A lot of people would stop and think rationally at that point that if 8% only classifies a climb as a steady uphill then what the hell will "steep" bring?
I'm not a lot of people.
It was about 12 miles or so before we got to that first climb, and I expected a 9-10% with maybe some 12ish. After lighting a couple too many matches to assert some sort of alpha-male dominance and get my testosterone up, the hill followed the same trajectory. All of a sudden, I was looking up at a wall. Looking back at the rear cogs, I realized something very depressing: I was already in the granny gear.
To make a long and painful story short, I will say that there were parts of that climb where the road was just a bit wet from rain the previous night. At the same time that the road was wet, it went up so steep that you had to stand and hammer the ped
als for all you were worth or you would go backward. I'm talking 20-25% or more. When you stood, however, you would loose traction and do th
e bike version of a very slow burnout. The only way to ride it was the way Boonen rides up the steep hills of the cobbled Koppenberg
You may not be able to tell, but he is just barely above his seat. This, I should add, is incredibly painful and should not be attempted at home.
What does that have to do with anything?
It is simply to point out that I (and probably you as well) am not alright. There is something quite wrong, and unless we work together, we may never be alright.
The fact is that at one point in time last Saturday, I wanted nothing more than to quit. Get off the bike, walk the rest of the hill, and then wait for someone to come along in a Subaru to pick me up. I didn't, though. I kept pressing on. I wanted to vomit at the top of the climb, but I kept riding.
By the time we got off our bikes, I wanted to do nothing but lay down and sleep. 65 miles of riding was more than I should have done with what turned out to be monster climbs. By the time we were back, though, I had already started thinking about the next time I would do this ride. How would I attack that climb differently? Where would I charge it harder?
Now, nearly a week later, I'm ready to tackle the whole thing again. The strangest thing: I want to do it again. This is not the kind of thought process a normal person has. A normal person sees that kind of pain as a deterrent. Cyclists, on the other hand, love that pain. It fuels us, and makes us to the point of madness. We stay on our bikes when we should get off. A man died in the Tour de France climbing Mont Ventoux. He died for one simple reason: He wouldn't get off the bike, and he wouldn't stop climbing. The scary part is that he wasn't that much different than many other cyclists. The mental sickness that we have makes us better people in the end, but it all comes down to our dedication to the sport.
