The ~300 mile jaunt out to the big city of central ought to take around 3 hours with a F-350 diesel dog truck… Ought to take 3 hours if the weathers right..

Ok.. But the more exhilarating jaunt to central with THE cadillac of sleds, AKA a dog paddle…. will take you about 3 days and some change. You’ll come barreling into the Central checkpoint, elated, forcing your 110 lb body into the claw break below you as your string of 12 dogs tries to blow past the finish line… If I'm being exact, the Cadillac route covers 303 miles, 2 summits, 75 miles along Birch creek to the second most bustling town of Circle, and back to our good ole roadhouse in Central.

The directions are quite simple…

If you make it to the start line, you’re already bound for glory. Ok, check.

Drink your coffee, devour your strawberry nutella crepe, enjoy your stomach ache brought on by nerves, bootie dogs.. Check.

11:32 leave from the truck.. Check.

Run Paige (who is helping guide the team to the start line) over with the sled. Check.

Say “Hi, I love you” one last time to all your teammates. Check.

Awkwardly stand at the start line as 3 large men hold back your sled… Check.

3, 2, 1, “And she’s off"

This is where directions can stump a person if you allow your attention to be diverted. Let me warn you… There will be a considerably large amount of people crowding the trail as you travel down the Chena River.. It will be lovely and encouraging. And you WILL be fed. Incoming - A sloppy joe!!! Wrapped in tinfoil and warmer than your body will ever be in the next 3 days. A hot dog! Tossed over - tastier than ever. A healthy serving size of a home brewed IPA, carefully handed over like a newborn baby as the team passes by at 9.7mph. A rolling rock that's held by a beautiful, red haired friend - Thanks May!!! A shooter of apple whiskey, carefully zipped into my pocket - all gifts to Tucker in 39 miles. And last but absolutely NOT least…

An *Organic* Coors Banquet to drown my nerves in, paired with a freshly baked cookie. Also a gift for Tucker. Meal #1 - Check

Unlike you, the team and I continued onwards. No amount of tastiness could derail us as we bound down the coiled up, icy trail.

After the excitement of cheering humans, the team tried to fall into what we do best… The Chena river had other plans though as we awkwardly fell into this pace where dodging open water and overflow holes became a dance. We waltzed with the river for 27 miles, slowing often to change iced over booties and shake off my clunky cabela pac boots. Hopping up onto land at last, the dogs and I took a deep breath as we settled onto our home trails, finally relaxing into what felt like just another training run.

We flew into the Two Rivers checkpoint, Dracula clapping in swing as Beasley screamed “We made it!!”. I bedded down the dogs with an elegant meal sitting by their side and went to fetch some coffee… Meal #2 - Check.

The second stretch of 72 miles has been logged as one of my favorite runs to date. We left Two rivers strong and eager. Just as quickly as we fell into our comfortable pace, my brain got lost in the monotony of the passing black spruce, a blurred glimmer under the full moon light. Thoughts drifted down streams of rivers. The Au Train on a hot summers day, a cold splash drenching me from a dogs graceful leap into the water. Thoughts drifted back towards the moonlit trail, -15 degrees, 12 dogs checking off mile after mile.

We made it past the first checkpoint with a feeling of relief rushing through me - I giggle, “The parties just getting started guys!”

30 miles in, we find ourselves lunging into the night past tiresome teams camped on the side of the trail. Mushers exchange a quiet “Hello, have a good run!” A short conversation that warms my heart each time. Like-minded individuals, all on the same trail, sharing that same love for their dogs that radiates through my body.

As we searched for our nesting spot, Thresher vetoing every location I deemed suitable for the sleepy team, we passed the 7th team, 8th team.. 36 miles in. I let out a hum of laughter as we crested a small hill. “Hey guys, we're in first!'' Cheddar looking back, surprised. I like to think they all chuckled, listening as I nonsensically chatted with them. “Enjoy this now, as It won't last for much longer.”

*A headlamp quickly emerging from the trees behind us* I curse, thinking our champion position would last longer than just a few minutes.

3 miles later, we pulled onto the exit ramp and decided to call it a night. Thresher and I finally agreeing on the perfect campsite..

"Ok, lead line hooked into leads, check. Back to sled. Wait no, Ok.. Tug lines off. Shit, move Etta. Alright, here we go. Start cooker.... Snows melting. Sweet. Shit better take off parka. Thought I was better at this. Ok. Booties off. Incoming musher - “HI!" Ah… Right… Ok.. Ok..” A checkpoint routine I've done many of times, yet here I am, rehearsing it in my head like the dogs will judge me for not executing it perfectly.

