A Winter Way of Life

By Thomas DiMaggio

A Winter Way of Life is the true story of our family spending forty-five-plus winters racing and training sled dogs. These are some of the true stories and problems that are part of the sport of running sled dogs. When you stand on a wooden sled, and there are rows of dogs running in unison, where the only sounds are the soft sound of the dogs' feet hitting the snow and of the runner sliding along the snow, you get lost in the world. You are on top of the world, as nothing can bother you as the dogs pull you through this wonderland. The leaders that you put your faith in need no commands to keep you safe on your journey. I need to thank my wife, who put up with me and all the things I put her through, some good and some just bad. To my wife, my family, and all my friends who made this possible, this book is for you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798891307438

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A Winter Way of Life

Thomas DiMaggio

ISBN 979-8-89130-742-1 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-89130-743-8 (digital)

Copyright © 2024 by Thomas DiMaggio

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

The Start

Chapter 2

My Boys

Chapter 3

My Wife and Handler

Chapter 4

The Dogs and Life

Chapter 5

Close Friends

Chapter 6

Training

Chapter 7

Coco and the Storm

Chapter 8

Racing with Pain

Chapter 9

Sled Dog Body Surfing

Chapter 10

Laconia—Not Just Another Race

Chapter 11

The Tamworth Race

Chapter 12

The Purity Springs Race

Chapter 13

Mentoring

Chapter 14

The End

About the Author

Chapter 1

The Start

It was one of those cold, clear nights with a full moon. My sled glided over the newly fallen snow with just the moon for light, and the only sound was the soft thumping of the sled dogs' feet on the snow. All alone with just my dogs, I watched the silhouette of them running against the white snow, with the occasional darker shadows caused by the overhanging trees, and I fell into a sort of trance.

I drifted back to my childhood, remembering how lucky I was to be here—a little boy of two years old in a garage with a concrete floor who used a flat board with wheels on it that someone made so I would be able to pull myself around on the floor. This was because of a full-body cast that I had to wear due to spinal TB.

I remember my mother once saying that the doctor recommended that I be put into a TB hospital for a long time, which might save my life. My mother then told them that if I was going to die, it would be at home with the family. She was a nurse and a strong person to whom I could never give enough credit.

As my father seemed to always be working, she was the one who would drive me into the children's hospital in Boston for checkups. This was back in the days before the highway, and it took hours to get there by the only main road to Boston.

Then there were times, I remember, that I would have to stay for weeks at a time in the hospital so they could monitor my condition. Although I was still very young, I have snapshots of my stays, and some of them were not very pleasant. But as a young boy who was somewhat of a daredevil, it was probably justified. I could not imagine how it affected my mother to have to leave me at the time. It must have been hard.

I also remember always having a dog, and even before my memory of our dogs, I was told we had a big dog that had jumped out of planes in the Second World War. But it was too big for the small apartment we lived in. So it went to a farm to live, I was told.

I also remember always liking the winter and the snow. I could not wait to get out and make a snow fort or cut into a snowbank and make an igloo. After school, I could be found sliding down the local hill on my sled. I would always try to find the steepest hill to slide down. Later, I would take my shovel and make some money shoveling driveways and walkways. I would stay out all day until it was too dark to shovel any more.

One day many years later, as I was walking home from shoveling, I saw my first Siberian husky, although at the time I did not know just what kind of dog it was. It was running down a road away from me, near my house. It was black and white with a beautiful mask. I also remember thinking that, someday, I would like a dog just like that.

Later, when I was married, and we had our first house, I bought my first Siberian husky. She was a small red-and-white female we named Kiya. Not knowing just what these dogs were used for or how they came to be, I was just happy to have the dog of my dreams. After I bought Kiya, I started gathering information on Siberians and became very interested in what they were bred to do. It just so happened that during that winter, there was a sled dog race taking place in the next town. So we went to see what it was all about, for I now had a sled dog.

It must have been about five degrees above zero as Sandy and I walked to the starting line. We saw kids with their teams start the race with just sweaters on. This is crazy, I said to my wife, as both of us were cold, so we left without seeing much of the race.

Months later, we were talking to the person from whom we bought Kiya, and she asked if I would like to race a team. Without thinking about it, I said, Sure, but I do not have any dogs except for Kiya.

Don't worry. I have dogs you can use, she said.

Not knowing much about what racing a sled dog team would entail, I had to rely on Doreen, the person from whom we got Kiya, to teach me.

So, one day the following fall, we went to her house to train. She had made a path in the field behind her house in the grass, which might have covered a total of fifty yards. She hooked the dogs up, and I ran the team with a rig on wheels around the loop once. We did this one more time the following weekend. At which time she said, I believe we are ready to race.

The New England Sled Dog Club (NESDC) had a rule, so I was told at the time, that said a new member could not race until they saw and worked as a handler for one race. So off we went to my first race in Peterborough, New Hampshire, where I watched Doreen run the team. The next race was in Pittsfield, New Hampshire, and this would be my race.

At this time in my life, I was smoking three packs a day. I mention this as the Pittsfield race played a very important part in changing my life as a smoker. I did not have any idea just what would happen about smoking, although I thought about quitting as I did not want my kids to be affected by my smoking, and the TV started showing what effects smoking has on people.

Saturday morning at the race, as we hooked up the team, I started to feel butterflies in my stomach. Here I was at the starting line in my white sweater, just like the kids I saw a year before. As I left the starting line, the dogs took off at what I believe was a speed faster than a jet plane. This pace lasted about one-half of a mile, which was farther than we ran in the field. Then we started to trot and finally walk. It was at this point that my competitive nature took over, and I started to run to help the team. Never being a runner, I did the best I could, running up hills and any time I could breathe. Once back at the truck, I unhooked the dogs from the line and immediately collapsed on my back on the ground, grasping for air. I believed I finished last or next to last that day.

That night, thinking back to the race, I realized that I had a choice to either quit racing or quit smoking. As I stated earlier, it changed my life. A few weeks later, I went to a quit-smoking talk. That night, I gave away or threw away all my cigarettes and quit cold turkey, as they say. I have never had a cigarette since then.

Following that race, we were asked if we wanted to keep the dogs I just ran. Without hesitation, we said yes. So that spring, we moved the dogs to our house, which was on a one-and-a-half-acre house lot in a new development.

As I said, we did not know much about sled dogs or about racing except for the short lesson we had and the one race that winter. As we made the trips to the many large sled dog racing kennels in New Hampshire, we