We flew out there to set up the day before mushers started arriving, pitched our tent, pulled all the espresso equipment and generator out of the plane, put up the table where we'd be slinging 'spro, and settled in for the night. It'd frequently dip well below zero, so my dad had built an insulated box to surround the espresso machine so it could keep the water hot enough in the tank. We lit up the kerosene stove in the tent and heated ourselves some beanie-weenies for dinner before settling in to sleep. Depending on how fast the mushers were running some would get in to the checkpoint in the wee hours of the morning, so my Dad tracked the front runners and woke up early to catch the first mushers in. I, on the other hand, have always been a night owl and a sleeper-in, so I usually missed the first few and dragged myself out of my sleeping bag much later.
We did this for a few years and it's still one of my favorite memories from childhood. I was hoping to get out to Finger Lake again when I was up in Alaska for the Iditarod this year, but I wasn't able to swing it. Maybe Dad and I can bring back Airborne Espresso now that Airborne Express doesn't exist anymore. It sure would be fun to do it again, and there are still some mushers running that ran 20 years ago when we first started our crazy idita-espresso scheme. And hey! Now I can totally barista. Back in the day I was on coffee delivery duty and my dad was the barista. Maybe someday.