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I shifted my napping place to the unheated back room of the Safety Roadhouse during the middle of the night. I was still in all of my heavy gear, but I couldn't get any real sleep. Finally about three I heard people moving around and went up front. Judy Steyer was coming in the door and told me Mitch Seavey had just come through. Apparently he wasn't expected for at least another hour but had made a lightning run over from White Mountain.

The Iditarod checker was trying to catch a nap and the barkeeper promised to keep an eye out for any unexpected teams. The barkeeper fell asleep and Seavey pulled up out front without a soul knowing he was there. Judy was in a back room and heard someone pounding on the door of the Roadhouse. She answered the door and found Mitch in a big hurry to get moving, so she became the checker du jour, noting his time in and out (on a paper plate) and helping get his team going on toward Nome.

I decided to stay up for awhile because there were a number of other teams enroute and we didn't know who would be in when. The Iditarod checker was now back in business and Judy and I became his assistants for the balance of the morning, watching for teams and helping check them through.

Because of the location of the Safety Roadhouse, musher headlights could be seen for many miles, and we spent hours watching light after light slowly creep closer. Some of the mushers weren't using their lights because of the bright moonlight, and some were trying to sneak up on drivers in front of them. This complicated things because we couldn't see them until they were virtually into the checkpoint. However, we managed to detect all of them in time to keep things in order.

As the night wore on, we figured out the best time for the Serum Run crowd to leave would be around noon. Six mushers left White Mountain between three and five a.m. and would probably be through Safety by eleven-thirty unless something strange happened. Most likely we'd be able to leave on the heels of DeeDee Jonrowe, who was running 20th, fairly well behind the other five.

Finally the sun peeked over Topkok in the east and I took a break to feed my dogs. I didn't get much sleep but I didn't care. I was having fun being a checker and meeting a lot of mushers I knew from previous races. I was particularly waiting to see my neighbor and good friend John Barron, who was part of the top-20 bunch heading our way.

The run from White Mountain to Safety has traditionally resulted in at least a few shakeups in the finishing order of the race. The run is long enough for plenty of catching up to occur, and smaller teams could be at a distinct disadvantage because of the hills, plus the wind can come up (or die down) in a matter of minutes. Part of the suspense has always been that no one ever really knows who will show up next without a chance report from a snowmachiner or a pilot.

Zack Steer, in 14th place, was the first of the group to pull up off of Safety Sound. He'd passed several other teams on the way over. Another team was less than ten minutes behind and Zack wasted no time in signing in and out and getting underway. To my delight, as well as that of Bob Ernisse and Bob Hickel, who were out there waiting with me, the pursuing driver was John Barron. He'd left in 19th and had made up quite a bit of time on his run, and was now trying to catch Zack.

John looked much relieved to finally have made it to Safety in 15th. He'd hoped to make it into the top ten this year, but his team (like a number of others) was hit by a vicious virus in the middle of the race and he'd had to run conservatively while the dogs recovered, dropping from 10th to 18th between the Yukon and Unalakleet. John was more than happy to see us, and I was extremely glad to see him making a strong showing. He had scratched at Iditarod last year and really needed a good finish this year. And in any case, nine of the dogs I had with me--including my main leaders Cutter and Maybelline--came from his lot and he's been one of my main mentors as I've learned how to become a halfway proficient musher over the past six years.

John dropped a dog and left quickly. We all went back to our pre-departure chores while we waited for the next four teams to come in so we could pull out. Finally DeeDee pulled in and was met by her husband Mike. She was running a solid 20th and there wasn't anyone for hours behind her. Like John, she had also scratched last year and this was a building year for her. She wasn't worried about a top ten spot as much as just getting to Nome with a decent finish with her new team of young dogs, and she seemed quite happy with 20th.

The Serum Run gaggle left en masse around noon, beginning half an hour after DeeDee's departure. As usual, our slower teams left first, and I was the last one out again, which didn't bother me. The weather was glorious and the trail was wide open. Since there wasn't much snow on the road as it rounded Cape Nome, the trail went inland, climbing off the flats up a several-hundred-foot slope before running along the top of the cape for a mile or two, then dropping back down the other side to the beach.

We rolled down the road to Nome for a few miles and then dived off to the right across the lowlands at the west end of Safety Sound. Snowmachine traffic was constant as sightseers came and went from Nome, and our own group of machines plowed past us with their heavy trailers. The trail over the cape looked like a major highway, with dog teams and snowmachines everywhere. Nobody minded, though, and the view of Nome from the top was great.

Back down on the beach, we cruised toward Nome, often running parallel to the plowed portion of the Nome-Council Road, which was busy with cars and trucks full of people out to watch the teams come in. KNOM Radio also had their spotter car out and everyone from the Russian Far East to Unalakleet knew who was headed into town.

