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RUBY - The wind was whistling down the Yukon River, swirling snow and snapping the Iditarod checkpoint banner outside the local community center when the Yukon Fox came home Saturday. Half the village was there to greet him. Heavily bundled in winter gear, they gathered on the hill beside the center to welcome Emmitt Peters back. When his sled came to a stop, a kaleidoscope of brightly colored parkas closed in on it. "We thought you got lost," someone joked. "Naw, just getting too old," Peters said. "It's been a long day. I've only had two hours sleep in the the last 48 hours." With video and still cameras recording his every move, he peeled of his snowsuit and went to work in his wool bibs and flannel shirt, bumping through the crowd with dog dishes full of baited water to make sure his team got liquids before they had a chance to lay down. He worked barehanded, talking as he moved up and down the gangline. "You know, I fell over three times coming down the mining road hill," he said. Sometimes the din of snowmobile traffic overpowered his words as villagers late to hear of his arrival came to see the hometown hero. Twenty-five years ago, as a young man from this village, Peters was the toast of the Iditarod. He won his very first race and posted a time - 14 days, 14 hours, 43 minutes - that would stand for five years. Five-time Iditarod champ Rick Swenson from Two Rivers still considers Peters' 1975 race the best Iditarod ever run. The man from Ruby was never able to repeat it. A top-10 contender into the early 1980s, he faded later in that decade, found fund-raising efforts increasingly difficult,and finally abandoned the sport he loved. He last finished the race in 1990 in 15 days, 21 hours. By then, the time was only good enough for 41st position. Peters is doing significantly better this year in his return to the Iditarod - even if the competition is shockingly stiff. "You're ahead of your record time," his wife, Edna, told him over lunch. Emmitt smiled over a bowl of moose soup and bread. Family and friends were circled close around in the log community hall. All offered support, though it came in varied forms. "The dogs look better than you do," his sister joked. "That's what everybody says," Emmitt said. Edna confessed that she was just glad to have her husband on the trail. He had been a fidgeting bundle of nerves in the days leading up to the race, she said. At the mushers meeting in Anchorage, a noticeable nervous Emmitt said, "I feel just like a rookie." He had the suspicion that the Iditarod he was about to run would be nothing like the Iditarods he used to run. Now he knows that to be a fact. "A lot of things have changed," Emmitt said. "I can't imagine these rookies going so fast." Gear is lighter now, but more importantly the dogs are better trained, better fed and better tended during the months before the race and on through the competition. "Emmitt, is that beaver there?" someone asked as he cooked for his team. "No, that's beef," he said - prime, Grade A beef, not because it is better than the beaver of old but because it is more consistent and reliable. "We brought the hay down for you Emmitt," someone said. "What's that?" Emmitt asked. "We brought the hay down for you." Twenty-five years ago, there was no hay. Twenty-five years ago, the heavily furred dogs of the Iditarod slept in the snow. Then research veterinarians discovered that the limits to a husky's performance rest not in the ability to endure cold, but the necessity to dump heat. Mushers started breeding leaner dogs with less hair. Those animals don't rest well in the cold. They need straw. Peters has some of the skinny, short-haired dogs in his team this year. He had to work to find a place to bed them in the village where they were out of the wind. Friends helped him move three times before Emmitt was happy with the location in the lee of a building behind the community center. Dozens of people gathered around. Gusts of wind swirled in between the bluffs on either side of the Yukon River village. Straw and dog dishes left behind by others scattered in the wind. Edna offered to work on Emmitt's knee. He confessed to looking forward to taking the one, mandatory, eight-hour Yukon River break here in the village. He needed the sleep, he said. A lot of racing remained. * Outdoors editor Craig Medred can be reached at cmedred@adn.com
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