2023—my first Iceman. Man, it felt like Christmas morning as I counted down the days to registration. I was literally glued to my screen, the refresh button getting the workout of its life, making sure I snagged my spot before it filled up. And when I locked it in? I was over the moon, ready to dive headfirst into the ultimate Michigan mountain bike race.
The build-up was serious. I made it a point to race every month—part of my routine for the year. A lot of training rides, runs, long grinds, pushing hard to prepare for what was coming. When they finally released the wave placements, I landed in wave 43, practically at the back of the pack. No surprise there—first time riding the Iceman, over 40, and rolling in on a fat bike. I wasn’t mad about it. Every race uses waves, and let’s be real, the older you are or the slower they think you might be, the further back you go.
I could’ve requested to move up since I’d been crushing races that were similar in distance and elevation all year long, placing in the top 5 and top 20 in a few. But I held back. Iceman is a legend, and I wanted to experience it in its full glory, start to finish, no shortcuts. So, I accepted my spot in wave 43 and got serious about my training.
As the race approached, the nerves kicked in—mixed with a hefty dose of excitement. I’d spent months dialing in everything: crack-of-dawn rides, hitting trails fast and hard, testing tire setups and PSI like it was a science experiment. Whatever edge I could find, I was going after it, knowing I’d need every bit of it come race day.
The weekend of the race, I was lucky enough to crash with some friends at Timber Ridge—hardcore Iceman vets who’ve been doing this for years. Their advice was pure gold. We talked about the infamous “conga lines” that form in the single track, how to find those key moments to attack, and where to save energy.
The expo, though, was a bit much for me. Huge crowds aren’t my thing, but I soaked it in anyway, grabbing all the swag I could for my kids (and a few goodies for myself, including some fresh Iceman gear). I glanced at the long line for packet pickup and noped out of there—deciding to join my group for a ride on the last 10 miles of the course before circling back for the packets later. Best decision ever.
Iceman is known for keeping things fresh each year, tweaking the course just enough to keep everyone on their toes. Riding those last 10 miles ahead of time was huge. I knew what to expect on race day, from the flowy, fast sections to the small bumps and drops. It made all the difference, especially when things got tight in traffic.
Antia Hill? Total game-changer to know it has that sneaky false summit—you’ve gotta dig deep and keep pushing. The downhill under the powerlines, followed by a sandy climb, was another key section. And don’t even get me started on that new single-track shortcut that dumps you into the infamous woodchip hill climb. Knowing the 90-degree turn that forces you to nearly stop right before the climb was like having a cheat code. I was ready.
Then, the beast of the Icebreaker climb—that long, drawn-out grind. From there, it’s tight singletrack until you hit the final stretch into Timber Ridge Campground. Knowing how to handle the transition from dirt to pavement on that last sharp corner saved me from a potential wipeout that caught a few pros. From there, it’s all about that final push to the finish.
Race day? It was everything and more. I could barely sleep the night before, the anticipation buzzing through me. I woke up early, grabbed some coffee, and chatted with the crew I was staying with about what was ahead. We loaded up our bikes and headed to the start line. Almost everyone in my group was set to start nearly two hours before me. Even though the morning air was crisp, almost biting, the atmosphere was electric—alive with excitement and energy.
To stay warm and loosen up, I rode around the airfield, getting my legs ready for what was about to come. When it was finally my wave’s turn to enter the chute, I felt a pit in my stomach—nerves and excitement wrestling for control. Then, as soon as the buzz signaling the start rang out, something clicked. I sprinted off that line harder than I ever have before.
Crossing the finish line, I hit that post-race wall—completely bonked. I stopped next to someone I knew, barely aware of where I was or what had just happened. Once I snapped out of it, I headed back to refuel—shower, change, and my go-to post-race treat: a pint of chocolate ice cream. Afterward, I soaked up the vibe, which is something words can’t fully capture. Iceman isn’t just a race—it’s like a mountain biking festival. I’ve been to big events and festivals before, but there’s nothing quite like Iceman. The energy is electric, the people are incredible, and everyone’s sharing this wild, rugged, muddy experience together. It’s like the best rave you’ve ever been to, mashed with the most intense, joyful mountain biking event imaginable. You leave it with an overwhelming desire to come back, year after year.
See you all on November 2nd! Find me out there—I’ll be trading bracelets, snapping selfies, and sending it with every bit of PLUR energy we can summon. Let’s ride!
Thank you to our 2024 Iceman Ambassador Gerald Gaecke @g_dub83_