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1st Annual Urban Iditarod Los Angeles
Gone to the Dogs
One journalist goes deep underground to understand the mystery and the majesty of L.A.’s first Urban Iditarod
April 5, 2007
Last month, in Alaska, journalists joined the elite of the dog sled racing world to watch, mug of warm brandy in hand, as the sport’s best-trained dog teams shot past toward the finish line, slicing a swath through the frozen earth and carving a new path in the history of the Alaskan Iditarod. The 34th annual Alaskan Iditarod took place over two weeks, from March 3 to 15, trekking 1,150 miles in an epic and time-honored race across one of the most stark and beautiful landscapes on earth.
On the same day that the Alaska race began, another journalist strapped on a cowboy hat, affixed a bandanna, and carefully shaved a badass handlebar mustache, preparing for a grueling three-mile race along the stark terrain of West Los Angeles.
This race was the Urban Iditarod and that journalist was me.
Unlike its Alaskan counterpart, the inaugural Los Angeles Urban Iditarod employs an untraditional methodology: The sled is a shopping cart and the dogs are actually people. People dressed like dogs.
Although the Alaskan Iditarod is driven by courage and determination, the Urban Iditarod is fueled by a complete lack of shame and an unrelenting desire to wear floppy ears in public. Some of the best events in L.A. go unnoticed amidst the clamor and glamour of this living city, so, in an attempt to cover this race from the ground level, I embedded myself with Team Bark to the Future as they snaked their Dog-lorean through neighborhoods from Marina del Rey to Santa Monica on this mutant L.A. Marathon.
The Ides of Mush
In a cul-de-sac in Marina del Rey, the energy was percolating like a malfunctioning coffee pot as the teams prepared for the race. Nearly 150 mushers - that’s the sled driver, to you Iditarod newbies - and doggies - they’re actually people - waited for the race to begin. A member of Team Clifford the Big Red Dog chatted with Donatello, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, standing near a surprisingly accurate shopping-cart facsimile of the Turtles van. Team All Dogs Go to Hell blasted Norwegian black metal from their stereo while their torches burned a little too high.
Then the race began.
“Mush, mush, mush!” the teams yelled as they quickly turned the corner onto Pacific Avenue, tearing asphalt into oncoming traffic, where they were met with open mouths and wide eyes from bystanders in their condos and carports. Maneuvering off curbs, around stop signs, and carefully staying within lane lines, the teams were off to a swift start. But after an eternity of running (somewhere around mile 0.25), some teams slowed down, while others clutched their hearts with the hand not holding a beverage or pulling the cart.
Luckily, the teams made it safely to the first “hydration break,” at popular watering hole Baja Cantina, where they could regroup, fix their carts, and strategize about what would come next.
This Urban Iditarod was Southern California’s debut staging, with simultaneous races happening that day in Chicago and Portland, as well as earlier races in Brooklyn and San Francisco. With no overarching message or political cause, the Urban Iditarod is meant to be an absurd moment for those caught in its wake.
“It’s just meant to be weird. We want people to look and be perplexed,” said the race coordinator, who preferred to be called Beta Dog.
Using Internet organizing and word of mouth, Beta Dog had a paw … um, hand, in organizing San Francisco’s Urban Iditarod, where the race has been run for more than a decade.
“For those races, we had about 1,500 people show up, but this year the cops were giving us a lot of trouble up there,” Beta Dog said. It was then that L.A.’s first Iditarod was born.
Venetian Stares
“Is this a protest?” a woman strolling along the Venice canals asked, only to be answered by barks and woofs from the participants.
“Is St. Patrick’s Day this week?” an older woman asked a companion, who was narrowly missed by a girl in green with knee-high socks and roller skates.
The questions continued as the teams sacked Venice Beach like Spartan warriors with squeaky wheels and kilts. Actually, that was just the Irish Wolf Hounds team, who yelled “Freedom!” as their kilts flipped up while they attempted the first Urban Iditarod cart-jump off a handy Venice skate ramp. Other teams looked on in awe from the relative safety of a beachside terrace, which served as the next of many hydration stops.
Venice Beach has long been the home to the odd and the wild, but when the race took a turn onto the boardwalk, it made a turn to the weird. The boardwalk was packed like the 405 at 4:30, so the mushers worked their way through the crowds of tourists, most of whom stopped in their tracks, like frightened deer or perhaps a stalled Honda.
Passing the incense stands, tattoo shops, and even that turbaned guitar guy on roller blades, Harry Perry - who unfortunately did not want to follow us while playing the Rocky theme song - the mushers took another break (the last one was not that long ago) to politely commandeer a street performer’s microphone, and lead the unruly gang in a not-so-beautiful rendition of “America the Beautiful.”
Somewhere around the “sea to shining sea” part, it became evident that this race was not just about unbridled Jackass-ery: This was about America. It represents freedom, Jack, and don’t you forget it. This is truly the land of the free and the home of the brave, where men and women dressed like dogs could hydrate themselves openly without fear of persecution; where a bunch of dudes dressed as Beethoven could not be ridiculed for their overly tight leggings or frilly shirts; and where sweaty men in pink dresses can play pool with other gentlemen in drag without reprisal for their beliefs or musky odor.
In the middle of waxing patriotic, a waitress announced, “I don’t really mind the crowd here, but it’s just your smell.” Perhaps Freedom of Stench is something that we’ll have to work on.
Putting This Puppy to Rest
The race continued along the beach and veered onto Main Street in Santa Monica, where onlookers at The Coffee Bean raised a latte and boutique browsers cheered the faux dogs on their course. At this point, the group had picked up some impromptu participants, including a man with questionable dental hygiene who burned sage to either clear some auras, or maybe just clear the air.
The race was near its end as the mushers and day-tripping doggies made their way through the forest of Santa Monica apartment complexes to the strip-mall wasteland of Lincoln Boulevard. Club Nocturnal, formerly known as The Bitter Redhead, was the finish line, and the carts piled up in the parking lot outside as the racers trickled in.
The founder of the original San Francisco Urban Iditarod, a guy named Alpha Dog, had a motto about this race: “Every team wins, except the first team to cross the finish line.” In that spirit, Beta Dog and the L.A. crew announced the winners of the aesthetic categories.
Best in Show went to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, while Best Sled went to Team Lady and the Tramp, with their conversion of a cart to a delicious Italian spread built for speed. The Beethovens and their white wigs received Best Costume, and hometown heroes Dogtown and Z-Boys won the coveted Best Race Antics award.
Somewhere in the far north, a journalist is bearing the cold, carefully retracing the race results as the real dogs barked and howled from Wasilla through the Norton Sea check-in at Unalakleet and finishing at Nome, 1,151 frozen miles later. The drama is high, the feat one to admire, but it’s a safe bet he’s hoping next year’s assignment will have both the heat and hydration of L.A.’s new annual tradition, the Urban Iditarod.
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[…] David D. wrote an interesting post today onHere’s a quick excerptPassing the incense stands, tattoo shops, and even that turbaned guitar guy on roller blades, Harry Perry - who unfortunately did not want to follow us while playing the Rocky theme song - the mushers took another break (the last one … […]