Heck of the North 100 Mile Race Report

Race Date: Saturday, October 5, 2025 – 8am

The last time I signed up for the Heck of the North gravel bike race was 10 years prior, in 2015. Since then, I had upgraded my bike to a carbon crusher, finished a handful of 100+ races (Day Across MN ’21 and ’24, Le Grand Du Nord), gone from gears to singlespeed and back, and in general had garnered some old-man energy through the years. My training was weak – no lead-in races, pretty scant miles on my bike, but a big engine. I had spent all spring and summer training for trail ultramarathon running, and was a month out from finishing the Superior Fall 100 Mile trail run. That was a concern. How was my recovery? I was excited to be racing alongside my longtime training partner Nick, and his pops Dave with whom I rode every single grueling, grueling mile with at Day Across 2024. I swapped my rig from singlespeed to the 1×11 setup, albeit very begrudgingly. But, I wanted to be able to have fun at the Wednesday Night Ride group that does high-octane laps on Fox Farm Road, my favorite. For whatever reason (they are all garbage reasons anyways), I didn’t make a single WNR. I procrastinated on every aspect of the race except literally the most important part – making sure my bike was in pristine, sharp condition. A week before race day, my Salsa Warbird gravel road racing bike was in 10,000 pieces on my living room floor. With Nick’s help, a couple youtube videos, the steady guidance of my AI helper, and the gumption to continue forward, I got my rig shifting perfectly. I confirmed with a 6 mile ride that that crucial aspect of the race was taken care of.

By race morning, I decided to try a heavy 7 or 8 scoops of mix in two different 0.5L soft flasks. I filled up a water bladder with about 1.5L of water and couldn’t fit it all in my frame bag. Shucks. Without lots of time to troubleshoot, I grabbed my camelback stretchy vest and figured I could put the carb mix on my bike. Good enough. I figured the last time I wore that particular water bladder vest was Heck 2014. It was supposed to be hot.

I ran out of time to cook breakfast, spilled carb mix all over the place but was good enough to go. I threw a couple gels and gummis in my frame bag. I stopped to get coffee and food on the way out, and realized after the drive-thru that my gas on was E. Shoot. I quickly went to the gas station, then drove through the heavy fog of pre-dawn to the outskirts of Two Harbors. After parking, I went straight to the tent to get my bib. I saw Dave and his wife Rhonda. By the time I got back to get my bike set up, I realized Nick and local gravel shredder Nate parked right across from me. Nice. I didn’t know what psi would be optimal for the race and kind of went by the press test. They were about 35 psi after applying the floor pump. I sipped some more of my coffee, chatted with the boys a bit and moseyed down to the tent area to await the start. Before long, I lined up next to Dave in the middle of the pack and listened to race director Jeremy say some words. He said we could write him with complaints regarding the two right hand turns into the finish chute. We were to start with a neutral roll-out for about 5 miles, past the railroad pellet stuff. I was excited about that – the start can get so hectic! I heard a “GO!” and the lead ATV motored away with the front of the pack lurching forward. I was too nervous to hit my watch at the bumpy start line and started the .gpx course and timer a few feet across the mats.

In the early morning orange glow, the entire Heck 100 mile field crossed Highway 2 and onto the rough Alger Grade. It was nice to slow roll out. The pack was tight but manageable. We went under the railroad trestle and bunched up – taconite pellets were a foot deep and seemingly impossible to bike through. It was a small section, though. I unclipped, pushed through and got back with the group. As me and everyone around me sped up, we passed the lead ATV off to the side, signifying the race had begun. I was close to Dave, and saw a couple other local exercisers in the mix. I felt good right away, keeping it easy on smooth sailing doubletrack. We hit a gravel road and it felt comfortable to ride in a big pack. We accelerated. Here we go! Then right onto snowmobile trail. The sun was rising up and burning off a lot of dew, while illuminating the vibrant tapestry of early October forests in northern Minnesota. Beautiful! A little bit of everything right out of the gate – doubletrack ATV trail, wide and smooth gravel roads, and the good ole C.J. Ramstad/North Shore State Trail. There were several people around me, and passes were pretty frequent over the rough terrain. We clumped together at mud pits. Some were rideable with some momentum, some were pretty deep and very soft, and some included culverts that could result in a full-on end-over-end. I witnessed an endo over a large metal culvert but he saved it. An A-frame wooden bridge looked unrideable as 4 or 5 riders were walking up and over the structure. I had unclipped for the culvert and slipped up the wooden bridge. I didn’t fall, but had to shimmy the rest of the way up and down off the bridge before clipping back in. The end0 kid’s phone had slipped from his jersey but the rider behind him yelled and he retrieved the device. That was cool. It turned into carnage real quick. I flip-flopped with Dave and saw a familiar face, Eric from Minnetonka who runs with a couple mutual friends. The mud waned, and my legs and bike were pretty well coated. We approached a road and I took a sip of my mix. Whoa, it was sweet! I told myself to be careful and to limit to half the bottle every hour and a half. I checked my beeping watch and couldn’t tell which way to turn – just a flag and alert with distance (in feet) to the turn. Huh.

