He was maybe two miles from the checkpoint, he said, fighting for position among a half-dozen top-flight mushers in the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race.

"All I could really see was this little headlight. It looked like a bobblehead on the front of a sled," Mackey said. He swung his head back and forth, miming a punch-drunk fighter.

The headlamp belonged to Martin Buser, the dog mushing Ferrari who had earlier zipped to first place on this year's hard, speedy trail.

"I realized he was sound asleep," said Mackey, who hollered at his fellow four-time champion to wake him.

Buser said he nodded off dozens of times before reaching Anvik. Sometimes he wakes to find himself standing on the runners. Sometimes he wakes to find his dogs bunched in a tangle.

"This was a pretty severe bout of sleep attacks," he said. "Normally I can fight through it and get over it."

But the time for sleeping on the job is over for any musher hoping to escape from the cloud of teams at the front of the pack.

And race junkies watching on computers across the country? Better pour a cup of coffee as mushers head for the windy Norton Sound coast and on to Nome.

Here come the bleary-eyed, waning days of Iditarod.

FINALLY A WIN

The Anvik checkpoint sits on the curve of a snow machine path surrounded by Lincoln log houses piled high with snow. Dozens of thick plastic food bags, the names of mushers stenciled on the side, divide the roadway.

This is where Tok's Hugh Neff, Kotzebue veteran John Baker, Ray Redington Jr. of Wasilla and other top contenders yawned and slept through their mandatory eight-hour rests on the Yukon River -- even as Canadian veterans Sebastian Schnuelle and Hans Gatt pushed ahead to Grayling.

An 8-year-old girl in camouflage snow pants walked from musher to musher looking for autographs. The thermometer hanging from a nearby birch tree showed 36 degrees.

Neff was first to the village checkpoint, winning a multi-course meal that included seared tuna -- "funky, yuppy food," Neff said -- and a purse of $3,500 in one-dollar bills. Neff often races at the front of the pack, but has never won an Iditarod.

In fact, before Friday he'd never won much of anything.

"First award I've won ever in any sport, in anything in my life," Neff said, a hood pulled over the top of his ball cap. He squinted in the sun.

Mackey, who needs a nemesis now that dueling partner Jeff King is on the sidelines, called to Neff as the mushers packed their sleds.

When you leaving? Mackey asked. He wanted to know, Mackey told his friend, so he could figure how long it would take to track him down.

"I'm going to hunt him like a fox hunting a rabbit," Mackey said later.

Neff's response: "He can be the hound. I'll be the wolf."

TRADING JABS

Mackey is chasing a historic fifth-straight victory with a team of nine dogs. He's talked about simply finishing in the top 10 this year and said he believes Buser, who looked strong midway through the contest, won't notch number five, either.

"In my opinion, Martin's out," Mackey said. "He's always got a nice team. But you know, Martin's a big guy and on a trail like this, the little guy's got an advantage."

Though the trail has been hard and fast -- suited to Buser -- it'll soften up down the road, Mackey said.

Mackey hopes 61-year-old Sonny Lindner of Two Rivers stays aggressive. "Sonny's in a great spot. He's got a great team. A nice big team still."

Lindner -- whose best finish was a second-place 30 years ago -- was sixth to reach the Anvik checkpoint.

Neff said to watch for Ramey Smyth, who arrived with a nearly fully loaded team of 15 dogs and is known for stretch-run sprints.

As Neff joked and Mackey jabbed, other mushers claimed they pay no attention to their competitors.

"I haven't looked at a single time, or split, or comparison between racers," Buser said as he ladled kibble stew in plastic bowls. "All I do is take the best care of my guys that I have control over."

"That's maybe why I get along with most people. Because I don't make it personal. I just make it a dog race," he said.

Rick Swenson, the only musher to win five Iditarods, stood nearby. "You need one of these pairs of coveralls?" he asked Buser, teasing. "They only weigh a couple pounds. That way you wouldn't have to walk around in your skivvies," Swenson said.

Buser had been tending to his sled in long johns.

"Did I flash you?" Buser asked.

JONROWE TROUBLES

Later, inside the Anvik checkpoint, Swenson microwaved a soggy burrito and sat down.

He's been racing for days with what he -- and a physician's assistant in Rainy Pass -- believes is a broken collar-bone. He made the right call to keep racing, he said.

"I've spent the last 35 years thinking about this race. I'd hate to miss one because I wimped out," he said.

Two Western Alaska mushers, meanwhile, are heading toward their home turf with dogs acclimated to the coast. Both Baker and Mike Williams Jr., a 26-year-old from Akiak, minimized the notion that they'll carry an advantage against this year's competitive field.

"They're all experienced mushers with good dog teams," Williams said, breaking shards of frozen beef above a five-gallon bucket. The mid-day sun had already melted the salmon laying in a Ziploc bag beside him.

DeeDee Jonrowe's team slept nearby, her lead dog Dragon lifting his head for a passersby.

The 57-year-old Willow musher, who has twice placed second in the race, poured a yellow bottle of Heet across her sled runners. Ice melted away.

The build-up comes from sloppy overflow Jonrowe encountered between Ophir and Iditarod, she said. The 90-mile run was a hard one, she said, beginning when a dog named Smokey began favoring a paw.

Jonrowe placed the dog in her basket. About 35 miles before Iditarod, she skidded in overflow, pinning the 180-pound sled against a tree. Smokey was in the sled and Jonrowe was under it, she said.

"I eventually was able to get my hands free," she said. She cut the neck lines she'd use to secure the dog in the basket and righted the sled.

Kristen Kruger, of Anvik, stood on a snow bank, listening to Jonrowe's story. It must have been hard on Smokey to watch the team pull without him, she said.

The 18-year-old drew a picture of Jonrowe that she's asking mushers to sign at the checkpoint.

"They need a woman to win this year, I think," she said.

Jonrowe had signed "DeeDee" on the shoulder of Kruger's pink and purple jacket.