An aging Iditarod legend whose twinkling blue eyes and celebrity charm are as famous as his athletic feats, Lance Mackey is doing everything he can in 2012 to stave off what he calls "the inevitable" -- forced retirement under the grips of a body so battered it can't keep up.
Yet in nearly the same breath that the four-time champion made that foreboding admission, he coupled it with lofty aspiration. He wants to join Rick Swenson as the only musher to claim five victories.
"I will always be a four-time champ. Might not be a five-time. But I will always be four," Mackey said in between snapping photos with fans and signing autographs at La Mex restaurant in Anchorage Thursday.
Mackey, known for an almost supernatural ability to connect with his dogs, has long been able to strike fear in the hearts and minds of other mushers. His teams traditionally have incredible stamina, and his trail know-how -- including a trick or two to sneak ahead -- have given him a reliable edge year after year. Last year was the first time in five years he wasn't the first musher down front street in Nome; he finished 16th. Back with the same zeal and a healthy team, he's ready for a serious race to the finish line.
Joining him will be team leaders Rev and Maple, dogs who've come of age driving Mackey into the history books and who he's hoping will lead him through a competitive field thick with seasoned champions and young stars looking to make their mark.
Off the trail Mackey is somewhat of a notorious heartthrob. Children love that he's a champ. Fans love his odds-defying, inspirational tale of beating cancer and going on to a remarkable career in a physically grueling sport.
Others love the gripping wins he's racked up on his way to becoming one of distance dog racing's winningest athletes. Yet for others, there's no explaining the swooning love they feel for the nimble and thready hero, something newly minted Anchorage resident Chris Wright intimately knows. Mackey is the "other man" in his wife's life.
"There's no rhyme of reason, no explanation for it," Wright said of his wife's infatuation with the Iditarod race and one of it's all-time kings.
Somehow, someway, Regina Wright was bitten by the Iditarod bug – despite living thousands of miles away in the windy city of Chicago. From her Illinois home, she tracks the race and Mackey's progress in it, often staying up until 3 a.m.
On Thursday, it was she who became winded, caught off guard when her husband, who'd only arrived in Anchorage Sunday without his family to start a new job, handed Mackey the phone and asked him to talk to Regina, your "huge-est fan."
The early part of the conversation sounded mostly one sided, with Mackey doing all of the talking: "Breathe. Breathe. Was that something you knocked over or did you fall down?"
"I'm not sure she's breathing yet," Mackey said to Wright's beaming husband, Chris, giddy that he'd found -- live and in-person -- one of her heroes. "She was hyperventilating, I think," a smiling Mackey would later tell Wright when the call ended.
'That was amazing'
Wright (Chris) summed up the exchange in three words: "That was amazing!"
Maybe it was fate. He stumbled upon the book signing at La Mex by accident, going on a drive in search of dinner after spending a few hours hanging out with an operation giving dog sled rides in downtown Anchorage.
To further soothe his wife, whom he describes as "jealous as can be" that he's here while she's back home with the couple's school-aged children, Wright made sure to leave with an autographed copy of Mackey's book and a signed pencil drawing of Mackey and his lead dog, Maple.
Mackey told him he'd better send the gifts overnight.
Fan culture is part of what makes the Iditarod so popular. People love the mushers. They love the adventure. The drama. And, they love the dogs.
Kari Welsh, an office manager at Alaska Sausage and Seafood, fell in love with Mackey after his back-to back Yukon Quest and Iditarod wins in 2009. She and her sister, Kelly Welsh, also made the trek to La Mex for dinner and a healthy serving of Mackey mania.
"He's really nice and down to earth. Plus he's cute," Kari said, explaining that at work, her musher-crush is an open secret. "My boss doesn't ever ask 'How's the race going?'," she said. "He asks, 'How's your boy doing?'"
Before they left, the sisters asked for one more picture with Mackey, who teased "No. All the free ones are done," to which Kari replied,"Kelly, get out your checkbook!"
Mackey said it's not unheard of for ultra zealous fans to ask for or offer to buy crazy things, like the socks off his feet or locks of hair from his ever-growing ponytail.
An old-man's sled
Although Mackey is bringing his trademark "can do" attitude to the 2012 race, he admits, some things will be different.
Gone is the stand-up only sled he rode proudly as a badge of honor -- defiantly rejecting sit-down models he once called "old man" or "lazy man" sleds. Mackey's changed his ways, adopting the seat he once mocked.
"For the first time ever I will be using a sit-down sled," he admitted Thursday, two days before the race's ceremonial start in Anchorage.
"I like to think about it as a therapeutic sled -- another tool to prolong the inevitable," he said, referring to the rigors of the sport. "Our knees are shot. Our shoulders are shot. Our backs sag."
Will the change slow down the mad man of mushing? Not if he can help it.
Mackey tried the new sled in this year's Yukon Quest, a 1,000-mile sled dog race that precedes the Iditarod by a few weeks, and he liked it. "I felt good for the first time ever after the Quest," he said, touting the benefits of leisurely riding through the wilds of Alaska.
