Broken Trails

Finishing with the dogs, she gathered the wet booties and put them in a bag with all the other used ones that had not been lost on the trail. There was a laundromat in McGrath, and she planned on running a couple of loads of things through a dryer.

“You ready?” she called to Scotch.

“Yeah.” The musher zipped up her sled bag and climbed onto the runners. “Let’s go!” she called to the dogs.

Lainey’s team hastened forward, not wanting to be left behind.

The trail fell into a steep decline that leveled out after a couple hundred feet. From there it traversed a timberline, following a creek as it zigzagged along. The winding path was a hectic one, worse than the one leaving Rainy Pass checkpoint. Lainey fought to remain upright as she hit patches of bare rock, uneven ruts, and sharp turns, the path tipping left then right. She kept a lot of weight on her drag mat, not wanting to run over Scotch ahead of her, fighting as hard as she to not spill her sled. It was a cross between a roller coaster and a bucking bronco, and Lainey white knuckled her way along, praying not to lose control.

Eventually the trail evened out, became narrower, and climbed further. Huge trees flanked her, and though she could not see in the darkness, she had a sense that the ground opened up to her right. Lainey balanced on the left runner to compensate, not certain if the trail would remain level or tilt downhill. Her head lamp picked up an approaching sign and she narrowed her eyes to catch a glimpse.

‘Watch Your Ass.’

Lainey blinked. She saw Scotch literally disappear in front of her, her only warning of the coming drop. Then she was on the descent, her stomach swooping in response.

After a moment, she frowned. The down slope was steep, yes, but why the sign? The trail was well-packed and smoother than what she had already passed over. Her sled seemed to be dragging on the left, but she could not see a cause, leading her to believe there was damage from the rough patches she had gone through rather than a problem here. Were things supposed to be more difficult here? Was there something at the end of this descent she was supposed to be preparing for? She racked her brains for anything she had heard at the mushers’ meeting, but came up empty.

At the bottom of the drop the trail wound back and forth over a creek bed. By the time Lainey reached the first ice bridge, her adrenaline levels were at an all time high, perversely dulling her senses with the constant starts to her nervous systems. She caught sight of Scotch on the trail ahead, watching her sweep down and across the trail, water rushing beneath. Lainey held her breath and followed, crossing with ease despite her concerns.

On either side of her, the ground slanted upward again, huge trees creating vortexes as the trail twisted around them, onto the creek, across more ice bridges, and onto narrow spits of land. She began to tire of feeling scared all the time, and a bubble of laughter welled up in her chest. This was a far better ride than anything at Six Flags.

The gorge opened up onto river ice. Her joy increased as they broke away from the claustrophobic area. She heeded trail markers and ignored rough ice as she and her team bumped along. Water stood in some places, but she knew the next checkpoint was nearby. Her team skied through the wetness and kept on, the lure of food and rest drawing them on.

Markers guided them off the river and into spruce trees. Soon, lights flickered among the branches and they pulled into the checkpoint.

“Lainey Hughes,” she said as she halted her dogs.

“Four thirty-eight AM, number thirty-one,” the checker said, marking her time. “Welcome to Rohn Roadhouse.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

GOING THROUGH THE routine had become second nature for both Lainey and the dogs. The team had settled into the six hour run / rest schedule and, as soon as they pulled the sled into the parking area, they dropped to the ground and curled up to get some rest. They were interrupted only by Lainey delivering straw and blankets. She disconnected the tug lines from their harnesses along the way to make them more comfortable.

The area she and Scotch parked in was sheltered from the returning wind by spruce trees. There appeared to be a landing strip adjacent to them, but no planes currently occupied the runway. Another team came in not long after them, the second of the veterans clinging to Scotch’s tail. Lainey, still high on adrenaline and a touch of hysteria, chuckled to herself as she ladled out dog food to her hungry team, the dogs rousing themselves for a warm meal. She hoped Scotch would win this race, justifying the fears of the old timers who worried at her heels.

Once the entire team, both human and canine, had eaten, Lainey grabbed her child’s sled and trudged off to the food drop area. She collected her bags and dragged them back, meeting Scotch in the process of doing the same. They grinned at one another, walking close enough to jostle each others’ shoulders as they passed, and Lainey wondered if she looked as goofy as she felt. If she had been a cartoon, there would be little stars and hearts floating around her head. She blushed at the thought. Thank God she was flesh and blood instead.

Back at her sled, she tilted it onto its right side to have a good look at the left runner. As she had surmised, the trip from Rainy Pass had done some damage. The plastic was chewed and mangled, almost completely separated in some places. Lainey used her tool kit to remove the bolts holding the runner in place. She slid off the mutilated plastic and took a fresh runner from her bag to replace it. After the bolts were back in place, she pushed and pulled the rest of the fittings on that side of the sled, checking for loose joints, but all seemed well. To be thorough, she turned her sled onto its other side and replaced the right runner, as well. The damage was less, but better to have fresh runners than have it totally shred midway through the Farewell Burn.

By the time she finished, the dogs were deep asleep. Lainey checked her watch and winced. She had been working for almost two hours, which gave her maybe three hours of sleep before getting ready to go again. The reason for the mandatory eight and twenty-four hour breaks became clear to her. Dogs were not the ones to exhaust themselves on this race; it was the human contingent that needed the layovers in order to survive.

She glanced over at Scotch, who had also taken the time to go over her sled after the beating of the trail. She, too, was finished with her tasks. “Get your sleeping bag and some of the stuff you really need to dry,” Scotch said. “There’s usually room in the cabin to spread out a bit. Lots of lines near the stove to hang stuff on.” Lainey looked over her gear. There was nothing she really needed dry except maybe her boot liners. With her food drop, she had plenty of booties to get her to Nikolai which boasted a municipal building with a boiler room for drying things. She grabbed up two spare boot liners and felt glove liners to take with her. On a lark, she stuffed her pockets with a handful of wet booties, as well.

Scotch joined her, carrying a similar pile of wet items, and they walked to the small cabin in silence. Lainey’s eyes felt baggy from lack of sleep even in the bracing chill of early morning. They passed others who had elected to remain with their dogs or volunteers out and about for whatever reasons. Lainey experienced a moment’s dread at the cabin door. Would her sinuses clog up again like they had at Rainy Pass Lodge? Staying with the dogs would be preferable. At least she would be able to breathe.

Regardless, she followed Scotch indoors. The cabin was a small one and crammed with mushers, volunteers and even a few intrepid reporters. A wood stove stood in the center of the room, giving off enough heat to make things comfortable, but not overly warm for the majority of mushers. Lainey felt her sinuses begin to throb, but they did not get as swollen as before, making the interior at least tolerable.