Looking for Julie (25 page)

Edie marked her place in
The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo
. “I tried,” she said. “I always have to read before I can sleep.” She put the book down on the table and folded her reading glasses on top of it.

In the night they rolled against each other. Edie’s eyes opened as she felt the warmth of Jennifer’s body, but she couldn’t stay awake long enough to move. She slept soundly and awoke in the morning pressed up against Jennifer.

Jennifer turned her face toward Edie. “You’re better than an electric blanket.”

“Thanks. So are you.”

Tom had turned up the heat and the main room was a whole lot warmer than the bedroom. After hurriedly dressing and taking turns in the bathroom, she went into the kitchen. She had brought granola for breakfast.

“I felt I was sleeping near a couple of chainsaws,” Tom said as they ate.

“I think that was coming from the bedroom,” Chip teased.

“You’re a hoot,” Jennifer shot back.

They crammed into Chip’s car and joined a stream of vehicles heading toward Telemark Lodge.  Many of the license plates were from out of state, but most were those of Wisconsin, Minnesota and Michigan.

Flags of the participants’ countries hung outside the lodge. Huge ice sculptures adorned the entrance. The sculpture of the historic rescue in 1206 of Norway’s Prince Haakon stood in the doorway. The baby was in enemy territory when two Birkebeiner  soldiers skied him to safety during a snowstorm.  King Haakon later united Norway.

They walked past dozens of vendors into the huge room where registration tables were set up. The perimeter was littered with large plastic gear bags, each marked with the participant’s bib number. In the bags were promos and the timing chip that skiers wore around the left ankle. The white bags were for Birkie participants, the yellow for those doing the Kortelopet. Jennifer’s and Edie’s bags were with the third skate wave. Chip was in the second skate wave. She thought Tom and Mike were in the same one.

After getting their bags, they went to the Expo and studied the waxes on offer. The right wax was everything when it came to speed. Familiar faces filled the hall and they stopped to talk to others.

After piling into the Subaru again, they drove toward Hayward joining a stream of traffic going both ways.  Massive ice sculptures of skiers and Birkie scenes marked the towns of Cable and Seeley on the drive south. Main Street was covered with packed snow. Dogs in harnesses pulled skiers back and forth in Hayward, demonstrating the sport called skijoring. After their display, elite ski sprinters raced each other down Main.

Edie wanted to browse her favorite ski shops—Outdoor Ventures and New Moon—both packed with pre-race shoppers. New Moon’s wax counter was a must see. There, wax experts answered questions, and as every skier knew, waxing was the biggest concern. After eating lunch at a crowded coffee shop, they bought fresh bread at a bakery and made a stop at the grocery store. They stopped to admire the Birkie flame and to take each other’s picture sitting in an ice chair with American Birkebeiner carved in the high back.

Edie was thrilled to be with Jennifer and Chip and even Tom and Mike. Like herself, they were Birkie regulars and interested in the same stuff she was. Back at the cabin, they waxed their skis, consulting each other on which waxes to use. She helped fix supper—spaghetti and garlic bread and a salad. Carbs were a must before a race. Conversation concerned the weather and the condition of the snow—slightly soft due to warming temperatures—and past Birkies.

After cleaning up, they sat around the fire. The talk was about the race, about what time they should leave in the morning. Edie and Jennifer laid everything out for the next day—socks, boots, Under Armour, ski jacket, bib, hat, sunglasses, gloves, Gatorade and water, timing chip, backpack with change of clothes, white bag to hold everything not needed during the race. When she and Jennifer climbed in bed, Jennifer told her how much she enjoyed having her with them.

“I was the only woman before you joined us.”

“Hey, I feel lucky to be here,” she said.

 They talked for a few minutes more before turning their backs on each other. For a few moments Edie lay awake, worrying. Then she closed off her mind and slept.

She awoke at six. Jennifer was already dressed. She consulted her about clothes—long underwear or just the ski tights, a vest or a jacket.