In truth, a lot of the interest was for DeeDee, who was the only Iditarod musher out there at the moment. I caught up with her about five miles from Front Street on the broad boulevard trail and we chatted for a few minutes before I pulled away. She and her dogs were tired after a nine-hour run, but she was very upbeat and her dogs looked good and were obviously enjoying the last few miles to Nome. We both agreed that the nice weather was reverse payback for what we all suffered through in last year's race.

A couple of miles later all of the Serum Runners pulled up off the beach for a rendezvous at the Fort Davis Roadhouse, a couple of miles from the arch. One reason for this was to get our teams out of DeeDee's way so she could have her own quality time coming up Front Street and under the new arch. The other, more practical one was so that we could get our motley crew organized for our big parade up Front Street.

The empty tundra behind the roadhouse looked like a Wal-Mart parking lot for dog teams and snowmachines as I pulled up. We spent half an hour hooking every dog team up to a snowmachine anchor to make sure we didn't have any untoward incidents while in the public's gaze. Then we all headed out alongside the road, eventually winding up on Front Street.

We had one unexpected delay after the Colonel's snowmachine ran over a snow bank on the sidewalk and threw him against a heavy piece of antique mining equipment. He hit pretty hard and everyone was terrified he'd been hurt. However, he was up and moving as soon as his snowmachine was righted and he professed not to be damaged in the least. In any case, he got a ride in the police car up to the chute, where he hopped aboard Beth Wheeler's sled for the last hundred feet to the arch. Beth's team of old-fashioned work dogs from the Kobuk River (where she lives) was selected as being most like the original Serum Run teams.

Under the arch, the Colonel got off the sled to hand the serum package over to Hizzoner the Mayor, and to engage the always-ready-to-talk Mayor in some good old-fashioned speechifying. Meanwhile, all of the dog teams and snowmachines began a procession up the chute, under the new burled arch, and out the other end. I appreciated the Iditarod's cooperation in letting us pass under the arch, an honor normally reserved for Iditarod finishers--but then, our expedition represented a key part of the heritage of the Iditarod and of Nome itself, and we had certainly paid our dues during our 18 days on the trail.

While we were stopped a half-block from the chute for a couple of minutes for the Colonel's embarking and disembarking, I was surprised to see a familiar face walk out to greet me. Lara Baker from Los Alamos, New Mexico, had been my Iditarider in the 1999 Iditarod. He and his wife Alice were my major sponsors for this year's run. They are diehard Iditarod fans and had come to Nome to watch the finish--and to meet me.

As I passed through the arch I could hear part of the Mayor's speech, but I was more interested in saying hello to John Barron and his wife Kathy, who were waiting for me and Bob Ernisse and Bob Hickel. John had finished 15th, a very good run considering everything he'd gone through on the race this year.

After leaving the arch, we turned right (with Charlie Boulding helping to handle the teams) and wandered through the streets of Nome for half an hour until we finally got to the baseball fields next to the big Recreation Center, site of the huge Iditarod Awards Banquet in four days. Unfortunately, there wasn't any snow to speak of on the streets and everyone's runner plastic was chewed up by the time we got to the parking area. No big deal--the run was over and there'd be plenty of time to fix it.

I parked my guys along one of the first-base lines, picked up Bonnie (who was waiting for us), got everyone unhooked and settled in, took off the harnesses, and sat back to reflect on everything. First, the team was in extraordinarily good shape. This had been a textbook training run, even taking into account Bonnie's injury. The youngsters hopefully thought this was all fun, which was the whole idea.

Second, for me the trip had been a most welcome break from the rigors of the Iditarod. I was tired, but I certainly wasn't exhausted and I didn't have any frostbitten fingers or carpal-tunnel hands or pulled muscles. The trip had been a real journey in the old style, village to village, visiting friends and having the time to really see many stretches of Alaska for the first time.

Third, our initial collection of barely familiar participants had turned into a real group on the trail. Mushers and snowmachiners alike had been able to help each other to keep everyone going, and even Yolanda's unfortunate incident didn't shake the team effort. Even our rookie mushers had become creditable long-distance drivers.

Finally, and most important, we'd all worked together to make the Colonel's expedition a complete success. Just being able to spend almost three weeks on the trail with him was an experience of a lifetime. He was completely unflappable no matter what happened and was an incomparable ambassador for the Serum Run's mission of promoting better health practices.

More to the point, Colonel Vaughan was the ultimate role model for everyone, from village kids to veteran mushers. If I admired him before we started, my admiration went up a hundredfold by the time we reached the City of the Golden Sands. Although I want to run the Iditarod next year, there's no question I'll go on the Serum Run again as soon as I can.

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