Broken Trails

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  As much as she wanted to sleep, Lainey forced herself to stand and move around. Sleeping now might mean the difference of three or four places and the Rookie of the Year award. She was afraid she might not hear her alarm when it was time to move on, sleeping in was not an option. With nothing constructive to do while the dogs rested, she stepped into the armory checkpoint to look over the standings.

  Scotch was still out on the trail with most of the top veterans. Georgio Spencer was already in White Mountain and it was anybody's guess who else would arrive next. Jon Waters, Drew Owens and Dave Creavey were all in the same pack. Scotch was not the only woman in the sweet spot, either. Alice Westin, a ten year veteran, was right up there with the rest. Lainey wondered if any of them were getting nervous at Scotch's proximity to first place. As it was, even if she came in behind all of them, she would still place higher than she ever had.

  "Lainey Hughes?"

  She turned with a smile. "Yeah?"

  A volunteer smiled at her. "Thought that was you. I saw you had checked in," she said, nodding at the board. "I've got something for you."

  Lainey's expression was amused curiosity. Certainly Harris and his cronies could not send butter and oil all the way over here, would they?

  The volunteer pulled a crinkled envelope out of her pocket. "Scotch told me to give this to you when you came in. I'm glad you decided to lay over or I would have missed you!"

  "Thanks." Lainey took the envelope with a grin. She paused long enough to grab a cup of coffee from an urn and sat at a rickety table to open her treasure.

  Lainey,

  You've made it this far! You can finish, I know it!

  The trip to Koyuk is going to be the worst - flat, straight, and boring as hell. Don't let it get you down. Don't stop. It's less than fifty miles but I guarantee it'll feel like a hundred fifty. Put on your iPod and keep yourself entertained, but don't get complacent. Keep alert and watch for the trail signs.

  I dare you to make it to Nome. Double dog dare you.

  I'll be waiting,

  Scotch

  "Double dog dare, huh?" she murmured aloud. She doubted either of their teams would be pleased with her slander, providing they understood the words. Her eyes watered and she held the note to her chest. That was one thing she would not miss when this was over - these over emotional responses.

  Sniffling, Lainey glanced around self consciously, but no one else appeared to notice her minor outburst. She reread the note three times before putting it back into its envelope and tucking it into her bib pocket. Had Scotch written it after arriving here or before she even started the race? There was that note that Howry had given her at the starting line -- Lainey blinked.

  She was supposed to have read that one at her first eight hour break and had completely forgotten it! Word from Scotch, even old and outdated word, was better than none. Lainey grabbed her parka and hastened outside to her sled.

  The dogs slept on, hardly rousing at her arrival. She opened her personal bag and rooted through the munchies and camera gear to find a crumpled and slightly smudged envelope. Grinning, Lainey sank down to the sled and opened her letter.

  Lainey,

  If you waited to read this like Don told you, you've reached the Yukon. Congratulations! You've made it past the worst obstacles the first part of the race has thrown at you.

  The next bit gets tricky. The trail isn't the danger now, you are. It's so easy to fall into the traps here. You can exhaust your dogs as you try to beat other mushers, getting caught up in the 'race.' Or you can allow the lack of sleep and the poor diet to bring you down until you wallow in emotional trauma or even make yourself sick.

  Be aware of the reality of the situation. As much fun as it is to kick some musher's ass on a sprint, it isn't worth exhausting the dogs. The Iditarod started as a medical emergency run, but it's all about the dogs now.

  As for the depression, I want you to know that no matter what you think or feel about yourself, I love you.

  Lainey gasped aloud and reread that sentence. Scotch had never spoken those words. Swallowing against a lump in her throat, her heart thumping fast, she returned to reading.

  As for the depression, I want you to know that no matter what you think or feel about yourself, I love you. I know I could have chosen a better way to tell you, but we've been busy getting everything prepared for the race and there's been no time to really talk about our situation. I had planned on telling you when you got to Nome, but watching you sleep has inspired me to get out of bed and write this.

