Don Bowers did not set out to write a book. He set out to run the Iditarod - and he took notes. "It started out as a journal and it kept getting refined and refined," said the Montana Creek musher at the pre-race banquet for the 27th annual Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race. A former Air Force pilot, Bowers, 50, was introduced to the 1,100-mile race across the snowy terrain of Alaska as a volunteer with the Iditarod air force. He now makes his living as a teacher and summer pilot, but like so many other let's-give-it-a-try mushers he became hooked on the sport once he did try it. At the moment, he is working his way along the trail in his fifth race. Bowers differs from most mushers, though, because he has chronicled just about every mile he has ever driven on a sled. The journals became an epic. Last year Bowers released "Back of the Pack: An Iditarod Musher's Alaska Pilgrimage to Nome." It's 395 pages long but is probably more fun to read than the marathon efforts it took to record it. Three-time champion Martin Buser of Big Lake wrote the foreword. The other day he said he scrutinized every word. "I told him he's a better writer than dog musher," Buser said. That might be a compliment. The book is a universal story of dog mushing, from the rush of realizing how much fun it can be, to the trials and tribulations of everything that can and does go wrong once you start mushing in earnest. Believe it, Bowers has lived through all the wild stuff that can happen to a man alone in the wilderness with a dog team. Sometimes those experiences are more vivid in the telling than they were in the learning. Here's a description of one of Bowers' early mushes: "There isn't nearly enough snow to make a smooth trail," wrote Bowers. "It's like riding a bicycle over railroad ties at 20 miles an hour as the sled flies from one crest to the next with a knee-buckling series of crashes and thuds." Actually, if you read long enough, you have to wonder how Bowers ever makes it to the starting line whole. But he did so, in 1995, for his debut race, a demoralizing experience because he scratched; in 1996, when he placed 48th and collected his finisher's belt buckle; in 1997 when he was 40th and won the sportsmanship award; and in 1998 when he scratched again. No one can say it wasn't always an adventure. And Bowers outlines all of his training and trips in shorter qualifying races, as well as his Iditarods, with that outlook. He said he has received good feedback on his scribblings. "Gracious and favorable," he said of what he's heard. "I'm astonished. I was kind of hoping people would pick up on the experience." The experience includes nights of fantastic mushing under the northern lights, when all the dogs are running well and listening to every command, and nights of frustrating mushing when nothing goes right. In one section, Bowers, a short man with graying hair and a pleasant demeanor, summed up all the problems he'd had on the trail. "I've been a human weed-wacker, eaten bucketsful of snow, imitated a Pachinko ball, gotten bit, sorted out dog fights, and nursed sick dogs," he wrote. "I've untangled Gordian knots of dogs, sleds, trees, and me. I've had to figure out how to keep always-amorous males away from unexpectedly amorous females." And not always succeeded. He scratched from his first Iditarod when his dogs were too busy making whoopie to run. He fell into last place and scratched in Rainy Pass. Then he beat himself up for a full year for being too hasty in quitting. Bowers is a member of the dedicated class of mushers who race on a shoestring. Unlike the Busers and Jeff Kings, multiple champions with multiple sponsors, he must raid the cookie jar for loot to pay his entry fees, buy new gear, purchase new dogs. John Barron, a neighbor in Montana Creek, and a perennial top-20 musher who has no other career, said he doesn't know how guys like Bowers manage. "It's harder for them than the winners," Barron said. "He really struggles. He works, I train. He works, then comes home and runs at night. You can't train at night. You can't see your dogs." Bowers himself is a realist on that topic. "There's no such thing as a part-time dog musher," he wrote. "The commitment must be total, both physically and mentally, and the dogs must become part of daily life." Bowers is a musher who has followed his dream. He has no time, no money, but somehow he has made it work. And right now he is chugging down the trail, determined to reach Nome one more time. * This column is the opinion of Daily News sports editor Lew Freedman
|
