09 Jun 2010 My Last First Ascent of Mt. Washington on a Bike

Sunday, June 6th, 2010

5:10am - White Mountain Highway

Coasting along the highway, I gaze up the mountainside, where the top of Mt. Washington vanishes into grasping, shifting clouds. "It's no big deal. It's just like hiking up it, only on a bike. I've hiked much, much bigger things. Except ... when you're hiking, you can stop moving to rest." I shrug it off. I pedal softly, feeling the moment, the mist in the early air, the quiet of the nearby river and woods, moving slowly up the empty highway to where Dan and Kevin are warming up their tandem muscles around the next bend. I look upwards again, watching the clouds move, shake my head... "This is real. I'm really going to ride up that. How on earth did this happen?"

My thoughts go back to almost a year ago, when I bought my first good road bike. It was a Father's day present from my wife and kids (as in, "ok, you go get a bike, and we'll say it's from us") and an investment in physical health and mental well-being. It was a gamble... would I ride it enough to justify the cost? Somehow after working my way up to 20-mile rides by myself, I fell in with a local bike gang, one thing led to another, I set a few goals, and here I am... preparing to climb what is known as the toughest mountain climb in the US and quite possibly the world.

5:35 - The Mount Washington Auto Road, 1600 feet above see level

Don launches, followed by Peter on his trademark mountain bike, skanky rack and all. I wait for a moment.

I'd read and heard many times that the right way to approach the climb up the Rockpile is to pace yourself. To take it easy, to steadily work your way up. My goal today is to make it to the top, on my bike, without once putting my foot down. That's it. No time goal. No power goal. Just make it to the very top without stopping.

Don and Peter can (and regularly do) trivially drop me on normal hills. If I ride with them, some part of me will try to keep up with them or keep them in my sights, if just for a bit. I don't need that even as a microtemptation. I wait until they're far enough away that they're gone gone gone - a few hundred feet. I push 'start' on my timer and kick off. Dan and Kevin finish preparations and follow seconds later on the Banshee.

5:37 - 1700 feet

I pass a relatively elderly woman who started a few moments before us. In her fluorescent yellow jacket, she's dressed for the rain that we know is coming. She's got a high cadence going - looks like 80-90 rpm, but she's moving no more than 3mph. That must be some fantastically low gearing. I'd fall over I moved that speed, but she's just puttering right up. Something tells me she's done this before... a lot. Respect.

I look at my cadence numbers... 45rpm. Low.... I probably want to be in the 60-70 range. At this rate, it's all muscle pounding, less respiratory-driven flow. But this is what my legs seem to want be climbing at right now. I'm going to follow the hints from my body at first and see how this works out. I'm only in my 3rd-lowest gear right now, so I have two more to fall back on if I need a backup.

5:40 - 1800 feet

How interesting. My body is conditioned to expect some kind of break after climbing. My legs can taste a flat spot coming - maybe it will be just around that next bend! - even when my mind knows there isn't. There are no flats. That's the deal with this mountain. It's 7.1 miles of non-stop climbing, with the slope varying from a 5% grade to 22%. And yet my legs are absolutely convinced that they just need to give one strong push and then they can cut back and coast on the flat spot that always comes after a climb in a ride. "Stop it. Just go. Just get used to it. Relax. This is it, this is now." The feeling of a needed break subsides, and I push onwards into the damp morning.

5:45 - 2000 feet

The forest around is quiet, paused as if holding in the early morning. Thick, leafy trees are mixed in with conifers, the woods dense. I listen to the streams running through the woods, pretending that I'm so entranced by it that I can't hear my legs. Push, push. It's not bad. I settle into my second-lowest gear and bump up to 50rpm... feels better. Can't spin much faster right now without worrying that I'm using energy that I'll need at the end.

Maybe I'm being too cautious? Perhaps. I've read a bit too much. More than one book and website I've read ranks this climb as the most challenging out there, because it's steep and it doesn't stop. Foot for foot, it comes in as tougher than the climbs in the Tour de France and the Giro d'Italia. Harder than Alpe d'Huez, harder even than Mont Ventoux. Of course, we haven't raced 200km in the morning against a bunch of pro riders before racing up this hill - but as something that I can actually experience as a mere cycling enthusiast, this is it, this is the pinnacle.

