On the Runners

I've forgotten how to drive a dog sled.

Granted, the last time I was on the runners of a dog sled, it was about 1997, when I went out for a night ride with my ex-boyfriend. We took two 6 dog teams and headed into a wilderness clearing to see the Hale-Bopp Comet out in all that darkness. I'll never forget how quiet it was, how happy the dogs were, how solid I felt behind that team.

Here I am about 11 years later, lost and bumbling behind a sprint sled with a team that consists of three huskies who lack serious formal training, prefer eating cats to playing in snow, and have no desire to pull up hills. But you know what? Saturday I got back on the runners. And it was wonderful.

Dog sledding has become something that is a constant for me. Where I live has changed, the people that matter most to me have different names than those I worried about most in 1997. Through Hubster, I've found a place of peace (that sure isn't quiet) that awes me as much if not more than that comet.

And through all this, there have been dogs. Silly, furry, crazy huskies. A type of dog that makes you want to tear your hair out and wonder what the heck you are doing trying to domesticate something that is related to a wolf. But when these free-spirited wonders get behind a sled and I see the happiness on their faces, feel their desire, my life is good.

And you know the craziest thing about all this? I nearly fell of that sprint sled a few times on Saturday. It was like being back on the bike, being dragged through cow shit, except this time, I held on. I kept my balance.

I've got a lot of relearning to do on the sled, that for sure. But that's how it should be. Life continues. Evolves. Dog, by dog. Comet, by comet.