Around a few more bends of the river, I got my chance to repay Becca. At a spot where we were hugging a steep bank on a narrow ledge avoiding a bad spot in the river ice, Becca’s sled had slipped off the bank and into a huge hole at the edge of the river. All her dogs were still on the trail, but where she was standing below her tipped over sled, the trail was significantly above her head. With the sled weighing probably close to twice what she does, she was in a tough spot. It was too stuck for the dogs to pull out. She was calm but didn’t know how the heck she’d get it out other than unloading the whole sled, pulling it out, then repacking. I had stopped a bit back behind her to survey the scene, but now pulled up with my leaders just behind her wheel dogs. I helped her back up on to the trail and kicked a spot in the snow for my feet so I could reach down to grab the front of her sled. With me pulling up for all I was worth, I could just get the high-side runner on to the trail. From there, she levered from the back of the sled and called up her team, and out popped the sled. She was elated and stopped just past the rough section saying she’d come back to help me. I didn’t like the idea of her walking back from her team and told her I thought I could get across ok. By flipping my sled up on one runner and using my outside leg as an outrigger, we slid past the deep hole without incident. “Phew, I hope Karen sees that coming.” With a thankful smile and wave, Becca was away again.

Not too much farther up the trail, after we had spent quite a bit of time removing booties and rescuing Becca’s sled, I could see Karen coming along behind us on some of the longer straight-aways. The trail had again become technically easy, but stunningly beautiful. I’ve always loved being in the mountains and above tree line and I was truly all smiles despite my somewhat faltering team. I had the camera out and was singing to the dogs when Karen’s team reeled us in after ten or so more miles of steady, but gradual upstream travel. After the first day of boring trail, I said, “Now this finally feels like we’re mushing in Alaska!!!” She seemed a bit of contrast to my exuberant state. If passing me didn’t brighten her spirits, I hope my utter joy of being exactly where I was helped her mood. I walked her leaders past my team on the narrow trail. Her front end dogs were all in heat and apparently were interested in visiting with some of my team. Sorry girls, not gonna happen. After the pass, our teams continued their respective paces with little notice of each other and she slowly pulled away, although was pretty much in sight the rest of the way to the checkpoint at Maclaren Lodge, where she checked in 18 minutes behind Becca and one minute ahead of me, just before 5pm.

Maclaren River Lodge is at Milepost 42 of the Denali Highway, which is closed in winter. The lodge is run by Susie and Alan Echols and is open all year. Our teams were parked just below where the road’s bridge crosses the river. On the opposite bank from the lodge and their outbuildings lies John and Zoya’s homestead where they run their Crazy Dog Kennel. After the last 111 miles of wilderness travel, it all of a sudden seemed like a very busy place. I have to admit at this point I turned from a racing musher to a wide-eyed tourist. As I took care of the team, I was scheming in my head about how to run the rest of the race. My team was clearly sick by now. I was coaxing food in to them. They looked green around the gills and many had diarrhea. I was gawking at the scenery and felt no hurry at this point. The six hour layover here would make the whole next run up in the mountains in the dark. I thought leaving a bit before dawn would be nicer because I’d be able to see the mountains and get some pictures. Going with that idea would set us up to take the heat of the next day back at the lodge before heading out on the last leg. It would mean taking significantly more than the minimum rest. I ran the idea by Becca who had earlier suggested the possibility of traveling together later in the race. At first, she thought that seemed like a pretty good idea.
After finishing with the dogs and taking a few pictures, it was up to lodge for some dinner. I had a huge bowl of chili, then a cheeseburger, and a small mountain of some delicious homemade bread. Becca had decided she should stick with the minimum rest and leave at or near her scheduled time, around 11pm with Karen. Hmm, “I guess I’ll go, too,” although I had already asked race marshal John if it would be ok if I took more time. I finally figured I might as well follow the other two teams around the 30-ish mile mountain loop tonight and reassess after getting back here. It will be a short run and if I need to take a longer break after this loop, so be it. With a plan set in my head, my mind relaxed and I lingered in the lodge, when I should have been over in the mushers’ bunkhouse getting some sleep. I did finally pull myself away from the rustic, yet gorgeous lodge, but I never did sleep. Eventually, it was time to start getting ready again.

