Broken Trails

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  The audience thought she was preparing to speak as she stood at the podium, hands on each side. They quieted, and her heart thumped in her throat again. Moose. Rampaging moose. When she spoke, she was pleased her voice did not tremble as much as the rest of her was.

  "I think that everyone at Fuller Kennels deserves the biggest thanks - Thom and Helen Fuller; Rye, Irish and Bon; and Miguel Sanchez, their handler. But mostly Scotch Fuller for taking on someone from Outside with absolutely no knowledge of racing to train for the Iditarod. All of them showed a lot of professionalism and patience in dealing with not only a rookie racer, but a greenhorn to boot."

  She blushed at the laughter and fumbled for the index card in her pocket she had prepared the night before. "Um, I'd also like to thank Cognizance magazine, my primary sponsor and employer. By extension, thanks go to Don Howry, my partner in crime, and Benjamin Strauss, editor and close friend. The first one traveled to the wilds of Alaska for a story. The second bought my pitch and sent me out here even though he thought I was crazy." Lainey went down her list of supporters on the card. Through the kennel website, she had her own fan club of school children and Iditarod aficionados that had brought in money.

  When she finished, she gave a brisk nod and stepped away from the podium. The relief flooding through her almost made her stumble at the bottom of the steps. She heard the next racer's name called and breathed a sigh as the clapping and whistling was directed at someone other than her. Several attendees reached out to pat her back or shake her hand as she passed. Finally at the table, she gratefully sank into her chair, surrounded by smiling faces. The musher on the stage began his speech, but no one here paid him any attention.

  Scotch took Lainey's hand. "You did great."

  "Yeah, you didn't faint," Howry said, raising his glass to toast her fortitude.

  Lainey stuck her tongue out at him, receiving a laugh.

  "And I still think you're crazy," Strauss said.

  She shrugged one shoulder. "You knew that a long time ago." Looking at him, she saw his curious expression and realized Scotch still held her hand in plain view on the table. She raised an apologetic eyebrow, knowing the truth was out. He now had a good idea why she had chosen Scotch for this article.

  Lainey supposed she should feel guilty for lying to Strauss all those months ago, but she did not. Shoulds and shouldn'ts were what got her into alcoholism in the first place. He of all people knew that. Instead, she smiled at him, and squeezed Scotch's hand.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  LAINEY PACED UP and down the side of the dog truck. She had checked her sled for the sixth time, satisfied that everything was in place, yet clearly feeling she had forgotten something. Her nerves jangled with the yipping of excited dogs, to include the eight on her team that she had tapped to run the ceremonial start. They were tethered to the sides of the truck, parked on a side street with hundreds of people roaming about.

  The atmosphere was one of a circus, with vendors wandering through the crowds, hocking everything from reindeer sausages to t-shirts to fuzzy moose antler head pieces. The people were just as colorful as the well sponsored mushers along the route. Lainey had seen working class joes in conservative winter jackets, people wearing the latest styles of the Alpine ski circuit crowd, and even a few official mountain men and natives with complete leather and fur outfits.

  She had to admit it was easy to forget her growing trepidation as her starting time inched closer. Her distractions were not limited to people watching; she had suddenly become an icon and was approached by a number of folks wanting pictures, autographs and to talk dogs. Lainey welcomed the conversations eagerly, glad to get her mind off her nervousness.

  Of her original twenty dogs, three more did not make the cut. Helen had doubted Apollo's shoulder strain would be healed well enough for the race, and at the mandatory vet check it became official. Lainey's slacker, Dablo, was also set aside. She could not spare the energy to deal with his negligent pulling. The toughest loss was Bast. He had done well through training, but seemed to have developed a cough. As kennel cough was a major concern, highly contagious and able to decimate entire teams, Bast was removed at the vet check and sent home with Miguel to a warm dog barn and antibiotics. Lainey was glad to see none of the other dogs exhibiting symptoms two days later, and hoped to have caught the illness in time.

