While the abundant snow in Ithaca certainly adds to its beauty, it also makes getting around campus a dangerous and exasperating ordeal. After months of dragging my boots through drifts of the sticky white glue, I've come up with a mode of transportation uniquely suited to the Ithaca climate, which I believe should be quickly implemented before the inevitable Blizzard of '95 hits. My proposal will cut down on nasty automobile emissions, eliminate the need for plowing streets and sidewalks, and give all those hapless dogs tied to trees and bike racks around the ag quad something to do. The simple solution for Ithaca's winter transportation headache: dog sleds.
In order to test my proposal, I enlisted the help of Arleigh Reynolds '83 DVM '86 MS '92. Reynolds and others from the New York State College of Veterinary Medicine are currently using teams of sled dogs to research the effects of different amounts of dietary fat in dog food, searching for the ideal canine diet. The study is sponsored by the Iams pet food company and includes 47 Alaskan Huskies, which are housed at a Cornell facility just southeast of campus.
Different teams of dogs go out on training runs in the Ithaca area almost daily, according to Reynolds. A specially-equipped truck carries several teams of dogs in individual compartments with a sled or two on top. The lightweight wooden sleds are used for winter training when there is sufficient snow cover, and all-terrain vehicles are substituted in warmer months.
In addition to using the dogs for research, Reynolds also races teams and takes them to visit local elementary schools. "We talk to [the students] about the dogs and training and life cycles," Reynolds explained. "We show them what the equipment looks like. A lot of them have never seen a sled."
I met Reynolds and two other members of the research team for a training run on an appropriately cold and snowy day in the middle of March (which is considered springtime in most of the United States). The six-mile sled trail winds through a wooded area of state land in Danby. The snow-covered trail is smoothed and groomed beforehand by a snowmobile. "It's a seasonal access road that doesn't get plowed," Reynolds said. "That's bad for cars and people, but good for us."
Certain dogs were let out and tied to the bottom of the truck while harnesses were sorted out and teams made up. Pairs were then taken to the waiting sled and harnessed together. All of this was a rather noisy and hectic process, as the dogs barked and scratched at the snow while waiting their turn, and then dragged their handlers to the sled when they were unleashed. But in a few minutes a team was assembled and harnessed to the sled, where they waited impatiently, straining against the harnesses and barking in anticipation.
"So, do you want to go out on the sled?" Reynolds asked, with an "I-dare-you" twinkle in his eye. Sounded nice, a jaunt through the woods with this team of happily wagging and panting Huskies. Visions of jingle bells, open sleighs and such danced through my head. Sure, why not?
Another sled was attached to the first, which was in turn attached to the team of twelve dogs, and Dave Frank '82 gave me my first lesson in the basics of sled driving: turning and stopping (all while we were still immobile, of course). I discovered that not only did the sleds have brakes, but steering as well. "You turn the same way as you do in skiing, by keeping your weight on the inside runner," Frank explained. "I gave you the best-steering sled," he added with a smile. Thank goodness. Before I could contemplate all of these new-found complications (and the fact that someone had mentioned moguls), Reynolds shouted "Are you ready!" to the team, which answered by leaping forward.
I found my maiden voyage more similar to a roller coaster ride than a ride in the park. Except that you can't fall out of a roller coaster, and you can fall off the sled. Which I did. Twice. I was unceremoniously dumped in the snow as we went around a sharp turn, and again after running over a big chunk of frozen snow. I did feel better after learning that the only person who had ever made it around without falling was a World Cup skier from Switzerland.
Although it certainly was enjoyable to zip through the woods behind a dozen wagging tails and lolling tongues, listening to the crunch of paws and whoosh of runners on the snow, I think perhaps dog sled teams are more suited to racing across Alaska than the ag quad. Maybe Cornellians' canines are perfectly content to get their exercise chasing Frisbees. And once winter rears its ugly head, students will again resign themselves to months of slow, treacherous walks to class.
Perhaps the University would consider a physical education class in snowshoeing....