A paceline reconfigured and cranked pretty good on open gravel roads. I was with a big group, maybe 10 riders. We were making good speed but I felt like it was a little unorganized. We were on familiar roads but I was confused why we were going the way we were. I hadn’t studied the map, however. I felt like I was pushing – cranking hard 20 miles in. Too hard, probably. As the pace line rotated, a guy dropped into his aero bars into the wind, and it was just too much. I couldn’t respond, I had to bail. I felt like the line was accordioning around me, pull the plug! Pull the plug! I veered to the left, and watched the line of riders power away in the blink of an eye. Up the familiar Hegberg hill, I was all alone. It was nice to take it really easy, though, and I was certainly soft-pedaling just waiting for the next person to come by so I could latch on. Two guys approached from the horizon and I did just that. It was great, and I told them. We made fast time and I enjoyed the three-person group much better than the larger one I was with previously. It was great to have something to focus on, riding as a unit instead of alone, and I knew I was going faster. I chatted a bit with the two guys, one from Minneapolis and one from Duluth, both Heck 100 first-timers. We got onto the paved Highway 44 and lucked out with light traffic. I was pumped to get to Fox Farm Road, my favorite, and somehow lost the guy from Duluth. Just me and Mike from Minneapolis. I told him I had to pee really bad and pulled over. I hurried as the next riders approached, and it was great time to latch on. I recognized Eric and chatted with him a bit. He was a 4-time Heck finisher, a runner but biking was his first love. This group was the sweet spot and I felt so good all the way through Fox Farm and north. The miles flew by, and I was shocked to see around 15 minutes per 5 mile watch split. Is that right? It was metronomic, machine-like pace line work through halfway. I was feeling very good, 50 miles in 2:45 and just about done with my first fuel bottle. It was getting hot and I knew I needed to fill up with water at some point. We hit the snowmobile trail after making a full loop, and it was gnarly. It just clumps everyone up. Some people can ride decently well, some people have to unclip and walk lots, and many have issues. I lost everyone I was with and had fun. My love of riding my gravel bike stems from the variation in terrain that’s possible. It’s so fun to try and be fast and deliberate through the muddiest, softest, most challenging terrain. I thought I was funny, and asked riders if this is what fat biking was like. I asked if this is what cyclocross was like. I don’t think anyone thought I was funny.

Back onto gravel, I was excited to be done with the snomo. I saw the aid station tent shortly after and was ready for the aid. I set my bike against the tent and first went to the water spigot to fill my bladder. The volunteer tried to help but I had it going. I asked for some gatorade. That was nice. I noticed Coke and asked for that too. The volunteers were so helpful, energetic to assist with anything as people clumped up at the tent. I felt bad about my bike taking up lots of space so slinked off to the back side of the aid station after my bladder was filled back up to perhaps 3/4 full. I approached the food table and took a tortilla with a pickle sticking out. Oh it was so good. A volunteer told me it was a pickle hummus wrap. I shoved another in my face, chugged my Coke, grabbed my bike and looked for people to ride with. I saw a guy from the snowmobile trail who had commented on bashing his knee, and it was bad. I heard him say he needed stitches. I took off with a group of people after a rushed but successful aid station stop.

