While sisters Erika and Julia affectionately feed treats to their cavalier King Charles spaniel in their warm West Seattle home, their thoughts drift to the tenacious Siberian huskie teams that plow their mushers through 1,100 wind-chilled Alaskan miles of Iditarod trail, and through the tiny villages that welcome the two and four-legged athletes.

The 12- and 14-year old Guerette sisters attend Our Lady of Guadalupe School and are too young to mush in the Iditarod Sled Dog Race coined the "Last Great Race." But they do participate by collecting books donated at school to give other schools in towns that quietly punctuate the isolated route between Anchorage and Nome. The idea was theirs, although they give a nod to Iditarod veteran, Lynwood Fiedler, who donated his $2,000 prize for reaching the halfway mark first toward books for some of the same schools. The Guerettes have inspired three other schools in the "Lower 48" to participate, with more signing up.

"Some teens face suicide in these schools because of the isolation," said Erika with cold frankness. "We believe books open doors and create opportunities."

Added Julia, "We got interested after we learned that the idea of the race started when dogs were used to deliver medicine in an emergency to Nome." She is referring to the "1925 serum run to Nome." Inuit children were threatened by a Diphtheria outbreak and teams of dogs from a port 674 miles away to save the day mushed a 20-pound cylinder of antitoxin in.

Their parents took them to Alaska seven years ago and they got to meet veteran Iditarod musher, and now the race's official artist, Jon Van Zyle.

"We watched him train his dogs. He had them run in circles chasing a hot dog," said Julia.

Erika cut in, "Yeah. It was like a giant hamster wheel!"

They also visited the Iditarod Trail headquarters and first checkpoint in Eagle River. Four years later the girls went to Fairbanks during winter and got a taste of the real thing, by riding through the forest in a dog-pulled sled.

This is their third annual book drive, and this time Erika and Julia collected 600 books that went to three locations, Galena, about 650 miles from the race's starting point, Koyuk, about 275 miles beyond Galena, and a box of books was just delivered to Nome, at trail's end. Their father, Mark, works for Alaska Airlines as their web site designer. He said the airline helped get the boxes of books to Anchorage. His colleague, Grant Jacobson, a volunteer at a checkpoint of the race, helped see the books through with the help of the Iditarod Air Force.

The force is comprised of 29 experienced volunteer pilots who fly small planes along the course during the race to deliver dog food, medical supplies, rescue injured dogs, and, yes, carry books.

Diane Johnson, Iditarod education director, credits the Guerette sisters for initiating what is now called "Books to the Trail." Johnson helps promote the drive nationwide.

"As an adult, I find what Erika and Julia are doing very inspirational, seeing the younger generation impacting the lives of students in other places," said Johnson, reached by phone in Anchorage. "So many (other) kids just want to take care of themselves, and it's all about 'me, me, me.' I was there when a box of books the girls sent was opened at a school and saw the excitement in the kids' eyes."

Their father visited Nome in 2001 and 2003 as a volunteer and tourist to observe the finish line and said there's no place quite like Nome. "It's very cool in both senses of the word," he recalled, explaining that Nome is far north of the tree line. "After Christmas, they drill holes in the ice and stick their discarded Christmas trees in them. They jokingly call it Nome National Forest."

He visits Our Lady of Guadalupe School to speak about the race.

"I mention that both men and women compete equally, and I explain the tradition of the 'red lantern.'"

Back when dogs carried freight and mail between villages, a kerosene lantern hung over a door in town helped guide them in. Today, a red lantern hangs above the finish line, and the last musher turns out the light. This is considered an honor, as many who compete never finish.

Mark thinks it is a valuable lesson to teach his daughters.

"How many things in this world award you for finishing last?"

Added Julia, "It's their way of telling the last place finisher to never give up."

See: www.iditarod. Then click "For Teachers" and scroll to "books to the trail"

Steve Shay may be reached at steves@robinsonnews.com