feeling too far south.
"As soon as I could, I knew I was going to Alaska," Robinson said.
As soon as he could was after high school in 1999.
A quarter-century from that day, the Anchorage, Alaska, Local 1547 inside wireman ran his second Iditarod, the longest dog sled race in the world.
With nearly 1,000 miles of snow, mountains, ice and tundra, the Iditarod is the only dog sled race most people outside Alaska have heard of. |