Mushing in Quebec's Carnaval HEATHER DAVIS
Watch out, Bonhomme, here I come!
What better way to experience Quebec's world famous winter Carnaval than to enter the dogsled race? I was game, but you needed to have three dogs to enter, and I only had two.
We talked to Diane, the race organizer, and within two days, she had found a third dog for us. All we had to do was pay the $10 entry fee. Heck, we would have paid $10 just to park downtown.
So at 10 a.m. on the day of Carnaval, we parked our VW Golf by the other mushers' big dog trucks, our two huskies inside, and our sled on the roof, and we paid the $10.
All the mushers were friendly, and we said Bonjour to my third dog, Tsu-Tsu. Tsu-Tsu was a bit afraid of our two dogs, but we hoped they would run together without problems.
At 1 p.m., when I helped another musher bring her team to the starting line, I saw the crowds. The street was packed solidly on both sides -- 25,000 people would gather to watch the dogsled races that day.
I hoped our dogs, which were used to people, would run up this overly populated trail without being driven to distraction. I was told to expect anything -- even fans jumping onto the trail. I understood as well why I had to have a year of racing experience to enter. The teams would be passing head-on…
Ghis and I harnessed the dogs, hooked them up, and headed for the start line. Once we were waiting in the line-up of mushers, I didn't need to worry about missing our starting time. But I noticed that my team was not pulling like the other teams were, but only with mild excitement. I wondered if, at the word go, Woo would run forwards and not back to the car. With Woo, you never really knew what to expect.
 It was easy holding my team back in the starting chute while the timers counted down. 5-4-3-2-1! Then I was off. And Woo was going forwards. The dogs surprised me with their strength, pulling me up the hill. Maybe it was the endless cheering that kept them going. The crowds of people shouting encouragement made it exciting. I wondered what the dogs were thinking -- I was sure they couldn't hear my voice over the crowds. Did they even know I was behind them? Did they even care? Tsu-Tsu was a real help. I kicked the sled up "La Grande All&eacue;e," but never had to get off and run. Suddenly I spotted the first team coming down the hill straight towards us. Woo loped along confidently in the middle of the trail. This wasn't at all like driving a car. I hoped that he would veer over to the side of the trail before it was too late. At the last second, he did, and the other team zoomed by. This happened again several times while we climbed the hill until the trail turned left and I knew we were almost at the Plains of Abraham. The first team was coming up behind us. Frankly, I was surprised it hadn't happened sooner since the teams leave at one-minute intervals. Before he could pass, I completed the loop at the top and we headed back down the hill. In a minute, he caught up with us, and I braked the sled while his team flew past. Then another team passed head-on. I was so caught up in all this braking, worrying, anticipating, and chanting so that the dogs would run faster, that I didn't notice the team behind me. Suddenly, the team was passing me and the driver screaming something unpleasant in French to show his displeasure. He had been yelling at me from behind, but I hadn't heard! After that, we were passed once more before we zoomed across the finish line! I was incredibly proud of my little dog team, and even prouder when I discovered that we weren't last. We finished 38th out of 40 and won just enough money to pay for the musher's banquet at the Château Frontenac. A fine end to "une bonne journée."
Copyright © 2000 Heather Davis/Log Cabin Chronicles/03.2000 |
