My lead dog was a lesbian - Brian Patrick O'Donoghue [63]
The Coach’s strategy called for bolting from Takotna, thus sealing my lead over the teams still napping in McGrath. The concept—so exciting in the kitchen at home—felt awful in the flesh. Before lying down to rest, I had asked the Takotna women for booties I might salvage and for a needle to patch the chewed harnesses in my sled.
“I wouldn’t use thread on those harnesses. Use dental floss, it’s tougher,” one woman told me.
Six hours after arriving, I left Takotna, packing a box lunch prepared by the checkpoint volunteers, a big bag of salvaged booties, and a dental-floss dispenser with several needles tucked inside. The Coach’s plan had vaulted me a dizzy three or four spots ahead in the standings, past Lee, Garth, and Daily. Not to mention Peele, who finally captured sly Charlie in the Burn that very morning. Mushing for Ophir, I traveled in sole possession of sixty-second place, approximately 30 hours behind the next teams.
Little Cricket limped terribly on the road out of town. I checked her over, but found nothing wrong. If the mysterious malady had shown up in a bigger dog, I would have turned around and dropped it at the checkpoint. Cricket was so small that carrying her, if it came to that, wouldn’t be a problem. Watching closely, I left her in the team. She limped for about two miles, then straightened up. Over the 35 miles that followed, Cricket was her old self, keeping a taught tug line and briskly trotting with no hint of strain.
I was also watching Cyrus with considerable concern, but that wasn’t a new development. He hadn’t looked good since his foot problems surfaced at Rohn. Rattles’s pup was a changed dog, and not for the better. He was listless. His ears were down, and his tug line, running in wheel, was often slack. He wasn’t even ripping off his booties anymore—the one good sign since I had devoted a lot of time to keeping his paws medicated.
The Coach would have dropped Cyrus in an instant. “Remember, O’D, you’re only as fast as your slowest dog.” I was not sure why, but I wasn’t ready to give up on Cyrus yet.
The 38-mile trail to Ophir followed a closed seasonal road through a valley flanked by savage mountains. “Weight Limit” signs were posted at several small bridges, specifying tonnage restrictions for various vehicles. I snapped a picture of my dog team trotting by one of the signs.
The morning was cool and clear. The team made good time behind Chad and Raven, our fair-weather duo. Despite an increasing number of cabins alongside the road, the valley was marked by a disturbing stillness. No welcoming smoke rose from the cabins here. They were entombed, cold and lifeless. The eerie spell was broken by a hand-painted sign taped to a trail marker: “Ophir, 5 miles,” framing a sketch of a smiling coffee cup.
The Ophir checkpoint pulsated with life. Inviting smoke rose from a cabin nestled in a grove of tall spruce. A neat line of supply sacks rested outside the cabin, near an assortment of snowmachines, freight sleds, and a small mountain of trash and surplus gear. The checkpoint was staffed by veterinarian Mary Hoffheimer, a radio operator, and the owners of the cabin.
“I was beginning to wonder if you would ever get here,” said Mary, whom I knew from covering past races. She frowned with mock indignation.
The veterinarian carefully examined Cricket, feeling for sore spots and manipulating her legs. Like me, Mary couldn’t find any cause for the limp. The dog’s leg might have been asleep, she said, or possessed some other kink that worked itself out. There was another possibility, Mary suggested, smiling. My little Cricket might have faked the whole thing—in hopes of hitching a free ride.
“Could you also check that bandage on Skidders?” I asked, and went on to tell her about my harrowing plunge off the cliff in the Burn.
“Wait a minute,” she said, peeling the bandage from the staples. “I’ve heard about this dog. You’re the one!”
Hoffheimer said she’d run into the vet who treated Skidders in Nikolai. He’d described a semihysterical rookie who had dragged