Buser loaded up on painkillers, antibiotics and anti-inflammatory pills, wore bandages and a special splint on his mangled hand -- he also had stitches up the inside length of his ring finger and two stitches on his index finger from a table-saw accident Tuesday -- and stuffed it inside an oversized black mitten.

Yet there he was at the festive, ceremonial start of the 33rd Iditarod, happily signing autographs -- he's left-handed -- and posing for photographs with fans on a crisp, sunny morning before setting off on a journey to Nome that is perilous even for mushers in the best of health.

The first day was easy, starting out on trucked-in snow downtown, then taking a slow run for 11 miles with reduced teams of 12 dogs hauling Idita-Riders, who paid for the thrill. The race really gets going today with a restart from Willow. From there it's a danger-filled trail through steep gorges, along frozen rivers and over mountain passes -- sometimes into howling winds.

Buser, 46, born in Switzerland and living in Alaska since 1979, is not in the race merely to finish, as are some of the other 78 mushers. This is his 22nd Iditarod, and he's out to claim the $75,000 top prize.

"First place is the expectation, with the realization that if my health deteriorates I'm going to have to regroup," said Buser, who last won in 2002 and is seeking to tie Rick Swenson's record of five victories. "It would be foolish to jeopardize my long-term health. I don't want to get blood poisoning or infections.

"But as long as everything goes good, we're racing for first."

Buser, who lost an inch and a half off his middle finger, is carrying various contraptions to get him through the race. He hopes to switch in a few days from the cumbersome splint he's using now to a lighter one that will give him more freedom to move his fingers if some of the dexterity comes back.

Throughout the race, he'll have to keep medicating his fingers with ointments and taking antibiotics. With sleep deprivation a factor for all mushers -- more than a few have fallen off their sleds over the years after dozing off -- Buser will try to limit the painkillers so they don't make him too drowsy.

What he can't do is simply rely on his left hand.

"It can't be a one-handed race," Buser said. "I can't do my dog chores effectively with one hand. So I'm going to require a lot of help from my index finger and my thumb, especially to put on booties and ointments to the various dogs. That's a daily chore that we do five or six times a day."

To those who would call Buser reckless -- risking his own safety and the lives of his dogs -- for taking on this nine-to-10-day challenge, he responds that this is his livelihood. His physician, Dr. Mike McNamara, examined his hand at the start and said it was healing well.

"Those of us who only get one paycheck a year, we would say we can't miss out on the day we get paid," said Buser, though he also has a thriving kennel business, numerous sponsors and competes in other races.

"It's certainly more than a paycheck, but that's a big part of it. The people who say, well, you shouldn't go, they probably don't put their whole year on one day. It's an experience. It's a proving ground, a testing ground for my dogs and myself and my whole operation. It's a lifestyle, and we work toward this year-round. It would be foolish, if it's at all humanly possible to do it, to stay home."

This Iditarod, which features six former champions, the youngest of rookies and grizzled veterans in theirs 60s, is filled with compelling personal dramas.

Rachael Scdoris, who sees her dogs and the trail only as blobs and blurs, became the first legally blind musher to start the Iditarod. Aided by a "visual interpreter" running with a team ahead of her -- former powerlifter, professional wrestler and 2000 Iditarod competitor Paul Ellering -- the 20-year-old Scdoris fulfilled a lifetime dream when she put on her No. 10 bib and took off from Fourth Avenue and H Street at exactly 10:10 a.m.

"Gosh, I'm so nervous," said Scdoris of Bend, Ore., her sensitive eyes shielded from the bright sun by black, leather-sided sunglasses. "Just the fact that I'm here and this is the ceremonial start of Iditarod is pretty overwhelming. I'm sure once I get out there, everything will be fun."

Steve Wilstein is a sports opinion columnist for the Associated Press.

So have organizers for the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race. While we humans bask in the lovely late-winter sunshine, for canine athletes with thick fur coats, it can be a different matter.

That's the principle reason behind today's Iditarod restart time of 2 p.m. in Willow.

With temperatures forecast to reach the 40s, overheating is a concern. But with the later start time (the traditional restart time is 10 a.m.), the coldest part of the day will be ahead of teams, not the hottest.

"We're running into the coolness of the evening rather than into the heat of the day," said four-time champion Martin Buser of Big Lake.

Buser said it's pretty easy to tell when a dog is overheating: the tongue droops out of the mouth a little lower, and there may be deep panting.

But Linwood Fiedler of Willow, who dropped out of this year's Iditarod because of a lingering ankle injury, thought the later starting time wouldn't make much of a difference.