“I’ve just got the tights on. I get hot when I start moving,” Jennifer said.

She decided to wear her ski tights with Under Armour. She pulled a wick-away top over an undershirt. She would wear a Windbreaker. It was better to be cold at the beginning of the race than hot once she began to ski.

They all ate a breakfast of oatmeal and piled into Chip’s car, putting their skis in the carrier on top, and headed to the nearest field that was used as a parking lot.

School buses were dropping off skiers behind Telemark Lodge. Chip unloaded skis and poles, and she and Jennifer took theirs and made their way through masses of brightly colored skiers to the giant tent ringed by dozens of Porta Potties. Lively rock music filled the air. Big heaters roared in an attempt to beat back the cold.

Edie was hyped. Who wouldn’t be? The announcer’s stand was on the airstrip behind the lodge. Flags from every participant’s country lined the strip. Slightly away from the starting area were box trucks with signs, one for each of the ten waves. She and Jennifer threw their white bags with everything they needed after the race into their designated truck. Some of the skiers were dressed in silly costumes. They too would race the distance.

The elite waves were ready to go and she and Jennifer joined the dozens of people lining the starting area. The national anthem filled the crisp air and the governor gave a brief speech welcoming the racers and wishing them a speedy and safe race. The very first skiers to go were the re-enactors, dressed in authentic furs and birch leggings, striding out on wooden skis.  The husband and wife and their baby symbolized the Norwegians carrying Prince Haakon to safety. They would ski the entire classic race of fifty-four kilometers.

The elite skiers lined up along the starting flags. After the countdown, the starting gun fired and up went the flags. The skiers sped away, disappearing into a distant line of trees in minutes. Those in the next wave, who were kept behind a plastic line with little flags, moved into starting position.

Edie had eaten the banana and drunk the Gatorade and water she had brought with her. She and Jennifer had stood in line at the Porta Potties. They cheered the second wave as it left and moved into place. The wind bit through Edie’s scant clothing. Ten minutes seemed like forever. The skate skiers no longer used the same trail as the classic skiers. They skied fifty kilometers, but skate skiing required enormous energy. Not only did they skate down the hills, they skated up them.

Edie was ready. She had positioned herself in the center front next to Jennifer. The anxiety in the pit of her stomach disappeared as the wait ended. The announcer’s encouragement and the cheers of the crowd barely registered. The countdown began and when she heard the gun, she skated out with the others. Pushing with her poles, gathering speed with every thrust of her strong thighs, she disappeared into the trees. On the other side were the dreaded power line hills. She had managed to avoid colliding with anyone among the hundreds in her wave. The bane of ski racers was the skier who went down in front of them.

Now she skated up, up, up the wide, clear area with the giant power lines, only to fly down the backside and climb again. Her heart rocketed into the anaerobic zone. The spectators, shouting encouragement, the skiers around her and the sheer excitement of the race pumped her into a steady, sustaining pace. Drummers lined the route, keeping a beat as she and the others climbed. Jennifer forged ahead, urging her on. She climbed the killer hill. Amazingly, no one in front of her fell on the steep curve at the bottom.

Most of the trail ran through the lovely northern hardwood forest with rolling hill after rolling hill. Edie’s heart settled into a steady one hundred sixty beats per minute. She was cruising. She bantered with the other skiers, shouting encouragement to those she passed.

After about nine kilometers the first food stop appeared. The many volunteers held out Gatorade, bananas and orange slices. She grabbed a cup of Gatorade, downed it and tossed it aside as she kept up her pace. She knew how important it was to take some kind of nourishment at each of the food stations. It was true she felt new power after a few minutes. Her muscles needed replenishment.

Halfway through the race she came to the infamous Bitch Hill, where crazily dressed “bitches,” both men and women, accosted the skiers as they climbed the seemingly endless hill, yelling for them to “keep moving.” Edie avoided getting pinned with an “I got pinned by a Bitch” pin.

