Iditarod Nights Page 6

  Ah hell.

  "Take Pete out next," he said to Brian. "John, start putting booties on them. Leave that guy there – Clyde – for last. He'll rip 'em off as fast as you put 'em on."

  "Got it."

  ***

  As the sun pushed high above the mountains, driving the temperature to twenty-five degrees, a trio of women sang the National Anthem over the loudspeaker, followed by a local student choir with Alaska's state song. At 10 a.m., a race official announced the beginning of the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race and the first team to leave Anchorage took its place at the start banner. The noise and excitement level jammed into high gear.

  At 10:34, Claire heard the countdown for bib eighteen and knew Dillon was on his way. She had less than ten minutes. From the back of her sled, she regarded her team, now in harness, being guided to the starting queue by Iditarod Trail Committee volunteers. Handsome, his head up, tail whipping, shared the lead with Ranger. Toolik, a tan and white give-away from Shaktoolik, ran swing next to Treker, a smart little female with a peppy attitude. Trouble, a brown and black mutt with a notched left ear for a fight trophy, teamed with Pepper, whose mild temper Claire hoped would keep the scrapper pacified.

  Next came the sunshine boys, Singer and Riley. True to their nature, Singer tipped his head back in a boisterous doggy song while Riley grinned at his Iditarod volunteer. Zach, named after a friend of Matt's who died on Denali, lunged in his harness and danced on his hind legs, eager to get down the trail. Fast, with a die-hard drive, Claire paired the compact husky with Ginny, a quiet, long-legged female who preferred to remain invisible, but was a dependable follower. And in wheel position, the even-tempered sisters, Sugar and Daisy.

  A crew of veterinarians had examined the dogs, and the race marshal inspected her sled for required gear, which included a packet of U.S. mail to be delivered in Nome as tribute to the carriers who used to deliver mail by dog teams.

  Her Iditarider, Dr. Lee Osgood from Texas, was bundled in the sled, ready for his eleven-mile thrill. Once again, Claire prayed he didn't get more thrill than he paid for. In tow a few feet behind her, Matt drove the tag sled. Janey and Andy were in charge of getting the dog truck with the rest of her team and gear to Campbell Airstrip, where they'd reload everything and drive to Willow for tomorrow's official start. The open waters of glacier-fed Knik River were often impassable for sled dogs, and the Department of Transportation deemed it unsafe for mushers to use the highway bridges, making the restart necessary.

  From Willow, she and her dogs would be on their own. By tomorrow evening they'd reach Yentna Station, the next checkpoint, forty-two miles from Willow. Then it was another thirty miles to Skwentna and their first food drop.

  One checkpoint at a time, Matt reminded her whenever she got herself worked up over keeping all the details straight – where the worst sections were, what to look for, when to stop. Just take it one checkpoint at a time.

  And then she heard, "Next up, wearing bib twenty-two, rookie Claire Stanfield, an attorney from Portland, Oregon!"

  Volunteers held her eager team at the start banner. With her sled secured, she took a few quick seconds to walk the length of the gangline and give each dog a pat or hug. Someone thrust a microphone at her. She smiled and waved for the camera. "Hi, Dad!"

  "Fifteen seconds!"

  Claire trotted back to the sled. Matt gave her a thumbs-up and she returned the gesture.

  "Five! Four! Three! Two!"

  She nodded at the volunteers to release her team.

  "One! GO!"

  Chapter 11

  Thousands of people waved and cheered from the sidelines as Claire's dogs lunged down Fourth Avenue. They plowed through the churned tracks of previous teams, dog poop and thrown booties. Cameras flashed. Dr. Osgood laughed and Claire joined him with a whoop.

  Ginny shied from the noisy attention and sidled into Zach, breaking his rhythm. "That's a good girl, Gin. Straight on." The leggy female responded to the encouragement and pulled into her harness.

  "They look great!" Dr. Osgood shouted.

  "Yes, they do! Thank you!"

  The soft snow gave the dogs a workout and kept their speed down as they approached Cordova Street, a sharp right turn and Claire's first test at keeping her rider in the sled. She'd heard stories about teams taking it too fast, rolling the sled and dumping rider and musher in front of onlookers. Or a tag sled slamming into the berm of snow piled at the corner.

