Climb01742
08-21-2006, 04:10 PM
I woke up at 4AM. The first thing I did was go outside to check the weather. It was warm and the wind felt still. Then I listened, trying to hear if any leaves on distant trees were rustling with wind. Silence. That was a good way to start the day.
At 5AM, about three hours before my section would start, I had cold brown rice. My stomach didn’t really want any food but I knew my body would need it later.
We arrived at the start area at 6:15AM. All week long, the weather has been beyond perfect: sunny, warm, cloudless skies and zero humidity. You could feel the air was getting humid, and clouds were already socking in the top of Mt Washington.
I got my trainer out and set up my second bike on it; a bike with normal gearing to warm-up on. Other folks were riding on the road to warm up. Both ways work (later I took my race bike out for a test spin on the highway, just to check everything one last time; I’d ridden it four days during the week, climbing a lot of the short tough climbs near MW, making sure everything was dialed.) TIP: I’d recommend warming up on the trainer if you can bring one, because your warm-up is more controllable, you can choose exactly the gears and cadence you want to hit, and exactly when you want to hit them.
The guy parked next to was eating his breakfast: a Dunkin Donuts Breakfast Croissant with egg and cheese. On his chest were 5 cardiac sensors wired to a recording devise strapped to his waist. He told me later he was on 5 heart meds and his doctor was using his ride up MW as a stress test. His bike had a kickstand and aero bars. He was an extremely nice guy and had ridden MW multiple times before.
With about 10 minutes left in my warm up, it began to rain. Not heavily but enough to get wet.
I decided not to wear my HRM. I wanted to ride as much by feel as I could. I rode over to the start line. There were multiple waves at the start. The 45+ age group was the last wave. Last year I started toward the front of my wave. As a result, the first mile or so felt like riding in a crowded NYC subway. Not a good feeling for me. This year I started at the very back of my wave. It may have cost me a little time to roll across the start line but it gave me space to ride exactly the way I wished.
I was determined this year to ride my own race. As we hit the ascent I tried to shrink my world. Don’t look too far up the road. Don’t look at other riders, except to pick your line and avoid accidents. Get into a rhythm. This year it worked. Very quickly, things felt good. I remember thinking, this feels nice. I looked at my computer: Just a shade over 5 mph, which works out to a 1:30 finish time.
It was raining. But it was actually nice, it helped keep me cool. You suddenly generate a lot of heat on MW. The rain was the ideal amount to cool you but not soak or chill you. The first few miles of MW are amazingly green. Lush moss green. You hear only three sounds: breathing, chains running over gears and spectators clapping. MW has three shades of color: the green of the trees, the brown of the rocks and finally the white of clouds at the top.
Last year the race was a blur to me. This year things seemed to slow down. I was aware of much more. Fitness being a given, I think MW is a race of experience and gearing. I’ve heard quarterbacks and point guards talk about moments in a game where everything seems to slow down and they can see patterns in the game movement. It felt more like that for me this year. I saw the road more clearly. My breathing was easier, more rhythmic; my brain wasn’t racing as much. I saw more flattish sections of the road, more places where I was able to grab a quick gulp of water. TIP: Do take water. Drinking isn’t easy (I heard one rider totally gag as he tried to breathe and drink at the same moment) but there are short stretches of road where the pitch slackens enough to grab your bottle, swig and replace it before the pitch increases.
Choosing your line on MW is a challenge. The road surface is pretty bad, lots of cracks, bumps, and especially in the trees, the road twists and turns a lot. Passing riders is a challenge too. You need to look two or three riders ahead. The road is narrow and riders weave a bit. “On your left” or “On your right” are very useful phrases.
For me, MW has three sections: trees, out of the trees and dirt. In the trees, I kept to my 5.1 or 5.2 mph religiously. Last year’s ride haunted me. I kept my cadence between 75-80 rpm. I enjoyed riding in the trees.
