Frank's staging space was next to the old federal building at Fourth and E.
All the mushers carry a packet of mail to Nome. This is Frank's packet, which he carrie Saturday tucked into a pocket in the sled bag.
Frank puts a bootie on Blaze.
Bilko leaps with enthusiasm once he's on the gangline.
Blaze gives 12-year-old Iditarider Alexandra Bratton a bit of affection.
Larry Stremekis of Virginia, one of Frank's sponsors, rearranges the get-a-vaccination shawl on the lead dogs.
Frank, the handlers and the dogs wait to move up to the starting line on Fourth Avenue.
Megan Baldino of Channel 2, KTUU-TV, interviews Frank at the starting line.
Alexandra is ready for her once-in-a-lifetime Iditaride.
The huskies pull Frank, Alexandra and Jeff across the starting line.
Frank's team comes through a tunnel near Tudor Road and Bragaw Street. This photo and the following photo were taken at almost the same instant.
As Claudia (in the red jacket) watches from atop the overpass, Frank's team moves ahead. Waiting to cheer for Frank, Margaret Unruh happened to catch the two Sihlers together.
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Updates
9:56 p.m. Sunday Moving up quickly in the early going, Frank climbed into 45th place as he checked into Yentna on Sunday evening. He had started at Willow in 72nd place.
Frank arrived at Yentna at 7:49 p.m. and left at 7:58. He and his 16 dogs averaged 13.04 miles an hour during the 3 hour 27 minute trip from Willow.
The next stop for the Moving Fast Kennel team is Skwentna.
Race Day in Anchorage
ANCHORAGE -- The ceremonial first leg of the race -- a warmup lap -- went well yesterday for Frank.
He brought 20 dogs in his trailer and ran 12. He knew most of the dogs that will make the trip to Nome, but he wanted to check out four "new" dogs to see how they're running before he makes his final choices for the team of 16 today.
Jeff Deeter, Frank's trainer, said Frank thought highly of the enthusiastic new candidates. Braveheart, for example, "loves to eat. That's what we look for -- dogs that really love to eat."
Iditarider Alexandra Bratton
Frank's Iditarider, Alexandra Bratton, was a 12-year-old from Fort Worth. Her parents bid on the seat on the sled because it seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, said her mom, Anne Marie Bratton. The family's son also was an Iditarider, making the trip to the Campbell Airstrip in South Anchorage with veteran Hans Gatt.
The Brattons bought a ride in Frank's sled for $1,350. The money goes to the Iditarod Trail Committee.
Alexandra and the dogs got along famously, especially Blaze, who gave Alexandra a lot of kisses to remember her trip by.
A couple of Iditarod notables dropped by for some well-wishing and chatting: Bruce Moroney, an Iditarod race veteran and now an Iditarod Air Force pilot, and Bob Hickel, the son of the two-time governor and a veteran of several Iditarods.
The staging areas come to life
The side streets north and south of Fourth Avenue -- the first blocks of E, F, and G streets -- were the staging areas. Up to eight mushers parked their pickups and trailers along the street, headlights facing Fourth. Snow fences lined the sidewalks, directing race fans to swing around the staging areas rather than follow Fourth.
It was an exclusive area; admittance was by Iditarod armband. In the early hours of waiting (Frank and Claudia arrived at their assigned parking space before 8), there was plenty of room for mushers and trainers to move around and catch up on a year's news with the Anchorage folks. About an hour before Frank's starting time, the dogs were brought out of their boxes and hooked to leads attached to the truck. Fans paused to ooh and ahh over the blue-eyed dogs. Handlers began to arrive, and helicopters flew overhead. The barking and yapping -- no howling -- was incessant. The dogs were ready, and the street was filling up.
Brisk weather ahead
Frank was talking about how cold it could get on the trail; -20 is fairly common, as we all know, but the dogs seem to like cooler weather because they don't overheat then.
Frank was asked what "cold" means to him.
"Minus 30," he said. After that, a musher has to worry about keeping the dogs and himself warm and about equipment holding up. Down to -30, he said, wasn't so bad.
Frank's wife, Claudia, spoke up from the Ford pickup's cab. "You complain about going outside when it's zero," she said with a laugh.
Frank shrugged and smiled. When you run the Iditarod, everyone knows you're tough enough.
All dressed and ready to go
Frank and Jeff went around the truck and put mustard-yellow cloth booties on each dog's paws, cinching the velcro straps snugly. The dogs will wear the booties every day on the trail, Jeff said, but in town they're especially necessary because the snow is relatively wet and laced with gravel and sometimes tiny pieces of glass.
The gang line had been laid out ahead of the truck hours ahead of time, and eventually Frank and Jeff led the dogs one at a time to be hooked up fore and aft. As his handlers lined up beside the 12 dogs in the staging area next to the old federal building north of Fourth Avenue, someone commented about how busy he was, running not only the dogs but also the handlers.
It was like having a team of 24, he said. There's a lot more to think about: will someone step on a dog's paw, for example, or will anyone slip and fall on the sugar snow.
The handlers were a comfortable mix. They included friends; the trainer's girlfriend, Nina ("of the Redingtons," she pointed out); sponsors; and dog owners from Claudia's dog-training school. The handlers stood diligently beside their charges in the staging area, then trotted with the team around the corner onto Fourth and up behind musher No. 72, Matt Hayashida, who was moving up under the starting-line banner. He'd soon be gone, and Frank would follow two minutes later.
On the starting line
Channel 2's Megan Baldino interviewed Frank for the live broadcast. The Iditarider, Alexandra, smiled broadly inside her black-ruffed parka. The 12 huskies were yapping, yawping and prancing.
A race official had a brief chat with Frank, who leaned against his sled handle. Jeff, the trainer, stood with the trailing sled; it provided extra weight so the frisky huskies wouldn't go too fast in town. Claudia, who had ridden the last block in the trailing sled, climbed out.
As musher No. 72 got down the street, slid around the Cordova corner and passed from sight, the countdown was broadcast over the loudspeaker -- "Five, four, three, two, one" -- and the traditional announcement that Frank Sihler was bound for Nome.
The handlers stepped back and let slip the happy huskies. The crowd cheered and called his name, and with a long wave Frank began his third Iditarod.
Along the trail
Claudia, Nina, Laurie Calandri and I (Leon Unruh) got into Frank's truck and drove out of the staging area and south from downtown toward Campbell Airstrip off 68th Street and Lake Otis. Halfway there, they pulled off so I could meet my family at our traditional viewing area near the Native hospital and University Lake.
Claudia had never seen Frank mushing the trails through Anchorage, but there was a chance we'd catch him here about 45 minutes from the starting line. We looked at mushers from a distance, ruling one team out because there wasn't a sled bag on the trailing sled and another team out because the musher wasn't dressed like Frank.
But then another team turned a corner and headed under the overpass we were on. It was indeed Frank, and our timing was almost perfect. Claudia bolted from the truck and tried to snap a photo of Frank as he passed below.
Frank has 10 days or so of hard work ahead of him, but so does Claudia. She'll be running the kennel while Frank's on the way to Nome and also making arrangements for getting the dogs back to Wasilla after the race.
Having her there along the trail to see Frank seemed like a small but important moment. It's the kind of luck any Iditarod musher and his extended family can use.
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