  "We're going slow enough it shouldn't be a problem," she said, as much to reassure herself as to put her rider at ease.

  Handsome anticipated the turn and started to cut into it too soon. "Stay haw, Handsome! Stay haw!" The team straightened, swung wide, and took the corner like pros. "Good dogs!"She glanced back and saw Matt still behind her and upright on the tag sled.

  "Woohoo!" he shouted and punched the air with a gloved fist.

  Claire laughed and faced forward. "We're on our way now!"

  Dr. Osgood slapped his mittened hands together. If his continuous bursts of laughter were any indication, the man was having the time of his life.

  Twelve blocks later, the trail dropped down a hill to Mulcahy Stadium and joined the Anchorage bike and ski path system, a greenbelt of paths that ran along Chester Creek through stands of tall, straight birch and occasional culverts under roadways.

  Ginny shied into Zach at the first culvert. "It's okay, Gin. Good girl." Claire could understand the dog's skittishness, the noise and enclosed space a stark contrast to the trails they'd trained on. She'd questioned Matt's advice to put the quiet, easy-to-spook female in the team out of Anchorage over one of the calmer dogs, like Groucho.

  "This'll be a good way for her to get acclimated," he said. "She'll come around."

  And by the third culvert, his prediction proved correct. Ginny kept pace with her teammates, giving the underpasses no more than a brief glance.

  Crossing a pedestrian bridge, a sharp left took them by the university and behind a residential area where well-wishers handed wrapped, fresh-baked muffins to the mushers and Iditariders as they passed. Claire tucked hers into her handlebar bag for later.

  The trail followed the south shore of University Lake, crossed another pedestrian overpass, then dropped onto Tudor Road for part of a mile. Two sharp turns took them onto the Tozier Track system of dog trails through Centennial Park, a huge undeveloped area. Claire felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease at the more familiar terrain.

  A short while later, her team followed one final culvert onto Campbell Airstrip, where Janey and Andy waited with the truck, marking the end of the first stage of the race.

  ***

  The restart of the Iditarod the following afternoon repeated Saturday's ceremonial start in Anchorage, minus the city streets and tall buildings. Mushers spent the morning cooking dog chow to haul in coolers for stops along the trail. On the lake at Willow, spectators lined the starting chute and beyond. The temperature sat at eighteen degrees under a retina-piercing blue sky. Smoke spiraled from family grills, filling the air with the smells of burger patties and barbeque sauce, and gave the event a picnic atmosphere.

  Mushers and handlers unloaded their entire teams this time, fed them, got them into booties and harnesses. Some of the dogs sported colorful wind coats in anticipation of a cool evening. Instead of Iditariders, mushers packed their sleds with all the gear needed to survive the Alaskan bush, along with a GPS tracker that would transmit the team's speed, location, run/rest cycles and air temperature to Iditarod officials, information the mushers themselves couldn't see.

  Yesterday had been for show. Today mushers wore their game faces, the dogs noisier and more animated, ready to get down to business. At 2:00 p.m., teams would begin leaving the checkpoint.

  A lot to do, a lot to think about. Dillon looked forward to the simplicity of life on the trail – no phones, no demands or interruptions, just the uncomplicated task of tending to the dogs. His sled packed and his team ready, he went to look for Claire.
/>
  He found her in the classic stooped-over musher's position, putting booties on one of her dogs. "Hey," he said.

  She looked up and smiled. "Hey yourself."

  "How'd it go yesterday?"

  "Great. Only a thousand more miles to go." She gave her dog – all four paws sporting florescent orange booties – a pat on the shoulder and straightened. "And you?"

  "Brian took a dive off the tag sled on Cordova."

  "I heard about that. Is he alright?"

  "Yeah. He's with the dog truck, being consoled by a cute young lady who goes to his high school."

  Claire put her hand over her heart and sighed. "I'm crushed."

  Dillon grunted. "I'm sure you are. So," he moved closer and she did the same, "does this mean you're available once we get to Nome?"

