One night at Tynset



Late evening at Tynset. There’s a hint of excitement in the air. It’s been more than six hours since the first musher left the checkpoint at Grimsbu. Robert was trailing Ralph by 18 minutes. Who will come to Tynset first? Will they rest here or pass straight through to the final checkpoint at Tolga? How are the dogs after nearly 500 kilometers on the trail?

Suddenly the cafeteria comes to life. The speaker has just announced the first musher on the approach to Tynset. The lookout at the road junction is a good 20 minutes away from the checkpoint
. Everyone gets to their feet, but no one’s rushing. Did she say Robert was in front now?
As we make out way to the paddock, the next musher is announced. Ralph too has crossed the A road. He’s hot on Robert’s heels, but there’s no denying he’s lost at least twenty minutes coming down the valley.

We’re drawn to the light where the timekeepers gather to await Robert and Ralph’s arrival. Behind us, several dog teams are resting. They are on their first stop at Tynset and haven’t seven started the round-trip to Folldal. As one musher gets ready to head out into the night, Robert is only a few kilometers away. How that musher can have any motivation left when he passes the lead team heading in, 200 kilometres and nearly a full day’s mushing ahead of him, is beyond me

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. Even Robert is at a loss; to him winning is the sweetest part of the game. “If I’m not fighting for a spot on the podium, I might as well quit racing”, he later tells me.

But no-one pays much attention to the lone musher who leaves by the back entrance, starting a climb up the valley in loose snow from yesterday’s snowfall. All eyes are on the man in front – and his dogs. The team look good as they cross the line into the checkpoint. Robert says he’ll rest, but not everyone is convinced

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“He’ll wait and see what Ralph does. If Ralph passes through, Robert will pick up the chase immediately”, one of the old hands tells me. An untied bale of straw looks like evidence that Robert hasn’t settled yet. Both he and Ralph have to make one last compulsory stop of eight hours. Is Tynset the place, or will one of them opt for Tolga, another 25 kilometres closer to the finish line in Røros?

Only seven minutes later, it’s Ralph’s turn. With a healthy-looking team of dogs he pulls in to Tynset and is assigned a spot next to Robert
. As they go into their checkpoint routine of changing socks and pulling out snacks for the team – Robert has water on the boil and finally cuts open the straw bale. The duo in front is settling in for the night.

I should do the same. I haven’t slept for 27 hours, and my last night’s sleep was hardly a good one, next to the basement door, blasts of cold air rushing by every time someone left by the direct route to see to their dogs, greet an incoming musher or get ready to move on.
The cafeteria grows increasingly silent. The volunteers manning the little hole in the wall keep the coffee flowing. People are sleeping on couches, on the floor, on a brick ledge next to the fireplace, collapsed forward in their chairs. I know that Ralph and Robert’s eight-hour rest is my perfect opportunity to catch some shut-eye, but sleep just won’t come to me.

After midnight a few more mushers are in. I start playing a numbers game, looking at how the fight for third place is shaping up. The battle for victory is a straight duel between the front-runners, but interesting things are happening behind them.
Lars in fourth place has been gaining on Emil in third. From behind, Arnt Ola has been chasing down both of them. Can he pass them on the way to Røros, or has he driven his team too hard? Will their relative strength be altered by resting for eight hours? While they are all sleeping, the game is definitely on – at least in my head.

Another few hours pass. Ralph gets up for breakfast. It’s getting close to four in the morning as Robert enters the cafeteria. Spotting Ralph he proclaims that “this is no game for old men”. Only a year separates them, and I think Robert speaks for himself more than anything else as he stretches before settling down at Ralph’s table. Anyone entering would be hard pressed to think that these two guys are fighting tooth and nail to be the first two to Røros, only seven minutes separating them. They chat like the old mates that they are. Stories of dogs, equipment, friends and trails are exchanged before it’s time to head out to the dogs. Only a few handlers and mushers are awake to join in the banter.

The excitement of the previous evening is all but gone. Everyone knows the order the two will leave in: Robert seven minutes ahead of Ralph, the exact same difference as when they came in. No quarters are given and none asked. The race is back on.
As Robert approaches the timekeepers, he still has time to calmly check his line at literally the last minute. The dogs are eager to go and have none of the calm of the mushers at this point. They strain in their harnesses, willing the sled ever closer to another starting line. Robert has to stand hard on the brake to stop them making a false start. Finally the signal is given: Time!
The snow anchor is pulled out, the brake released and the dogs start pulling towards Tolga.

Musher away!



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