Broken Trails

Lainey snacked the dogs, giving them moose liver chunks which they snapped up as if starved. Then she returned to her sled to grab a bite for herself and think.

Scotch was at Ruby already. Lainey really needed to talk to her about increasing the fat intake of her dogs. Besides, she missed her. They had not been separated for this long since Lainey’s arrival in June. It had been over twenty-four hours since Lainey had seen her. If she were to follow her original plan and camp out, she might miss Scotch in Ruby.

On the other hand, running the dogs on through might be a hardship for them. She had confidence they could handle the extra mileage, but worried that it would upset her carefully planned schedule. Why had she put a rest break here?

Lainey flipped through her notes. They were a combination of Scotch’s trail notes blended with Thom’s Iditarod days and Lainey’s personal research. She sipped at a juice pack, absently nibbling at a frozen Twinkie in between pages. It took her a few minutes, but she finally located the reason she originally planned a full rest break.

When Thom had been running the race, the trail between Cripple and Ruby had been over a hundred miles long. For various reasons Lainey was not privy to, the trail had been altered a few years earlier, cutting that mileage to just over seventy. Scotch’s notes showed a good place to camp out near Long, but Scotch also tended to blow through checkpoints and park away from people. Lainey had combined the older trail information with Scotch’s camping spot, and assumed she would need to park before reaching Ruby.

She frowned at the bale of straw lashed to her sled. Damned if she could drop it out here for no reason; it would be the same as littering. She would look like ten kinds of fool bringing it into Ruby. Lainey blew out a breath. Oh, well, nothing to be done for it now. At least she could take the time to go over her sled runners and change them out if needed.

It was too early to feed the dogs, so Lainey gave them a second snacking instead. Then she began the process of unloading her sled in order to turn it on its side. A few minutes later, she was pleased to note that the sharp gravel had not done as much damage as she had thought. She chewed her lip, wondering if she should give the runners a good waxing before packing up again. Her team sprawled on the snow, some catching a quick nap and others watching her as if to ask, Are we staying or going?

If she stayed much longer, all her dogs would be sleeping. She would play hell waking them up. An interruption like that might cause them to give her trouble for disturbing their slumber. She set her sled upright and quickly packed it again, talking loudly to her team to keep them awake.

By the time she tied the straw back on, most of them were at least sitting up. Lainey went down the line, scratching, petting, and wrestling with them until even Bonaparte was ready to go. She returned to her sled, popped the snow hook, and called, “Let’s go!”

They were back on the trail before she thought of Roman again. Where was he? Surely he would have passed her by now. Lainey turned to look behind her but saw nothing. Maybe he had had far more difficulties than she did on that stretch of gravel. Either that or he had the same outdated information she had and was holed up for a nap.

The dogs took her through a quiet little valley. With no sign of pursuit, Lainey’s eyelids began to grow heavy. She yawned and forced herself to stand up straight. Now was not the time to snooze. Rummaging in her personal bag, she pulled out a fresh battery pack for her iPod. Soon she was dreaming on with Aerosmith.

After hitting mile post 18, she climbed a high ridge, maybe thirteen hundred feet in altitude. On the other side was a gradual downgrade. She was still on the road so overflow and ice was still a problem, making an easy run hazardous. The trail bottomed out and crossed a bridge before rising again. She went up and down hills with some regularity, always on the road. In some cases, her head lamp illuminated nothing to her right, indicating steep a drop off. She kept a wary eye on the trail at those points. An overflow heading down hill could force her toward the edge before she knew what was happening.

At the top of the last hill, she realized she was at an intersection. Grinning, she could see lights in the distance. Ruby was just ahead. As the sled battled the icy road, she made out large square shapes on the side. At first she thought they were small buildings or tree trunks, but one was near enough that her head lamp lit it well. It was a sign, a crudely drawn picture of a dog team with a childish scrawl over the top - ‘Welcome to Ruby Checkpoint, Iditarod Musher!’

Lainey laughed. Six hundred fifteen miles done, and only four hundred ninety-seven to go!

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

IT WAS THE wee hours of the morning when Lainey pulled to a stop beside the log community center. The check in procedure was quick and painless, though one of the volunteers wondered aloud why she had a straw bale with her.

“Weight training,” she said. She was glad the skin of her face was chapped from the weather. At least her blush would not be readily apparent. “Is Scotch Fuller here?”

The checker, an amused expression on his face, looked over his clipboard. “Yeah, she is. She’ll probably be getting ready to leave soon, though.” “Thanks.”

Lainey directed her dogs to the parking area and got them fed and bedded down on the straw from Cripple. After the longer run on this stretch, she planned on taking a full eight hour break here. There were two mandatory eight hour breaks; the next one would be on the other side of the Yukon at White Mountain. She had not planned on taking her mandatory here, though, so she had not notified the checker of her intent to stay a little longer than usual.

Her team comfortable, she grabbed up wet dog booties and gear and headed to the community center. Hopefully there would be someplace to dry at least some of this stuff before she had to head out.

Inside, her sinuses promptly clogged from the change of temperature, but not before she caught a whiff of delicious moose stew.

“Hey, hey! The prodigal rookie arrives!”

Lainey grinned and waved at Howry, but it was the sight of Scotch sitting beside him that caused her heart to beat a little faster.

Strauss was returning to the table with a cup of coffee and stopped to give her a one armed hug. “You can put your stuff in the back there,” he said, nodding toward a mass of makeshift laundry lines dangling over a large stove, “and grab a bowl of stew and join us.”

“Yes, boss,” she said.

He chuckled. “Wow! You must be exhausted to be calling me ‘boss’.”

Lainey stuck her tongue out at him and slipped from under his arm.

After arranging her stuff to dry and getting food, she finally sank into the chair beside Scotch. She took the time to kick off her boots and liners, giving her feet a chance to air out, before applying herself to the stew.

“So, how’s it going?” Strauss asked. “Any problems out there?”

“Not really. Bare ground is a bitch, but my runners are in better condition than I thought they’d be. I’m not so sure about Roman Spencer, though.”

Scotch frowned at her. “Why?”

“Well, he was right behind me, but after we got out of the timber and onto the bald patches, I lost him.” She looked at the door as it opened, but it was one of the veterinarians. “I took a pretty extensive stop to go over the sled. By all rights, he should have passed me and been here by now.”

“Maybe he cracked his sled?” Howry suggested.

“Or his dogs balked,” another musher said from further down the table. “I’ve had a team quit on me when the wind got too bad.”