But the race doesn’t begin until you get out of the trees. The wind wasn’t bad this year. I heard reports that it was 20 mph. Maybe last year’s 30-40 mph winds jaded me but the wind was ok this year.
Then I felt myself starting to slow and pedaling got harder. Then I hit the first dirt section and pedaling got harder. I thought it was fatigue and the dirt but pedaling felt harder than it should have. My gears barely seemed to be turning over. I stopped and checked my chain, RD and cassette. Nothing I could see. Then I looked at the front wheel. My front brake was rubbing. I know I checked the front brake when I put the wheel on in the morning, but somehow the brake had shifted. I tried to reposition the calipers but my hands were cold and stiff, so I just opened the calipers with the little lever. Then I had to find a flat enough place to get started again. I started walking up the mountain.
I came up to a guy whose chain had snapped. It was dangling like a dead black snake from his RD. He was bummed. But here is an example of what makes the race and its riders so special: Seeing me walking my bike he said, “Hey, you need a rear wheel?” At a moment of great frustration and disappointment for him, he thought not about his own situation but about how he could help someone else. I said no, I was just trying to get to a flat enough spot to get started again. Is there anything I can do to help you? No, he said, good luck. People can be extraordinarily good.
I found a flat enough spot and remounted. My back had stiffened up some walking. I tried to raise my cadence to make up some time. My speed was between 4.6 and 4.9 mph, and my cadence couldn’t seem to rise above 66. I looked down maybe 10 times on the dirt road and each time my cadence was 66. Weird things pop into your head: I thought, I’m riding on Route 66, and the Depeche Mode song would not leave my head.
I got into another good rhythm. My back loosened up. I had been really good at shrinking my world, building this little bubble of effort and churning legs. Then I looked up. There’s this place on the road above the trees where you can see a long way. The road goes up and up, and at the top of your line of sight, it curves to the left. You see this long thin rising road with a line of ant-sized riders snaking up the mountain in slow motion. It blows your mind. It was the first moment where my mind and my body got disconnected. But I churned on.
I don’t know where on the mountain what happened next, happened.
(To be continued...posts have a word limit, who knew?)
At 5AM, about three hours before my section would start, I had cold brown rice. My stomach didn’t really want any food but I knew my body would need it later.
We arrived at the start area at 6:15AM. All week long, the weather has been beyond perfect: sunny, warm, cloudless skies and zero humidity. You could feel the air was getting humid, and clouds were already socking in the top of Mt Washington.
I got my trainer out and set up my second bike on it; a bike with normal gearing to warm-up on. Other folks were riding on the road to warm up. Both ways work (later I took my race bike out for a test spin on the highway, just to check everything one last time; I’d ridden it four days during the week, climbing a lot of the short tough climbs near MW, making sure everything was dialed.) TIP: I’d recommend warming up on the trainer if you can bring one, because your warm-up is more controllable, you can choose exactly the gears and cadence you want to hit, and exactly when you want to hit them.
The guy parked next to was eating his breakfast: a Dunkin Donuts Breakfast Croissant with egg and cheese. On his chest were 5 cardiac sensors wired to a recording devise strapped to his waist. He told me later he was on 5 heart meds and his doctor was using his ride up MW as a stress test. His bike had a kickstand and aero bars. He was an extremely nice guy and had ridden MW multiple times before.
With about 10 minutes left in my warm up, it began to rain. Not heavily but enough to get wet.
I decided not to wear my HRM. I wanted to ride as much by feel as I could. I rode over to the start line. There were multiple waves at the start. The 45+ age group was the last wave. Last year I started toward the front of my wave. As a result, the first mile or so felt like riding in a crowded NYC subway. Not a good feeling for me. This year I started at the very back of my wave. It may have cost me a little time to roll across the start line but it gave me space to ride exactly the way I wished.
