The First Tour to the Russian Border

On the very first trip, I had two lovely ladies from the Netherlands as guests. The local newspaper was coming out to take photos, and we agreed to tweak the program so that instead of riding back by dog team, we’d finish at the border and then drive home by car.

We set off from our cabin on the last day of the tour. But on the way, while crossing a ploughed road, one of the ladies fell and hurt her shoulder. She said she was fine to continue, but she couldn’t drive her own sled anymore. So, we rearranged: I added her dogs to my team, put her in my sled, and continued on with one large team and the other guest driving behind us.

It was springtime. Snow was thin, patches of dirt showing through, but the adventure was unforgettable. We reached the border, posed for the journalists, and turned back.

By then, the shoulder injury was getting worse, so instead of heading straight home, we stopped at the healthcare centre in Lieksa. Doctors checked her out thoroughly and luckily, nothing serious. Just rest required.

At this point, 50% of my guests had ended up in hospital.

The Crash on the Ridge Road

We loaded the dogs into my brand-new Fiat Ducato van, a pastel green beauty I’d just bought to replace my old Land Cruiser. It had barely 5,000 kilometres on it. Behind us, a trailer with all the sleds.

On the way back, we took the scenic ridge road. It was spring, so most roads were bare by now, except for one shady hill under a dense spruce forest where ice still covered the surface.

And then, coming from the other side, a tractor appeared – towing a huge road grader. The driver was in the middle of the road, not expecting anyone. As soon as he saw me, he hit the brakes. Big mistake. The grader shoved him forward, jackknifed the tractor, and sent the whole thing sliding down the icy hill – straight towards us.

I yelled something like, “Hold on!” – and then boom. The tractor slammed into the front of my brand-new van. Airbags went off, seatbelts locked, the dogs in the back were shaken but fine, the sleds unharmed. The van, though, was a mess.

The emergency services came: fire brigade, ambulance, police. And my other guest, the elderly lady, started complaining of chest pain. The ambulance crew took no chances: elderly guest, chest pain, straight to the main hospital in Joensuu, 100 kilometres away.

Thankfully, it was just bruising from the seatbelt. Painful, but not serious. Still, she spent the evening in hospital for checks.

And that was it: 100% of my guests in hospital in a single day.

Beating the Insurance Company

Meanwhile, my shiny new Ducato was a total loss. The tractor had hit exactly where it hurt most: the front, where all the important bits are.

Now, here’s where luck came back around. When I’d bought the van, I had picked one of the very last models of that generation – a fully matured design, no kinks, with the biggest engine available. They were clearing out stock, so I’d gotten a good discount.

But the insurance company was obliged to replace it with something “of equal or better value.” The problem for them was that my model no longer existed. The only option was the brand-new version, which cost €20,000 more.

So, despite their grumbling, I drove away with a more expensive, newer van – straight from the crash to an upgrade.

Of course, as with all first-generation vehicles, it came with electrical gremlins and little annoyances that the old model never had. But still: I had managed to beat the insurance company.

Looking Back

In the end, both guests were fine, the dogs were fine, the sleds were fine. Only my pride (and my new van) took the hit. It was one of those days that reminds you just how unpredictable life on the trail – and in business – can be.

But it also gave me one of my favourite stories to tell: The day I lost a van, got all my guests checked into hospital, and still walked away a winner.

— Valentijn Beets

Bearhill Husky