  Several volunteer handlers idled around the immediate area, those in front already helping the second musher in line keep his dogs from launching onto Fourth Avenue which crossed a half block away.. The animals were jumping, all four feet off the ground, in their enthusiastic desire to get on the trail. Lainey's team was not as boisterous, but she expected that to change once she began hooking them to the gang line.

  In response to that thought, she went down the line again, making certain it was laid out neatly and all connections were tight. Only eight of her dogs would be running this morning. The rest would be joining her tomorrow at the real start of the race.

  "You did that already," Strauss said, watching her fuss with amusement.

  "Shut up," she said , ignoring his laughter. Her insides twisted with disquietude. It almost felt as bad as her short walk up to the stage at the banquet the other night.

  "Miss Hughes?"

  Lainey looked up to see a youth on the verge of adolescence holding a camera. Two other kids were with him, all starry eyed as they smiled at her.

  "Can we get a picture? Of you and your lead dogs?"

  She forced her edginess aside and smiled. "Sure. Come on." Leading the way to Sholo and Trace, she knelt between them, pulling them into a hug. "How's this?"

  "Great!" The boy snapped a couple of pictures. "You're Lainey Hughes, the photographer, right?"

  "That's me." She stood and brushed the snow from her knees.

  He looked at his companions. "I told you!" Unzipping his jacket, he pulled a folded magazine from inside. "Can I get you to autograph one of your pictures?"

  "You bet," Lainey said, not as pleased as her tone indicated. Her previous career as a war photographer still brought the occasional nightmares. She really did not wish to be reminded of those years by a grisly photo, not today.

  The boy eagerly whipped open the magazine. One of his friends fumbled a pen from a pocket and he handed both to Lainey.

  Bracing herself, she looked down at a panoramic shot of the Serengeti covering the full two pages. In the foreground on the right page was a pack of spotted hyena worrying their latest meal, the carcass of an antelope. A pleased smile crossed her face and she asked, "Do you want me to make this out to you?"

  "Yes!" He gave his name and she signed the magazine and returned it to him. "Thanks!

  Feeling much better, she watched them leave, hovering over the autograph in excitement.

  "Guess your reputation precedes you more than you thought," Strauss said.

  "I guess so." She grinned at him. "It's kind of nice to be remembered for something other than death and destruction."

  "Amen to that."

  "Lainey! Let's get ready!" Thom trotted up with Rye and Irish. "You're up in fifteen minutes."

  She hastily glanced up the line, seeing the second musher finish hooking up his dogs. Her heart promptly leapt into her throat and she felt nauseous and jubilant at the same time.

  Lainey got her elated dogs in place with some difficulty. Several Iditarod volunteers came forward to keep them from running off without her, and she eventually had everyone ready to go with four minutes to spare. Strauss climbed into the bed of her sled. As her Idita-rider, he would be with her throughout the ceremonial start of the Iditarod until she reached Eagle River. She almost did not recognize her sled as it sported a bright yellow bag with a prominently placed Cognizance logo. She wore a similar colored parka with a badger fur ruff, gifts to her from her official sponsor.

  Behind her, another sled had been added and Rye climbed aboard the runners. Thom was going to ride behind Scotch to add more weight since her Idita-rider was a petit
e elementary school teacher. With all the noise and people, the dogs were more than eager to get going and the extra pounds would keep them from overdoing things or going too fast. Jonas, her wheel dog, was nearly delirious as he bounced like a seventy-five pound puppy. The rest of her team was doing the same.

  The dog team in front of her was already being guided to Fourth Avenue and the starting line. A volunteer with a clipboard neared, waving her forward, and she swallowed hard. "Ready! Let's go!" she yelled over the din. With a jerk, her team tried to take off at a full run. The ten or so volunteers pulled and held them back, forcing them to trot toward the beginning of the race.

  At the starting line, two other teams awaited the go ahead. the sound of the dogs was drowned out by the cheers of the audience who stood five deep on either side of the street. She waved as the team was stopped, and vaguely noted she was shaking. The volunteers continued holding her team, as the dogs were in no mood to stand around.

