Mush!
Balanced precariously atop the runners of a handcrafted dogsled, this mild-mannered eighth grader cracked a walrus hide whip with a resounding snap, bellowing out the authoritative command, my voice cutting through the arctic blast.
My loyal, eager team lunged forward, their powerful strides conquering the endless expanse of frozen tundra as we surged ahead, undeterred by blinding snow and howling gales, a small force against the relentless winter.
To the untrained eye, I’m guiding a team of well-trained Siberian Huskies through the rugged terrain of our forty-ninth state, racing from Willow to Nome, Alaska, across a nearly 1,100-mile stretch in the legendary Iditarod Sled Dog Race.
Instead, I was sitting in the driver’s seat as four of my fellow Royal Rangers pulled me across a blanket of white in a human dogsled race — one of many competitive events during our annual Winter Pow-Wow at Raccoon State Park, near Hookstown, Pennsylvania, the third weekend in January.
Ahead of the pack, my team and I salivated as the final stretch came into view.
Two weeks earlier, a small group of Trailblazers and Trail Rangers gathered at Commander William “Bill” Arkwright’s home to assemble our homespun dogsled.
This sled was destined for the reindeer games, designed to foster camaraderie and teamwork among outposts scattered along the western edge of the Keystone State.
“Do you think we’ve got a chance to walk away with top honors?” I asked, glancing up at the Riverside track star.
“You can bet your bottom dollar, Marcus Welby, M.D.,” surmised Dirk Arkwright, placing an arm around my shoulder as a couple of our counterparts attached runners to the aerodynamic transport. “After studying last year’s designs, I believe our modifications will give us a leg up on the competition.”
“All we can do is cross our fingers and hope for the best,” he added with a smile.
“Who’s gonna be the lucky duck to drive this contraption once its finished?” Aaron Pellicano queried.
“That honor goes to the good doctor,” confirmed our outpost commander, glancing up from inspecting his young charges’ work. “Considering he’s the smallest, I’m going to need you older boys to use your brute strength to be the first to pull him and the dogsled over the finish line.”
“I’ve got brute strength,” I stated defensively. “Since I got a set of weights with a Joe Weider weight bench this past Christmas, I’m getting stronger every day with my bodybuilding routine.”
“Check out these guns,” I continued, flexing my biceps. “Give me another few months, and I’ll be able to beat all of youns in an arm wrestling contest.”
“Put those away before you get a citation for possessing a pair of lethal weapons,” snickered James “Jimmy” Bubb Jr., lifting me over his shoulder so the others could smack my hindquarters. “Besides, it’s going to be a few years before you can take me in arm wrestling, small fry.”
“Ouch!” exclaimed the tormentor-in-chief, putting me back on solid ground after I cracked his backside with a sharp sting.
“Maybe next time, you’ll stick to playing kissy-face with your girlfriend, Maria,” I teased, blowing him a kiss before dodging behind my self-appointed guardian angel.
“How’d I end up being the butt of the joke?” Jimmy Bubb snickered.
“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, Loverboy!” expressed Dirk, shrugging his shoulders at the Lincoln high school senior with a look of bewilderment splashed across his face.
By the time these Royal Rangers from Ellwood City Assembly of God loaded their caravan for the weekend winter retreat, they not only had the homemade dogsled inside a small trailer, hitched to the back of the orange suburban, but also an abundance of do-it-yourself wooden snowshoes for another popular race crammed alongside it.
While the first day of the annual event was spent pitching tents, building makeshift latrines and enjoying a hobo dinner — hamburger, sliced potatoes and baby carrots wrapped in tinfoil — around a roaring campfire, the reindeer games kicked off the next morning with a gnarly toboggan race for the Straight Arrows — Kindergarten and first grade — following the opening ceremonies.
Shortly after the Buckaroos — second and third grade — competed in a dope snowman-building contest, the Pioneers — fourth through sixth grade — had a fly snowball fight on the other side of the ridge until only one outpost was left standing.
My time to shine had finally come when the Trailblazers — seventh through ninth graders — strapped on a pair of old-fashioned snowshoes, used by the likes of fur traders and trappers in the 1800s, to face off against one another in a challenging course laid out along the frozen edge of Raccoon Lake.
“Go out there and have some fun,” stated James “Jimmy” Allen, giving me a pep talk. “Since you have a difficult time putting one foot in front of the other, I’m not going to give you any false hope of winning this competition; but you can be proud of yourself just by completing the race.”
“I can always count on you to tell me the truth,” I chuckled, standing up after securely fastening the primitive footwear to my boots. “The Streckeisen boys tried to tell me that I could outsmart my big brother and walk away with first place, even though I’m competing against 48 other campers.”
“I’m a realist, so just make sure you don’t fall in the lake,” Jimmy Allen quipped.
“Hardy har-har!” exclaimed this stand-up comedian, before heading over to the starting line. “It’s not as if I’m under enough pressure already, but now you expect me to avoid making a big splash at the end of the race.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I added.
The blond-haired sixth grader chuckled, easing the tension before the contest.
Once the starter pistol sounded, I didn’t get very far after crisscrossing the wooden racket-shaped attachments strapped to the bottom of my boots; and the only prize I received was a mouthful of frozen ice crystals upon toppling over headfirst into an embankment of snow.
However, the highlight of my day was riding in our outpost’s hand-built sleigh for the human dogsled race to close out the festive reindeer games later that same afternoon.
Standing on the runners with the wind beating against my face, I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins as the purported Siberian Huskies triumphantly pulled me across the finish line.
Although I failed miserably in the wooden snowshoe race, winning top prize in the human dogsled race was the “icicle” on the cake.