This is part of Travel Firsts, a series featuring trips that required a leap of faith or marked a life milestone.
Five ecstatic huskies pull me across an icy white landscape, tongues lolling from their mouths and legs pumping like pistons. Technically, I drive a dog-powered vehicle, but my fast, wedge-shaped sled looks more like a 300-horsepower sports car. As the four-legged motors strain to go faster, I press my foot on the studded metal plate that serves as a brake, trying to slow their pace.
It's hard to believe I'm in it Swedish Lapland, about 120 miles above the Arctic Circle, leading a team through hushed, snow-covered forests and frozen lakes. I live in Texasafter all, where we're used to horses and heat waves but can barely drive pickup trucks in sleet.
Fueled by a reindeer and cheese sandwich and wearing a parka trimmed with faux fur, I am realizing my lifelong dream. Growing up, I loved the story of Baltothe dog who pulled a medicine-laden sled to Nome, Alaska, preventing a diphtheria outbreak in 1925. Ever since, I've dreamed of gliding across a cold, blue-white landscape behind a team of yapping huskies like him.
The way I got here was also a bit of a dream: every year, the Swedish outdoor company Fjallraven organizes a free 5-day trip for 20 adventure enthusiasts, chosen from thousands of candidates who send videos. I was one of several journalists invited for a 3 day, 2 night version of the experience. The purpose of the trip is to show that ordinary people can have extraordinary adventures, provided they are given the right instructions and equipment. But in my late 50s, I'm 30 years older than most of the people in my group. I've always loved pushing myself in the outdoors, whether it's hiking, scuba diving or boating, so taking part in this trip is also my way of saying that I'm far from ready to give up on adventure .
Our group begins the trip by flying from Stockholm in Kiruna, in the far north of the country. From there, it's a 20-minute drive to Fjellborg kennels, where we met our canine teammates, who instantly howled with excitement. After some basic instructions from our guides – for example, “don’t let go of the sled” – we released our “anchors,” which are hand-sized metal claws stuck into the snow to stop the sled. dogs to run away before their musher is ready. Once unleashed, I set off: alone on a sled, leading a team of five dogs down a path under a sky the color of drier lint.