  I have no idea what our future holds, Lainey, but I do know I want one with you. Maybe I'm putting too much pressure on you; I mean, you've traveled the world. Surely that's more fun than hanging out in Alaska with a bunch of smelly dogs. But no matter what you decide, I'll support you, okay?

  Well, now I'm getting emotional. I think it's time to close.

  Keep going, Lainey. I know you can make it to Nome. You've survived so much... what's a thousand mile dog sled race, huh?

  Love,

  Scotch

  Lainey sniffled and sobbed, not entirely certain which emotion was the strongest. Surprise, of course. The last thing she expected was a love letter from Scotch. Not that the blonde was unromantic, but she focused mainly on the kennel and its operations. She and Lainey had spent many nights at the cabin, curled in front of the fireplace, talking about all sorts of things and this subject had never come up.

  Relief rolled over her like a warm fuzzy blanket, relaxing Lainey from a tension she had not known she carried. Since Howry's discovery of her true feelings for Scotch, Lainey had spent a lot of time attempting to fight off the reality. She had never loved anyone before, but she had seen friends and acquaintances fall and fall hard. Not many made it out the other side intact, especially when the object of their affections did not share them. Lainey's biggest worry was that Scotch would want a fling and nothing more, urging her to leave for the next gig with nary a thought beyond a fun lay. Yet now Lainey discovered that Scotch felt the same way as she.

  The plans Lainey had dreamed up on the trail suddenly loomed in her mind. Even as she had schemed there was always the concern that Scotch would laugh in her face. But now? Now it seemed that her idea of having Scotch along with her for future freelance gigs seemed plausible. Maybe she could have the best of both worlds.

  Her tears were ice upon her cheeks, and she wiped them away, forcing herself to stand. The note went back into its envelope and joined the one already in her bib coverall pocket. Snuffling, she dug out her toilet paper and blew her nose, depositing the wadded mess into a small trash bag in her sled.

  "You okay?"

  Lainey turned to see a musher hovering over his sled. She could not remember his name, but knew he was a rookie like herself. He had started far back in the pack; he must be good or he would not have made it so far, so fast.

  "Bad news?" he asked, obviously referring to the letter she had tucked away.

  "Good news," she said, her smile somewhat tremulous.

  "Good for you." He nodded. "How long you staying?"

  Her competitive edge raced to the fore and she tried to recall if he had been there when she checked in earlier. Glancing casually at her watch, she realized he had just come in. It had been two and a half hours and she had less than two to go before she wanted to leave. "I'm thinking of staying for a full seven hours," she lied. "We took the Kaltag to Unalakleet in one lump and the dogs still really need the rest."

  He nodded again, eyeing her in speculation. "Sounds like a plan. I hear the next stretch is boring as hell."

  "Me, too." Lainey said her good byes and headed back toward the checkpoint. She needed to stay awake long enough for him to fall asleep. From here on out, every musher would begin to think of the Iditarod as a race, not an endurance run. No more working or running together. Getting to Nome before everyone else was the goal.

  Smiling, she stepped into the armory, pressing the letters against her chest.

 
; Getting to Nome was definitely the goal.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  THE UNNAMED ROOKIE decided to weather his break inside the armory rather than in the elements. While he slumped at a table, head on his arms, Lainey yawned and made a production of going out to her sled for some shut eye. Her ruse did not work completely, however. Once she began the process of waking her dogs and cooking a quick meal for all of them, another musher appeared from the checkpoint building. The woman grinned and winked at her before beginning her own chores. Lainey sighed. At least the rookie had not gotten suspicious.

  By the time everything was ready to go, the veteran musher had already left. Regardless, Lainey kept a close eye on the front door of the armory, half expecting the rookie to come bursting out as she signed the check out sheet. He did not, and she urged her dogs to get a move on. They obliged, hardly showing the effects of their twelve hour run not so long ago. Still, it was not until Shaktoolik was out of sight that Lainey breathed a sigh of relief at avoiding her competition.

