On Your Mark, Get Set...is that Sarah Palin?

First off, I have to say that Sarah Palin has terrific skin, and I'm a registered Democrat. She was at the ceremonial start in downtown Anchorage Saturday, as cute as a button and walking around with a couple of state troopers, winking and waving in the sunshine, and now the local Palin stuff is 70% off. Tom commented that she's just another lady with expensive sunglasses, which is true, but what he failed to take into account is that she's just another lady with a striking cut and color.



As far as the race goes (and I know I've been negligent with the posts on this), Tim is in Finger Lake with 15 dogs, the third checkpoint. They'll be taking their rests a mile or two beyond the checkpoints so the dogs don't habituate to the idea of checkpoint = rest. What's wrong with resting in a checkpoint? Nothing, but it's noisy noisy noisy and the theory is that the better everybody rests the better the runs will be, and it's just not a good idea to Pavlovian the dogs to a checkpoint proper. It's best if Tim decides where they rest, not the dogs. We don't know who was dropped, but we're taking bets it's Sadie, our teensiest dog. Heart of gold, shiny coat, itching for a boyfriend.

Tom's (Mary's son) edit:
I thought I'd pass along a quick story about sleep deprivation. After we picked Tim up from the ceremonial start we were all ragged; we had been outside for two days constantly lifting up and putting down dogs, hauling buckets of water down flights of stairs, and hoping the wind would avoid us if we just sat still enough. Tim, on top of this, was a nervous wreck on account of his efforts not to be a nervous wreck. None the less, when we finished the ceremonial start, somehow Tim ended up with the keys to the truck as we headed back into town. Since we hit Anchorage I had been doing the majority of the navigating and so it made little sense for Tim, who was currently maintaining by a razor-thin margin, to be snaking his way through a town defined by one-ways and shifting street names. In the name of full disclosure, my jetlag-addled brain was in no mood for patient hand-holding with our star musher. As I sat in the passenger street with a map, simple miscommunication escalated to the point of full-on stand off:

Tim: Which way are we heading?
Tom: Well, where are we headed?
Tim: Again, which way are we heading?
Tom: Right now? East.
Tim: Ok. And if I turn left, where does that go?
Tom: North.
Tim: Ok. And what's to the north?
Tom: It depends where we're going.
Tim: What is north??
Tom: Left is north. If you want to go north, go left.
Tim: Do we want to go north?
Tom: I don't know. Where do you want to go right now?
Tim: DO I GO LEFT OR NOT...?
Tom: I DON'T KNOW. WHERE ARE WE GOING?
Tim: I DON'T KNOW WHERE WE'RE GOING.
Tom: THEN I DON'T KNOW IF WE NEED TO TURN LEFT.

After the whistle was blown, Tim was penalized for not making it clear that he wanted to go back to the hotel; I was tagged for being a smart-ass in a high stress situation. We also agreed that Tim was done driving for the next few days unless it was behind a dog team.