All Photos by: T.C. Worley

The John Beargrease Sled Dog Marathon is the longest sled dog race in the lower 48 at 300 miles. The event is named after John Beargrease, an Anishinaabe man who carried the mail by dog team from the late 1800s into the first decade of the 20th century between Two Harbors and Grand Marais, Mn. 

In 2019, along with my riding partner Jay Petervary, I was the first to complete the Beargrease route via fat bike while the sled dog marathon was in progress. 

In 2020 I was invited back by several enthusiastic mushers who saw potential to expand community around the race by bringing winter cyclists and mushers together over a shared love of winter. 

In response to this invitation I organized a group of riders to travel between checkpoints, joining the existing volunteer crew at the Sawbill Trail to support the mushers. 

On the evening before our ride, we gathered at the community center in Finland for a potluck and concert with Red Table Meat Co. The following morning we rode out ahead of the dog teams to the Sawbill Trail.

There are six mandatory checkpoints on the Beargrease racecourse. Of those six checkpoints two require mushers to take a mandatory four-hour rest. The Sawbill checkpoint is the first of these, and in addition Sawbill is a self-supported checkpoint, meaning that mushers must take care of their dog teams without help from their handlers. 

The Beargrease Sled Dog Marathon begins at noon on the last Sunday of January. A little over 100 miles into the race, the first dog teams typically arrive at Sawbill around 4 a.m. Monday morning. Due to this early arrival, and the self-supported requirement, the checkpoint has an extremely quiet sense about it, lacking spectators and the chaos of handlers trying to connect with their teams. 

Leaving Finland early Sunday morning, our group rode 32 miles, arriving at our destination late that afternoon. After “delivering the mail” (a poem I wrote and printed for John Beargrease, and handed out in envelopes to the volunteers), we fired up our stoves to make water and snacks. Once we had refilled our reservoirs and stomachs, we stopped in at the checkpoint headquarters’ hot tent to warm up and get our instructions. 

Anticipating an earlier than usual arrival time, we were told to be ready for dogs by 2 a.m. In hopes of snatching a little rest, our group dispersed to their bivys, scattered out under the spruce and cedar trees along the Temperance river.

The volunteer community at Sawbill, known as “Sawbillies,” is made up of a hearty, quiet, inquisitive and spirited group of individuals who all share a deep love of winter and mushing. They are folks who don’t mind getting up long before the sun, who are willing to embrace the cold until the first dog team’s light breaks through the dark. 

Waiting patiently for that lead team to arrive, a fire crackling behind us, we spotted headlamp beams, almost alien, swarming like lighthouses through the treetops as they ascended the last hill before dropping down to the Temperance river and crossing into the checkpoint. 

In their arrival the dogs were quiet as calm wind in billowing sails. Nearly beyond words. With their foggy breaths and frost-glazed fur. Their eyes bright and wide as though borrowing light from full moons in other dimensions.

After mushers signed in to the checkpoint, our job as volunteers was to guide them to their resting places in the woods. Following their mandatory layover we would then help the mushers get their teams out of the woods and back onto the trail.

Josh Capps is the coordinator of the Sawbill checkpoint. He has brought a lot of character and a deep sense of community to this checkpoint. One of his better-known contributions has been the addition of bacon. 

Since taking over as coordinator seven years ago, Josh has ensured that mushers are able to smell bacon as they come down the hill into the checkpoint. This year at Sawbill they went through 21 pounds of bacon, feeding mushers and volunteers!

I have never thought of weather as inclement. Instead I view weather as a living thing, something to have a relationship with. When we can relate with the weather we don’t have to run or hide from it. Instead we grow with it, and it expands our wisdom. 

Immense joy accompanies the opportunity to share my love for winter with others. A longing for cold bright stars, frozen rivers, the smell of fire smoke in my clothes. When we have shared passions then the stories and experiences surrounding them become the focus of our interactions. Divisions and differences are transcended and replaced with unity. 

It is through relationships that we are able to expand our capacities for change and growth. Whether for another human being, for the land, or for the climate, we cannot grow relationships without opportunities to interact and engage. As we expand our individual capacities for growth we in turn impact those same capacities within our communities.

For this reason, events like the John Beargrease Sled Dog Marathon are essential. They allow the convergence of different communities with different backgrounds to meet around shared passions. Something bigger begins to take root, rituals are created and through the annual reenactment of those rituals the conditions for growth are nurtured. 

Having ridden the whole Beargrease route with Jay last year I missed his presence this time around. But on the last day I put some powerful pieces to an important puzzle together that supported the kind of community building that events like the Beargrease enable.

Everyone on the ride to Sawbill had ridden with Jay at some point on their own, participated in his events, raced with him or heard one of his presentations. 

In further processing the weekend I realized that each of the riders in our group had shown at least one way that Jay had directly influenced them. It might have been how they set up their stove to make water, loaded their bike, carried their water, the tools they chose to bring, or even that they were out there riding a bike on the snow in the first place. Either way, at some point in our lives Jay had shared a nugget of his wisdom with each of us. Here, as a group, that wisdom was clear and generously visible. 

I felt blessed to have been afforded this vantage point. To see the impacts that Jay had on each of us was a metaphor for the impacts we all have on each other every day. That is the whole point, right? To give back. To not leave a trace, but to leave a positive impact. To help others grow by sharing what we have learned on our own paths.

Oftentimes when I’m engaging with just one person I will think, “This is just one person, this can’t impact the world.” But that isn’t true. When we help one person we are helping many. Those single interactions expand out and multiply over time. They are ripples that add up. They are what enable community, and they come from generous, brave and dedicated people. This observation of Jay’s impact on our small group felt in line with the many other observations I had made from our time in the woods helping the mushers and dogs. Examples for how to grow and support new and existing communities. 

I am somewhat superstitious and always believe a loop is better than a straight line, so instead of going back to Finland on the race route, we rode back on a thread of old logging roads. The trees were frosted at the tips. The temps were dropping. We may have been short on sleep but we were each full up in spirit. This time it was our eyes that were holding open space for moons and stars from other dimensions to enter in. Frost covered and vibrant, we were no different than a team of dogs whose only dream was to keep going, all the way through to the light.   

I am grateful for the ongoing support from my partners: Big Ages, Salsa Cycles, 45Nrth, HED Cycling, Osprey packs, Cedaero, Onyx Racing Products, Red Table Meat Co., Kate’s Real Food, Ridge Merino, Wolf Tooth Components. And a special partnership for this trip with Askov Finlayson.

Much Appreciation to T.C. Worley for riding along and taking all the photos you see here.