Broken Trails

“Let’s go.”

They remained on the ridge for about a mile and dropped down into a valley. There were no trees here, and Lainey missed them. Another incline towered before her, and she urged the dogs onward and upward. This climb was shorter in length than the last, but a little steeper. The trail had been used recently, the only indication that someone had left Elim before her. At least she would not have to pack it down for her dogs.

It topped out on a saddle called Little McKinley. From here she saw the next checkpoint on a rocky peninsula. Lainey had to get another picture and stopped her team long enough to accommodate her obsession.

The down slope was more difficult than the climb. As they began the run, she only braked enough to keep the sled from running up her wheel dogs’ butts. At the first turn, however, she realized how fast she was going when the sled nearly tipped over. Shades of the Dalzell Gorge came to mind, and she stomped on the brakes and brake pad to force the dogs to a crawl. It was well she did. The next three or four miles turned out to be precarious ones as she fought twisting trails, glare ice, side hills and even bare ground. Eventually the trail leveled out and they continued on a gentle decline into a creek valley and toward the sea. Again they dropped onto the ice, this time in full view of Golovin. The trail here was good and solid and they made excellent time along the bay and up onto the peninsula.

There appeared to be no official checkpoint, at least none that Lainey could see. She mushed the team right into the center of town, stopping at an Iditarod sign. An old fellow came out of a building, zipping up his parka, a clipboard under his arm.

“Welcome to Golovin,” he said. “I’ve got your time in at ten fifty-three AM and thirty-two seconds.”

Just under two hours. And White Mountain was only eighteen miles further on. Lainey signed in.

“If you want to stay, I can guide you to Semko’s back yard,” the man said. “He’s down the street a bit to the left.”

Smiling, Lainey looked at her team. None had laid down, letting her know that she could probably push them on a little further with no repercussions. “What do you think, guys? Take a nap or go home?”

All the dogs had heard ‘go home’ in the course of their training. It indicated they were almost finished and heading for the kennel for food and rest. Scotch had told her to use the command sparingly on the race trail. Ultimately, it was a fake out to keep the dogs moving that extra little bit toward their destination. If used too often, the team would know it for a lie and not give her the added energy to reach her goal.

Chibee and Montana yipped and the others shook themselves, tails wagging.

“I think that answers that question,” Lainey said to the checker. “Let me snack them and check out.”

She gave them each a chunk of moose liver and a quick examination of their paws and wrists. It was somewhat underhanded to trick them like this, but it would be foolish to take a break here and then be required to take a mandatory eight hour break a couple of hours down the trail. Lainey knew anyone coming behind her would do the same.

In ten minutes, she was mushing out of Golovin.

This section of the trail was smooth sailing. Even with it nearing noon and heating up, the dogs had an easy run along a straight and well-established path. The trail was so even, it took some time for her to realize they had left the sea ice behind and were working up a river valley. They soon began a gentle series of climbs and drops, edging further along the river as they went. Eventually the trail swung to the right and Lainey saw the town of White Mountain on the river bank.

Trail markers guided her to the checkpoint right on the bank of the Fish River beneath town. She checked in a little after one in the afternoon. Her team had run for a full eight hour stretch and seemed in good spirits. At least they were not as tired as they had been on the last monster crossing. Still, they promptly snuggled into their straw beds after a good lunch.

Lainey was as tired as they were, though the added promise of seeing the end of her journey kept her energized. She gathered wet gear and her sleeping bag. The checkpoint building was a couple of blocks away, just like in Koyuk. There she had slept outdoors to evade pursuit by other mushers. Here it made no difference as everyone checking in at White Mountain was required to cool their heels for eight hours. Times in and out were publicly posted, and no one could cut their time short to get a jump on the competition.

The building was a combination city hall and library that boasted a kitchen. Several people lounged about, some sleeping in corners as they awaited their departure. As much as Lainey wanted to join them, she trudged toward an area draped with clothesline and hung dog booties and a pair of boot liners to dry.

“I’m whipping up fried egg sandwiches,” a familiar voice said. “You want one?”

Lainey spun around. “Ben?”

Strauss grinned at her, a spatula in one hand. “Does that mean yes?”

“Yes!” She gave him a hug, not surprised to find tears in her eyes. God, she needed sleep. Hastily wiping her nose some tissue she pulled from her pocket, she released him. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Ditto that,” he said, waving her toward the kitchen.

Lainey tossed her sleeping bag under a table and sat down. “How long have you been here?”

“Came in yesterday afternoon once we figured out you were going to be here soon.”

He cracked an egg into a frying pan, his back to her. Another volunteer worked at a counter, slathering mayonnaise on slices of bread. Besides Lainey there were two other mushers waiting to eat. One drowsed in his chair and the other nursed a cup of coffee in silence. Neither looked any more alert than she felt.

“Has Scotch made it in, yet? I haven’t had time to check the statistics.”

Strauss turned and smiled at her. “She sure did. Came in yesterday. Third place! And it was a damned close call, too.”

Lainey wanted to get up and dance but could not dredge up the energy. Instead she kicked off her boots and sighed. “That’s fantastic! How close a call are we talking about?”

The sound of sizzling egg filled the kitchen and Strauss turned back to his pan. “Well, Dave Creavey took first, of course. He had a two hour lead when he got here. Jon Waters and Drew Owens both pulled in before Scotch. She had to make up some good time to pass either of them.”

He flipped an egg and Lainey’s good mood rapidly shifted to impatience. “Well?” she urged.

Strauss shrugged. “Well,” he repeated, “Waters came in second, but it was neck and neck with Owens and Scotch. You should have seen the excitement at the finish line! Man, they were screaming and yelling so loud, I couldn’t even hear the dogs barking.”

Lainey did not have to imagine it; she had been witness to a similar occurrence the previous year. Considering this was for the third place position, it was easy for her to conceive how much of a hullabaloo it must have been. She remembered Drew Owens eye balling Scotch back in the first days of the race.

“Anyway, at the last minute, Scotch’s dogs put on an extra burst of speed and gave her a near photo finish. She couldn’t have been more than two feet ahead of Owens.” Strauss slapped a fried egg onto one of the prepared sandwiches. “It took the judges about fifteen minutes to finalize their decision, but they called it for Scotch.”

“She’s going to win that someday,” one of the mushers said. “Mark my words.”

“I know,” Lainey agreed, pleased for her friend’s success. “I hope I’m there to see it, too.”

Strauss delivered a plate to her, an alert expression on his face. “Think you will be?”