Dogs can get used to running in warmer weather, he said. They simply have to train in it.

"I've started lots of races when it's warm. It's not that big of a concern," he said.

And some teams will leave in the heat of the day.

"When we left in the morning, the last teams left in the heat," Fiedler said. "Now, the first teams leave in the heat. They've just flipped it around as far as I can see."

Buser and four-time champion Jeff King of Denali Park both opted to sign up for the race later than most, ensuring a starting spot in the back of the pack at a cooler time of day. King will start 78th out of 79 mushers, while Buser will start 77th.

"I figured if it is a hot starting day, later-starting teams might have an even bigger advantage," Buser said.

Not everyone is thinking this way. Defending champion Mitch Seavey of Sterling is starting sixth, for instance.

Zack Steer, co-owner of Sheep Mountain Lodge near Eureka, isn't so sure starting late is a good idea. After numerous teams pass over the trail, it can get rough.

"I think it's been a long time since Martin or Jeff have seen the back of the trail. It can be pretty awful," said Steer, who is starting 17th.

And dogs can leave behind germs that cause sickness in other dogs, Steer said.

"It's happened a lot. You get all those teams from different parts of the country and different parts of the world, and it's like the first day of school," Steer said. "All those germs that (the dogs) haven't been exposed to, they haven't had a chance to build up immunity. They get the canine version of the flu.

"It can take you out of contention," he added. "You can still finish the race, but you won't be competitive."

Another issue with the later start time is how it affects fans watching the race.

It allows more fans from Anchorage to make the drive, but there may be fewer fans on snowmobiles who watch along the trail as it winds to Yentna and then Skwentna. They will have to be back by nightfall.

Some mushers are concerned the later start time will cause Iditarod revelers to be speeding home on snowmachines along the Yentna and Skwentna Rivers in the early evening -- going the opposite way as the mushers.

Iditarod spokesman Chas St. George said an armada of snowmobiles follows the teams on restart day as far as Finger Lake.

"I worry about people giving way to mushers," he said. "Once you get out onto the ice, you've got snowmachines everywhere."

In 2001, a snowmachiner plowed into the team of Mike Nosko just 2 ½ hours into the race, injuring several dogs. That happened during the daytime.

Nosko mushed on until Finger Lake, dropping several dogs along the way, but was forced to scratch.

"The worry is drunk snowmachiners coming back from parties," Steer said. "They talked about it at the driver's meeting. Hopefully, everyone will have a good time and get back down the river safe and be aware there's a dog race going on."

Buser said the vast majority of people are "aware and courteous with their snowmobiles." In years past, Buser said, he's seen numerous bonfire parties along the trail on restart day, and people handed out hot dogs and coffee to mushers.

Fiedler said he's also had good experiences with fans watching along the trail on restart day. The 1,100-mile Iditarod offers few opportunities for fans to watch, and Fiedler is concerned that the later start time will mean fewer people along the trail.

"It's kind of a loss," he said. "We (mushers) like our quiet, but we're very dependent on those moments that showcase the race."

Daily News sports reporter Ron Wilmot can be reached at rwilmot@adn.com or 1-907-352-6712.

The 1,100-mile run to Nome begins officially today at 2 p.m. on Willow Lake, and a quarter of the 79 mushers might be considered contenders for the crown.

In the next 10 days, they're likely to speed along frozen rivers, negotiate well-packed trail and flounder through fresh drifts. They will negotiate open creeks and keep a wary eye out for dog-stomping moose and buffalo drawn to the packed trail.

Most mushers say this winter has brought superb training conditions, leaving their teams in top shape. The six former champions will have to keep a close eye not only on each other, but on a slew of young mushers and a few veterans eager to join that select group.

Longtime race marshal Mark Nordman said he's never seen an Iditarod where so many mushers are potential winners.

"I've said it before, that the top 10 was hard to pick. But not like this," he said Thursday night. Nordman said he wouldn't be surprised by anything.

The surprises started earlier this week when four-time winner Martin Buser suffered a potentially debilitating injury in a table-saw accident and had half a finger amputated. The incident immediately spawned visions of Buser opting out of the race.

Buser banished that notion Thursday when he arrived at the mushers' banquet with a trim, custom bandage on his hand and a look of determination on his face.

"Strive for (victory) five in '05," he said to cheers from the crowd.

Another announcement at the banquet drew gasps. One of the most-loved mushers in the business and last year's sixth-place finisher, Charlie Boulding of Manley Hot Springs, says this will be his last Iditarod. His 62-year-old knees are feeling the miles, he said, and he and his wife, Robin, may trade in the dog sleds for a boat.