  "What did you have in mind?"

  "Dinner and dancing at the Bering West."

  "You have dancing?"

  He frowned, pretending to take offense at her surprise. "Of course." She'd find out soon enough the music came from a jukebox and the dance floor was a space the size of a tabletop. A very small tabletop.

  "What's on the menu?"

  She may have been asking about the dinner special, but the look she gave him said otherwise. He stood half a step from her, close enough to keep his answer between them. "Whatever you want." He couldn't help himself. None of the reasons he'd recited in his head for not getting tangled up with the lady lawyer mattered a damn when she fixed him with those dark whiskey eyes.

  Her smile stopped his breath. "I'll be waiting."

  Chapter 12

  Tailgate partiers along the trail heading out of Willow shouted encouragement to the mushers, but they also required caution. Ginny shied whenever a snowmachine buzzed too close, while Mama's Boy and Groucho attempted to track each delectable food odor. "No junk food for you guys," Claire told them. "On by."

  She'd seen this part of the trail before, running the Willow Tug 300 as one of her qualifying races. An easy stretch of flat to low rolling hills along the frozen Susitna River. The dogs, still jazzed from the excitement of the restart, set a fast pace. Claire road the drag occasionally to keep them from burning out, but she had to admit the speed felt invigorating.

  Two and a half hours after the restart, she stopped trailside to snack her athletes, the first of many stops she'd make every two or three hours. Keeping the dogs hydrated and loaded with calories – a minimum of ten-thousand per dog per day – was critical. Other teams glided past as she doled out frozen fish and high-density kibble. She grabbed an energy bar for herself and washed it down with a fruit drink.

  The last of the day's sun faded the sky stonewashed violet as she and her team arrived at Yentna Station checkpoint, located on the confluence of the Susitna and Yentna rivers. Iditarod volunteers helped her remove her bib and recorded her check-in time. The log showed Dillon had blown through the checkpoint fifteen minutes ahead of her. The two-story Yentna Station Roadhouse tempted with a warm fire and a hot meal, free to Iditarod mushers, but staying at the crowded checkpoint wasn't in her race plan. She and her dogs pushed on.

  Bonfires along the banks of the Yentna River laced the evening air with wood smoke and the smells of wiener roasts and charred marshmallows. Fans settled in for an all-night vigil of race watching and partying. Claire pulled her team over to let another team pass and a short woman bundled in fur handed her a hotdog still warm from the fire.

  "You need to keep up your strength," the woman stated, flashing a broad smile.

  "Thank you. It looks delicious." And it was. Mustard. Ketchup. Onions. The best hotdog she'd ever eaten.

  As she drove into her first night on the Iditarod, the temperature dropped to ten below. Stars too numerous to count pulsed in the clear sky. She turned her headlamp on then off again because it spoiled the view. The dogs didn't need it.

  She stopped trailside prior to reaching Skwentna to feed her dogs the meal she and the Sommers had cooked that morning and put in the cooler to keep it from freezing. Once they'd eaten and had curled up for a snooze, Claire managed to catch a nap on top of her sled bag before the sounds of another team passing in the dark woke her.

  They reached Skewentna at 3:30 in the morning. Claire followed the volunteers waving glow sticks to collect the first of her food-drop bags, then blew through the checkpoint. Her dogs needed little coaxing.

  An hour after dawn of day two, they made Finger Lake checkpoint, bordered by a line of timber at the base of the Alaska Range. A checker wearing a bright yellow vest over his parka welcomed her. "Bib number?"

  "Twenty-two."

  He recorded the information on his clipboard and looked at his watch. "Time is eight thirty-seven. How many dogs?"

  "Sixteen." Claire signed the check-in log.

  "Are you staying?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay, there's half-bales and full bales, HEET and water on your right."

  "Great. Thanks." Claire pulled up the hook. "Hup. Good dogs."

  Once she'd loaded the supplies on her sled, a volunteer showed her where to park her team. They'd been on the trail eighteen hours and covered a hundred and twelve miles. Claire planned to wait out the heat of the day in Finger Lake and give her dogs a good rest before tackling the Happy River Steps and the side hills of Happy River Canyon. The next hundred miles or so of trail would be some of their toughest.

