"No biting Georgia. Leave her alone. Are you listening?" The dog, an Alaskan Malamute, responds by enthusiastically licking the speaker's face but doesn't promise anything. In the forest of Drumlanrig Castle in Dumfries and Galloway, Scotland, excitement is running high. Dozens of what, to the unschooled eye, appear to be huskies, are fastened in varying numbers to what, again to the unschooled eye, appear to be seatless tricycles. The air is filled with the sound of baying dogs, the whisper of bike wheels and, courtesy of the distant PA, a medley of hits from the 1980s. It's nine o'clock on a freezing cold Saturday in March, and the 2005 UK Sled Dog Championship is about to get underway.

Sled Dog racing is one of the fastest growing winter sports in the world. The fact that, to most people's minds, sleds mean snow hasn't prevented it also becoming increasingly popular in the UK, where there are currently around 500 dog teams. Winters over here being more commonly associated with sludge rather than piste, British mushers have become something of experts in what's known as 'dryland' racing, where the dogs are harnessed to three-wheeled rigs instead of sleds. Wheels or runners, it's all the same to sled dog enthusiasts, it seems. The only thing that matters is running the dogs.

"There's a compulsion behind it. It's not a sport, it's a lifestyle," says Steven Lindsay, the current UK sled dog champion. As well as five Siberian huskies he also owns eight Eurohounds; a purpose bred sled dog that's part husky, part pointer. "I live the life of running dogs. There's a very small part of the time actually spent on the back of a rig. Being with the dogs, feeding them, bonding with them, taking them on walks and runs, that whole thing is just as much a part of it."

At 32, Lindsay is a fourteen year veteran of the sport, and one of its most passionate ambassadors. He's also project manager of Dog Sport Scotland, the body responsible for this year's UK championships, which aims to raise the profile of sled dog racing nationally, as well as establish Dumfries and Galloway as its UK capital. While there have been British championship races before, the event at Drumlanrig Castle is the first to be accredited by the Sleddogs Sports Federation of Wales, Ireland, Scotland and England (SSFWISE). It will also serve as a qualifier for the 2006 World Championships, an opportunity eyed more covetously by mushers than the actual prizes, which are some way short of awe inspiring. "The winners get kudos and a bag of dog food," grins Lindsay.

Few UK mushers may be lucky enough to work within the sport full time as Lindsay does, but that doesn't mean they're any less passionate about it. With a single sled dog costing anything from £600 for a Siberian husky to £5000 or more for a specially bred Eurohound, this is a hobby that requires deep pockets and a huge commitment. Nevertheless, around 120 mushers have travelled from as far as Dorset and Wales to take part in the two day event. The driveway leading to the imposing Drumlanrig Castle is lined with dog vans. A few are custom built but most are ordinary Transit-style jobs that the owners have attacked with DIY abandon, filling them from floor to roof with cages.

Everywhere you look there are dogs: Siberian huskies, exotic with their blue eyes and thick coats, lean Eurohounds, fluffy white Samoyeds, and powerful, husky-like Malamutes. There's also a couple of spooked-looking King Charles Cavalier Spaniels, but they won't be pulling anything. "It's got to be a proper bred sled dog," Lindsay says. "A dog that lives to run. They can be any size or shape, but they've got to be bred for the job. You can't just take something out of the dog pound."

The races are divided into different classes, depending on the number of dogs in the team. In countries where courses are over snow, such as North America, Canada and Scandinavia, there can be over twenty dogs pulling a single sled. But in the UK the maximum is six, as any more is deemed too dangerous for the dryland forest tracks. Even so, a good team can reach 25mph on some stretches, although the four-mile course at Drumlanrig Castle, with its hills and turns, requires judgement and control as much as out-and-out speed.

For the UK championships each team has to race twice, with the winner being the team with the fastest cumulative time in each class. In addition to the six dog teams, there are also four, three and two dog classes, as well as shorter races for juniors - this is very much a family sport, and mushers can start racing competitively from as young as eight. Then there are the more, shall we say, esoteric events. The most bizarre is the Canicross, a masochistic hybrid of cross country running and extreme dog walking, where the mushers fasten themselves to their dog with an elisticated rope and then sprint along behind them.

The races start early in order to finish before the temperature climbs too high, as the dogs will overheat if it grows too warm. Rather than a Ben Hur-style free-for-all, the teams go off one at a time, at two minute intervals. First off is Lindsay, a favourite to win the six dog open class (meaning non-huskies can be used) with his Eurohounds. He takes his place at the back of the rig as the timer shouts out the countdown. "Ten seconds... Five, four, three, two one, GO!" Then he's off, running behind the rig to help the dogs gather pace before jumping onto it. Immediately the next team is led up, howling and falling over themselves with excitement.

For the most part the dogs are impeccably behaved. The only displays of bad temper come from the normally placid Malamutes, who invariably start to fall out with each other as soon as they're put in harness. "Typical Mals," smiles one musher, fondly, as yet another pair of them disappear, still scrapping, down the track. "They're just grumbling. Once they settle down they'll be OK."

A Scottish SPCA van is conspicuous in the car park, but it doesn't need an animal welfare officer to see that these dogs - grumbling or not - aren't being mistreated. It's hard to say who enjoys it the most, the mushers or the animals themselves. When the dogs bound across the finish line, tongues flapping from grinning mouths, the hardest part is getting them to stop.

One musher, whose crash helmet bears a distinctive Mohican, doesn't even try. He lets his six Siberian huskies pull him past the protective straw bales that surround the finish, onto the road and all the way back to his van, boogieing along to the music blaring from the PA as he does so. "Super trail! Fantastic!" pants Pete Williams. At sixty two he's the oldest musher here, a former postman from Lairg in Sutherland who took up sled dog racing when he retired. "And then had to go back to work again to pay for it," comments his wife Flo, wryly. Neither of them seem unduly perturbed by the fact he fell off and banged his head on a tree root part way round. "I was wearing a crash helmet," he shrugs, tapping the Mohican bedecked item. "I was coming down too fast and came off on a turn. The dogs were all right, though," he says, showing where his priorities lie.

With all the running involved, the mushers have to be almost as fit as their dogs, at least if they want to compete seriously, which most of them do. For others, just the experience itself is enough. One couple have brought a customised rig that's had a passenger seat fitted to it. Linda Liddle has come from Consett, near Durham, with her husband John - dressed somewhat uniquely as a bumble bee - to take part in the championship. Both she and their eleven year old daughter, Jessica, have cerebral palsy, but that doesn't stop them racing. "That was amazing!" Linda says afterwards as John untethers their huskies. "It's a bit bumpy but it's nice to get out with the able bodied. Show that the disabled can do it, you know?"

Once across the finish line, the sweaty, mud-spattered mushers give their dogs biscuits, water and - as one puts it - 'Loads of TLC,' as they wait to hear their times. After the second legs are completed on Sunday there's a prize giving ceremony in the evening, when the owner of Drumlanrig Castle, the Duke of Buccleuch, will present the trophies and dog food to the winners. And then that's it for another season. On the Monday morning the mushers will put their dogs back into the vans and head for home. Some are disappointed. Some, like Steven Lindsay, who retains his UK title for another year, have an air of quiet satisfaction. But most, like the dogs themselves, have just enjoyed the run.

Simon Beckett, 2005

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