She skated to the top of the big hill where snowmobiles were lined up, their riders holding up signs with scores, yelling out the best (meaning the worst) fall on the harrowing downhill side. She had fallen once and thought her fall should have rated a higher score.

So far, she had been following Jennifer, sure that Jennifer would avoid anyone who took a spill and just as sure she would not fall. They had passed Burma Shave signs, telling them to keep going. They were closing in on a little over three hours when they came out of the woods, went over a little bridge and skied into a field, which led to a barren, windy lake.

Edie was running out of steam, but she kicked it into high gear and managed to pull alongside Jennifer. Jennifer grinned at her and surged ahead. The last few hundred yards they raced against each other along the “Mashed Potato Street” and onto Main in Hayward. The adrenaline was pumping when she crossed the finish line with Jennifer next to her. The announcer called out their names and the number of Birkies they’d participated in, and she and Jennifer raised their arms in the air while the crowd roared. They were standing now, coasting to a stop.

Volunteers pinned their Birkie year pins on—thirteen for Edie, fourteen for Jennifer—and took off their timing chips. Chip and Mike and Tom were cheering with the other spectators, some of whom rang cowbells, most of whom held beers up in salute. The men, who had already finished the race, walked with them to the tent where they retrieved their bags and changed their outer clothing and boots. There they consumed a bowl of much appreciated chicken noodle soup and drank a beer.

The exhilaration that had carried Edie the fifty kilometers was still with her, along with a sense of power. She was on a high and wouldn’t come down until exhaustion caught up with her.

Jennifer grinned at her. “You were on my tail all the way.”

“The only safe place to be,” Edie said. “I knew you’d keep us out of trouble.”

“Yeah, but then you caught up with me in the end.”

Edie raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Of course. That was the plan.”

“You are a fox, you know.”

Edie smiled and tuned in to the sights and sounds around her. Chip was talking as was Mike and Tom. They were rattling on about the race. She wasn’t sure anyone was listening. Outside the tent it was one huge party, and they joined in for a while, cheering as skier after skier crossed the finish line.

Later, at the cabin, Mike fired up the gas grill on the deck overlooking the frozen lake. The guys cooked brats and burgers. Edie brought out the pasta salad she had made at home and put the dressing on it. Jennifer whipped together a huge fruit bowl. They feasted, cleaned up and sat around the fire for a while. When they were talked out, they went to bed.

Edie said just before she went to sleep. “Now I’m ready for spring.”

“Maybe we can hike or bike together when we can’t ski anymore,” Jennifer said.

“Sure.” Edie fell into a deep sleep. She awoke only once in the night, when Jennifer rolled against her. Her body was warm, her breath soft against Edie’s cheek.

The next morning they ate breakfast, cleaned up the cabin, made sure the fire was out and left in separate cars. Chip was talking about next year’s Birkebeiner. He wanted to bring his kids to do the Barnebirkie, which would mean coming a day earlier.

“Think you could do that, Edie?” Jennifer asked.

Pleased to be included, she said, “You bet.”

A week and a half passed. A week and a half when Karen didn’t answer Sam’s calls. A week and a half when Karen looked away if she saw her. Sam had sought advice from Jamie.

“Ms. Snotty seduced you?” He had sounded astounded.

“Yeah. I think she did it because she knew Karen was coming back and might catch us.”

“Didn’t you know that?”

“She came back sooner than I thought she would,” she’d said glumly.

“I can hardly fucking believe this. Did you do it again?”

“Once or twice. It wasn’t my idea, though.”

“I don’t think Karen would know the difference.”

“Okay, Jamie. Whose fucking friend are you anyway.” But she knew he was right.

“Listen. You better walk with me and Thad.”

“Thanks,” she’d said dispiritedly, and that’s what she’d been doing ever since.

Now she and Jamie were on their way to work. Thad trailed along behind them. He and Jamie were getting it on. Jamie said he was hot, despite the fact that he hardly ever said anything.