5:47 - 1 mile marker

Dan, Kevin and I have been riding together for a bit, chatting. Kevin is always so amazingly cheerful and supportive. "Great form man! You're doing awesome!" Thanks Kevin... trying not to think about it right now, actually. But the words are welcome, the company more so. I drift over to the side of the road, watching my friends on their tandem. These guys amaze me. They do a little teamwork thing, planning when they'll stand up together to relieve and stress different muscle groups. Maybe at the mile markers. That's a great idea... I borrow that, and stand up for a few minutes, shifting gears. Oh yeah, that was probably a good thing.

"Remy, why are you riding with us? Tandems are slow uphill, man!" "Yeah... well, I don't know about that, but in any case I'm going this speed because I want to get to the top... I might need something in reserve toward the end. Plus I know how this works... if I ever do this again, I'll want to beat my time up. So this is my one time to really enjoy the ride - and I want to set a time that's not too hard to beat."

I grin. They laugh. We ride on.

I think about Peter's strategy... 170 heart beats per minute for the first 2/3, then push it up to 180bpm for the last 1/3rd. I like that strategy a lot. I can do those heart rates - I just don't know if I can them on this kind of climb, for this sort of sustained effort. I'm at 160 now and I intend to keep it around that... maybe I'll push it toward the end, though.

5:55 - 2500 feet

Twenty minutes climbing, non-stop. This is now the longest I've ever pushed my bike uphill without pausing, coasting, or otherwise taken a break. So far, so good. Kevin and Dan have drifted a little ways behind me - or perhaps I've drifted up ahead of them. It's just me, a rising road, and a lot of trees.

The road actually does have some flat spots on the side - there are little parking lots here and there for the vehicles that need to stop on the road. People get out for hikes, sightseeing, or to cool their brakes on the descent. Today those parking lots are empty, except for the few cars that are out early with us. Cars that are giving cyclists a ride down are allowed on the road at the same time as us in the practice ride. It's not too busy - only four or five cars so far, and all of them are very careful of the cyclists.

So if I had a mechanical issue, I could pull into one of those, deal with the problem on the flats, then get moving again before hitting the steep road. Hope I don't have a mechanical... must get up without putting feet down.

6:00 - 2 mile marker

Somewhere in here, I pass one of our awesome drivers, Stan. He's driving my van up the hill so that we cyclists can ride down in a car. You can ride up Mt. Washington 4 times a year on a bike - for the two road races, and for the two practice sessions. That's about 12 hours a year... but that's only up. You can't ride down because it's deemed, probably rightly so, as unsafe. You must have a way to ride down in a vehicle. Stan and Doug have volunteered to drive us down in our van and truck on this practice ride day - it's a huge help and greatly appreciated. As Stan is driving up this morning, he's apparently decided to stop every once in a while to wave, cheer, and take pictures. It's great. It punctuates the long quiet moments in the trees.

As I pass him, the road settles down to a moderate 5% grade near the parking area, which seems flat as a pancake. It's too easy to ride all of a sudden. Seconds later, the road shifts back into a 12% climb. I flinch, expecting groans from my legs as the slope increases, but it actually feels good to have the pressure again. I shift forward in my seat a bit and push the cadence a tiny bit higher.

6:02 - 3000 feet

The road hits me with an 18% grade for a small stretch. I shift up to a harder gear, stand, and push through it, enjoying the feeling of a surge. I know I can't keep this up for long, but I can see the slope decreasing a bit farther up, and this is a good way to stretch things.

