I just finished my last go-through of the MS when I stumbled upon the answer in the crammed spaces of my brain:  I was writing about mangy pines, not mangy pins.  You see, ". . . dirt fields and mangy pines raced by. . .".  

The main character is tearing through Russia, desperately searching for a way out of his dilemma, and, well . . . it's a long story.  I don't want to jinx him.  His name is Justin, by the way.

I was just one letter off, and I had no idea.  Time to hang it up for tonight!