Defending champion Mitch Seavey got a pleasant surprise after drawing his starting position -- lucky number 7.

"I'm lovin' it," he said, obviously elated. Earlier he said his team is stronger than last year, and while luck plays a role in many an Iditarod win, he noted, "The better the team, the better the driver, the better your luck is."

Among the many eager to take home the $72,000 first prize plus a new Dodge pickup are three-time champ and last year's runner-up Jeff King of Denali Park; Norwegian phenom Robert Sorlie, who vaulted from rookie of the year to first place from 2002 to 2003; and Doug Swingley of Lincoln, Mont., and Rick Swenson of Two Rivers, who between them have nine victories.

But a slew of mushers threaten the old guard, from Kotzebue's Ed Iten and John Baker to young turks such as Ramey Smyth, Jason Barron and Aaron Burmeister, to veterans including Ramy Brooks, Vern Halter and Ken Anderson.

Said Nordman, "Hungry hunters hunt best."

Several of this year's 26 rookies admit a combination of surprise and delight that they're entered at all. Running in the Iditarod typically requires years of planning and hard work, not to mention a substantial cash outlay. To come before 2,000 racers and fans at the banquet and pull a starting-place number out of the mukluk is a heady place to be.

"Wow," exclaimed Rachael Scdoris, the legally blind 20-year-old from Bend, Ore., "I've been planning this my whole life and finally I'm here!"

Scdoris may be the most famous rookie in Iditarod history, and on Thursday night was thronged by autograph seekers and well-wishers. She won special dispensation from Iditarod directors to get help from another musher on the trail by using radios to warn her of upcoming hazards.

Many first-time racers share Scdoris' enthusiasm but operate far under the public radar. Bryan Mills, of Merango, Wis., got hooked on dogs while helping Iditarod veteran Bennie Stamm the last two years. When Stamm couldn't enter this year, Mills jumped at the chance.

"I never ran a race until this year," he said. But he completed the requisite mid-distance races, and Thursday night found himself standing alongside Lance Mackey, who just won the Yukon Quest, and Jeff King, a three-time Iditarod champ.

"I'm nervous -- I'd be lying if I said I wasn't," Mills said of his Iditarod debut. But he expects to reach Nome, in spite of the inevitable rookie difficulties that lie ahead. "I'm a farm kid," he said. "We're used to things going wrong."

The race winner is usually that musher for whom everything clicks perfectly. Neither the dogs nor the driver get sick. The sled doesn't break. The competition wears out sooner, or can't catch up. The storms occur behind them rather than in front.

Two rule changes this year could make the race start itself a crucial element in who finishes first. In recent years, the restart in Wasilla or Willow has been at 10 a.m., putting the teams on the trail just as daytime temperatures peak. Heat can take a toll on dogs, and some mushers say it can take days to recuperate.

This year, the restart is 2 p.m., which puts most teams on the trail as temperatures start to fall.

A second rule change allowed mushers to choose whether to start in the early portion of the race, in the middle of the pack or toward the end. Seavey and Swenson elected for the early start, and should enjoy better trail conditions than those who follow.

King and Buser were among those who opted for the late start and will leave Willow around 4:30 p.m. Though the first dozen miles of trail will be chewed up by previous teams, their dogs will enjoy the coolest air of the day.

Race manager Jack Niggemyer said the trail is a mixed bag that's changing hourly. It appears there will be plenty of snow leading up to Rainy Pass, in contrast to 2003 when a dry winter forced the race north to Fairbanks.

The notorious Dalzell Gorge, which takes racers from the Alaska Range down to the Kuskokwim River, has snow this year rather than ice. So much snow has fallen farther on that volunteer trail breakers are struggling in some areas, Niggemyer said. Relatively warm weather has forced them to build log bridges over numerous open creeks.

But elsewhere, frozen rivers will make for fast traveling, and some stretches that normally feature bare ground are smooth and white. If mild weather holds for the mushers past Rohn Roadhouse, on the other side of the Alaska Range, the dogs will enjoy snoozing on warm days and working in cool mornings and nights.

The heavy snows could introduce an additional danger this year: mosse and buffalo on the trail. Mushers who don't normally carry pistols are packing this year to scare off unruly animals and, if necessary, protect their dogs.

The southern route used in odd-numbered years is usually slower than the northern route, though not by much. Swingley's 1995 record is just four hours slower than Buser's northern record, set in 2002.

If the pace matches those of recent years, the winner could be greeted in Nome a week from Tuesday.

Daily News reporter Joel Gay can be reached at jgay@adn.com or at 257-4310.