Brides of Alaska (47 page)

Rita said nothing. Her mind was a blur of fanatical fans waving and yelling their support. Where in the world had all those people come from? There were television cameras and reporters everywhere, not to mention five blocks of colorful, screaming people and extremely bright lights.

The next thing Rita knew was the numbing grip of her hand on the sled handle and the pounding of her heart in her ears.

“Nineteen—go!” the announcer called.

“Dandy, hike!” Rita yelled above the crowd's roar. Dandy led the pack of dogs without need of encouragement. The team was in a near frenzy as they shot down the street.

Rita knew nothing but the feel of the dogs and the frosty air against her cheeks. The sounds were all muted in her head while the faces blended into one.

I'm really doing it!
Rita thought.
I'm finally racing the Iditarod!

The race trail headed down Cordova Hill, with a spectacular view of downtown Anchorage. Rita worked to slow the team as they plunged down the slope, but the dogs were as excited as she was. It was exhilarating and no one wanted to slow down for any reason.

The next miles followed inner-city trails where people still cheered the mushers on. It wasn't until the trail finally began to parallel the Glenn Highway that the people thinned to sporadic gatherings.

“Isn't this great!” August yelled over his shoulder.

“Yes,” Rita replied. “It's everything I knew it would be.”

August laughed heartily. “You ain't seen nothin' yet, kid. Hang on for Act Two. It's a doozy!”

Amidst the noise of people and crowds, Rita worked hard to keep the team under control. Each time they approached an intersection, traffic was stopped from all directions while her team moved through, but the honking of zealous fans and general pandemonium made driving the team a tiresome task.

Rita had hoped to think through her anger and frustration on the trail, but if the run from Anchorage to Eagle River was any indication of how her time would be spent, there wouldn't be much time for thinking.

Two hours and eighteen minutes later, without a single mishap, Rita and August passed under the banner welcoming them to Eagle River.

“Good time, Rita,” August said as they checked in.

Rita nodded and looked around for Mark. He'd left a good ten places behind her, but that didn't mean a great deal. She'd no sooner cast a squinted stare at the horizon when she caught sight of him. He was making incredible time.

August spotted him about the same time. “I bet he'll be under two hours!” The excitement in August's voice left a jealous mark on Rita's heart.

Mark came flying across the trail and clocked in at one hour and fifty-eight minutes. While August stomped off through the snow to congratulate his partner, Rita cooled her heels and unharnessed her dogs.

“You did well, Rita,” her brother said as he came to help her with loading the animals.

“Thanks, Gerald. It's good to see you again,” she answered rather mechanically, not really meaning a word she said. Rita knew it wasn't fair to take out her fury on Gerald, but she ignored her pang of conscience and kept her distance.

“Rita!” Beth called as she got out of the pickup. “What was your time?”

“Two-eighteen,” Rita replied, surprised at her mother's enthusiasm.

“Fantastic!” Beth stepped forward and hugged her daughter. She laughed as she pulled away from Rita. “There's so much padding to you, I'm not at all convinced that you're really under all of that,” she said, pointing to Rita's insulated coveralls.

Rita laughed in spite of herself. She'd never seen her mother so happy, especially when it involved Rita. Surprisingly enough, it was her father who spoiled Rita's moment of happiness.

“Mark did it in an hour and fifty-eight minutes!” said August. “Can you believe it, Beth?”

“That's great,” Beth agreed. “I'm so proud of Rita and Mark. They've done really well, haven't they?” It was more a statement than a question.

“They certainly have,” August said. “Now we need to get these animals loaded up and move up to Wasilla.”

Rita felt disappointed in the lack of fanfare from her father. Somehow she'd presumed he'd been her biggest fan, not her mother. Putting it behind her, Rita knew she'd have plenty of time to contemplate it on the way to Wasilla.

The next day the whole thing started all over. This time Rita waited behind while Mark disappeared down the trail. In her mind was the overwhelming drive to beat his time and win the race.

For all the truly important reasons, Wasilla was where the Iditarod really began. The race restarted with the biggest difference being that this time the racers went out alone. Rita refused to even look back when her time came. When the signal was given, she steadied herself behind the sled and ran for all she was worth.

The first one hundred miles out of Wasilla was called “Moose Alley” and for a good reason. It was here that the race trail passed through an area where large numbers of moose spent the winter. When the snow became too deep for the moose to find food, they often took to the roadways, railroad tracks, and any place else that had been cleared of the blanket of white.

Rita kept alert for any interference and, in the process, passed two other teams who were already experiencing problems. She was out less than four hours when the snow began to fall. At first the flakes came down in gentle flurries, but within a matter of several miles, the conditions had built into a full-fledged blizzard. Rita came upon four teams who had backtracked their way in order to relocate the trail and, rather than lose her place and assure everyone they were headed in the right direction, Rita took a gamble and headed on.

The gamble paid off and Rita soon found one of the trail markers. “Good,” she said aloud, adrenaline racing through her system. “I've moved out ahead of six teams already. If I'm just willing to take a few chances, I can win this race!”

