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Sledding in the sunshine
By MIKE BRASSFIELD
When they hear she's training for the Iditarod, they burst out laughing. People think she's crazy, but Morris doesn't care. She's chasing her dream. Morris, 41, intends to be the first Florida woman to compete in the Iditarod, the annual 1,049-mile dog sled race across the Alaskan tundra from Anchorage to Nome. She has assembled a team of 11 dogs, a practice sled and a circle of supporters who believe in her. No fewer than six people have loaned her their dogs. "I'm going to be freezing my tushies off," said the St. Petersburg mother of three, "but I know I can do it." At first glance, the idea seems improbable. The Iditarod is a grueling, weekslong trek in sometimes subzero temperatures across jagged mountain ranges, desolate plains and a storm-raked coastline. Morris is training for this in urbanized Pinellas County, in balmy, low-altitude, snow-free Florida. But doubters should know this: Dee Morris has beaten the odds before. Morris, a Pinellas County employee, had never heard of the Iditarod until the summer of 2001, when she noticed a blurb about "The Last Great Race" on an old 5-gallon can of Eukanuba dog food. Curious, she started researching the race on the Internet. It captured her imagination. She has dropped 40 pounds so her snowshoes won't bog down. She has destroyed three bicycles training huskies to pull her. Now she has a Sacco cart, a sort of training sled with wheels and a hand brake. She started mushing her sled dogs down residential streets in St. Petersburg. These days, she's mushing on the Pinellas Trail, four dogs and 20 miles at a time. It's something to see. She may branch out to the beach or to the miles of dirt trails in the Croom Forest near Brooksville. As for Alaska, she's confident that she and the dogs can handle the bitter cold. She grew up in Colorado and studied to be a forest ranger there. "I've been in 40-below weather up in the mountains. I know about high-altitude survival," she said. "I know how to look after dogs, how to make sure they're not frostbitten." She won't be in the Iditarod this March; rookies aren't welcome. To qualify, you have to finish at least two other dog sled races totaling 500 miles. Morris' immediate goal is to race in the colorfully named John Beargrease Sled Dog Marathon, a 150-mile trek that begins Feb. 28 in Duluth, Minn. That experience would tell her how realistic her goals are. First, though, she needs more equipment -- an aluminum sled, an arctic parka, a heavy sleeping bag, booties to protect the dogs' feet, and plenty of dog food. Big Dog Sportswear is providing her with clothing, but, like any Iditarod racer, she's seeking more sponsors. Her determination has won over several Siberian husky owners who are loaning their pets to her cause. "My first reaction was, 'How is this black Southern woman going to run a dog sled race in Alaska?' I thought she was nuts," said Pat Swezey, a Largo landscaping businessman who grew up in Alaska. He's loaning Morris his dog, Amzi. "I give her an A for effort. I believe she's going to make it there. How far she gets is a different story." Morris has huskies stashed in friends' back yards all over Pinellas County. Most were abandoned in animal shelters because they were too wild for their previous owners. "These dogs have been rescued from death," said Kathryn Kirwin, 44, of Seminole, who is Morris' volunteer dog handler. "Huskies need to be run regularly. People in Florida shouldn't buy them unless they're really dedicated to it." Here's the lineup: Lead dogs Nico and Arnan are the best at following commands. Behind them, the swing dogs Nea, Be and Malachi set the pace. Zion, a wheel dog, runs in front of the sled and guides it through turns. Amzi, Lobo, Maha, Malie and Noogie are teamers who help pull. They look tough. But Morris herself asks the obvious question: "Can Florida dogs make it in the Arctic?" As an experiment, she left four dogs in a walk-in freezer. Half an hour later, she opened the door. "They were sitting on the floor, just looking at me," she recalled. Tina Lambert of Largo, who owns the dog Malie, is another believer. "Huskies are bred to pull. It's in their genes," Lambert said. "Dee has made herself their alpha. She can control them. I believe they would die for her." Theoretically, it could come to that. Every March, about 80 mushers and some 1,500 dogs start the Iditarod. Nearly a third of the dogs typically are flown out of 26 checkpoints along the way because they become sick, injured or exhausted. At least one or two dogs die. Critics call this animal cruelty. Various animal-rights organizations have pressured the Iditarod's sponsors to stop supporting the race. But race officials say the dogs are well cared for, and vets monitor the teams at each checkpoint. The Iditarod, which began in 1973, was inspired by a 1925 rescue mission in which dog sledders delivered medicine to diphtheria-stricken residents of Nome. The fastest teams take nine or 10 days to cross the treacherous terrain. Stragglers take more than two weeks. Numerous women have finished the race. One of them, Susan Butcher, is a four-time champion. At least three African-Americans have finished. People from Georgia and South Carolina and Texas have done it. No one from Florida ever has. Race director Joanne Potts can recall one Iditarod racer from Florida, a Vero Beach physician who didn't finish in 1999. Potts also notes that Southerners generally come up to Alaska or Minnesota for a winter to train for the race. For now, Morris will keep rattling up and down the Pinellas Trail. She may not succeed. Even her husband of 21 years has doubts. But when she sets her mind to it, she can overcome long odds. In 1990, she was one of four women in a class of 60 starting a four-year program at the Pinellas Technical Education Center. They were learning to overhaul and rebuild 500-horsepower diesel engines, among other things. The other women dropped out. Some of the men joked about Morris being there: "Hey, Dee, shouldn't you be out baking biscuits or something?" She stuck to it. In 1994, she became the program's first female graduate. Thus began a career as a mechanic for Pinellas County Fleet Management. So let people stare and gawk at this 6-foot-tall woman barking orders at her pack of Siberian huskies. She can put up with strangers' wisecracks about the Jamaican bobsled team. In her mind's eye, she sees this: Deitra Morris, Florida dog sled musher, crossing the finish line in Nome. -- Potential sponsors or those interested in helping support Morris' effort can contact her at (727) 323-6976.
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