Since they had arrived here first, Becca and Karen were allowed out just before me. When their teams both balked getting to the correct upstream trail, my leading pair of Stump and Wilson passed them just yards from the checkpoint. There we many side trails here since this area swarms with snowmachine traffic on the weekends, so I was told. Thankfully, the trail was marked more frequently than what we had seen so far. And finally, some hills! A bit of sled driving instead of just standing on the runners! We continued our run north on the Maclaren River which started at it’s glacier just another couple miles upstream. Before getting to the glacier we turned overland, up another valley to the east. In this section, Karen and Becca caught back up to us and I again helped Karen’s leaders on by. They traveled a little quicker than us, but made many more stops, and so we stayed within sight of them all the way around the loop as we came down the Tangle Lakes and out on to the Denali Highway for ten miles back to the lodge. Even in the dark, the scenery was amazing. I do truly wish I could have run this section in the daylight. My jaw was hanging in awe the whole run. I got back to our previous parking spot at 3:19am, seven minutes behind Karen, 5 behind Becca. Dan had already left for the homeward bound leg! We had a minimum of four hours rest to take, but I didn’t like what I saw as I fed the team.

By now, all 12 of my team were at some degree of being sick. They didn’t want to eat much, but almost all of them at least drank some broth. “Come on boys, we’ve still got a long ways to go. Eat up.” They didn’t listen and I wasn’t feeling too good about it. I poured the bowls with food left back into my cooler to try again before we left. We were parked on the same straw beds we’d used on the first stop here, but now we were pointed downstream. This created a bit of a disturbance since a couple boys were now “resting” where the heat-scented Gila had been. I had to shuffle some dogs and straw around in order to re-establish calm. With chores finally done, it was up to the lodge where Alan was awake and cooking breakfast. Eggs, ham, home fries. “Got any more of that homemade bread?” “Sure do.” “Sweeeet, thanks.” The coffee had no affect and Karen, Becca and I were all snoozing on couches or recliners shortly after breakfast, not wanting to go as far as the bunkhouse for such a short rest. Concerned that my team was not going to get any better with time, I had decided I’d hit the trail after only the mandatory four hours here. That would get us going at 7:19am, in time to run for a few hours before it got too warm, which it was forecast to do, we were told.

Right on time, after watching Karen, then Becca round the bend downstream, Stump and Wilson started us out of the checkpoint. That only lasted a mile or two. They were both too sick to feel up to the work of leading. I switched up Mugs and Gila who both were doing better than most of the team. They set a moderate, steady pace and the gradual downhill kept us moving along reasonably. We wound around bend after bend and I spent more time looking back over my shoulder at the mountains than ahead at the team. We glided harmlessly past the whole where Becca had slipped off the trail. It wasn’t so bad when you knew it was coming. By 10am, it was pretty warm and sunny. By 11am, I stopped the team for an extended rest before we had even gotten to the Susitna River, after having gone less than 40 of the 111 miles of this last leg. It was just too hot. The dogs were crawling anytime we got into the open sun, which was more and more frequent the farther downstream we got. I just parked right in the middle of the trail, knowing there was no one behind us. I had to wake the dogs up to feed them. They had already curled up and fallen asleep in the baking sun. Only a few dogs drank at all. My mood started to match theirs, and they were not exactly joyful.

I passed around some broth again after a couple of hours sitting in the sun. This time more disappeared from the bowls. I lay back down in my sleeping bag atop my sled with my hood over my face and actually slept for a couple hours. The best sleep I’d had since the race started. Sometime in the middle of the day, a low-flying plane came overhead and gave a wing wave. I just gave a thumbs-up and they were close enough to tell what that was, I’m sure. Other than when I saw John on his snowmachine, this was the only motorized “traffic” I saw the whole race. I fell back asleep for a little longer after taking a couple self-portraits and giving some ear scratches. After a full five hours of sitting there on the lower Maclaren River, I finally decided to get the team moving at about 4pm.

It was still pretty warm, but at least the sun wasn’t so direct. Mugs and Gila stayed out front as they trotted out on to the broad Susitna. The dilemma playing in my head now was how to finish these last 70-ish miles of trail. If it was cooler and the team was healthy, I wouldn’t think twice about running to the finish line from here. But it was warm and the team was no where near 100 percent. They marched along and I fretted over what to do and when to do it. A short section of mostly re-frozen overflow jarred me back into the moment. I had expected it, as we had come through here on the trip out, but as John had told me “overflow never looks the same a day later.” I took a wide stance, slowed the team before we got to it, and was all set to glide across. But, a runner caught on a frozen knob of ice and threw me and the sled instantly onto our side. I smashed my hip and head as I kept both hands tightly squeezing the handlebar. This was no place to lose a team. I was a long ways from any help or chance of catching a loose team. After sliding a hundred yards or so on the ice, the team stopped on the snow and gave me a chance to get back up and clear the tweety birds from around my head.

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