My mind drifts back to the hardest moment of my cycling adventures. I had learned in the fall that the Monsters regularly rode from Concord out to Mt. Wachusett and back on Thursday mornings. That's a ride 70 miles long, with 5000 feet of climbing, going to the summit of one of the most prominent peaks in eastern Massachusetts. It's where my family skis a lot in the winter. It's big. That trip seemed inconceivably by bike... 35 miles of riding through some substantial hill climbing followed by multiple grades of 15% or more climbing to top of the mountain? Insane. So I really wanted to try it... but not with the Monsters, because they're fast. I didn't want to slow them down or look totally lame in front of a group of riders who do this sort of thing every week before breakfast. So I took off one Sunday... loaded the route in my wrist GPS, packed a peanut butter sandwich (according to the instructions in the Monster's marketing brochure for the ride - what a weird bunch of guys), and off I went. The ride out to the base of the mountain was really tough... both from a distance and a climb perspective. I just about died when I got chased by a killer hellhound and had to get away by riding up a hill. Eventually I got to the mountain, somewhat exhausted, but still up for the summit attempt... I rode up the mountain road, struggling, but moving. I got to one particularly steep spot, not all that far from the top, and I hit a wall. Every fiber in me wanted to stop. It was too steep, too hard. I could not keep those pedals moving. I couldn't keep going straight and wandered back and forth across the road, straining to move forward. I was pushing with my legs, with my arms, with my whole body, and just couldn't do it. But some part of me said, "no way am I getting off and walking... I've ridden 35 miles and climbed all those other hills to get 99.9% of the way to the end and I'm not going to stop at this point - I'm going to do this thing"... Somehow I made it through that, and got to the top, without walking. It was, up until that point, the hardest physical/athletic thing I had ever done. I was happy that I'd made it, but I also knew that if it had been just a tinier bit steeper or a bit farther to go, or if I'd been just the slightest bit weaker, I wouldn't have made it.

Are there slopes like that for me on Mt. Washington, I wonder? What would happen after I'd been riding for more than an hour uphill without stopping? Would my legs or my will give out?

6:03 - 3100 feet

The road settles back into an easy 12% grade. I catch myself thinking this and just laugh. Everything is relative.

6:10 - 3300 feet

I'm lost in the moment of the climb, of the physical presence in this beautiful forest, of the repetitive rhythm of my pedal strokes.

Then my mind races away home, to where my kids are still snuggled up in their beds. I'm doing this climb for me, but I've been talking about it for a while. I set it, for some unknown reason, as one of my big goals this year - just to get up this pile of rocks. And so I've been telling my kids about it, about the training, the planning, the dreaming... trying to show them that you can do the things you set your mind to. I sort of wish they were here, but for lots of good reasons, they're at home this weekend, being watched over by my wife. I'm taking pictures, and video, and a few mental notes, to share with them at the right time. And maybe someday one of them will do this with me... who knows?

But in the meantime: up.

6:15 - 3 miles, 3400 feet

Ahead of me I see a cyclist creeping up the hill. I catch up with him over a long stretch of several minutes. He's struggling. I nod a salute and wish him luck. We ride on, each on our own timestreams.

A few days after that tough climb up Mt. Wachusett, I was talking with some of the Monsters in the Basement at Starbucks after a ride. Dan pointed to my bike and said, "you rode up Wachusett on that?" "Yeah", I said, sort of defensively. "Dude, that's a 39/25. That's for flat courses. You need gears for climbing... most of us ride compacts or triples for all the hills around here." "Ohhhhh". I then had a crash course in bike gearing. And maybe felt a bit less worried about how hard it had been to climb Wachusett.

6:20 - 3700 feet

I watch the woods as I climb, revolution by revolution. The trees have become predominantly tall pines, the sense of the forest become more of an alpine woods than lower down. Ahead I can see breaks in the trees, perhaps? I stretch and prepare myself mentally for the next steep section ahead, keeping an eye out for the smoothest stretch of pavement.

6:25 - 4000 feet

The woods are definitely thinner now. I'm catching glimpses of the valley down to my right.

Whoa - it's now a "valley". I was down there not very long ago.

I think to what I know is ahead... the woods will open up, we'll cross a ridge, and we'll be exposed to the weather. The wind will pick up, the temperature will shift. It may get more challenging at that time.

