Broken Trails

Lainey tossed down her pen with a grunt and leaned back in the chair. Poked in the back by a torn piece of vinyl for her effort, she readjusted herself, forcing the flap flat with her shoulder.

Howry was working on the final preparations for his first article. Their editor, Strauss, had arranged for their articles to run hand in hand on a quarterly basis rather than filling an entire spring issue. Lainey had to have something to give him by the end of the week or miss her deadline. But she could not seem to focus on anything.

Scotch had been a wonderful instructor. Lainey had learned so much from her about how to handle the dogs; not just about discipline but to get them to want the same things she did. During the mornings, the women spent time together with their chores. Afternoons were for training or tourists. Lainey was not allowed to take any guests out on cart rides yet because she had not learned all the trails. Evenings consisted of another round of feeding and poop scooping, followed by dinner and spending time with the Fullers and Howry. When it was time for bed, Lainey and Scotch would make the trek to their cabin, swapping stories about their day. So many times Lainey wanted to take Scotch’s hand, and give her a hug or a kiss. Now that she had gotten to know the woman, she discovered she really liked Scotch as a person. It did not dampen her original desire one bit, much to her chagrin. If anything, she wanted Scotch much more now than when she had started this assignment.

Lainey forced herself back to the paper. Having never missed a deadline, she did not plan on starting now. Her feelings for Scotch could not be used as an excuse. Maybe if she started with a description of one of her runs. Retrieving her pen from the middle of the table, she began to write.

The wind brushes past me at a whopping eleven miles per hour. I hear nothing but the sound of panting dogs, and rubber tires crunching across the previous season’s detritus. The smell of pine and loam fill my nostrils, competing with the ever-present odor of dog fur that has become the center of my world for the last forty-five days.

This is one of my first lessons as a musher. I have no license here, no insurance. My only company is a team of eight canine athletes who have decided to give me a shot at leading them. Up ahead is another all-terrain vehicle disappearing around a bend. My partner in crime - my mentor, Scotch Fuller, three time Iditarod finisher - is leading the way. I have no idea where I’m going, just that I’m to follow her lead. Oh, and make sure my team thinks I’m in charge.

Such begins my day of training for the Iditarod sled dog race that takes place every March in Anchorage, Alaska. I am one of thirty-eight rookies signed up for the next one, thirty-eight novices taking on the challenge of what is billed as the Last Great Race in the World.

The days all seem to run together here. The constant sunlight doesn’t help my sense of time; I’ve yet to see full dark since my arrival at the end of June. I hear it might make an appearance by the end of August, at least for a little bit. Until then, I go to sleep in daylight and wake up to daylight, even at 10:00pm and 5:00am.

In the morning, the dogs are seen to first. There are almost a hundred of them at Fuller Kennels. You’d think with that amount they would all sort of run together in the mind, a mass of wet fur and wagging tails with little in the way of distinction but markings on their coats. That’s not the case, however, as I’ve discovered. In the last month and a half I’ve gotten to know all the animals, and each is different from the last with his or her unique foibles and strengths.

The ones I know the best are my team.

Sholo is all white with bright blue eyes flickering with intelligence. He’s a hard worker who has little patience for incompetence, though he’s at least polite when I exhibit mine. His ability to stick to a trail is astounding. I’ve found he’ll refuse orders from me and, when I try to call him on it, I discover I was the one in the wrong - the trail didn’t go the direction I wanted, or an obvious obstacle that I couldn’t see blocked our way. I swear this dog is a barking, shedding dowsing rod.

Trace is Sholo’s diametric opposite in appearance. His black coat and eyes will make him difficult to see in the dark (providing I ever see him at night. Some days I have my doubts.) He’s finished the Iditarod twice before, leading part of the way. His experience will be a tremendous asset to us when we get to Anchorage.

Behind the lead dogs are another couple of characters. Meshindi is a rookie at two. His only experience has been in sprints last year. His brown eyes are almond shaped, making it seem he’s more Asian than canine. He’s not ‘inscrutable,’ by any means. I have no doubts about his opinion on anything as he grins or grumbles at me. Most of his grumbling has to do with interrupting his naps during out training breaks; his grins are for frozen moose liver treats, his favorite.

A leader in training, Montana has had experience in several mid-distance races. This will be the first Iditarod for him, too, but I’m hoping Trace will take him under his … paw and show the new guy the ropes. He has a tendency to swagger as he runs, as a young male is prone to do, and is more than willing to wrestle with anyone willing to play.

Behind them is Bonaparte. No one else is allowed in his section of the mainline; he’ll balk if he’s not treated with proper deference. He’s a small dog with a big attitude, and God help the handler who doesn’t give His Majesty his due. Despite the regal behavior, he doesn’t want to lead - such is the job of mere mortals. Instead, he follows just behind the leaders, keeping the rest of the team in line.

His consort is Kaara. Her name means ‘shining light of the morning’ and it’s so apt. Off white with mottled brows and grays, she gives off a calm and cheerful aura. She’s the only dog in the kennel that doesn’t call Bonaparte on his snotty attitudes. In fact, she adores him, playing Josephine to his high falutin’ ways. It’s rumored that she’s in love with him. If ever there was a living example of puppy love, Kaara carries it with pride.

Just in front of my ATV are Jonah and Aegis. Male and female, they’re the largest dogs on my team, weighing in at a total of one hundred fifty-seven pounds. They’re that big because they’re the wheel dogs - the animals right in front of the sled. They need the extra power to keep control of a six hundred pound sled during turns. Yet they also must be fast enough to avoid getting run over.

Jonah is a wild and wooly fellow, the mountain man of the team, with shaggy hair and an obsession with pulling. Given the chance, he’d be happy to do all the work, and leave his mates back at home. When the rest of the team hears the command, “Ready,” he’s the one who leaps forward with the most eagerness to get going.

Aegis is my sweetheart. Her size makes her appear somewhat threatening (though all the dogs are thoroughly adapted to humans from the time they’re born.) In reality, she’s nothing more than a big mushball who enjoys tummy rubs, and daintily nibbles on her treats while the others wolf theirs down.

The cabin door opened, interrupting Lainey. She looked up to see Scotch clattering down the steps.

“Want to go swimming?” she asked, eyes sparkling. Scotch was without a cap, her tawny blonde curls uncontained. Her skin had taken on a light gold color from her constant exposure to the outdoors. From the looks of her peeling nose, perhaps she had had too much time in the sun.

Lainey smiled in return, wondering how much longer she could take this unrequited yearning. “I don’t have a swimsuit,” she said. Truth be told, she had been so worried about the coming winter, she had not packed much in the way of summer clothes at all. Last week she had to go into the general store to get some lighter clothing, having not expected to become so acclimated to the Alaskan summer.