I.She relates to me thata race vet in Kaltaghas misplaced a glove,gone gloveless andat forty belowdeveloped frostbite.This year, five dogshave died and not allthe teams have reachedthe finish. This yearthe course runs lowriverside, easierin altitudebut with conditionsstill severe. The fivedeaths are unexplained:she says there’s talk oftwo possibilities,furtive and sinister.One musher felt the icebegin to form underthe dying husky’s skin.II.She relates to me againtheir plans to hear The Wailin’ Jennys.At every restaurantwhere my dad and I consider oystersor clams or scallops she reminds usshe’s allergic.Ritual or self-affirmation,Alzheimer’s, competition,distance from me, narcissism.She says she wants to go with himbut she’d be left alone, aslittle planes usher himin legs to further checkpoints.Six years running he’s seen the aurorae.His too is an aging mind.I’d like to be that river, see what I might find.