A sizable meal of kibble, fish skins, and hot water. 3 hours of sleep and a few massages later, booties and jackets are put on and we’ve got a screaming team ready to hit the road. With a heavy dose of grace, the team scurries across wind blown plains and up, up, up. Sweating, letting out huffs of breath, I try to keep up with the team as we summit our first big climb. Rosebud.

At 3,640 feet, she stands there tall and mighty, beautifully soaking up the full moon as it casts its midnight light upon us. The team comes to a pause, mostly for the frail and clumsy human that stands on the runners behind them.. We blissfully basked in the deep winter peace that Rosebud offered and for some moments, my brain is relocated to a chilly November afternoon. Ryne and I gleefully skip away from our snow machines in order to watch Tucker and his 6 dog team trudge their way up the summit. We cheer, teasing him for being out of shape as he sweats his way to the top….

I eat my words, creating a mental note to apologize for the all heckling months ago..

With the other side of Rosebud being more of a leisurely descent rather than the extreme plummet I had envisioned it to be, the last 20 miles into the checkpoint of Mile 101 were filled with pure delight. A moon dog haloed the full moon, holding tight as morning light crept its way through the sky. White tailed ptarmigan contrasted against the bright blue hues of the glare ice that the runners were too graciously gliding across. Skeletal trees, feathered with hoarfrost - glistening in the morning sun. Streams of fog rising from the distance, dancing to the songs of rumbling engines - a frigid struggle. Mile 101. We made our grand entrance into the checkpoint as if we were just leaving the starting chute… Cheddar screaming, Old man Otis harness banging, and Dracula… Still clapping.

Checkpoint #2 was a breeze. I fell into my routine without having to rehearse it like I'm preparing for some Broadway show… Bed down dogs, tuglines off, remove booties, no need to move Etta, feed, massage, sleep… Set out for human food.

Before the dogs enter a race, each team is required to attend vet checks - typically taking place the day before race start. You pull up with your team, vets crowd the dog truck and begin their examination of each dog - Checking in on their weight, vitals, and overall confirmation (The externally visible details of a dogs structure and appearance). The vets chuckled as they sauntered up to our Thresher boy and examined his weight, giving him a high 6 on the scale. “Who’s pet dog is this?!” they jokingly asked. Threshers ears perk up as he begins his full body squirm of excitment…

The team crossed the start line with high appetites, eating just about every snack I offered up. Thresher continued to keep that extra love packed onto his hips and even Etta, who can be the pickiest eater on the planet, ate each meal I cooked up for her. Wishing I had their appetite, jealousy began taking over as we made our way through the 300 miles. After the 3 course meal each musher was given along the Chena River, I reached in for the obscene amount of tasty snacks I packed for myself and not even the beef sticks nor the chocolate excited my taste buds. Before shutting my eyes, I tried one last food brought to you by Mile 101 volunteers. Bacon. Meal #3…. Check.

As I prepared to leave Mile 101, Tucker and I stared off into the distance, conversing about which peak was out next big summit.. We're both rookies to the Quest and sitting there pointing at each peak made that quite apparent. We finally agreed on one small mountain sitting a few miles from us.. The climb over Eagle summit begins shortly after the checkpoint, yet far far past that mountain we pointed to. Dumbies.

As the team ambled past peak after peak, the trail slowly began to steepen. The breeze growing with each step we took. For minutes there, I stand on the runners as wind slaps my hood, realizing that this could potentially be very unpleasant if it kept up…. Yet there I stand with a shit eating grin on my face. I hollered! The dogs were letting loose, digging in with the type of energy that radiates from them, swirling in the air. We rode that high until we reached a point where the trail curves slightly, revealing 12 small dogs and a human floating up a wind-scoured 30-degree headwall. I stop the team to marvel at the dogs before us, clawing their way to the top of Eagle Summit.

Another giggle ricochets through my body and we begin our climb.

This headwall was nothing out of the ordinary for the team I traveled with, digging in with every ounce of muscle they had. Tuna and Beasley, delving into their well of pure strength. Cheddar using her crazed energy to lunge into her harness. Thresher… Don't even get me started on that tough as nails dog. We trudged our way towards the summit, with that 50 pound “pet” dog in lead as he unhinged his cheerleading skills; eloquently narrating the climb from his lead position, sending a wave of energy through the gangline. Thresher, Cheddar, Dracula, Beasley, Fly, Otis, and myself all hollered our way to the top, purely out of bliss… Reaching the plateau, I stop the team next to a photographer as he began speaking about how he could hear us at the bottom. I lumbered up to the front of the team, gave them each a good pat on the head and thanked them.

