Sled Dog

WEST ROCKHILL, Pa. - Thousands of miles from Alaska, in Bucks County, Pa., where the landscape is blanketed with colorful leaves, not several feet of snow, Rob Downey trains some of his 50 sled dogs. A champion sledder and president of the 1,000-member U.S. Sled Dog Sports Federation, the sport's governing body, he is as dedicated to the sport as are the four-legged teammates that pull at the leashes that keep them from dashing around his 13 acres. Though Downey, 46, lives in Bucks County, not the outskirts of Anchorage, he works hard to train his Alaskan huskies without snow, using, instead, sand and Rube Goldberg-esque exercise equipment.

"Oh, my God!" It was happening again. Almost exactly a year after severe dog bites to his hands doomed his first attempt to complete Alaska's 1,150-mile Iditarod Trail sled dog race, Dan Dent was in deep trouble. In the darkness, at nearly the same spot on the Big Susitna River where the dog fight had broken out, the 58-year-old Baltimore investment adviser realized that his team of 16 huskies had lost the trail. He halted the team, set his sled's hooks like emergency brakes in the snow, and walked forward, intending to lead the dogs back to the main trail.

AT THIS TIME of the year, many of us would jump at the chance to travel somewhere warm, like Florida or the Caribbean. But destinations offering an early taste of spring or summer hold little appeal for Severna Park veterinarian Carl Rogge. His idea of a perfect winter getaway requires temperatures of 34 below zero, sleeping in a tent pitched on a frozen riverbed and eating dehydrated food -- when he can't find anything better in the trash bin. Rogge can't wait for Saturday, when he begins volunteer work at the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race in Alaska.

Bloodied but unbowed by the dog bites that yanked him from last year's race, 58-year-old Baltimore investment counselor Dan Dent is training for a return to the Iditarod, Alaska's most grueling sled dog race."

Editor's note: Akiak the sled dog refuses to give up after being injured during the Iditarod sled dog race. The 1999 race is currently being run in Alaska.It was Iditarod Race Day. 1,151 miles of wind, snow, and rugged trail lay ahead, from Anchorage to Nome. Akiak had led the team through seven races and knew the trail better than any dog. She had brought them in fifth, third, and second, but had never won. She was ten years old now. This was her last chance. Now, they must win now.Crack!

Dan Dent's dreams of completing the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race have come to a bloody end on a frozen river northwest of Anchorage.The Baltimore investment adviser's hands were badly bitten on Sunday, just nine hours into the race, when he tried to break up a fight among his dogs. He resumed the race, but Iditarod officials saw by Monday evening that he had lost most of the use of his hands, and forced him out. He was then flown back to an Anchorage hospital for treatment."It was a pretty ugly end to a good story," Dent said yesterday from his hospital bed.An Iditarod rookie, Dent, 57, was running last among 55 mushers in the grueling 1,100-mile race from Anchorage to Nome.

Wintertime in Baltimore may not seem like the optimal time to hang out in the great outdoors, but a festival this weekend is meant to convince you otherwise.Baltimore on Ice Winterfest '98 kicks off at noon tomorrow and, if Mother Nature refuses to cooperate by providing real snow, the manufactured stuff will be substituted.The four-day festival will take place mainly at Rash Field and the Inner Harbor ice rink.Dogs -- and plenty of them -- will figure prominently among the wintry wonders of the festival.

When Dr. Carl E. Rogge got to Alaska for his first Iditarod race in 1988, he found the rough-and-tumble sled dogs weren't much like the nice little doggies he was treating back home in Severna Park."

NEW MIDWAY -- Seven yelping huskies strained at their harnesses, eager for their master's command to lunge and lumber along a winding trail at a remote Frederick County farm.The cold, starlit night was nearly perfect for sled-dog racing. Just one thing was missing: Snow."Ready! Go!" cried John Tate, the bearded, 33-year-old president of the Mason-Dixon Sled Dog Racing Association. His seven-dog team jerked ahead for a training run last week into the darkness of a Maryland night -- and into continued obscurity.

The TV Repairman:The show was under way -- the Big Show, of course -- and there was our man, "California Cool" himself, Pat O'Brien, bidding us welcome. And in the very next chair, yippee, why it's the pudgy kid with the glasses and the Big Apple accent. What is that, Queens, Staten Island, Essex County or a combination thereof?No matter. A warm feeling enveloped all noon visitors to the initial CBS telecast of the Road to the Sweet Sixteen, Elite Eight, Final Four Big Dance, which will total 63 games from 13 venues over about a thousand hours, including the title game April 5 in the New Orleans Superdome.