When the snow let up a bit, Rita knew it would be a good time to rest the dogs. She pulled off the trail and dug out dried fish for each of the team. She felt hot inside her multiple layers of clothing, and it was then that she realized the temperatures were warming.

Glancing around her, Rita could see a clearing in the skies up ahead and bright sunlight filtering through the sporadic cloud coverage. The snow had stopped falling altogether, but the trail had been partially obliterated by the storm. In the far distance, Rita thought she heard dogs barking. Her pulse began to race. “I can't lose ground, now.”

Rita resecured the sled cargo, shed her heavy parka, and pulled on a beaver fur hat that her mother had made for her as a Christmas gift. She pulled sunglasses from a pouch near the handle bar, stuffed them in her insulated coveralls, and pressed the dogs forward.

Rita believed luck was with her as the skies cleared and the trail markers appeared faithfully. She urged the dogs to go faster and faster, but they slowed as the trail grew mushy from the sun's warmth.

Rethinking her strategy, Rita reasoned that waiting for sunset might be better for her time and the dogs' health. She drove them another couple of hours and finally located a place near a stream. Her mind whirled as she rationalized her decision.

“Everyone will be slowed down by the thawing trail,” she spoke to herself. “No one will make good time, and if I stop now, rest and feed the dogs and take a nap myself, we'll be able to push through all night.” It was sensible, but with each team that passed her, Rita felt the urge to get back behind the sled and join them.

Instead, Rita built a fire and heated food for the dogs. After seeing each of them fed and bedded down, she pulled out her heavy snow parka and laid down on top of her sled. Setting the alarm on her watch for four o'clock, Rita placed the timepiece in her fur hat so that it was right up against her ear. Then, pulling the parka over her body and face, Rita slept. Again the gamble paid off. When Rita awoke, the sunlight was fading and the trail was already growing firm again. After making sure to water the dogs one more time to keep them from trying to eat snow on the trail, Rita moved out for her next checkpoint—Skwenta, Alaska.

When she arrived at the checkpoint, most of the teams had been there far ahead of her. Some of the drivers were giving their dogs extra rest; but as soon as Rita checked in, she felt like hitting the trail again. The Delia House, long known for its hospitality, held a welcome aroma of chili, stews, and freshly brewed coffee.

Rita sat down nervously to a bowl of beef stew and bread while she mentally calculated who was who and what kind of time they must have maintained. She gulped the food down. While most of the other drivers went to sleep, Rita donned her parka again and went back to her dogs.

The one thing she hadn't counted on was a deluge of reporters. Flashbulbs went off, making the dogs nervous and blinding Rita.

“You're not pushing out again, are you?” one reporter asked and thrust a tape recorder in front of Rita.

“Y–yes,” Rita stammered and tried to shield her eyes from the television camera lights that were added to the flashing lights.

“The other drivers are giving their dogs a longer rest. Aren't you concerned that your dogs will be overworked?” a woman interviewer questioned. “I thought there were strict rules about the dogs.”

“I rested early in the day when the trails were mushy. My dogs are fine,” Rita replied in clipped tones that betrayed her agitation. “Now, if you'll excuse me.”

Rita hurried to leave the checkpoint, and after meeting all her obligations, quickly found her way down the trail and headed for Finger Lake.

In the bright moonlight, the trail was easy enough. The stars filled the skies overhead, and Rita thought she'd never known anything as beautiful. Following the Skwenta River, Rita calculated that Finger Lake was some forty-five miles away. She knew she'd have to rest the dogs for short spells before then, but Finger Lake would represent her next major stop.

Silently, she watched the miles pass by. She saw the heavy cloud bank that edged its way across the western skies, while over her right shoulder northern lights danced in the March sky. What a land of contrast!

Lowlands gave way to foothills and foothills passed into the mighty Alaskan Range. Even though each passing mile offered more difficult obstacles, one thought haunted Rita's mind—
Where was Mark and what kind of time was he keeping?

T
he following day wasn't quite as warm, but Rita repeated her system between intermittent snows. She knew that other drivers were following the same plan, and she kept moving as quickly as possible to gain distance.

True to what her father and Mark had told her, she couldn't count more than a few hours of sleep in total. The lack of sleep didn't discourage her, however. Rita kept reminding herself of how easy the trail had been so far and, despite her desperate need for sleep, she kept to her self-appointed schedule.

“I've taken chances,” she said aloud, “but they've paid off and I know they were the right things to do.”

Rita smiled to herself as the dogs moved at a steady lope. At Finger Lake she'd moved up nine places, and after an uneventful roller coaster ride through Happy River Gorge, Rita was beginning to feel smug in her self-confidence. “I knew I didn't need anybody,” she reminded herself. The cold wind made her cheekbones numb, but she didn't care. She knew she could win the race.

In the back of her mind, August's words mingled with her self-assured thoughts. Her father said she needed God and no matter how she tried to deny Him, Rita knew it was true. That was the biggest problem about all the miles of solitude on the trail—it gave a person too much time to think.

Rita thought about stopping the dogs in order to get her headphones. Maybe listening to some of her favorite music would help her to keep her conscience in check. She glanced at her watch and decided against it. She could just as well block out the thoughts by forcing her interests elsewhere. At least, she hoped she could.