  The dogs wasted no time settling in. Ginny curled into a tight ball to make herself inconspicuous. Singer and Riley rolled in the snow and pawed the air. Riley was minus a bootie. Again. Trouble nipped at Pepper for encroaching on his space, and Groucho barked like a skipping record, impatient to eat. Claire tossed a scoop of kibble onto the snow in front of each dog, followed by slices of frozen lamb.

  She began spreading straw for their bedding and a volunteer veterinarian came by to do a HAWL examination on each dog. Heart, hydration, appetite and attitude, weight, lungs. Claire showed her yellow vet book, documenting previous mandatory checks.

  "How'd they look on the trail?" the vet asked as she manipulated Handsome's right front leg, looking for sprains or soreness. "Any concerns?"

  "They did great," Claire said. "The trail's been perfect. Nice base under the snow."

  While the woman continued her exam on the rest of the team, Claire finished laying out straw and started removing booties. She ran her fingers between pads to clear any ice accumulation, checked for abrasions and applied zinc oxide ointment to keep their paws soft and dry. Riley's left rear paw showed a little redness but no breaks in the skin. Claire rubbed an anti-inflammatory on it to be safe.

  With Groucho, Sam, Mama's Boy and Harmony rounding out Saturday's ceremonial line-up, she had sixty-four paws to inspect. Zach got tired of waiting and chewed one of his booties off. "Darn it," Claire scolded, poking her finger through the soggy hole he'd made. His ears flattened against his head. "Don't give me that sad look. Lucky for you and Riley, I packed extras."

  The veterinarian confirmed what Claire already knew, that her athletes were in good health – fresh. She could pull up the hook and get back on the trail right now and they'd be fine with it. But she didn't want to push them or herself.

  She set up the alcohol cooker and dumped in HEET, lit it and set a pot of water on to boil. The Alaska Range watched and waited. Claire paused to lean back and study their intimidating snowy peaks and icy ravines. Later that afternoon, she and her dogs would take on the challenge of reaching the other side. My God.

  Dillon was up there somewhere. He may have even checked out of Rainy Pass by now. She hadn't seen him since the restart in Willow yesterday afternoon. He stayed in Skwentna for a few hours, but had already checked out when she got there. According to the log, he went through Finger Lake two and a half hours before she and her team arrived.

  Suggesting she might finish the race ahead of him had been an entertaining thought while it lasted. She smiled to herself. As long as she got her team to Nome, making him wait for her had its appeal too. />
  Chapter 13

  After a five-hour rest at Rainy Pass checkpoint, elevation 1,800 feet, Dillon and his team began the long, uphill climb toward Rainy Pass summit, a valley that cut through the mountains at 3,160 feet, the highest point on the Iditarod Trail. A layer of clouds rolled over the surrounding peaks and the air cooled as the afternoon grew late. Dillon couldn't have asked for a nicer day. When he came through this area two years ago, whiteout conditions obliterated the trail and reduced visibility to an ass-tightened adventure. But even on a bad day, this country fed his soul. He breathed deep, pulling it into his lungs.

  "Looking good up there, Chevy." He'd put Chevron in lead with Bonnie, giving Maverick a rest in the middle of the pack. They'd need the little dog's agility over Mav's speed once they started their descent into the gorge. "That's my girl, Bonnie."

  The trail steepened as they neared the summit. Dillon peddled from the back of the sled to help his dogs push through the soft snow of avalanche territory. "Come on, kids. Hike." They traveled face-first into the wind channeling down the valley. The muscles in Dillon's legs burned. "Almost there. Hike. Hike."

  And then they were over the top and dropping into the heart of the Alaska Range. The trail narrowed and twisted through stunted willow brush and rocky ravines. Dillon alternately rode the drag to keep the dogs' speed in check and steered to avoid the pits and bumps and snags of Pass Fork.

  "Easy. Take it easy." He maneuvered the sled around a boulder jutting into the trail. "Come on. Easy."

  Five miles later, the trail opened onto the wooded valley of Dalzell Creek. "Alright. Good job, kids."