  Officially, she was the fourth one to head out, but in reality she was third. Number One was an honorary position, the racing bib given to someone who had made an impact on dog racing. As she tried to keep her breakfast down, she watched as the honored musher this year was presented with the gear.

  The second musher was introduced and she heard a woman counting down the seconds over large speakers. It was amazing she could hear at all with the cacophony all around her. Then the team took off, the crowd cheering as they went. The volunteers urged her team closer. Glancing behind, she saw another team get into place. Somewhere back there was Scotch, and Lainey had a bone deep yearning to see her.

  "Number Four, Lainey Hughes!"

  The crowd applauded again and Lainey spun around. Number three was already away. She took a few breaths, trying not to hyperventilate as her team was maneuvered into the starting position.

  "You ready for this?" a volunteer asked.

  Lainey nodded and surprised herself with a smile. What was it Scotch had said? "Loaded for bear!"

  He patted her on the shoulder and stepped back as the final seconds were called out.

  "Ready!" Lainey hollered to her team. She heard the signal. "Let's go!"

  The ten burly handlers released the dogs and her team shot off down the trail, snapping her head back. As they raced down Fourth Avenue, her only regret was not being able to say good bye to Scotch who had as busy a morning as she.

  Strauss whooped in excitement as they barreled down the street, the wind scouring their cheeks. Lainey estimated they were going about twenty miles an hour despite the added sled and men weighing the team down. She was glad for the company - there would be no way she could have maintained control on her own. They whisked past the crowds, and she barely noted the colorful clothing blurring by or the sounds of their cheering.

  Up ahead a truck drove across the street. Several workers wearing Iditarod patches dashed into the intersection, shoveling snow into the tire tracks before she arrived. Police officers stopped traffic to give her right of way and Lainey laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Where else but in Alaska would cops stop traffic for a dog sled ? The team ripped by, Rye calling a thanks to the workers.

  The trail took a turn, the people lining the street a better marker than any trail ribbon. She called the command and her team went into the turn. A bubble of pride swelled in her heart at their professionalism, and she began to enjoy the ride, her nervousness taking a back seat.

  Eventually the crowds thinned. Lainey saw a trail marker, knowing from the stories she had heard that this was a tough turn. "Gee!" Like a well oiled machine, the team began turn. Before she realized it, Sholo and Trace found a trail off the road and took it instead of completing the turn. Off the trail they went, down the side and onto the new path.

  "Crap!" she cursed. "Whoa! Sholo, Trace, whoa!"

  Still eager, the dogs were reluctant to stop. The trail dipped into a patch of alder trees as both she and Rye applied the brakes to halt the team. Using a nearby tree to attach a snub line, she set her snow hook and jumped off the sled.

  Despite knowing a delay now meant absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of the race, Lainey could not help but feel the tingle of irritation along the back of her neck. She could almost sense the teams passing by her position as she stopped to deal with this snag. The dogs were oblivious, wagging their tails and grinning at her as she went to the front of the line, and it took some effort to not take her annoyance out on them.

  She gave each a pat and a good word, feeling the pressure mounting on her shoulders as she imagined being out her so long that Scotch, in forty-eighth place, would soon go by. When she reached her lead dogs, she gave them heaps of praise and grabbed their collars. She physically pulled the dogs around, Rye and Strauss standing nearby. Now that the race was on, they were forbidden to help lest they disqualify her. Rye kept a close watch, though, ready to jump on his sled brake if necessary.

  When they were turned around and her passengers in their proper places, she pulled the snub line and gave the command to go. As they pulled back onto the street, she watched a musher go by and grumbled to herself. "Haw!" The dogs smoothly followed instruction. A few fans peppering the area had seen her snafu and applauded as she got back on the right path. She blushed furiously, but forced herself to wave anyway.

  Lainey breathed a sigh of relief now that they were back on the trail. Her team poured on the speed, still frisky, and she caught up to the musher wearing bib number eleven. Damn. Seven teams had passed while she was taking a powder.

