Roaring motors and riders in orange helmets clustered under gloomy skies in downtown Anchorage Saturday for the ceremonial start of the Iron Dog snowmachine race, part of a bid to boost exposure for what's touted as the longest, toughest race of its kind.
The race officially starts Sunday in Big Lake and goes 2,000 miles up to Nome then Fairbanks. But this week, teams switched up the usual routine and hauled their snowmachines and equipment into Anchorage for the downtown ceremonial start, the first in the race's 31-year history.
The crowds weren't on the same scale as for the Iditarod or Fur Rendezvous but organizers said they were happy with the turnout. Someday, they'd like to see Iditarod-sized crowds, and to have the names of Iron Dog snowmachiners also be household names.
"It's raising the profile of the event," Kevin Kastner, the executive director, said Saturday.
He added: "There's some very storied and interesting characters here. We're trying to give them that same sort of profile."
Racers said they were also happy to bring more attention to the sport of snowmachining, an intrinsic part of transportation in suburban and rural Alaska.
"Snowmachining is the way to get around in the state," said John Bahnke, a five-time Iron Dog racer who grew up riding snowmachines in Nome. "It's the way of life for basically everywhere but the big cities."
Along Fourth Avenue, a light rain fell steadily as pre-recorded introductions to each team played over the loudspeaker. The street was packed with snow hauled in from city snow dumps, and people lined up behind a fence on the sidewalk, many of them friends and family of Iron Dog racers. After a countdown, the rev of engines filled the air and pairs of snowmachiners sped off down the street, though not yet at the breakneck speeds the Iron Dog is known for.
After banking left toward the Port of Anchorage, the snowmachiners rode on snowy trails through Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson before ending at a church on Artillery Road in Eagle River.
The ceremonial start was the culmination of an effort that began in 2010, and it kicked into high gear in the last 18 months, Kastner said. Organizers worked with city officials on permitting and contracted with the city's public works department to haul in snow.
Freestyle events, vintage snowmachines and pint-sized snowmachines for children were part of the mix of attractions.
Among snowmachiners, finishing the Iron Dog is a bucket-list feat. But it's expensive and requires sponsorships, signaled by the stickers plastered across more than 70 snowmachines downtown.
"It's kind of a cult following," said Josh Norum, a first-time Iron Dog racer from Fairbanks.
For downtown businesses, it was hard to know what to expect as far as the clientele the event would draw. On the corner of Fourth Avenue and G Street, the staff at Cabin Fever reported a busier-than-normal Saturday, though there was less foot traffic than during the Iditarod or Fur Rendezvous weekends.
Kristi Nielsen, a clerk at Cabin Fever, said the shop was seeing fewer tourists and Anchorage residents and more people from the Mat-Su and rural Alaska.
Of the onlookers lining the sidewalks, many had personal connections to the Iron Dog racers but others simply stopped by out of interest.
David and Holly von Damm, who moved to Anchorage from Washington, D.C., in July, heard about the event on the radio and decided to check it out. As newcomers, the two have been actively trying to explore Alaska culture, and the Iron Dog seemed to fit the bill.
"It's a new Alaska experience for us," David von Damm said. "We're trying to figure this out."
Anchorage resident Billy Lyon, 36, stood on the sidewalk with his 6-year-old son, Brendyn, on his shoulders.
"Maybe someday he'll be out there," Lyon said, nodding up at Brendyn.
Laurel Casper and her husband, Chuck, grabbed a spot on a snowy median near the corner of Second Avenue and E Street, just before the snowmachines headed downhill toward the Port of Anchorage.
The Caspers said they'd expected a higher turnout. But they were ecstatic about how close they could get: "There's no crowds!" Laurel Casper said. Chuck Casper panned his iPhone each time a snowmachine team passed their spot, and his wife waved.
The couple follows the sport, and they said the decision to brave the rainy weather wasn't a difficult one. In the winter, events like this, whether the Iditarod or the Iron Dog, are bright spots, they said.
"Some like the gearheads, some like the critters," Laurel Casper said. "So now we've got 'em both in town. I think it's great."