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KNIK - As dog team after dog team trotted through the checkpoint that heralds the end of civilization and the beginning of the wilderness in the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race, Terry Miller's attention turned to the parking lot behind her. "Here's the big story of the day: '800 cars lost in Knik Lake,' " the Anchorage woman said. "This is just so incredibly Alaskan. It's just so incredible." For most of Sunday afternoon, a parade of 80 mushers and about 1,300 huskies streamed in and out of the checkpoint just outside the Knik Bar. And for even longer, Miller and thousands of other spectators turned the tiny outpost at Mile 13.5 on Knik Goose Bay Road into a daylong party. Most of them parked their cars on a lake. A frozen lake, to be sure, but one bearing the weight of hundreds of cars, trucks, motor homes, snowmachines and four-wheelers. "I didn't know we were on a lake," said Kelly Matheson of Palmer. "I'm a little nervous now. Our dogs are in the car." Parking on a frozen lake was just one clue that this wasn't the same Iditarod you saw Saturday on Fourth Avenue. Each year brings a miles-long tailgate party to Knik Road, where scores of spectators set up camp early in the morning to get a front-row view as the dogs run from Wasilla to Knik and beyond. They sit atop lawn chairs, folding chairs, snowmachines and four-wheelers, with coolers and sacks of food nearby. They bring barbecues and build small campfires - and, for the unprepared, bundles of "Iditarod firewood" are for sale along the road. At the Knik checkpoint, just outside the Knik Bar, there's an abundance of fur hats, fur coats and people who look like they just stepped out of a Jack London novel. Small planes flew low across the lake while kids zoomed around on snowmachines. "This is kind of the rustic Alaska," said Duaine Clark, who was helping out at the Knik Bar. "What's intriguing to a lot of people is this is the very last stop (the mushers) make in civilization." Though tens of hundreds of people lined the snow fence to watch mushers check in and out, the feel was far more intimate than at the Saturday ceremonial start in downtown Anchorage. "Hey, Bill! Win this time!" someone yelled as Anchorage musher Bill Bass pulled in. Bass gave him a friendly wave and a laugh. "I've seen a bunch of Iditarods, but not here," said Kurtis Gisclair of Palmer. "It's cool being at a checkpoint instead of the start." Or as aspiring musher Glenda Cruse of Palmer put it: "It's as close as you can get to the mushers." Sunshine and temperatures in the 30s had some dogs panting and the people basking. Often the temperature is in the single digits or lower here, with wind making it feel even colder. Which is why the Knik Bar shares center stage with the dogs. The bar offers an escape from the cold. And the scene inside is as Alaskan as the scene outside. Darlene Donnelly, the bar's owner, said Iditarod Sunday is the busiest day of the year by far. She employs about eight people, but on the day of the restart her payroll includes about 30 extra people to help tend bar, wait tables and man two minibars set up to serve the masses. Barmaid Celia Saden of Knik was among the temporary employees. "The tips are good," she said. "That's why I'm here again." A patron known as Crazy Mike was there because he always is. A longtime regular at the bar, he was an early arrival Sunday. "There's my wife," he said, pointing to a woman walking past him. "There's my other wife," he said, pointing to another. "How many wives does a Knik man have? All of them." Outside, lines were long at the porta-potties. The bar bathrooms were closed for the day because otherwise the toilets would be overflowing by noon, Donnelly said. Inside, the crowd clapped and stomped as Hobo Jim, the singer-songwriter who is Alaska's troubadour, played. Once he went on stage in the early afternoon, it wasn't long before people were elbow to elbow. Each set included his trademark "The Iditarod Trail Song." When it came time for the refrain, most Alaskans are so familiar with - "I did, I did, I did the Iditarod Trail" - everyone sang along. Sunday marked Hobo Jim's 18th appearance at the Knik Bar for the Iditarod festivities. "It's the Mardi Gras of winter," he said. "This is one of my favorites of the year." This time, Mardi Gras had some tender moments. Knik was home to Joe Redington, the father of the Iditarod, who died last summer. Iditarod officials unveiled a new sign at the checkpoint Sunday that declared it the Joe Redington Sr.-Knik checkpoint. As mushers passed Redington's home on the trail from Wasilla to Knik, they honored the man synonymous with the race by tossing carnations. A few miles down the road at the Knik Bar, Hobo Jim sang a song he wrote to honor Redington. He wrote it a few days earlier at the bar, and the handful of the people there at the time grew teary-eyed as the song took shape: Now a cold wind blows And everybody knows It will never be the same For every musher cried on the day you died And every husky howled your name. Here's to Joe and it's off we go In the land of the midnight sun They call this race the Iditarod Trail But in my heart it's Redington's Run. Hobo Jim's audience was much larger Sunday when he sang the tribute, but he struck the same chord. People came to Knik for dogs, music and a good time, and the song gave them all a chance to say a silent thank-you to the man who made it happen. * Executive sports editor Beth Bragg can be reached at bbragg@adn.com
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