Sitting at 3,652 feet, Eagle Summit in winter is seldom so benevolent and here we were, graced with a sliver of sun peaking through.

Climbing our way to the top is a task in itself, but what goes up must go down right? The biggest worry along this entire race - The "eagle summit plummet”. I drive the team just over the edge until the sled stands tall above the 12 dogs, I breathe, removing my foot from the claw break. Before I could exhale, Etta and Thresher led us down the steep slope, following the rutted out path from previous claw breaks. With the next inhale, laughter interrupts, bellowing out of me. Glee has always been my favorite train to catch.. Soon I am letting out shrill hollers and woo-hoos. The dogs wondering what the hell is going on behind them.. Soon we find ourselves on flat ground, screaming for more. We catch up to the team in front. “Shit, what a ride!!” If this weren't a dog race, I’d turn that team around to experience that thrill just once more.

Reaching the town of Central, the team travels along the road system until the sound of low howls begins to fill the air. Dancing Christmas lights, a barrel fire and laughter surround us as we make the 90 degree turn into the Central roadhouse. Volunteers crowd the sled, a photo is taken of my sleepy smile, and a familiar face walks up, reaching for the sled.

The checkpoint in Central is 76 miles away from Circle. With only 26 miles under our belt after leaving Mile 101, we decide to “blow through” central in order to make headway on our long run on Birch Creek. I declare that the team I are not staying. Wild stares are thrown at me. “You’re not staying? What about your free burger?” I stop in my tracks. The dogs stop in their tracks. Free burger? Shit, Do I stay? I contemplated for what felt like an hour as I repacked my sled. I could stay for a burger. The dogs aren’t very tired…. But I could stay for a burger… I’d share that burger with all 12 dogs If I had to…..

With a huge amount of willpower and a slightly broken heart, I step onto my sled and guide the dogs away from that free burger. Appetite aroused? I think so.

Blowing through the checkpoint means that we pick up our drop bags, repack the sled with necessary gear and continue on. The race plan Ryne and I talked about has us running about 20-25 miles onto Birch Creek, finding a resting point and camping for 5. This section of trail has a reputation of being downright frigid. 50 below. 60 below. I toss on my parka hood, cinch the ruff, and settle into the tunnel of light beaming from my headlamp. The sun set just shortly after leaving the checkpoint giving me 16 hours until sunlight - For hours, the trail snakes back and forth following the course of an old mining stream through a quiet, willowy valley. A night time odyssey on Birch Creek. At mile 46 on the GPS, I make the executive decision to pull off on a small snow machine track, tucked behind a large beached log - protecting us from the wind. Thresher finally agreeing with me on this choice.

From the hoarfrost collecting on the dogs top layer of fur, my guess is the temperature has reached 20 to 30 below. Knowing the cooker will take much longer in these temps, I start melting snow and move on to bedding everyone down. Each dog received a hot meal and a fleece blanket to ease them into their trail dreams. After watching each one curl up, I hopped into my 40 below bag, zipped it over my head as the arctic-like breeze sent dreams through my sleepy brain, tucking me in, and calling it a night.

Hours after departing our campsite, the team slogs on along Birch Creek. Etta genuisly traversing the team away from open water, Tobin and Louie driving hard as if we were chasing a squirrel down the trail. The GPS which I am now obsessively checking is blinking to life and rudely suggesting were only a quarter of the way to the checkpoint….

I was just settling into my 4am head bob on the runners, because if there's anything an 8 hour run during the “bewitching” hours makes me feel…. Its sleepy. When a burst of energy hit the lead dogs, spiraled down the gangline and smacked me in the face with its bare hand, Gibbs style; The act of slapping somebody on the back of their head after participating in something downright stupid…. (NCIS). I quickly realized, as I threw both hands onto the stanchion, that the team was hurling themselves across a patch of rough overflow. My tiresome body being tossed back and forth until it jerked me into hyperfocus. Back at it baby. Back it. 30. more. miles.

Arriving in Circle felt like it took forever and a day… Etta (again) navigated the team along the fluttering helix’s of oxbows as I continuously shook my head to rid it of sleepiness. The trail markers guided us along the small road systems of Circle, pulling us into the checkpoint at 7am, exactly 6 hours behind the lead team, Matt. Circle has a mandatory 6 hour layover for the team where the dogs eat, sleep, undergo a full vet check, receive massages and rest some more… The mushers are also spoiled as ever as the checkpoint volunteers crafted up burritos, served coffee, cookies, tea, and more coffee…. Meal #4. Check. Tucking myself in for a long hour of sleep, my mind trails off to the hum of the truck.