I take a quick inventory... legs and feet a bit stiff.. I stand and shift around. Body feeling pretty good, with slight back tension that's alleviated by the shuffling. I popped a Gu gel around 2000 feet and am feeling pretty good. I sip from my Camelback, making sure to stay hydrated. I look down at the useless bottle of electrolyte-boosted water on my bike frame... no way am I going to try to pull that off, drink enough, and then put it back. Ah well - that's what the test ride is for - seeing what works, and what doesn't. Now I know I like the Camelback better. My hands are a bit chilly and cramped.... I realize I've been riding with a deathgrip on the brake hoods... why? You don't even need brakes if you're just going uphill, and I've only shifted a few times. I force a relax, then move my hands into the drops to get a different posture for a while. Yeah, that's good. RPM at 50 - still too low, but it feels right and I'm not going to mess with it here. Power output at 240, heart rate at 162. Both of those are comfortably below lactate threshold, right where I want them at this stage of a long push where the goal is to complete.

I've learned all these things.. the energy input, the stretching while pedaling, the conditioning to ride in the drops for a long time, the inventory, hydration, power levels, mentally tracking the status of my gears, monitoring my cadence, .. from hanging out with a lot of different cyclists, going on rides with the Monsters, winter spin classes with Professor Chris, and reading way too much about road biking in the last year. Now a lot of it's becoming second nature. Will it all serve me effectively in the second half of this crazy climb?

Spin, spin, push push.

6:28 - 4100 feet

mtwash-pr-46b.jpg

I round a hairpin and realize I'm now in the open zone. The trees have faded to scrub. The wind has picked up.

This is when I find out how my clothing choices work out. The other guys in my group have all gone with long sleeves, and in some cases, long leggings. They warned me about the top half of the road, where the protection of the trees is gone - it gets cold, fast. On the other hand, I have some hints from Will, one of the Monsters, who has also ridden this several times. His advice was to go with shorts and short sleeves unless the weather is extreme, because you get hot fast, and there's no way to cool down. Just have something warm at the top waiting in the car.

I tend to run hot, so I went with Will's advice: shorts and short sleeves. I've got a light rain jacket folded up in my back pocket which I can use as a thermal barrier if it gets really cold. I don't want to put that on because I'd probably have to stop to do it, but if the temperature becomes life-threatening or is draining my energy beyond what I can handle, I certainly will.

The clouds move in. We'll see.

6:28 - 4101 feet

It starts to rain.

6:30 - 4200 feet

Up ahead, I see a truck parked on the side of the road. Doug leaps out with a camera as I pass, saying something about a stuck backdoor. Doug has come on this adventure to drive one of the cars to the top. He has, amazingly, brought his 7 month-old son, Nate along. Nate has convinced his Dad to help him accomplish a goal of getting to the top of the highest point of all 50 states before he is 12 years old. Nate is nearly ready to hit the first of 50 milestones in that quest. I think this is one of the coolest Dad/Kid things going... and Nate is an awfully groovy little 7 month-old.

I grin at Doug, mentally wish good spirits to Nate-in-the-truck and push up into the open, Alaskan-tundra-like highlands.

6:33 - 4300 feet

An hour into it, and a change I've been waiting for: the road shifts from asphalt to dirt. The book mentioned this, as did some of my friends. It's not too bad to ride on... no big rocks, not too loose. But the rain is making it wet. And it's steep. This is a bit tougher.

I see someone in a white jacket ahead. I'm finding it's nice to see another cyclist farther up the road... it's a bit of a target, something to push for. But I'm not pushing much harder, so it's more like watching a movie... what will happen next?

6:41 - 4700 feet

The dirt road continues. It's a bit sticky now with the rain. Definitely harder.

The view off the left is fantastic. The exposure too. I can see the entire valley below, peaks in many directions. Wildcat ski area is down below, to the left. The clouds are coming in lower, touching the other peaks around. The weather is getting serious.

Peter had been keeping an eye on the weather the night before. It looked like somewhere between 6am and 8am, a powerful weather front was going to come in across the range. Although some of us prefer later mornings, we all agreed with him and Kevin that we should get to the base of the practice ride as soon as it opened at 5am to try to get up and done before the weather hit.

It had made for a short night and an early morning, but I'm glad as I ride through the growing wind that we made that call. It's only going to get worse from here.

