Alaska News

Eagle River musher jumps into race at the last minute

How do you know?

How do you know when you're too old?

How do you know when you no longer have the time, the will or the stamina for the grueling Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race?

How do you know when you simply don't have enough money to get in?

Eagle River musher Eric Rogers was grappling with these thoughts and more as the midnight Sunday, Nov. 30, deadline to sign up for the 37th Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race approached.

Rogers, 61, had nothing to prove. He'd twice finished the Iditarod and was part of a select group of finishers more than 60 years old. And he didn't have enough money for the entry fee.

But something gnawed at him.

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"Saturday I had a feeling that I should go to the bank and get the musher release notarized," he said. "I wrote that off to my 'never say die' attitude.'

The feeling persisted.

"(A day later) during dinner, (his wife) Marti said I should go for it and sign up. I was afraid that Marti just wanted the stress to end, and I wanted this so bad it was clouding our judgment."

By 8:30 Sunday night, Rogers had persuaded himself to take a pass on the 2009 Iditarod. He got himself ready for bed. Marti was on the phone with a friend, who happened to ask how sponsorships worked. Before long, the woman was offering to pay half of Rogers' entry fee.

"Lightening struck, and even I couldn't miss that message," he said.

Rogers pulled his pants back on and got moving.

He tried to print the entry forms but his printer died. Then his wife's printer ran out of ink. Was he getting mixed messages?

Stifling the thought, Rogers found a printer and considered how he might get his entry notarized on a Sunday night. A friend who's a notary public agreed to meet Rogers in the parking lot of an Anchorage grocery store about 10 p.m.

"I thank heaven for plastic money," he said. "At 11 p.m., literally the 11th hour, I hand the clerk the letter and watch him put a Nov. 30th cancel on the stamps."

"I'm in."

Which, of course, committed Rogers to three more months of backbreaking work and sleepless nights for a chance to finish among the slowest Iditarod racers.

"I definitely made the right call," Rogers said in late January. "We actually started training in early September in the hope that the money would somehow come together at the last minute.

Rogers is among dozens of Iditarod mushers without a prayer to win. They show up every year -- the Deborah Bicknells, Trent Herbsts, Steve Madsens and Shane Goosens of mushing -- to bring up the rear of the pack.

Finishing is an accomplishment -- and no small accomplishment at that. After all, far more people have climbed Mount McKinley than have finished the Iditarod. And in what other sporting event do middling competitors go head-to-head with the best?

Want to take a few swings against Mariano Rivera?

Catch a pass from Peyton Manning?

Ride a bike next to Lance Armstrong?

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Good luck with that. But simply finish a few middle-distance races and pay your fees and a newbie can share the Iditarod starting chute with Rick Swenson, the winningest Iditarod musher ever, or Lance Mackey, the hottest musher on the planet these days.

Perhaps that's part of the Iditarod charm.

"That's the whole thing," said Chas St. George, the Iditarod director of public relations. "It allows greater access for all kinds of athletes. But you have to be in competition."

And Rogers expects he will be.

"Before the Iditarod, I hunted and fished and hiked a little, but I didn't do much athletic," he said. "I didn't play any competitive sport. So I figure whatever athleticism I've got, I haven't used it all up yet."

This year, Rogers probably just needs to finish to avoid his third 68th-place finish -- by late January the Iditarod field was down to 70 mushers, with more expected to drop out before the March 7 start.

But Rogers is dreaming big. If everything goes right, he thinks he can sneak into the top 30 -- despite a small kennel that doesn't leave the musher with many options.

Like several back-of-the-packers, Rogers read some Jack London as a child and became enthralled with the North Country.

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Rogers, who has a Ph.D. in theoretical physics from the University of Washington, moved to Alaska with Marti in 1991.

Five years later, he finished his first Iditarod in 68th place in 15 days, 14 hours and 18 minutes. He earned $1,049, a finisher's belt and memories that will last a lifetime.

But mushing's never easy. In the 2007 Iditarod, he suffered a broken fibula, severely bruised shoulder and frostbitten toes, none of which prevented him from signing up a year later for his fastest Iditarod trip -- 13 days, 11 hours, 57 minutes.

And he's not the only musher with a powerful drive to finish -- no matter how far back. Last year, rookie Gene Smith of Omak, Wash., had his dog team lie down eight miles from the Nome finish line, determined to go no farther. Smith waited and waited, and eventually got out front and walked his team the final stretch to wrap up a 75th place finish.

"I started out wanting to be top 30," Smith said back in Takotna, less than halfway through the race. "At Rohn I think I changed it to top 60."

He'd miss that too.

"It'll be over some day," Smith said. "That's why we're here. To see how many days it takes to get over the pain."

Before the Iditarod, the rodeo cowboy-turned-musher had already survived cancer and two potentially fatal neck injuries, the latest on Oct. 11, 2006, when he fell off a ladder.

Hiking eight miles in front of a team of dogs? That's easy.

Reporter Mike Campbell can be reached at mcampbell@adn.com or 257-4329.

By MIKE CAMPBELL

mcampbell@adn.com

Mike Campbell

Mike Campbell was a longtime editor for Alaska Dispatch News, and before that, the Anchorage Daily News.

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