  As Scotch had said, the trail was easy. It was too easy. It shot straight as an arrow with little variation of scenery. Flat, bland, and boring, the only excitement was the occasional swell of ice that roughened the ride. Even the blowing wind did little to make things interesting. Lainey saw the veteran about a mile ahead, but knew better than to try to catch up. She still had two hundred miles to go. Instead, she followed Scotch's suggestion and put her ear plugs in, listening to music as her team ate up the miles.

  Distances were deceiving, as was the wind on her face. The two combined made her feel as if they sped along at a good clip of fifteen or twenty miles an hour, an impossibility for her team which had been clocked at fourteen on a short sprint and an excellent day back at the kennels. They could not maintain that pace for as long as this. The view rarely changed, giving lie to the sensation of speed. It seemed that they ran, ran, ran on a huge hamster wheel - no matter how long or hard the dogs trotted, nothing changed.

  Lainey pulled out her letters frequently, especially the first one, to keep her spirits up.

  The sun went down, and she stopped to snack the dogs and check them over. Everyone appeared strong and vigorous and she gave them each an extra chunk of moose liver for their efforts. Then she put on her head lamp and changed the battery pack on her iPod.

  She rode on sea ice, fairly far from shore. Before she turned the music back on, she heard a deep loud crack somewhere to her left and yanked the plugs from her ears. Lainey jumped and stared, suddenly wondering if she was too far out. She had been vigilant so far, always finding the next trail marker. The dogs glanced at the sound, but did not seem anxious. The trail breakers would not send them too far out onto the sea, would they? Had it been warm enough for the threat of melting to be serious? She seemed to recall a book she read on the first woman winner of the Iditarod, something about the sea ice breaking and sending the trail marker several hundred feet out to sea. The ice had then reformed, and her team had lead her straight out to sea to get to that marker.

  "You know what you're doing?" she asked Trace.

  He glanced back at her as if to say, "Well, duh. I am the one with the experience here."

  Lainey decided to leave the iPod off for the time being.

  Several times through the course of the evening, she heard the ice cracking, but nothing indicated any danger to her team. Eventually, she turned the music back on and ignored the sounds, though it was difficult. Her ears strained to listen beyond the tunes and she whispered along with the lyrics in a further effort to distract herself.

  After what seemed like a full night of mushing, she saw lights ahead and felt a thrill of relief. Finally. Her initial pleasure dampened as the lights sat off in the distance forever, a shining beacon that they were almost to their destination but never seemed to come closer. It was another hour or more before she actually arrived at the checkpoint.

  "That sucked," she told the volunteer.

  He chuckled. "Yeah, we hear that a lot. Almost makes you wish you were back at the Burn?"

  "Almost!"

  The race officials had rented a building nearby for mushers and volunteers to rest in, but it was a couple of blocks from where the dogs were parked. As she fed and watered her team, she considered her options. While it would be nice to dry some of her gear, providing there was room, she could lose whatever edge she had cultivated. Anyone staying in the building would know when she left to prepare for departure. At least if she slept with the dogs she had a shot at sneaking out when no one was looking.

  Decided, she devoured her dinner.

  Six hours later, Lainey was at the checkpoint with her team, ready to go. She had seen the rookie she had ditched in Shaktoolik snoozing a couple of sleds over, and grinned to herself. He had yet to wake when she pulled out of the parking area. This guy was good, but Roman Spencer had been harder to trick. She wondered how he was doing and vowed to check his statistics at the next checkpoint.

  "This is for you," the volunteer, a young woman this time, said.

  Lainey smiled, taking the envelope. Scotch's handwriting was on it and Lainey tucked it into her pocket. "Thanks."

  She signed the clipboard and headed out of Koyuk at three in the morning. Keeping tabs on the trail ahead, she quickly opened the envelope.

  Lainey,

  Forty-eight more miles down, forty-eight to go to the next checkpoint. You've mushed for over nine hundred miles! You have less than two hundred to go!

  When you get to Nome, I'll introduce you to a friend of mine. Her name's Beth. She and her girlfriend have offered us their spare room while we're in town. They live on the outskirts of Nome. Lots of hot water for showering and clean clothes, privacy, a large fluffy bed to catch up on your rest. And Beth is a fantastic cook.

