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Joe Redington Sr. isn't ready to run the Iditarod again. Not yet. But he figures he's got time to build a good dog team and have himself trail ready by March 4, 2000. He'll be 83. "I'm gettin' stronger," he said Saturday as he walked on the sugary snow of Fourth Avenue just before the start of the 27th Iditarod. Vi Redington, his wife, wore bib No. 1 as one of the race's honorary mushers, in recognition of her quiet work on behalf of the race since its beginning in 1973. So on this day, the Father of the Iditarod's official duty was escort and photo opportunity. He smiled when an admirer called Vi "the queen mother of the Iditarod." Arm around Vi. Arm around old friends, hand shakes and more photos. "Just one more, Joe." Race director Jack Niggemeyer greeted the Redingtons. "Next year, huh?" "Yeah," Redington said softly. "You betcha." Redington has come a long way from the cancer and chemotherapy that laid him low just nine months after he completed the 25th anniversary Iditarod in 1997. He couldn't run the 1998 Yukon Quest, as he planned, or his own Iditarod Challenge for adventuring tourists. An esophageal tumor prompted chemotherapy to cut it down to size. January surgery followed, then more chemotherapy. Treatment is finished, and the cancer appears to be gone. "I haven't been back (for treatment) since May," Redington said. He's worked hard to regain his strength. With his friend, nurse and fellow musher Joyce Garrison, he's gone from walking to his mail box to sandwiching half-mile runs into his five-mile walks. He's also done weight training. "At first, I had to hold on to him because he was so wobbly," Garrison said. "Now I have to run to keep up with him." Redington and Garrison also have been training dogs, doing trips as long as 30 miles from Knik to a family cabin at Flathorn Lake. Redington said some of his good dogs have grown too old while he has recovered from cancer, so he's concentrating on 1-, 2- and 3-year-olds, counting on the cream of a 200-dog kennel to make a millennial run to Nome. Redington and Garrison intend to run the race together. "He's gonna have his own nurse musher," Garrison said. She's been his nurse since he was diagnosed with cancer late in 1997. Now, she said, her main job is to keep him motivated when he struggles to do what he used to do with ease. But she doesn't doubt him. "He's well enough now that he can talk about Iditarod and mean it," Garrison said. "Last year at this time we didn't know. The doctors were talking that he wouldn't be mushing again. He showed 'em." Redington hasn't ignored the medical profession. Surgery removed cataracts from both eyes, so now, he said, his vision is much better. His hearing isn't. That probably didn't matter much as he stood beneath the Iditarod banner, the flags of five nations and the state of Alaska at Fourth Avenue and D Street. Redington knows the sounds of the race. And he could easily read the faces of the stream of mushers, handlers, race officials and volunteers who stopped to say hello to the Iditarod's founder. Redington watched his grandson, Junior Iditarod champ Ryan Redington, drive the honorary team down Fourth to begin the race. He watched his son, Raymie, start his 10th race. Five-time champion Rick Swenson took time before his start to say hello and head back to his runners with a thumbs-up. When veteran musher Sonny Lindner came to the starting line with a team of Swenson's young dogs, Redington waved and caught Lindner's eye. Lindner grinned, walked over and gently clapped the him on the shoulder. "How you doin'? I thought you'd be out on one of your trips," Lindner said. "How's your team look? Good?" Redington asked. "Rick's pups," Lindner replied. Redington stood the watch for all 56 mushers. So did thousands of race fans along the snow fences, atop a parking garage, in the second-story windows of downtown buildings. Where those buildings didn't cast shadows, Fourth Avenue was warm and bright. "I knew it was good for Alaska, but I never knew it would be this good," Redington said of the race he launched with nerve, persuasion and a lot of help in 1973. He could stand at trailside and savor the spectacle. He wasn't entirely off the trail, however. Two dogs from his 1997 Iditarod team, leaders Ruby and Billy, were in harness for his son and grandson. The younger Redingtons can run them for now. But the old man wants them back for 2000.
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