The stories are 45 years old right now, but they never cease to be entertaining and, for many, heartwarming. They’re about a Newport couple who set out to live a dream, and about how an extended community of neighbors and friends came together to make it happen.

It was this very time in March 1980 when Bill Bartlett and his team of sled dogs crossed the finish line in Nome, Alaska, of the eighth edition of the Iditarod Sled Dog Race. He became the first Iditarod competitor from the “Lower 48” states to complete the grueling 1,049-mile race, which until then had always been dominated by Inuit and other native Alaskan mushers.

There were 63 teams that started the race in Anchorage, 43 that actually finished, and Bartlett ranked 21st. He would have come in 17th had not a runner on his sled broken on the final leg of the race, necessitating a bush plane emergency run out to the trail by his wife, Heidi, with a replacement. His placing earned him a commemorative belt buckle, just out of the prize money, but he’ll say today the experience was priceless.

Back home in Newport, folks had been following the Bartlett odyssey continually thanks to a collaboration of ham radio enthusiasts — this was long before the age of cellphones and social media — and accounts of their adventures traveled rapidly by word-of-mouth around the vicinity and soon on to statewide news outlets.

Today the Bartletts still exude amazement at how it all came together and are ever happy to share their memories of that magical time.

For many years along Sullivan County roads, it was common to come up behind an aging pickup truck displaying a faded bumper sticker proclaiming: “Newport to Alaska — I Support Musher Bill.” Those strips were conceived as a fundraising gimmick by neighbors, sold for a dollar apiece, and set the pace toward a goal of $18,000 (about $78,000 in today’s money) projected to be necessary for transportation, lodging, entry fees, dog food and all the other stuff needed to join the Iditarod. The Bartletts drained their savings, a lobster bake netted a hefty haul and donations came in from near and far. Corporate support came, too — Woolrich provided a kit of woolen clothing.

“We were following a dream,” Bill Bartlett mused, “but it came true because of all these great people.”

Bartlett’s dream began in boyhood, when he fancied himself one day driving teams of oxen or horses, but a trip to northern Coos County introduced him to sled dog teams, and he was hooked immediately.

“I loved the whole scene, the backwoods, the teams, the gear. I spent three winters on the Indian Stream in Pittsburg, crossing back and forth over the border into Canada, visiting with the customs officers, then heading back into camp. Then Heidi came along — she rode snowmobiles — and I changed focus.”

The two married; she taught school, he worked for trucker Harry Sanborn in Newport. One day he was telling Sanborn of his dream of going to Alaska and running in the Iditarod, and Sanborn asked why didn’t he? Sanborn’s offer of the cab and chassis of an old 5-ton Chevy truck set in motion the pursuit of the dream.

Planning and assembling the equipment, forming the dog team, fitting out the truck and figuring out how to finance the whole shebang went on for months in early 1979. A turning point would be the entrance of neighbors Lois and Bob Howley and Paul and Helen Skarin, who cooked up the bumper sticker project and started shepherding fundraising efforts.

A big piece was paying for the food for the dogs; Bartlett worked with a canine nutritionist who devised a ration of ground chicken and egg — no cheap generic feedstore kibbles would do for this venture — that would amount to 6,000 pounds that had to be packed up in 3-pound bags for feeding on the trail.

On Dec. 7, the Bartletts and 14 dogs set out for Anchorage in the Chevy truck loaded with equipment and supplies. It was a nearly three-week journey, one that included a blown radiator on a remote stretch of the highway leading from British Columbia to Anchorage. Bill built a fire of twigs on the roadside to help Heidi survive cold somewhere below minus-30 and then set out hitchhiking 200 miles to a junkyard where he found a replacement radiator. It was Christmas Eve when they finally got the truck going and resumed their journey.

The weeks leading up to the start of the race were spent training and conditioning the dogs, beginning with 10-mile runs, later up to 50 to 60 miles in a day’s work. The driver needs conditioning, too, as frequently he or she hops off the tail of the sled and helps propel the vehicle up grades and over rough terrain.

In a superbly written journal of their adventure, Heidi speaks of the continual dangers on the trail, ranging from charging moose to frostbite in winds at temperatures hovering far below zero. And developing the bonds between the driver and the team was a critical element, she wrote.

Soon after reaching Alaska, the Bartletts were befriended by an Air Force veteran who had competed in the Iditarod six times. He provided them a place to stay and gave Bill a wealth of advice on how to run the trail and deal with the perils of some of the most hostile weather and terrain in North America.

Preparations plodded along for the nearly two months leading up to the race’s start. At times, the dogs would go into a funk that required Bartlett’s careful ministering to overcome. The race then was governed by an extensive set of rules about care and feeding of the animals along the route, restrictions that have only gotten much more stringent in recent years.

Racers drew numbers for starting position and finally, on March 1, they were off on the course for which the all-time record for completion then stood at 14 days, 14 hours and 43 minutes. Bartlett’s team was composed of 14 dogs to start, and at the finish in Nome seven were still in harness. No dog could be replaced if it faltered along the way, and all animals had to be accounted for at the numerous checkpoints along the trail. Out of 63 teams starting the race, 20 dropped out and didn’t finish.

Heidi kept up with Bill’s progress, hopping by plane from checkpoint to checkpoint, and her messages via ham radio kept folks back home apprised. At one point he took a wrong turn that forced him to backtrack and lose time off the clock. On crossing the finish line in Nome, he was reported to be in good spirits but ready for a shower and a long night’s sleep.

On their return to Newport, the Bartletts were greeted with a large overhead “Welcome Home” banner strung across Main Street and were feted at a gathering in the Opera House. After that they settled back into their pre-Iditarod lives, she teaching school in Newport and later Grantham, and Bill developing a business as a bovine podiatrist, trimming the hooves of hundreds of dairy cows on farms up and down the Valley region. Three times he returned to Alaska to serve as a course judge for the Iditarod Race.

Years later, they developed what would become the largest blueberry farm in New Hampshire and only recently did they pass the operation along to the next Bartlett generation.

But Bill Bartlett never really got away from that Iditarod experience. For years, he presented a lecture program illustrated with stunning slides taken by Heidi telling the story of their adventure. They’ve kept a record of the dates and places he has spoken and recently the total passed 140.

Schools, Rotary clubs, senior centers, farm groups, libraries, dog clubs, historical societies, on and on. Bartlett, a spirited and engaging speaker, has presented the slide program over and over — and never been paid a nickel. He has appeared throughout New Hampshire, plus locations in Maine, Vermont, Massachusetts, Connecticut and even Ontario. The collection of Kodak color slides has now been digitized and video recordings of his programs were recently created and archived.

Spontaneous support for a local cause pops up once in a while in Newport. Backing for Musher Bill came forward in a matter of days. So, too, did fundraising to replace the Corbin Covered Bridge after it had been burned down by vandals; a concrete span would have been cheaper, but folks were willing to chip in for a real replacement. And when the Newport High School band needed new uniforms for a parade in Washington, D.C., the community found the money pronto.

Going all over to tell his story of following a dream is Bartlett’s way of thanking those who helped make it happen, he’ll say.

A resident of Meriden, Steve Taylor contributes occasionally to the Valley News.