Broken Trails

Since she and Scotch planned on going through the pass jointly, she had another hour before waking her dogs. Lainey would delay her time out to put them together for the worst of the next thirty miles. She returned to her sled, and began the process of packing up the gear she would not need for the rest of the break.

Eventually another watch beeped in demand, and Lainey smiled when she heard the muttered curses from the sled in front of her. It was good to know she was not the only one beginning to tire on the second day of the race. She started the cookers in considerably better humor as Scotch stumbled away to heed her bladder. By the time her friend had returned, coffee was brewed in Lainey’s thermos and she began the process of waking her dogs.

They worked independently, their silence punctuated by praise voiced to their teams and the occasional bark or snort from a dog. When another team passed by, half of Lainey’s dogs gave voice, not just her usual trash talkers, eager to get back on the trail. Scotch’s team echoed the sentiment.

Once they were both ready, Scotch approached Lainey. Her eyes were a bit bloodshot, but she looked as enthusiastic as the dogs. “You about ready?”

“Yep,” Lainey said, closing her sled bag. “You?”

“As ever.”

Lainey wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I’ve heard that about you.”

She feigned indignation. “Who’s been talking?”

“Your dogs.”

Scotch laughed. “Well, at least I’m not the only one.”

Lainey grimaced and looked down the gang line. “Traitors.”

Returning to business, Scotch said, “All right. You remember what was said at the mushers’ meeting about Rainy Pass?”

“Steep descent, two switchbacks.”

“Yeah. There’ll be no stopping until you get to the bottom, so hang on tight. Pay attention to trail markers so you don’t miss the switchbacks.”

Lainey felt a shiver of dread. If she could get through the next day or so, the rest of the race would be a cake walk. She nodded understanding, wondering if her dogs were rested enough. If they did not run as fast as the sled, they may be injured. Scotch had kept on speaking, and she forced herself back to the lecture.

“It’s just like the switchbacks back home, only a steeper incline. Half of your team has already been through here; the others are at least used to the sudden turns. Remember to stand on one runner or the other to distribute the weight on the turns.” Scotch broke off with a smile. “And don’t worry. You’ve got a great team, and you’re a great musher. I’ll wait at the bottom for you.”

Spirits somewhat buoyed, Lainey squared her shoulders. “Just get out of the trail when you do, okay?”

Scotch chuckled and stepped forward for another hug. “For luck.”

Lainey held her tight, suddenly thinking she had made a mistake in going into this sled dog race.

“Nome or bust.”

The confidence Scotch felt for her seeped through her trepidation. They had a date in Nome, and Lainey intended to get there on her own steam rather than in a plane. “Nome or bust.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

THE TRAIL TWISTED back and forth upon itself as it climbed. Despite the heavy snows reported in the area and the many mushers having gone before them, the path was a rough one with tree roots and beaver jams threatening to upset the sleds. Crowded with timber and brush, Lainey ducked a number of times to keep away from sweepers. Yellow caution tape fluttered everywhere as various dangers were flagged by the Iditarod trail committee. Regardless of their attempt to carve a decent trail from the mess, Lainey’s sled bucked and rattled as it went, the vibrations in her palms tingling unpleasantly.

Her team well rested, they held good speed as they followed Scotch’s sled up and up and up. They broke through the trees for a bit, cresting and following a five thousand foot ridge. The scene was spectacular, and Lainey stared in awe at the wilderness before her until forest blocked her view. She forced her attention back to the trail. There was no time to gawk, not if she wanted to get through this leg of the journey in one piece.

Up ahead, Scotch stopped her dogs, raising her hand to signal Lainey to do the same. Swallowing hard, Lainey called her team to a halt. Her eyes widened when a stranger appeared out of the trees to talk to Scotch. Who the hell was that? They were ten miles from Finger Lake, and the man’s jacket looked too new and pristine to be a musher.

Scotch spoke a few words with him and shook his hand. He bowed a couple of times as they talked. She tied off her snub line and walked back down the trail, the man returning into the trees.

“Who was that?” Lainey asked.

“A Japanese reporter. Said his name was Tatsuya something,” Scotch said. “He has a few of his colleagues on the other side of the canyon taping mushers as they go down this side.”

“Great,” Lainey said, her tone sarcastic. “So when I roll down the canyon, everyone in Japan will have a laugh like ‘America’s Funniest Videos’.”

Scotch smiled. “You won’t roll. He said there have been a couple of close calls, but the cliff edges are well marked. You ready?”

Not liking the thought of cliff edges, Lainey nevertheless nodded. “Yeah. Let’s get this over with before I faint from terror.”

“You’ll be fine.” Scotch squeezed her shoulder, her eyes intently staring into Lainey’s. “We’re going to fly down that canyon and hit the bottom in less than three minutes. You won’t have time to be scared before it’ll be over with.”

Lainey blew out a breath. “Let’s do it.”

Scotch stared a moment longer, gauging Lainey’s emotions. Lainey raised her chin and leveled a calm gaze back at her. Scotch smiled and released her shoulder, returning to her team.

When Scotch’s back was turned, Lainey tried not to hyperventilate. She gnawed her lower lip, nervously eying the dogs. They appeared oblivious of their mistress’ anguish, tails wagging as they awaited their commands. Lainey reached down and prepared to pull her snow hook, knowing she had to stow it securely. If the trail down was as rough as the trail up, she did not need a sharp pointed instrument bouncing around.

Up ahead, Scotch released her snub line and hook. Lainey clearly heard her voice as she ordered the dogs forward. They traveled no more than thirty feet before disappearing over the ridge.

Hands shaking, Lainey pulled out her watch, wanting to give Scotch a full minute head start. When the second hand clicked past the point of no return, she forced herself to release the snow hook. “Ready. Let’s go!” she called with more bravado than she thought possible. Sholo and Trace, who was back in the lead after their rest break, surged forward.

When they reached the place where Scotch had vanished, the dogs dropped down onto the trail. Lainey’s stomach swooped with the sudden altitude change and she held her handlebars with a death grip. Her team ran full tilt, Jonah and Samson looking more like woolly bears attempting to evade the sled than pulling wheel dogs. Lainey’s feet left the runners, at first standing on the drag mat between them. When that did not slow the sled enough, she stomped on the brake bar, the metal digging ruts into the trail. The sled no longer threatened to overrun her team, but still rushed down the trail.

Yellow caution tape here looked more like a spider web than anything else, though she hardly registered it as she flew along. Ahead of her it looked like the trail simply stopped, a makeshift fence of logs and tape pretending to be a dead end. Lainey’s mind was numb, her eyes wide as they careened toward the barrier.

“Haw!” she bellowed, and her leaders took the first switchback.