Broken Trails

“You bet,” Lainey said, not as pleased as her tone indicated. Her previous career as a war photographer still brought the occasional nightmares. She really did not wish to be reminded of those years by a grisly photo, not today.

The boy eagerly whipped open the magazine. One of his friends fumbled a pen from a pocket and he handed both to Lainey.

Bracing herself, she looked down at a panoramic shot of the Serengeti covering the full two pages. In the foreground on the right page was a pack of spotted hyena worrying their latest meal, the carcass of an antelope. A pleased smile crossed her face and she asked, “Do you want me to make this out to you?”

“Yes!” He gave his name and she signed the magazine and returned it to him. “Thanks!

Feeling much better, she watched them leave, hovering over the autograph in excitement.

“Guess your reputation precedes you more than you thought,” Strauss said.

“I guess so.” She grinned at him. “It’s kind of nice to be remembered for something other than death and destruction.”

“Amen to that.”

“Lainey! Let’s get ready!” Thom trotted up with Rye and Irish. “You’re up in fifteen minutes.”

She hastily glanced up the line, seeing the second musher finish hooking up his dogs. Her heart promptly leapt into her throat and she felt nauseous and jubilant at the same time.

Lainey got her elated dogs in place with some difficulty. Several Iditarod volunteers came forward to keep them from running off without her, and she eventually had everyone ready to go with four minutes to spare. Strauss climbed into the bed of her sled. As her Idita-rider, he would be with her throughout the ceremonial start of the Iditarod until she reached Eagle River. She almost did not recognize her sled as it sported a bright yellow bag with a prominently placed Cognizance logo. She wore a similar colored parka with a badger fur ruff, gifts to her from her official sponsor.

Behind her, another sled had been added and Rye climbed aboard the runners. Thom was going to ride behind Scotch to add more weight since her Idita-rider was a petite elementary school teacher. With all the noise and people, the dogs were more than eager to get going and the extra pounds would keep them from overdoing things or going too fast. Jonas, her wheel dog, was nearly delirious as he bounced like a seventy-five pound puppy. The rest of her team was doing the same.

The dog team in front of her was already being guided to Fourth Avenue and the starting line. A volunteer with a clipboard neared, waving her forward, and she swallowed hard. “Ready! Let’s go!” she yelled over the din. With a jerk, her team tried to take off at a full run. The ten or so volunteers pulled and held them back, forcing them to trot toward the beginning of the race.

At the starting line, two other teams awaited the go ahead. the sound of the dogs was drowned out by the cheers of the audience who stood five deep on either side of the street. She waved as the team was stopped, and vaguely noted she was shaking. The volunteers continued holding her team, as the dogs were in no mood to stand around.

Officially, she was the fourth one to head out, but in reality she was third. Number One was an honorary position, the racing bib given to someone who had made an impact on dog racing. As she tried to keep her breakfast down, she watched as the honored musher this year was presented with the gear.

The second musher was introduced and she heard a woman counting down the seconds over large speakers. It was amazing she could hear at all with the cacophony all around her. Then the team took off, the crowd cheering as they went. The volunteers urged her team closer. Glancing behind, she saw another team get into place. Somewhere back there was Scotch, and Lainey had a bone deep yearning to see her.

“Number Four, Lainey Hughes!”

The crowd applauded again and Lainey spun around. Number three was already away. She took a few breaths, trying not to hyperventilate as her team was maneuvered into the starting position.

“You ready for this?” a volunteer asked.

Lainey nodded and surprised herself with a smile. What was it Scotch had said? “Loaded for bear!”

He patted her on the shoulder and stepped back as the final seconds were called out.

“Ready!” Lainey hollered to her team. She heard the signal. “Let’s go!”

The ten burly handlers released the dogs and her team shot off down the trail, snapping her head back. As they raced down Fourth Avenue, her only regret was not being able to say good bye to Scotch who had as busy a morning as she.

Strauss whooped in excitement as they barreled down the street, the wind scouring their cheeks. Lainey estimated they were going about twenty miles an hour despite the added sled and men weighing the team down. She was glad for the company - there would be no way she could have maintained control on her own. They whisked past the crowds, and she barely noted the colorful clothing blurring by or the sounds of their cheering.

Up ahead a truck drove across the street. Several workers wearing Iditarod patches dashed into the intersection, shoveling snow into the tire tracks before she arrived. Police officers stopped traffic to give her right of way and Lainey laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Where else but in Alaska would cops stop traffic for a dog sled ? The team ripped by, Rye calling a thanks to the workers.

The trail took a turn, the people lining the street a better marker than any trail ribbon. She called the command and her team went into the turn. A bubble of pride swelled in her heart at their professionalism, and she began to enjoy the ride, her nervousness taking a back seat.

Eventually the crowds thinned. Lainey saw a trail marker, knowing from the stories she had heard that this was a tough turn. “Gee!” Like a well oiled machine, the team began turn. Before she realized it, Sholo and Trace found a trail off the road and took it instead of completing the turn. Off the trail they went, down the side and onto the new path.

“Crap!” she cursed. “Whoa! Sholo, Trace, whoa!”

Still eager, the dogs were reluctant to stop. The trail dipped into a patch of alder trees as both she and Rye applied the brakes to halt the team. Using a nearby tree to attach a snub line, she set her snow hook and jumped off the sled.

Despite knowing a delay now meant absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of the race, Lainey could not help but feel the tingle of irritation along the back of her neck. She could almost sense the teams passing by her position as she stopped to deal with this snag. The dogs were oblivious, wagging their tails and grinning at her as she went to the front of the line, and it took some effort to not take her annoyance out on them.

She gave each a pat and a good word, feeling the pressure mounting on her shoulders as she imagined being out her so long that Scotch, in forty-eighth place, would soon go by. When she reached her lead dogs, she gave them heaps of praise and grabbed their collars. She physically pulled the dogs around, Rye and Strauss standing nearby. Now that the race was on, they were forbidden to help lest they disqualify her. Rye kept a close watch, though, ready to jump on his sled brake if necessary.

When they were turned around and her passengers in their proper places, she pulled the snub line and gave the command to go. As they pulled back onto the street, she watched a musher go by and grumbled to herself. “Haw!” The dogs smoothly followed instruction. A few fans peppering the area had seen her snafu and applauded as she got back on the right path. She blushed furiously, but forced herself to wave anyway.

Lainey breathed a sigh of relief now that they were back on the trail. Her team poured on the speed, still frisky, and she caught up to the musher wearing bib number eleven. Damn. Seven teams had passed while she was taking a powder.