Detroit Free Press

IDITAROD DIARY, Chapter 6: In which we come to an end.

IDITAROD DIARY, CHAPTER 5: In which we make a rescue, cross the breathtaking mountains, and get nauseated.RAINY PASS, Alaska -- "Medic! Medic!"

IDITAROD DIARY, CHAPTER 2: In which we meet the champion, get licked, talk basketball, and learn that even mushers get jealous.ANCHORAGE, Alaska -- "Forget it. You don't have enough fur." That's what one local told me as I sought the champion of the dogsled world. "Forget it," he laughed. "Unless you got a cold nose and four paws, you ain't gonna get much from Susan Butcher."

CHAPTER 1: In which I travel to Alaska and learn that all dogs are not created equal, although most smell alike.ANCHORAGE, Alaska -- Mush! Whoa!Get off my leg!All right. I admit it. Before arriving here for the Iditarod Sled Dog Race -- or, as they call it in Alaska, The Last Great Race On Earth -- my canine knowledge was somewhat limited. This, basically, is what I knew about dogs: If they urinate on your carpet, it's damn hard to get out.

One coach, upon learning that Chris Webber goes to church every Sunday, dashed off a letter saying, he, too, was a ...

Gerald Henderson was at the computer in his Philadelphia office Saturday when the phone rang. The Pistons. They needed a guard. Fast. Henderson, who had only been playing pick-up basketball three times a week, shut off the computer, packed a bag and got on a plane for Detroit. The next morning he was at the Beverly Hills Racquet Club, shooting hoops -- just hours before the Pistons would play the Lakers on network television. "Don't hurt yourself," one of the surprised pick-up players there told him. "They need you today."