I’m writing this in June, but you’ll probably read it in July. By now, summer is in full swing. Riding season has been going for a couple of months—maybe longer depending on where you live. For me, this is usually the golden part of the year. Aside from Christmas (because, let’s be honest, Santa still has a soft spot in my heart), this stretch of sun-drenched days and dusty trails usually brings the kind of excitement that makes everything else fade away. But this year’s felt… different. Not just different—unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my years on the bike.
To be honest, I’m struggling. I picked up two new bikes this season—fast machines, the kind that make you feel like you’re cheating the laws of physics on a descent. But I’ve been slower. More sore. A little breathless, not just on climbs but in general. I feel out of rhythm, like I’m chasing a version of myself that’s just out of reach. I’m not riding like the “G” I usually am. And that hurts more than I expected.
There’s been drama too—inside the cycling community and outside it. The kind of background noise that usually rolls off my back is suddenly sticky, harder to ignore. It’s made some of the things I’ve always loved feel heavy, weighed down. Rides I used to look forward to now come with hesitation. Races feel like pressure instead of joy. That spark, the thing that got me into this sport in the first place, feels like it’s dimmed. And it’s exhausting.
It’s rough. And honestly, it’s been demotivating. There are mornings where I sit on the edge of the bed, shoes in hand, wondering if it even matters if I ride today. That’s a dangerous mindset, and I know it. Those thoughts pile up fast, creating a mental fog that makes it hard to even start pedaling. I have to constantly remind myself to just keep pushing. To keep riding, even when it feels pointless. But the truth is, some days I’m just not winning that fight.
What’s been saving me, oddly enough, are the chill rides. The long, no-agenda, slow-zone days with a friend or two. No pace goals. No heart rate data. Just rolling, laughing, maybe stopping for a bad gas station burrito or a good coffee. Those have been the anchor keeping me from drifting too far off course. I don’t need to win this year’s Iceman. I just need to show up and ride it like I did last year—or maybe just a touch better—so I can keep my wave placement. Last year I was in Wave 19, and it was honestly perfect. Fast enough to have fun and push myself, but not so crowded I had to dismount for every jammed singletrack. Trust me, that’s a far cry from Wave 43, where walking your bike becomes part of your strategy.
So this year, I’m dialing it back. Long zone 2 rides will be my foundation, with the occasional full-gas sprint up a hill just to wake the legs up. I think I came into this year a little too hot—riding the trainer like I was preparing for Worlds, not Iceman. I wanted to maximize every watt, squeeze every gain out of my new bikes. But in doing that, I think I forgot why I filled my garage with bikes in the first place. Yes, I want to be fast. And sure, there’s a part of me that buys into the “if you’re not first, you’re last” mindset. But above all, I want this to be fun. Training can be fun—but when it turns into a grind that leaves you asking why you’re doing it at all, you’ve crossed a line. That’s not training anymore. That’s work you don’t want to do.
I think this is a common struggle—maybe more common than most of us admit. We all want to show up at the big dance and put on a show. Maybe impress that girl we never had the nerve to ask to prom. Maybe prove to ourselves that we still have it. But somewhere in that chase, I lost sight of what Iceman really is. It’s not just a race. It’s a party. It’s 30 miles of pine needles, sand pits, and beer handups in the woods with 5,000 of our closest friends. And at the end of the day, it’s not about the podium—it’s about crossing that finish
line with a smile on your face and the love of two wheels still firmly rooted in the dirt beneath you.
So if this is resonating with you—if you’ve been feeling that same pressure to always be better, faster, leaner—take a deep breath. You don’t need to win. You don’t need to punish yourself or slip into a skinsuit just to save a watt. Let yourself ease back in the saddle, let the wind hit your face, and just enjoy the ride. Because that’s what really matters.
Everything else is just numbers on a screen. The real joy is in the smiles you see on the trail—and the one others see on you.
Thank you Gerald Gaecke @g_dubs83_ for being our June guest blogger. You may recognize Gerald as he was one of our 2024 Iceman Ambassadors (Trailblazer)!