Bloggin from the Road 2: The Hills

I'm a dork. It's not exactly a newsflash, I know. But, I thought I would just put that announcement out there.


Pilot Mountain:
Ok...so, some phone calls to various individuals has put out a rumor that I MAY have ridden up a significant hill. I would like to take this opportunity to confirm the rumors.

And...just to prove I'm not making this part up...here is a link to that ride on my training blog.


I actually planned this ride ahead of time. I intentionally (much to my wife's confusion)planned to ride up this mountain. And, yes, it is a mountain. It is a hill big enough to actually be named as a "mountain". Pilot Mountain, in fact.

As the name implies...this was significantly bigger than a "hill". With my current riding experience, the largest hills I've encountered thus far have been in the form of highway overpasses, or the occasional climb away from the Rogue River in Rockford. I now amusingly refer to those as "climbs".

I thought I was ready. I thought I was in good enough physical condition on the bike that I could handle the ride up the mountain. I wasn't expecting to sprint up. And, I knew it was going to hurt. But, I thought I could handle it. But, I had NO IDEA what a real climb was like.

I knew it was going to hurt. But, it hurt 10x more than I imagined it could. I knew it would be hard. I knew I was going to suffer. But, I didn't really know....I THOUGHT I knew. Now that I've done it.... I realize that I had no idea at all.

The truth is this. It was 2400 ft. tall... that the ride from the base to the top was 2.5ish miles and (according to the sign as you leave the small parking lot at the top) averages a 10% grade.

By way of comparison the only way that I was able to put it in perspective while doing it, and the only way to explain it now is this...the hills I've ridden over the last year. The hill climbing out of the Grand River Valley just West of Jenison (up Bauer Rd or Fillmore Rd), a the hills on the Holland group rides, a couple of the hills during the JDRF training ride in Rockford....they obstacles to speed. Speed bumps as it were. They required effort to ascend...but, the effort, for me, was primarily related to maintaining a reasonable pace while going up. The difficulty was about the significant increase in effort required to maintain a good pace.

Going up Pilot Mountain...the effort, which cannot really be fairly compared, was not in the difficulty of increased effort to maintain your pace. The difficult came in maintaining A pace. ANY pace. Immediately after beginning the climb I knew I was in trouble...why? Because, I had to go almost directly to my small ring and larges cog with almost no pausing on other gears along the way. Unlike "climbing" in my previous experience, I was not going up hill in the big ring for a while before needing to drop down to small ring....then, eventually, to a larger cog. This pain was immediate and overwhelming...I went directly to the easiest gear I owned...and, it didn't really help. I stood up...and, in my easiest gear, churning as hard as I could, was BARELY able to make forward progress. It was devastatingly difficult. Just remaining in motion was difficult on a massive level...I had to stop. In fact, I had to stop several times. I believe I stopped 5 times along the way...meaning I stopped on an average of about every 1/2 mile. My heart rate was completely maxed out each time I stopped...I would rest for 30 seconds, take a drink, let my HR return to somewhere near my LT, then start again. The trip seemed to take forever.

Obviously reaching the summit was a great feeling. But, there was just no way I was going to quit. After having my heart feel like it was going to explode out of my chest...I wasn't going to waste all that effort by quiting half way up the mountain. So, I kept going....one agonizing pedal stroke at a time.

Probably the most cruel part of the whole thing was how unprepared I was for how steep the climb was and how that would effect my ability to continue. When my heart maxed out the first time...I took a break. It was disappointing because I had hoped to make the climb all in one shot (oh, how naive I was!), but I had to relent and rest for a few seconds. But, to add insult to injury, when I got back on the bike to continue up the mountain I found that I couldn't....get back on the bike that is. The hill was too steep to get enough forward momentum out of a single pedal stroke to allow me to balance the bike and clip in the other foot. I literally started to roll backward as I urgently tried to clip my foot in...a recipe for death when you have a 200' fall about 3' to your right. Much to my shame was forced to walk the bike to the other side of the little road and point it down hill long enough to clip-in...then, turn the bike around and ride up the hill. How insulting...and I thought I was going to make it up the mountain in one ride. Ha!

