Running a string of sled dogs in the cold arctic night on the Iditarod Trail is not for the faint of heart. Ripping over frozen undulating terrain, dimly lit by an ever-bobbing headlamp, a musher must alternately trust that his team is not heading towards disaster while cheering them on as they plunge further into the darkness. They tread on a razor’s edge at times. Mushers often tie themselves to their sleds to ensure that if things go south, they are not stranded on the trail as their dogs continue to race forward. There is little time to soak in the icy beauty that surrounds the sled. Instead, one must focus on the next checkpoint and the ultimate goal, Nome. The race is infamous for breaking the will of even the heartiest, and many a musher has called it quits mid-race. But not Martin Buser.
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