My lead dog was a lesbian - Brian Patrick O'Donoghue [110]
I was right behind Jon approaching Gunnar Johnson’s team. But then my dogs bunched up. Bo seized the chance to hump Raven. I leaped off the sled and separated the lovers.
“All right! All right,” I shouted, still intent on following Terhune.
Other mushers were madly pitching gear at their sleds. As we were passing Johnson’s parked sled, a tussle erupted in the middle ranks of my team. Pig, Digger, and Spook all had their teeth locked on a big chunk of meat. Wading into the center of the melee, I ripped the meat free and threw it at Johnson.
“What kind of bullshit is this Gunnar! Leaving meat on the ground next to your sled?”
“It wasn’t on the ground,” he protested. “Your dogs dived inside my sled bag and pulled that meat out.”
“Oh, sorry about that.”
Looking over his shoulder, Terhune watched my dogs seize the meat. He nearly fell off his sled laughing at the resulting mess. So be it, he thought, watching me fall behind.
Daily welcomed the sudden excitement. Lounging in the checkpoint, he had overheard Lenthar talking about staying to do a load of laundry. That was too much. He felt like grabbing the other musher and screaming “LET’S GET OUTTA HERE!” This absurd maneuver of Terhune’s was just the jolt everyone needed.
While I fought for custody of the meat, Chad decided it was his turn to mount Raven. I broke up that love affair before it got started, and quickly got the team rolling. It was too late to gain any advantage. Everybody but Gunnar was already moving out, chasing Terhune. So much for my great escape.
Gunnar and I joined the tail end of the chain leaving Golovin. He was carrying the Red Lantern for once, but that didn’t last. Another tangle halted us dead. This time Digger had pounced on Raven, my disruptive princess of love.
“Go ahead, Gunnar,” I said, leaping off the sled to pull the dogs apart.
“Are you sure?” he said.
“Yeah, go for it.”
I had the team lined out in about ten seconds flat. That much I was getting good at.
Terhune couldn’t hold his lead. Never had a chance. Daisy’s trotting speed had dropped to five, maybe six, miles per hour. The others closed in on him less than a mile out from the checkpoint. Terhune cursed to himself. He hated to see this. But there was nothing to be done. Dogs can only do what they can do. Terhune pulled aside and let the faster teams by, watching the smug looks on the faces of every racer who passed him.
“What happened?” I said, shocked to see him parked there.
Terhune shrugged.
I’d been angry with myself for blowing that escape. Yet here we were together in the back of the train again.
“Well, we sure showed them.”
“Yeah,” Terhune growled. “Next time FEED your dogs first.”
The sun was out and it was warm, 20 or 30 degrees above zero.
“At least it’s a nice day,” I yelled back. “I don’t even need … my parka.”
Sharp as an eight-by-ten photo, I recalled my big coat draped over a chair in the checkpoint bathroom. “Son of a bitch,” I gasped, staggered by the magnitude of my screwup. I considered continuing on without it. It was so warm. Nome was so close. One word restored reality: “Topkok.”
The area surrounding the Topkok Hills was one of the most dangerous on the trail. Mushers were sometimes trapped for days on the hillsides, or in the windy valley below. Continuing without that parka put my entire race in jeopardy. I stopped the team and dragged my dogs off the trail, waving Terhune ahead.
“What’re you doing?”
“Left something behind,” I said grimly.
Grabbing the lesbian’s collar, I pulled the team back around and mushed toward Golovin.
What a pisser, thought Daily, watching me turn back. His own dogs were flying, soaring at a previously unimaginable pace behind Bogus. The lead dog appeared to actually smell Nome; Tom didn’t know how else to explain it.
My dogs broke into a joyous lope. Returning to Golovin, an easy three miles back, was obviously a popular