Greeting Fellow Facebookians,
Preface - For those of you who are out of the loop - or if you’re like me and you don’t even know where the loop is - I filled in for Danny as the “race analyst” last year on our page Seavey's IdidaRide Sled Dog Tours. Danny was called away to run the Iditarod at the last minute, after our puppy team driver was injured. Now you’re in the loop. Second - Despite what I may have written in the following paragraphs, I love my brother Danny like, well, a brother.
Third - Don’t believe anything I write.
Whatever comes after the preface - The first thing Danny did after thawing out from the Iditarod last year was kick me off the family Facebook page. Well, actually, that’s not quite true. The FIRST thing he did was write a harrowing account of his Iditarod experience, which was approximately 8,372,874,263,812 pages long. THEN he kicked me off the Facebook page. He obviously read my posts, perceived the obvious threat to his job security, and gave me the boot while I wasn’t paying attention.
Danny, of course, has been doing an excellent job of keeping everyone updated on the race happenings, despite his one post about Lance, where he made some 30 women cry inconsolably. Meanwhile, I have been stuck in his basement with the other slave children making booties and updating Fantasy Iditarod.
Through it all, I found time for an old Seavey tradition, long upheld by whichever of us boys were not actually racing in the Iditarod. Basically, we would completely disappear for the first few days of the race, to contemplate our chances of running away and never coming back. Only one was ever successful, but that’s another story. This year I went to Alyeska with some bros, where I took a crash course on snowboarding. One small bit of advice - do not attempt the black diamond hills at Alyeska on your first day of boarding, even if it sounds like a good idea. I am not speaking metaphorically when I say “crash course.”
I am now typing from Nome, several bruises and eight stitches later, where we arrived yesterday morning. After missing last year’s finish, we decided to play it safe and arrive almost two days in advance, because hey, you can never be too cautious. Dad and Dallas pulled into White Mountain in first and second today. Most of the family is here, and we’re all silently hoping for the same thing. We’re not saying anything about the thing, but we’re all thinking about the thing, and we all know that each other is thinking about the thing. The thing is something we've all thought about before, but never dared dream would actually happen. Now it looks like the thing might actually happen.
We’re all hanging tight at the Froehle’s house in Nome, preparing for a long night. As we have learned, anything can happen between White Mountain and Nome, so please refrain from speaking about the thing to your friends, family, dog, or gold fish until it has happened. Thank you!
Prologue - Last year I told you all that I was retiring from mushing so I could follow my passion as a musician. I have spent the winter singing, playing gigs, and making music videos. A few days ago I went to the Nenana checkpoint. I watched as the mushers made for Nome – embarking on a journey packed with history, beauty, and the unknown. A journey where they will be humbled by the heart of their dogs, and put their own strength to the test. A journey they will never forget. Ever. A journey that, for me, is more than just a journey – It’s my family. It’s tradition. It’s in my blood. As I stood there watching, a strong, gripping feeling crept over me. It started in my fingers and toes, and began to work its way toward my heart. In that moment, I was struck with a singular thought……. BEING COLD SUCKS!!!!
I’m leaving Nome early this year to get home and work on my next music video.