The group of 6 or so seemed fast. I was excited to crank. The wind was blowing us up Drummond Grade past the Lake County Demonstration Forest and yellow leaves were swirling all around. A huge bald eagle swooped over us and I was yelling. Nobody else seemed to care. All business, lets crank. Crank, we did. The pace line was efficient enough and I just locked in once again. My stomach was a bit tumultuous but I was excited to start on my next fuel bottle and things settled down just fine in time. I felt well-fueled. It was great. My legs felt strong and we were making great time. The miles flew by. 60, 65, 70 miles in the bank. Crazy! Riders fell off of our paceline one by one. I recalled suffering greatly down the stretch last time I did the Heck, and wondered if I was that much stronger somehow or if it was just old-man strength, or what. The race wasn’t over, and small bouts of fatigue seemed to surface under the hot, unseasonably warm sun near Brimson, MN. It was me and two others at Hugo’s Bar. I got frustrated having to ask every turn because my stupid watch just showed a flag instead of an arrow. I knew to turn, when it was coming, but just not what way. Frustrating! My pack-mates didn’t seem to care. We didn’t say a word to each other on Langley River Road. I didn’t know their names, it was just silent suffering. I felt tired but still strong. I sipped my mix. We were going fast, but one guy was certainly slowing the pack down. I felt like I was hurting the pack when I took the lead. Like, physically hurting their legs. We were making good time, though, and I was satisfied by the group dynamic. 75 down, 4:15 or so. We were going sub-6! I thought about announcing it to my group, but I didn’t. My initial projections were 6-8 hours, having no idea how my body would respond to the effort. It was responding very well. 80 down, the aid station was coming up any time. A few more turns on the fun, dynamic and scenic Langley River Road I saw the tent. As we rolled towards the aid station, I asked if they were stopping. They both said they needed water. I said I didn’t, and rode right through, taking a right onto Highway 2. It was a wall of wind. Oh no. The wind was relentless on the open paved road. I almost turned back. No. Put your head down, I told myself, and crank. I looked back, and didn’t see anyone over several hills. They were way back. I was on my own. I wondered if I could catch anyone. It finally occurred to me that I could see the map on my watch, and simply follow the line to know which way to turn. I didn’t need to see my stats anyways. Just push hard, I commanded to myself, and I can get under 6 hours. The wind was horrible, I was slowing down for sure, but I made a handful of miles easy enough before a highly-anticipated left turn back into the woods and hopefully a crosswind. It was great to get back on dirt with ample trees as a wind block, plus a crosswind as I headed east. I felt focused and energized to push hard without the wind as a factor. We were back on doubletrack. My favorite. 85 miles down. I was going to get under 6, I told myself. My body was the factor. I looked at my watch and tried to do math, but the trail was way too bumpy. I had to focus fully on riding. Up and down, big rocks and sporadic washouts, it was rough riding. Some of the hills were so scary because braking seemed so dumb and even risky, whereas just sending it was the only way. I sent it. My hands hurt so bad. My legs felt great and I pushed them. I didn’t see any other riders, I had been totally alone for 5 miles. 5 more miles of white-knuckle jarring and I was out of the shit, alone the whole time. I started passing 50 mile or 19 mile riders on wide gravel roads, the big sun beating down on the wind-swept clearing. It was hard. I sucked towards the last of my fuel. 100 miles beeped on my watch, a 5-mile split just a little over 17 minutes. That wasn’t slow… Yet, I had to go, like, 18 miles per hour. It was impossible. NO! I yelled at myself. I out loud said “don’t give up!”, “you can do it, Mike!”

Across wide open gravel roads, passing the sporadic cyclist and one 100 miler, I was giving it all I got. I thought about how I was screwing up my Sunday NMTC trail running race the next day. DO NOT think about that, I forced myself. I couldn’t push any harder. My mouth was so dry and I chugged water from my bladder’s hose while nervously checking my watch. I told myself to just tuck low under the wind. I told myself that now was a good time to just give up because going under 6 hours was stupid and just some arbitrary dumb thing that didn’t matter and I wouldn’t make it anyways. NO! Just crank. So close, the pain is almost over with, I told myself out loud. Finally, I was so relieved to see the finish flags. I was shaky around the first turn, with soft gravel under my wheels. One more slow turn. I was visualizing, expecting, hoping, doing whatever I could to turn the corner and see 5:58:XX on the clock, and was utterly defeated to see 14:03:XX on the clock. GAH, time of day?? Cmon… I rode through, utterly spent, giving it all I had to try to go under 6 hours at Heck of the North. I stopped my watch and dropped my bike, whipped my glasses and helmet off and slumped to the ground. Raising my battered wrist to my face, I saw 6:00:05 on my stopped watch and couldn’t take it. AW NAW!! Cmon!! I fake cried. I was being overdramatic, writhing on the ground. Eventually I collected myself, calmed down, and made my way to the race timer. Conor said my time was… 5:05. What?? No. I told him that was wrong. He looked at me confused. I said it wasn’t right. He said, er um, he was having issues… let’s see, he said um er, my chip time was… 4:59:56. Hell yes!! Nick got second place and was pleased with his race. Dave came in a few minutes behind me, Rhonda killed it with 5th place and after the dust settled I was shocked and pleased with how my race went. It was so painful, but also fun and inspiring to feel good throughout the whole race and finish really strong. I attributed that to Superior 100 setting me up fairly well for brute strength, continuing to tune in my liquid-only fueling strategy, and being smart in the pack through mile 80. Heck was a great experience and is in my opinion the perfect 100 mile gravel bike race course.

GPS Data

Race Results

Place: 16/112
Time: 5:59:56
Pace: 17.5mph