6:45 - 4900 feet

After rounding another hairpin and turning to the north, I catch up with the cyclist in front of me. It's Bob.

Wait, it's more complicated than that. Someone else with a bike is up in front of Bob, and she has stopped on the road. She's stopped on the road, on the really steep part. It's Karen - Bob's sister.

Bob, a new Monster, came up with the rest of us from Concord on Saturday. We met Karen and her husband Mark at dinner last night. They've joined our caravan up and down the mountain - they're cycling up and will be filling in some of the spare seats in our vehicles so that they have a ride down. Karen and Mark have done a lot of touring cycling and some other pretty cool things. While I've been taking this Mt. Washington climb pretty seriously, Karen didn't. She hasn't done it before (nor has Bob), but Karen said, "it's just another difficult thing. You go out and do it." I admired that. In contrast, I over-think these things before, then over-write them later.

Karen's standing on the road next to her bike, talking about her wheel - a flat? But she doesn't have a flat. Bob stops to chat with her. They both seem fine... looks she just wants to talk...? I nod at them both and keep riding slowly past them. I think back to another piece of Will's advice: if you stop, it's really hard to get going again, because clipping in to your pedals on the hill is difficult. You probably have to do it by riding across the road, then turning uphill.

This is an incredibly steep part of the hill. 18%. Not an ideal stopping or starting spot. I mentally and somewhat guiltily thank Bob for being there and stopping so that I don't.

I wonder how they're going to get moving again. Well, they're both doers... they'll figure it out, no question.

6:48 - 5000 feet

The muddy dirt road turns to pavement.

The rain picks up.... hitting so hard it feels like hail.

I can't see more than about 300 feet in front of me, if that. Too bad... would love-love-love to see the scenery.

Way up ahead, on the edge of my visibility, are two cyclists in yellow.

This is a tough spot. The mountain throws a blanket of gravity at me. I resist.

Spin spin, push push.

6:52 - 5200 feet

Oooo, cramp. How exciting!

Back of left thigh... developing slowly. My extensive experience in cramping while riding in pacelines and struggling up inconsequential hills (at least comparatively), leads me to conclude that this cramp might just work its way out all by itself.

I ride along, no change to pace, no major shifting around. The cramp slithers away quietly.

7:00 - 5500 feet

The pavement is a lot sketchier than below... it matters where you choose to point your wheel.

The road ahead takes a tight hairpin to the left. I can see a pair of yellow-clad cyclists just above it, and it is seriously steep. She's downshifted into some really low gear, and he's straining hard. It looks completely crazy.

Monadnock comes to mind as I pace toward the corner. I've been up it three times in preparation for this ride. Pack Monadnock is one of the more notable climbs within close driving distance of Concord. It's only about 800 feet of climbing over 1.4 miles, but it's a steep road... lots of 12% grade. The last 100 yards or so, though, are around 24% grade. The first time I rode to it, I knew that it was tough, but seeing that last pitch in front of me still took my breath away. It was very, very hard to get up it, even with the 34/28 compact gearing I put on my bike after that discussion at Starbucks. I thought at the time that it was even harder than the Wachusetts climb, because I was literally hollering out loud over the last 20 feet to force myself to finish. In retrospect, I think it was a tiny bit easier, because even though I wanted to quit and just walk it, I knew that I'd forced myself through that kind of thing before and I could do it again.

This hill ahead... it's not quite up to Pack Monadnock standards, but it's close. And it's wet. And windy. And has cracks in the pavement.

I hit it. I can do this... I've done worse. I pass the pair of cyclists as they crest the top of the steep section.

7:05 - 5700 feet

The road climbs along a ridge, flattening out to an incredibly easy 5%. The wind flares and spikes.

I'm feeling pretty good. I'm in the last mile, I think.

I consider pushing harder for the last bit, but I think there's another dirt patch ahead - a steep one. And I know there's a very steep section at the end of the climb. A wall. The rain is driving down now, making it hard to see. I decide to stick with my goal of just steadily making it. I'm on track for it, and overdoing it in these conditions won't tell me much to learn from.

7:10 - 5950 feet

No second dirt section. Seems it was paved since the book was printed.