I awoke feeling nourished, revitalized, and whatever bullshit inspiration that was written on my yogi tea bags….

Filling up the Stanley with coffee and snagging a small package of nutritious cookies, I journeyed out to the sleepy team who were using every last second to rest before our final push. I silently filled water bowls, laid out BLT snacks and patiently waited for the tasty scent of a frozen meat snack to wake the snoozing dogs. The moments before taking off for a run, the quiet preparations of getting the team ready are some of my favorite moments that are shared with these dogs. For those short minutes, life is so peaceful it feels as if we're frozen in time. The gentle snuggles and yawns, the warmth of their paws as I begin to bootie each dog; it fills my little heart with gratitude. Gratitude for the adventure we've shared together but mostly for them allowing me to join - as a student, coach, and teammate.

74 miles, here we go.

Conditions aligned for us to bag an idealist run to the finish line in Central. The sludgy slow motion trail we came in on hardened during the 6 hours and 14 minutes we stayed in Circle allowing us to cruise over the soft, punchy trail that once was… Following the same course we traveled on the previous night concerned me for it was an exceptionally tough run for me mentally and the dogs picked up on that. Making sure the negativity didn't creep back into the team throughout the last run, I focused heavily on the six minute gain of daylight that has not so subtly been dragging me out of that deep winter meditation.

I polished off that Stanley full of coffee, took a mental image of the dog team weaving through snow covered black spruce; a watercolor painting in the making, and logged back into the dog world where assessing dog butts feels most natural. Glee once more finds it's way through the team, this time in the form of familiar faces - Jeff; a neighbor and friend comes hurtling towards us with a sleepy smile plastered on his face. We stop to chat like we're both not trying to hold back a team of 12 dogs, a casual conversation you'd typically have passing on a city sidewalk. We wish each other good luck and continue on in different directions. Not long after, Lauro comes cruising by. Another sleepy smile that brings warmth to the world. We chat, wish each other good luck and are off.

At 40 miles in, the team is traveling as if we have someplace to be.. I wondered if they knew of the burgers and kibble waiting for us at the finish line… I knock that thought down, not yet. I check the GPS a few times, blinking at the speed to convince myself I was reading it correctly - 9.8mph? At mile 270? “Holy shit guys!” The dogs were digging in with a disgusting amount of joy. There was no way in hell I could stop this momentum for a camp so the decision was made to push onwards until we reached 303 miles. My eyes kept dancing between the 2 years old, checking in to see how they felt. Mozzie and Cheddar are both focused in, ears flopping back and forth - telling me their gaits are damn near perfect. Fly, who is right behind them, has never been a concern. Her little 45lb body digs in as she blissfully checks off each mile. Beasley and Tuna in wheel - A force to be reckoned with. Strong and determined. Tobin, a 3 year old goofball runs in swing, easily distracted but is driving harder than anybody in the team… The veterans - Etta, Thresher, Yoshi, Dracula, Louie, and Otis… The teachers, and coaches. Leading the team through the last stretches of Birch Creek, through golden hour and nightfall - All 7 of us rookies relying on them to guide us as we journey through our last 10 miles of the race.

At 10:35PM, the team and I cruise back into Central. Laughter fills the air, a barrel fire lighting the trail, friendly faces cheering and….. a dog team screaming. At 303 miles, all 12 dogs crossed the finish line with me. After three days of traveling, those 12 dogs wanted nothing more than to keep going and as I sit next to the wood stove, coffee in hand, reflecting on those miles, I want nothing more than to keep going with them.

At mile 303, the dogs received a big bowl of kibble, fish, and BLT… And I received that damn burger. Meal #5. Check.

To simply say “Thank you" to Ryne and her dogs doesn't quite cover how thankful I am for these experiences. It's hard to put into words how lucky I feel to have a community of knowledgeable friends that I have found myself immersed in. A community that knows we must act on our dreams and make shit happen…. So the biggest thank you goes to Ryne for helping me take the right steps to make my shit happen and for entrusting me with the dogs!

Thank you to Tucker, for supporting me as we make our shit happen together!

And thank you to all the family, friends and sponsors for following along!

The most important thank you goes to those 12 doggos…. Etta, Thresher, Yoshi, Dracula, Tobin, Louie, Mozzie, Cheddar, Otis, Fly, Beasley, and Tuna.