Yukon Quest Part III: Circle

Editor's note: This is part III of a series that has become indefinite. I'll write something for every morning, but that's all I'll promise.

Sam and I arrived in Circle at midnight, just in time. The trail runs alongside the highway just before it reaches town, and we saw Lance Mackey heading to the checkpoint as we entered city limits. We stopped in the middle of town --- which is the corner equidistant from the grocery store/gas station, the school, the washeteria and the fire station.

I hopped out and saw three mushers unpacking the same equipment at the same time. Lance Mackey, Zack Steer and Hugh Neff had arrived within minutes of each other. I got a few quotes and details before walking back to the truck to wake Sam up. It was then that I began to envy him. With no daylight, Sam couldn't take great pictures easily, so he always had a fail-safe excuse to nod off.

We checked into our hotel, the Circle School. We picked out some spots on the gym floor and set up our sleeping bags. There was a bag in the corner with pink and blue hair sticking out of the top. Looks like Annalee had made it. I jogged to the fire station/checkpoint and scoped the place out. No one was due in for another hour or two, so we decided to call it a night. Before laying down, Sam and I agreed to hike out to Carl Cochrane's cabin on Birch Creek. We turned in just before 3 a.m.

My cell phones were both low on power and there were no nearby outlets. They were my only alarm clocks, so I was worried that I would miss my first radio call-in at 6:45 a.m. I was anxious and woke every half-hour or so. When I jolted awake at 5:30, I figured that would be the best I could do. Sure enough, the cell phone I used as an alarm died at 6. I killed the time by writing my family an e-mail and looking at the front pages around the country for their Super Bowl coverage.

Exiting the gym I noticed what looked like school projects covering the hallway walls. This was my favorite:

Groggy and inexperienced, I called the radio station from the principal's office. KUAC's Dan Bross practically held my hand through the call-in report. I was grateful.

Sam was up when I returned. We game-planned: I should go get most of my race-story interviews done early in the morning so we could leave for Cochrane's cabin by 10 a.m. Game on. I grabbed my notebook and stumbled over to the fire station, where there was nary a musher to be seen. The leaders were long gone, and the second wave of arrivals were snoozing away.

I grabbed some bacon and eggs and chatted with the handlers, which had proven to be both fun and productive because they knew more about the sport than I did. Rachel Steer, Zack's sister who was handling for him, showed me some clips she made with a Flip camcorder. It was pretty funny stuff. I was especially interested because it showed at least one musher when he wasn't on guard with the media around. Well, kind of: Rachel is a magazine editor and freelance writer (and former Olympic skier).

Belgian rookie Sam Deltour arrived in time to tell me some interesting stories about sleep deprivation, and that was enough to hold me over. To Cochrane's!

Cochrane's cabin has been a pit stop for mushers since the original Quest in 1984. Carl is a tough old coot who learned to love the outdoors while he grew up near Jacksonville, Florida. His small, two-room cabin (a huge living area with a sleeping quarters just big enough for a bed) is covered in handmade crafts. He's 76 and doesn't look a day over 92. He built his cabin -- twice, the first one burned down -- and several other structures around it by himself.

Annalee was interested in the cabin, too, and came along. We stopped at the bridge over Birch Creek, about 10 miles back along the swerving road from Central, and hoofed it from there.

It was a 2-mile jaunt down the creek, and we followed the Quest trail the entire way. I told stupid jokes, Annalee collected dog booties -- yipping "Bootie!" every time we saw one -- and Sam quietly struggled with a bad back while carrying his camera gear. It began snowing about a mile into the journey and we all ended up pretty frosty.

Cardboard signs that said "Cabin" were affixed to the trail markers, so we knew when we were close. We climbed straight up the riverbank on steps covered with unstable packed snow and knocked on the door. Cochrane took us in like old friends. Peter Fleck, the 19-year-old kid from Salisbury, England, showed up a few minutes later.

Cochrane told us the history of just about everything inside his cabin, including himself. As a kid, he lived in Pearl Harbor when it was bombed, fer crimey sake. "Fer crimey sake" was his favorite expression. We listened to his stories while sipping coffee fresh off his wood stove. Bart de Marie stopped by about a half-hour later and downed a few cups himself.

Photo by Annalee Grant/Whitehorse Star

Cochrane hosted Quest mushers even when he barely had anything of his own. Once, racers camped out under the frame that was to become his cabin. Today, he has a small bunkhouse for visitors and mushers to sleep in.

Sam and Annalee took some shots of Fleck and de Marie working with their dogs, then we each took a swig from Sam's flask and tromped off. About a half-mile later. Sam realized he had forgotten his equipment belt and turned back. While we were waiting, Annalee decided to sit on the riverbank, and ended up in the riverbank.

She said it was comfy, so I plopped into the snow beside her. I have no recollection what we said, but for the first time in three days neither of us were talking about the Quest, and that was nice. I was kind of loopy from the lack of sleep, but we got to know each other. Sam was back in what seemed like no time. It snowed harder on the rest of the walk, however, and the journey to the truck did not seem like no time.

I caught about 10 minutes of sleep before banging away on my stories. Sam was out on the river waiting for a musher -- any musher -- to come by. The race begins on the Yukon River from Circle, and it's a pretty big deal to get a shot of a dog team on the river. Deltour appeared on the river with just enough daylight for Sam to get the shot he needed.

The school cafeteria sold us Mexican food for dinner, and all three of us pounded on our keyboards until something that looked like journalism appeared.

Then came the nightcap. Sam treated us to some more whiskey from the flask, a pilot who was also crashing in the gym passed around Coors Lights and Annalee uncorked a bottle of wine that was a little slushy from sitting in the truck since we left Fairbanks. It wasn't the first time I'd drank in a school gym, but it was the first time it wasn't a school I was attending.

I strolled back to the checkpoint to make sure nothing crazy had happened. It was about 20 degrees and the sky was full of stars despite the bright lights from the school. Nothing crazy had happened. Katie Davis was at the checkpoint, and I interviewed her for the radio while she was wearing a yellow-top, purple-bottom longjohn combo that I'm sure has gained a level of notoriety in her hometown of Olney, Montana. davis' handler posted this on her kennel's blog:

Shamelessly stolen from EveningStarKennel.blogspot.com

Sam and the pilot passed out by 11. Annalee and I refilled our cups with wine and chatted until about midnight.

I got about five hours of sleep and was relatively more relaxed for the radio call-in the next morning. I took a hot shower that was well worth the $10 it cost me, picked up my stuff and headed out to the truck, where I saw Sam looking at the engine. Not a good sign.

Luckily, all it needed was a jump start. We drove to the airstrip about a mile away and listened to National Public Radio while we waited for the plane. It was late, and I started wondering if we could catch the leaders by the time they got to Eagle. Two mushers had set a record pace to Slaven's Roadhouse -- halfway to Eagle -- and if we didn't get there by 3 p.m., the frontrunners would be sleeping during the mandatory 4-hour stop.

Our plane landed in Circle only a half-hour behind schedule, and we piled in with a Native family. We left the truck behind for our assistant managing editor Sam Bishop to pick up -- with a note inside saying it needed a jump.