A cyclist catches up with me - the first person to pass me. He's riding light and has that strong climber look to him. "Way to go, man!", he says, reminding me of the ever-present encouragement of Philip and PJ. I grin. "This is awesome! Gotta do it again!" "Cool. Hey look - the 6000 foot marker - we're almost there!" "Sweet!" "Have a good one." He rides away, slowly.

7:15 - 6100 feet

The wall is coming. There's a very steep part at the end, with a turn or two in it. Somewhere. I'd prep for it and race up it, but now I can't see more than 20 feet in front of me.

I've done some climbing on a short hill near my home that's about 200 feet long and a completely ridiculous Monadnock-like 24%. I went up it the other day after the rain and had trouble climbing it because I kept losing traction on the slick pavement. I'd push my pedal and skid out, almost falling... sort of like the time I rode up Wachusett in the snow on December 31st with Chris. I quickly learned to lean way back in those conditions. I might need that now. But I've never done this before in the wind and pelting rain. Should be interesting.

7:17 - 6200 feet

The wall hits. 18%, 20%. Huge wind. Cars parked off to the right, so the road must go over... that way? Yes. I shift, I stand, I crank. 300 watts, 500 watts, 800 watts. 60 rpm, 70 rpm, 80rpm. Every muscle pushing, every nerve trying to track the road and avoid the wet cracks. A quick lean left, a last push, and I'm at the top.

I glide over the line by the little shack, look around, and put my foot down. 1 hour, 42 minutes. 10 feet visibility. 50mph winds. Driving rain. Mt. Washington.

"WOOOOOOO!!"

I savor the moment.

I notice that I am really, really wet. And shivering. I savor the moment anyway.

I walk my bike down the hill, trying to find the car in the dismal weather.

I'm glowing, pumped, ready to do it again.

Only faster.

Postscript

When I reached the top, my first trip up was over. Along with feeling very satisfied with achieving my goal, I felt a sense of sadness that the moments of presence on the climb were done and gone. So I've tried to capture a bit of what went on, which led to this note.

In context. I know people who have done this ride many times and who have done it far faster than I ever will. This climb was not in any way remarkable to any one of those folks. Even for myself, when I look at the stats, on a power/calorie output basis, this ride was not as hard as some of the Monster group rides or even some of my solo training sessions. But it was special.. a tough ride, a good ride and worth remembering.

Don, Peter, and Karen's husband, Mark, made it to the top long before me - around 1:25 to 1:30. They beat the weather, which was great.

Dan and Kevin completed on the tandem shortly after me, and Bob and Karen also finished around the same time. I don't know how they got back on the bikes on that slope, but they did.

The rain was incredibly cold and intense when we finished. We had towels and clothes in the van & truck, thankfully. Drying off to avoid hypothermia was critical.

On the way down, we passed probably 20 cyclists who had started after we did. The weather conditions were deteriorating - so the combination of the rain on the dirt and an increase in the number of cars descending had to have made their climbs that much tougher.

This was the Practice Ride for the Newton's Revenge race, which is on July 10th. I haven't thought very hard yet about how or what I will be doing differently for that ride. But I probably will care a bit more about my finishing time, and I probably will be working to up my cadence so that I'm riding a bike instead of mashing gears.

Unfortunately my handlebar video camera quit shooting video shortly after the 5-mile mark. So there are no pictures of the last bit of the climb. The weather was so bad it probably doesn't matter. Just close your eyes, turn on a fan, pour water over your head, and run into a wall... you'll get the idea.

The best quote of the day goes to Peter, who, when riding down the road inside the van, said to a cyclist coming up the hill: "Gee, you could at least have taken that mirror off to save weight." If you know Peter, you know why this is ridiculous.

Huge thanks go out to -

The Mt. Washington Road crew for organizing the event(s).
Kevin and Peter for organizing the trip.
The Monsters collectively for getting me pointed at this thing and providing the context to get ready for it.
Stan, Doug and Nate, for coming along just to drive up. Thanks. You guys are awesome.
Michele, for putting up with me. June 6th was also our 20th anniversary. Twenty years into it.. yes, this is me. :-)