Instead of trying to pour and drink a shaky cup of coffee or tea while bumping along standing up, he can now instead sit back and take more time to savor his snacks, indulging in sips of hot, Earl Grey tea cut with French vanilla creamer as he nibbles on homemade oatmeal raisin cookies, his favorite.
2011s big bonk
Going into the 2011 race, tensions were high about whether Mackey, who'd already shattered records and stunned race watchers with his four-year winning streak, could maintain his reign. But early on, problems surfaced. His dogs weren't running as a team, and some were plagued with injury and illness. About two-thirds of the way to Nome, it became clear Mackey was no longer a threat to win.
"I think it was a good thing," Mackey said of his 16th-place finish, managing to find a silver lining. "Now I have no expectations. And I never will again."
Maple and Rev, leaders who'd reliably hauled him to victory in 2009 and 2010, were among the dogs he was forced to dropped. Mackey would later learn that another dropped dog -- a big, 70 pound boy named Al, who seemed sick but not gravely ill, nearly died. After the race, many blood transfusions and $4,000 later, Al was back among the living. Yet vets said that Al would probably never race again.
They may not have remembered that Mackey is the comeback king, someone who possesses an other-worldy sixth sense about dogs.
One year later Al, the yellow 3-year old who nearly didn't make it, successfully ran the Yukon Quest and will be part of the team Mackey drives on Saturday in the race's symbolic start. Unlike five other Quest dogs, including Maple and Rev, that's the only taste of the Iditarod Al will get. Taking a well-earned rest, he won't continue on towards Nome.
No longer will Mackey run young dogs back to back in distance races. It ages them too quickly, he said.
Mackey describes his 2012 line up as "by far a much better team" than last year's crew -- a team that's capable, in sync and "bomb proof." That's a reference to some of Mackey's best teams, which were able to endure the worst -- be it wrong turns, awful weather or lousy trail conditions -- and keep going. Last year's team lacked that quality.
This year, he's feeling the magic, that perfect connection between racer and dog team that can make the difference.
Who to beat?
For all of his optimism, Mackey is acutely aware that victory, if it comes, won't come easily. The race pack is just as hungry and capable as he is. There are many experienced mushers, dog drivers with successful finishes and victories under their belts, most notably John Baker, the 2011 champion who shattered the race speed record while becoming the first Inupiaq to win the race.
The list goes on: 2004 champion Mitch Seavey, two-time runner-up Paul Gebhardt, Cim and Ramey Smyth, four-time champion Martin Buser, DeeDee Jonrowe and five-time champ Rick Swenson, the winningest musher in Iditarod history. All are veterans aiming to prove they've still got game.
Not to be outdone is a new generation of drivers who are able, eager and young: Pete Kaiser, 24, Mike Williams Jr., 24, Ryan Redington, 29, and Dallas Seavey, 25.
Perhaps the biggest threats? Quest champion Hugh Neff of Tok, who Mackey's brother, Jason, calls a "gritty little dude" now full of confidence after beating Mackey in the Quest.
And there's 55-year-old Jeff King, another four-time champion and love-him-or-hate-him race veteran who's come back from a short retirement looking to even the score with 41-year-old Mackey, his longtime rival, after a narrow loss in 2010.
"Oh hell yeah," Mackey said on whether King is someone to watch out for. "That's not someone you take lightly. He didn't come here to go camping."
Going to the dogs
While some elements of the race will be the same year to year, it's the unpredictable that can menace mushers and dogs. Too much snow, too little snow, brutal cold, unseasonable warmth -- they all pose challenges to which drivers and dogs must adapt.
This year, a race course change eliminates the notorious "Happy River Steps" -- a series of steep, often icy, side-winder switchbacks known to gobble up sleds and spit back riders, battered and bruised. That will force a change in strategy, Mackey said. Unusually deep snow in some areas is another concern.
"I think we're going to be humbled a bit," Mackey said of this year's unknowns.
Many mushers will race on a finely calibrated run-rest schedule. It worked for Baker in 2011, although Baker did methodically cut rest toward the end to make a series of subtle gains, a move that rewarded him with an insurmountable lead and a record-setting victory. Baker thought his dogs could handle it, and he was right.
It's that willingness to switch things up that Mackey believes is key, and is a trait he's staked more than one win on.
"You have to drive according to dogs, not according to schedule," he said, repeating the self-proclaimed race mantra he's uttered many times over the years.
On that note, he's signaled he may be ready to shift gears, opening up his team's full capabilities earlier in the race than he has in the past.
It's not without risks. If a musher pushes dogs too fast too soon, the team can fizzle and never regain the gusto needed to get to the finish line first.
But Mackey's track record shows he can do it, and he confessed earlier this week that he hasn't let his recent teams go all out. "I've kind of had a lead foot for the last couple of years," he said.
Contact Jill Burke at jill(at)alaskadispatch.com