The sleds are tricked out

Indeed a key part of the sled-dog drag race is the open bragging and arrogant display of vehicles before the race. Opponents will size each other up at the single stop light they have in town and insult their opponent's dogs or express disdain at how the sled is lashed together. These insults are often the impetus for the race to begin.

It's not just the sleds. The dogs are hopped-up on Alpo and vitamin supplements. Mushed at unsafe speeds they're prone to hyperventilating, nipping, and non-stop barking. They'll no longer fetch sticks or sit when told. They're interested in one thing only, and that's speed.

The race is a thrill

"You can come along," the young man said, eyeing my camera and probably making a guess as to my weight, "but don't take any pictures of my face. Check out the flames I had painted on the front here. You want a picture? Don't mess up my lashings, those are custom done."

We set off for downtown Whitehorse where we cruised slowly around the Tim Hortons and Canadian Tire, the cd-player blaring out drumming and Inuit throat-singing remixes.

Other sleds were also out cruising. Bottles were tossed back and then tossed aside. Cigarettes burned bright before being flicked out into the cold blackness of a Whitehorse day. Polar bears growled and slowly sauntered away, and a herd of caribou migrated endlessly across the Zeller's parking lot. Above, the aurora borealis shifted endlessly, providing a greenish-pink light that illuminated the snow and ice with surreal shifting shapes and colours.

Suddenly, and without warning, the pace changed. Without cracking the whip the dogs quickened. Several young thrill-hungry sled racers were all heading the same way. Ahead we heard the challenges of sledders at the busy Whitehorse intersection, whipping their dogs into a frenzy. Pedestrians scurried out of the way. A wolf howled. The challengers threw their bottles at each other and then, almost before the light changed, they were off.

The street was long, narrow and straight as an arrow. Alcohol is often a factor in these races, although it's hard to detect in the dogs. The two sleds ran side by side for one block, two blocks. It looked like the one on the right was gaining a little when Captain Gangrene pulled out from the next intersection on his snowmobile. Without pausing the sled on the left cut in front of Gangrene and continued straight. The sled on the right turned to the right, from where Gangrene had come, banked up the far side of the street and then disappeared. Gangrene looked surprised, then angry. He pulled out his rifle and fired once at a sledder that had continued straight, then he turned to us, a group of sledders that were already turning around and fast disappearing.

"You punks!" I heard him shouting, "I'll getcha! I'll getch y'all!" A few shots rang over our heads, but we were long gone and the fear was replaced with laughter, seal blubber snacks and more bootlegged cigarettes.