  You'd better not take too long or I'll use up all the hot water.

  Love you,

  Scotch

  She knew the grin on her face was wide and foolish, but could not help its presence. Those cartoon hearts and fireworks twirled about her head again and she laughed aloud. Thank God those hallucinations were her own.

  Soon the boredom set in as they continued along sea ice. It was ten miles or more before the trail cut inland and across low ground. She felt a modicum of relief with the knowledge that those forlorn sounding cracks from the ice would no longer indicate a perceived danger to her.

  The trail began climbing a series of small hills and ridges, working its way back into a stand of trees. The added protection from the wind cut the chill. Lainey had been in the frozen breeze for hours and it felt almost balmy. This was hardly the tropical gig she had planned on getting from Strauss all those months ago.

  At the final height of the last summit, she saw a red light in the distance. Switching on her head lamp, she dug out her trail notes to see if anything was mentioned there. It was a radio beacon at Moses Point, about twenty miles away from her. She wondered if she would get closer to it before Elim or if the trail would turn away.

  Putting her notes away, she checked her watch as they headed back into a valley. Two hours had passed. Conceivably, she was nearing the halfway point of this stretch. Her dogs looked healthy and strong as they loped down the trail. Originally she had planned to take another six hour break at Elim, but she began to wonder if she could push through to Golovin instead, only another twenty-six miles beyond. She took her notes back out to study.

  The wind picked up some more as they descended, becoming more fierce than when she had started. Weather reports had not indicated gusts of this strength. She realized they ran into a small river valley and that it was a natural wind tunnel. The trail ahead was blown out in some places, and her dogs began to slow as they forged their way through.

  Her visibility was still good, regardless of the wind plucking at her parka and gear. It was strong enough in some places that she felt the sled shudder, the wind coming from her right rather than from behind. Stopping was not suggested in her notes. Besides she had no idea if the
wind would die down or not. She could be waiting quite some time before it mellowed enough to make her run easy. There was a cabin indicated on the other side of the river she crossed and she considered stopping.

  No. They were nearly at the halfway point and any delay would take a bite out of her standings. That rookie was still back there and she knew that a couple of other mushers had gotten the jump on her at the last checkpoint. Another scan of her dogs showed them strong and solid. They would push on through.

  The Kwik River lay before them, and the team crossed with ease. Within a mile or two, the trail turned so that the wind blew more up their back than crossways, and Lainey breathed a sigh. Even her dogs seemed happier, their tails wagging a bit more as they no longer fought every step of the way. They dropped back onto sea ice. The Moses Point beacon blinked ahead of her and her team pressed forward on the smooth and straight trail. Even the false menace of cracking sea ice did not faze Lainey now, pleased to be out of the wind tunnel. Soon even that threat to her equilibrium was gone as they climbed back onto shore.

  Old Elim was ahead, abandoned for whatever reasons and converted into a fishing camp. They passed old buildings boarded up for winter, but in the darkness of dawn, Lainey thought she saw a light shining in one of the cabins. Did people come out here for the race? The wind nipped at her heels and her team continued on, leaving the near ghost village to whatever brave soul preferred the solitude.

  More buildings ahead, the Moses Point station, also abandoned. As the sky lightened toward dawn, Lainey could make out towers in the distance. The one beacon blinked on and on. Once she passed the last of them, the trail turned onto a road.

  The wind had blown the road bare in spots. Lainey was glad the gravel here was not as devastating to her runners as the one outside the Unalakleet checkpoint. Still, the ride was a rough one, and she directed the dogs to the shoulder where at least some snow remained.

  Flat lands gave way to a steady climb. The snow here was packed and she jumped off the runners to run along with the dogs until they reached the summit. It was not as difficult as the three step series of the Blueberry Hills to Shaktoolik, but this was a tough climb nonetheless. As they struggled, Lainey realized that coming through before dawn was the perfect time. She shed her parka to keep from sweating. She did not envy the others coming behind her who arrived in the heat of the afternoon; their dogs would suffer the consequences by overheating.