  This part of the race was ceremonial. The real race began the next day in Wasilla. No matter how fast she arrived at Eagle River, she would still be third out of the chute tomorrow. Still, her dogs wanted to burn off energy, and doing so now would be beneficial. They would settle down for the official restart and be easier to handle.

  "Passing!" she called, warning the man she was coming up on his side. As her team began to overtake his, three of her dogs began barking at the competition. She grinned, having heard from other mushers that this was called trash talking. Her dogs yelled happily as they passed, probably making comments about the parentage and skills of their rivals. Montana and Chibee were the worst, watching the opposing team as they easily passed, smiling and shining as they went. The surprising one was Himitsu, a three year old male with yellow brown fur. He was always so polite and quiet, that his sudden voice was unexpected.

  Lainey waved to number eleven as they passed, her trash talkers jostling each other and sneaking looks backwards. They acted exactly like teenaged boys having just pulled off a prank against the high school principal. She laughed with them, fully relaxing for the first time in days. Her team eased into a steady pace, ears pricking back to hear her chuckles.

  All along the path people gathered, standing in front of their homes to cheer the mushers on. She followed a power line, seeing the next musher ahead. With little provocation, her dogs picked up speed. As they neared, she saw a group clustered on the side of the trail handing something to the musher.

  "What are they doing?" Strauss yelled, looking up at her from the sled bed.

  "No idea," she said.

  The crowd held a few signs - 'Go Iditarod Mushers!' - and began calling encouragement as she closed with them. One woman reached out with something in her hand. Lainey automatically stretched out, and took what was given. She grinned at the large homemade muffin she now held and turned to wave her thanks before putting it into her snack bag.

  Her three recalcitrants began bellowing insults again, and Lainey returned to warn musher number ten that she was passing. If her team could maintain this enthusiasm for the next two weeks, she would be well set for the race. Granted, the chances of that were slight, even with the high level of care the dogs would receive, but it would make for a great article if the rookie came in second or third.

  The path passed a park and followed bicycle trails for a bit. They skirted the Campbell Airstrip, and Lainey saw a group of race officials ahead.

&nb
sp; "This is where you get off," she said to Strauss.

  "All right," he responded. "I'll see you at Eagle River. I may fly with Don along the race, but if I don't I'll definitely be in Nome when you get there."

  When, not if. Lainey laughed. "I'd love the company." She called the dogs to a halt. They obeyed the command, their initial gusto mellowed with the miles they had run.

  Strauss climbed out of the sled and took her hands. "Thanks for the ride. It was exhilarating."

  "Anytime," she said. Then she left off the brake and ordered the dogs onward, only Rye on his sled trailing behind her.

  The rest of the trip was calm and easy. Her team did not overtake any others, but she no longer minded the delay of their early detour. Eventually she came to a long hill, the trail thronged with cheering people. The VFW was ahead, and it looked like another circus in the making. It was only past noon, and she looked forward to an afternoon of celebrating with the Fullers. The true start of the Iditarod was the following day, and from then on, she would be alone with her dogs on the last great race.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  IF LAINEY THOUGHT she would be leaving civilization after the restart of the race, she was immediately disabused of the notion. The crowds were still in evidence in Wasilla and Scotch had told her that they would be on the trail all the way to Knik and beyond. According to Howry, who was keeping his ear to the ground as a good newsman should, there were anywhere from fifteen to seventeen thousand Iditarod fans crowding the narrow chute out of town alone. This time Lainey was through the worst of her attack of nerves. She ignored what she could, concentrating on her dogs and focusing on the fans who showed up looking for photos and autographs. When things got too claustrophobic, she distracted herself further with the memory of Scotch's good bye kiss this morning. The veteran musher had pulled all the stops out, a harbinger of the passion to come when they both arrived in Nome, and Lainey licked her lips at the recollection. As it had been the day before, several handlers were needed to keep her dogs in line. They yelped and shouted in excitement, all sixteen of them ready to run. It seemed that the twenty mile run the day before had done little to dampen their enthusiasm.