Obviously I'm taking some pride in this experience...after all... I DID ride to the top of a mountain. So, it was a good learning experience. However...

The most disheartening part of this experience was that I know how small this "mountain" actually is. It's tiny by comparison...truly. Which just about makes me want to cry. The climb I made was roughly 750 meters up. An astonishing height in my experience. But, compare it to the Alpe d'Huez...one of the more famous climbs...which is a climb that is more than 8 miles long and which "averages" an 8.1% grade but has moments where the grade is well above the 10% I experienced. The total ascent is over 1800 meters tall...2.5x the height of my climb. In short, it dwarfs Pilot Mountain. And, that just about makes me want to cry.

I suppose I should take some solace in the fact that I'll never have to climb Alpe d'Huez, and therefore comparisons are useless. I was sort of dreamily hoping that my riding down here in the heat and the hills, climbing Pilot Mountain, was going to make me stronger. That when I return to Michigan I'd have made some real gains in my fitness level...but, I don't think I will.

But, I do think I've gained one thing. I'm probably not going to be any stronger up the hills in my area when I get home. Physically, I won't have gained much, if anything. But, still...mentally, I know what it feels like to climb now. And, strangely, that makes a difference to me. Having gone up a mountain doesn't really make me any faster going up the hill on the overpass. But, it does put that overpass in perspective...so, mentally I'm probably a bit stronger. I think that will make a big difference.

I found this article written about climbing pilot Mountain. This made me feel slightly better about my peformance.

Riding Alone in an unfamiliar land:
One of the experiences that I've had while down here is that I've ridden all alone, in unfamiliar places, in unfamiliar territory, on roads I don't know, and on geography I don't understand. The whole experience can be a bit disconcerting. Knowing that if it weren't for my GPS I'd be completely lost. That even with my GPS...I might still get completely lost.

Every road here is winding. Every road leads to nowhere...there is no grid and no logic to where things go. You cannot simply go out for a ride...head West, turn North, turn East, and eventually turn South to get back home. It doesn't work that way. You can turn North on a road and have it end up taking you well south or west or east.

The net effect of this is at it can be a bit spooky out there...I mean, I'm in hill country of god-knows-where...houses only come along about once a mile or so...and, most of them are trailers. If I were to "disappear" on these roads...no one would ever find me. In fact, it would be a long while before anyone would ever know to look for me.

On the other hand, this terrain makes for ideal riding. The views are always exciting, the road is never boring...constant rolling hills and winding in and out of forests, farms, vineyards, and past historic log cabins and old churches...its beautiful.

The most frustrating part of all this beauty is that I've had no one to share it with. Seems like a small thing. And, it might not have been the kind of thing that would have bothered me in the past. Still...I find it irksome now. One might make the argument that I should just be living in the moment and riding for myself. That if the scenery is beautiful, that fact alone should be enough to cause me to be content.

Still, I've grown rather accustomed to riding past interesting things and being able to discuss it with MC, or J2 (John Jasker!), or JD, or Carmen, Da'Ve, or Aaron, or whomever...it's just been a part of my routine for the last 6 months. And, I've rather gotten to enjoying that part of my routine. I like that when I see a beautiful sunset, I'm not the only one enjoying it.

So, I'm riding on all these great roads, seeing all this great stuff, and...I have no one to share it with. I crossed over the Yadkin River a couple times during my rides. And, I'm reasonable astonished by the fact that I will just be out in the middle of nowhere, on a road that the State of Michigan wouldn't have even bothered paving, and all of a sudden there will be this bridge that is 1/4 mile long over a beautiful river. You've got to be kidding me. I want to stop and take in the sights and sounds...I want to lean over to J2 and say "can you believe this?". But, he's not there. Neither is MC, nor Da'Ve, nor Aaron, nor Carmen, nor DID...nor anyone else. It's just me.

It's pretty. But, it's lonely.

I've loved the scenery. I've loved the riding. But...I think I'll trade the hills, the woods, the vineyards, and the scenery for being able to ride with my friends again.