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WASILLA - They are the backbone of the Iditarod. They are the Alaska mushers who race because the sport grabbed hold of their spirit and won't let go. They are not the stars whose names everyone knows. They are not the rookies who do it once and disappear. They are the regulars, the reliables, the repeat customers. Jerome Longo, Mike Nosko, Diana Moroney, Harry Caldwell. You know them for their longevity or maybe because they're your neighbors. As much as any musher, they make the Iditarod real to the average Alaskan. Because they are the average Alaskan. They are mushers in the middle of the pack - at least for now - who have to sweat making it to the starting line every time. They have to sweat it all year long, balancing job, family and dog training. They finish just high enough, just well enough to be encouraged, to keep going, to keep coming back. The Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race is their passion, their obsession, their escape from a grind they willingly tolerate. These are the two weeks that make the other 50 worthwhile. The 1,100-mile ride on the runners into the wild and the unknown, the hissing along under the northern lights, the lone human in the night and cold with their favorite dogs for company. This is what they live for, whether they place 20th, 30th or 40th. "This is the easy part," Caldwell said Sunday morning as he readied his team for the start of his eighth Iditarod. "All's I have to do is drive dogs now." The rest of the year, Caldwell, 46, who lives with wife Barbara and their three children in Knik, works as a respiratory therapist at Providence Alaska Medical Center, a 60-mile commute. He survives on five hours of sleep a night. Why does he do it? "It is wonderful out there," said Caldwell, whose best Iditarod finish was 25th in 1995. "It's quiet. It's peaceful." Caldwell really sweated reaching the starting line of the 28th annual Iditarod. He crashed his main dog truck on the way to vet checks early last week. The wheel well of his backup truck collapsed Wednesday. Sunday, driving a borrowed truck, he ran out of gas on the way here. Those things don't happen to the Rick Swensons, Martin Busers and Jeff Kings. Their operations are not only well-oiled machines, they drive them too. Actually, so does Nosko, 37, of Wasilla, who makes deliveries along the Parks Highway in tractor trailers. Even if his heart belongs to this other mode of transportation. He said that he is a part-time, 40-hour-a-week trucker and a full-time musher. But that statement merely reflects the hecticness of his life. Nosko, who jokes that he has been diagnosed with a severe case of "Iditaroditis," finished 22nd in 1997 and is in his fifth race. Much as with Caldwell, it seems that the last time Nosko was well-rested, he was still in the womb. "There's so many 16- to 18-hour days," Nosko said. "There's no way other professional athletes are putting in this amount of time. People say it's like horse racing, but I'm everything: the owner, the trainer and the jockey. There is a lot of frustration to just keeping it up every day." Moroney, 44, is a pilot, and though she is usually resides in Chugiak, she has been flying cargo out of Nome for Arctic Transportation Services. She worked two weeks on and one week off this winter, and that made for a wacky training schedule. Really, though, Moroney - entered in her ninth Iditarod since 1984 but first since 1996 - just couldn't bear to stay away any longer. "I had to do it," said Moroney, who has twice made the top 20. "I've missed it a lot." Moroney regularly inspected the trail from the air but wanted a sled's-eye view again. "Now I get to see every minute detail of the trail," Moroney said. Longo, 37, of Willow, who has climbed on Mount McKinley seven times, has high hopes for his mushing too. A chef for 20 years - his biggest claim to culinary fame was cooking for George Bush at his presidential retreat in Kennebunkport, Maine - Longo has shelved the fancy sauces to devote himself to dog glop. Instead of big-name Republicans, he serves 60 huskies. "This is just the beginning," said Longo, who has moved from 43rd to 35th to 27th in his three previous Iditarods. "I've got a five- to 10-year plan. It's an investment. Hopefully I can win some money so I can do it next year." Next year? Caldwell, Nosko, Moroney, Longo. They will sweat the pennies, sweat the hours for their two weeks. They need the Iditarod as much as the Iditarod needs them. q This column is the opinion of Daily News sports editor Lew Freedman. He can be reached at lfreedman@adn.com.
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