The Iceman Cometh 2009

Traverse City Michigan
Saturday November 07, 2009
by: Rick Walls

With temperatures in the range of perfect for a mountainbike ride, everyone called this race the “Niceman.”

Very seldom have I stepped up to the start line with a plan.  On this particular day, there was a plan. That plan was to win 2009 Iceman Sport men 34-36, and help WORS secure the Midwest Mountainbike Championship for another year.  Numbers were crunched, experts were consulted, and the will was strong.  There were two scenarios that ended well for me: 1) Get on the front group of two or so riders, do very little work, and crack it open at the end.  2) Pull away with the front two guys, do very little work, and crack it open at the end.

My Iceman lasted for exactly three attacks.  I worked my way to the start of the wave, and surveyed the group for my guys.  With the candidates marked we waited for the ribbon to drop and took part in a little psychological operation.  Within the first few blocks after the “GO,” our group settled into a pace. And that pace was slow.

Two riders almost immediately came up the side. Their effort lasted just long enough to them get in front, and get me thinking.   Why did no one respond two that?  Attack #1 for me came as I launched from third wheel back, opened a gap of about 25 yds, and passed the leadout motorcycle.  Next, the most remarkable thing happened. That remarkable thing was nothing.  The front riders didn’t even seem to blink, let alone try to catch. What were these guys doing?  Did they expect me to blow up in the first mile only to reel me back in? Were they actually going to give some dude named Cupcake the chance to win? Would I have to rethink my plan?

As we hit the dirt, I sat up and drifted back to the front of the wave.   Within the first mile off road, a nice sand pit waited for us and I waited for it.  With a few hard turns of the cranks, I slipped through the sand first and up next rise, easily opening up another gap.  Two other riders got through, as the loose sugar wreaked havoc on the rest of our wave.  As those two fought to catch up, and attack #2 ended.

For the next few miles we worked together to open a gap on the field behind us.  As we rode through the flow of the singletrack and worked the roads, the sights and smells of fall slipped past.  In short order, the trickle of back tags from the starts before us became a steady stream.  At this point a third scenario started to appear.  My two companions seemed like they didn’t have the METAL to stay in it, and this race was about to become a solo effort.

The third attack came on the first tough climb of the race.   As we reached the bottom of the hill, I stood and powered to the top.  My companions slipped back, as I poured on more speed.  This was not the end of the third attack.  Attack number three started at the bottom of that hill and lasted for the next twenty two plus miles.

The 140 plus riders now behind me focused on the sole purpose of catching up, I had no idea what to expect.  The miles seemed to slip by slowly, but passed riders came quickly.  My world was a steady conversation of “on your left,” “on your right,” “in the middle,” and “nice job rider” with the occasional friendly voice.  At ten miles to go, I expected someone to close my undetermined gap.  No riders came, but I stayed on the gas. 

After the last climb into the camp ground, a “1 Kilometer to go” sign marked the start of the twisty finish.  Now was not the time when I wanted to do math! How many miles was that?! A gauntlet of snow fence and sketchy corners led to the finish tunnel cut that thought short.  I did my best to stay on the gas, and work the skills to the end.

As I crossed the finish, I through my hands up in victory and release.

By the end of it, there was nearly a four minute gap back to second.

-Rick