Iceman has this way of pulling you in every year with a big warm hug, then knocking you flat and asking why you weren’t ready for it. And still, we line up again and again because there’s nothing in Michigan, maybe nothing anywhere, that feels quite like showing up for this race with your family, your friends, and your bike that’s one mechanical away from emotional terrorism.
The Road to Iceman
This whole year was basically one long lead-up to November. Between RedFox rides, building up my new budget hardtail, long gravel days, mid-week tempo grind sessions, and doing everything I could to get my numbers back into a solid race zone, I felt as ready as I’ve ever been. Even did the race-sim training ride, which reminded me that “race pace” hurts a lot more when you’re not actually racing for anything yet.
Meanwhile, I checked the weather two or three times a day like some sort of meteorology addict trying to decide if I needed to bring the fat bike “just in case we get a full mud man this year.” Spoiler: I left it at home, YOLO.
The kids were hyped, too. Every week it was, “Dad, can we get another ride in before the Sno Cone?” Watching them get ready is honestly better than anything I do on a bike.
The Curse of the Family Vehicles
A week out, my wife’s car died. Not “needs a tune-up” died, more like “Nope, see you after Iceman” died. So we figured out how to cram a family of five into my little truck for a four-day weekend.
Then, four days before the race, my truck shut off while my wife was driving home late at night. I immediately went into full-blown race-logistics-panic mode. Heart rate in Zone 2 without even pedaling.
Turns out… she just ran out of gas. The sending unit was lying about how much fuel was left. Lesson learned: if it reads a quarter tank, it’s already empty. Honestly that should be an Iceman motto.
Exodus to Traverse City
Thursday finally came and we made the move north. Smooth sailing. Spirits rising. Dinner at Don’s Drive-In with the whole family. It was one of those simple meals that hits way harder because you’re already making memories before the race even starts.
Friday: Expo Day
The hotel buzzed before sunrise like everyone had plugged themselves into a giant charger labeled stoke. Standing in line, talking with friends and rivals, watching kids running around wearing jerseys two sizes too big, it’s electric.
My wife beelined straight for the merch booth to snag me a jersey while I grabbed packets. Then came the wandering, the deals, the “hey man good luck tomorrow,” the bling made from old bike parts that my kids absolutely needed, and some new shoes I absolutely convinced myself were a “need.”
Got to chat with Brian Matter about his Bronk Bros podcast and how Drew Dillman might be in for a rude awakening. Swapped a few words with Noah Ramsay about his Zwift Academy journey, his year with Alpecin-Deceuninck, and the absolute comedy of watching Willy sleep on Alexey Vermeulen’s back while the rest of us talk tires and pray for not a mud man.
The expo is chaos. It hits like a tornado, it’s over too fast, and somehow it’s one of the best parts of the entire weekend.
The Final Prep
Dropped the kids’ bikes at the club cabin. Carb-loaded at Cracker Barrel with the RedFox crew. Helped the kids lay out their race gear, then laid out mine. I swear prepping gear is half the sport at this point.
Race Morning
Up at 5 AM, moving around the dark hotel room like a raccoon with a race number. Heated up pancakes in the fitness center. Made coffee with my own machine, pro tip, bring your own if you don’t want sadness in a cup before the biggest race of the year.
By 7 AM I was taping gels to the top tube, filling bottles, loading the hydration pack, sorting powders in Ziplocs that absolutely looked suspicious enough to get me on a watch list. Then my wife dropped me at the start.
Warm-Up and Line-Up
It was 33 degrees, so I rolled around wearing winter gloves with hand warmers stuffed inside like I was trying to smuggle a small heater. Chatting with friends helped settle the nerves. I felt ready. Calm. Focused.
Then the wave started moving up, and somehow I ended up farther back than planned. The buzzer went off and… my legs answered with a firm “No.” It felt like I already had done the race and someone forgot to tell me.
But I settled in, calmed my breathing, and started working my way forward.
Into the singletrack. Slow. Slower than my party-pace pre-ride. Heart rate dropped from the chill. Legs confused. Riders bottlenecked. I stayed patient, pushed when I could, backed off when it was pointless, grabbed wheels when they appeared.
Then the first mechanical.
Then the second.
Then the big one: chain wedged between cassette and spokes. Twisted, bound, locked up tight. A spectator ran in to help and we got it sorted after a few minutes. Whoever you were, you’re the real MVP.
The rest of the race was a mix of grinding, chasing, shaking off frustration, pumping the flow sections, nearly stopping behind someone who didn’t know how to pump the big rollers, then pushing across the line with absolutely nothing left.
My family’s voices were the first thing I heard. Everything else melted away.
Time was ten minutes slower than last year but considering the mess of mechanicals and the new longer course, I walked away… okay with it. Not happy, but grateful. And still standing.
The Sno Cone Race
If Iceman is the main act, Snow Cone is the encore that hits harder than anything else.
Watching my kids line up with pure joy on their faces, no fear, no nerves, just excitement, is unreal. My oldest took 3rd overall and was the first girl across the line. My son finished mid-pack with his signature hands-up move, and my youngest rode in with a smile so big it practically reset my heart rate.
In that moment, I forgot everything about my race. I was just the proudest dad on Earth.
Final Thoughts
Iceman is more than a race. It’s a tradition. A pilgrimage. A yearly checkpoint for thousands of riders who want to feel part of something bigger than themselves.
It gives you memories you didn’t know you needed. It gives your kids core moments they’ll hang onto long after they pretend they’re too cool to be seen with you. It challenges you, humbles you, reminds you that effort matters more than outcome, and brings together people who might not cross paths any other time of year.
To everyone who showed up, who trained, who raced, who finished, congrats. Winning isn’t about crossing the line first. It’s about showing up for something big.
See you next year.
G
Follow me on Strava @ G Dub
Thank you Gerald Gaecke @g_dubs83_ for being our guest blogger. You may recognize Gerald as he is one of our 2024 Iceman Ambassadors (Trailblazer)!