I’ve been up in Anchorage the last couple of days as preparations for the Iditarod wind down for Saturday’s ceremonial start here. Wednesday was the media briefing; Thursday the mushers showed up for their pre-race meeting. Thursday evening, I attended the Mushers Banquet at the new Dena’ina Civic & Convention Center downtown.

One of the good stories heading into this year’s Iditarod is the contrast between the top two finishers from last year, Lance Mackey and Jeff King. Two-time defending champ Mackey, 38, is old-school, leather-tough and has emerged as the worlds’ best musher by operating his kennel on a shoestring budget. The throat cancer survivor wears an earring, sports a ponytail and is glued to his baseball cap.

Four-time winner King, by contrast, is slick (at least by musher standards). He  wears a shiny jacket from his main sponsor, runs a successful tourism business in the summer out of his home in Denali and is notorious for his experimentation and innovation. At 53, he looks less weathered than Mackey with his kempt, silver hair and neatly trimmed mustache.

Their racing styles are different, too. Mackey is a risk-taker on the trail and cagier off it. King is conservative and consistent. Both are fast. Those differences were brought into stark relief last year. King led the Iditarod until the last 100 miles, when Mackey caught him oversleeping at a checkpoint and snuck out to take over the lead and eventually the win.

While there is obvious mutual respect, musher’s aren’t above a little trash talk. Mackey was overheard telling reporters recently that King is a “spoiled brat,” but quickly added that “he’s still a friend of mine.” King said he didn’t want to badmouth Mackey, calling him a “tough hombre” who doesn’t whine. But he’s well aware that they are like oil and water when it comes to mushing.

“It’s like (former Bears quarterback) Jim McMahon, the arrogant trouble maker, and (former 49ers quarterback Joe Montana, the smooth, go-about-your-business guy. Both are great at what they do, but vastly different personalities.” King did have some kind words for Mackey, and the two clearly admire each other’s skills. “I enjoy Lance,” said King. “We have not had opportunity to be best buds, but he’s a class act.”

King also relishes his reputation as the sport’s great innovator. Among other things, he’s cooked up a heated handlebar for his sled, and has been in the vanguard of training his dogs in water in the offseason. More recently, he’s had his team sleep in hypoxic chambers to increase their red blood cell production.

His latest concoction is a canopy fashioned from an REI backpacking doghouse that he can pull over himself when he’s sitting in his sled. He says it provides extra comfort in high winds or rain, which can be a competitive advantage in a sleep-starved race like the Iditarod. “My comfort influences my performance,” he says. Sitting down, King says he increases his average sled speed by .2 or .3 mph do to the different weight distribution, which would offset any drag created by the canopy.

“It’s all about energy management, both mine and the dogs,” he says, adding that looking at problems on the trail with fresh eyes is what keeps him motivated after 19 Iditarods. “The more they and I have, and the more wisely it’s spent, the further I get down the trail. We have a saying around the compound: Don’t look at what it is; look at what it could be.”

King, whose tinkering has been both a source of ridicule and mimicry in the mushing community, told me he plans to take the 8-9 once tarp with him on the Iditarod. Its use will be weather-dependent. “If it’s raining going up the Yukon, I guarantee you it’ll be going up,” he says.  

When talking about his newest gadget, King couldn’t resist taking a dig at Mackey. “I might put it up just to pass Mackey if he’s camping for the shock and awe value,” he says. The 37^th Iditarod is shaping up to be a dandy.