I was determined this year to ride my own race. As we hit the ascent I tried to shrink my world. Don’t look too far up the road. Don’t look at other riders, except to pick your line and avoid accidents. Get into a rhythm. This year it worked. Very quickly, things felt good. I remember thinking, this feels nice. I looked at my computer: Just a shade over 5 mph, which works out to a 1:30 finish time.
It was raining. But it was actually nice, it helped keep me cool. You suddenly generate a lot of heat on MW. The rain was the ideal amount to cool you but not soak or chill you. The first few miles of MW are amazingly green. Lush moss green. You hear only three sounds: breathing, chains running over gears and spectators clapping. MW has three shades of color: the green of the trees, the brown of the rocks and finally the white of clouds at the top.
Last year the race was a blur to me. This year things seemed to slow down. I was aware of much more. Fitness being a given, I think MW is a race of experience and gearing. I’ve heard quarterbacks and point guards talk about moments in a game where everything seems to slow down and they can see patterns in the game movement. It felt more like that for me this year. I saw the road more clearly. My breathing was easier, more rhythmic; my brain wasn’t racing as much. I saw more flattish sections of the road, more places where I was able to grab a quick gulp of water. TIP: Do take water. Drinking isn’t easy (I heard one rider totally gag as he tried to breathe and drink at the same moment) but there are short stretches of road where the pitch slackens enough to grab your bottle, swig and replace it before the pitch increases.
Choosing your line on MW is a challenge. The road surface is pretty bad, lots of cracks, bumps, and especially in the trees, the road twists and turns a lot. Passing riders is a challenge too. You need to look two or three riders ahead. The road is narrow and riders weave a bit. “On your left” or “On your right” are very useful phrases.
For me, MW has three sections: trees, out of the trees and dirt. In the trees, I kept to my 5.1 or 5.2 mph religiously. Last year’s ride haunted me. I kept my cadence between 75-80 rpm. I enjoyed riding in the trees.
But the race doesn’t begin until you get out of the trees. The wind wasn’t bad this year. I heard reports that it was 20 mph. Maybe last year’s 30-40 mph winds jaded me but the wind was ok this year.
Then I felt myself starting to slow and pedaling got harder. Then I hit the first dirt section and pedaling got harder. I thought it was fatigue and the dirt but pedaling felt harder than it should have. My gears barely seemed to be turning over. I stopped and checked my chain, RD and cassette. Nothing I could see. Then I looked at the front wheel. My front brake was rubbing. I know I checked the front brake when I put the wheel on in the morning, but somehow the brake had shifted. I tried to reposition the calipers but my hands were cold and stiff, so I just opened the calipers with the little lever. Then I had to find a flat enough place to get started again. I started walking up the mountain.
I came up to a guy whose chain had snapped. It was dangling like a dead black snake from his RD. He was bummed. But here is an example of what makes the race and its riders so special: Seeing me walking my bike he said, “Hey, you need a rear wheel?” At a moment of great frustration and disappointment for him, he thought not about his own situation but about how he could help someone else. I said no, I was just trying to get to a flat enough spot to get started again. Is there anything I can do to help you? No, he said, good luck. People can be extraordinarily good.
I found a flat enough spot and remounted. My back had stiffened up some walking. I tried to raise my cadence to make up some time. My speed was between 4.6 and 4.9 mph, and my cadence couldn’t seem to rise above 66. I looked down maybe 10 times on the dirt road and each time my cadence was 66. Weird things pop into your head: I thought, I’m riding on Route 66, and the Depeche Mode song would not leave my head.
I got into another good rhythm. My back loosened up. I had been really good at shrinking my world, building this little bubble of effort and churning legs. Then I looked up. There’s this place on the road above the trees where you can see a long way. The road goes up and up, and at the top of your line of sight, it curves to the left. You see this long thin rising road with a line of ant-sized riders snaking up the mountain in slow motion. It blows your mind. It was the first moment where my mind and my body got disconnected. But I churned on.
I don’t know where on the mountain what happened next, happened.
(To be continued...posts have a word limit, who knew?)