I made it. I made it. I made it.

Dearest Blog Reader;

I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine. I still can’t see but have served one half of my ten day penance for losing my glasses (read last week’s blog for an explanation). By the time you read this, I should be looking through rose colored glasses. I had so much fun riding in the Hilly Hundred last weekend. That ride marked the end of a year with three major organized bike rides. The first in May traveled 360 miles over the state of Indiana raising funds for Habitat for Humanity. I am very thankful to those who supported me and raised nearly $2,500 in the process. On my birthday, I rode 50 miles in the Flat Fifty through Amish country in north central Indiana. Unfortunately, it was the first hot day of the summer and I fell well short of my 100 mile goal due to cramping.

This past weekend, I rode 100 miles over two days in the Hilly Hundred. For two days, Mt Tabor lived rent free in my head. Mt Tabor is a legend among the Hilly Faithful. There are You tube videos dedicated to Mt Tabor fails. All Friday evening I heard; “Mt Tabor is a killer.”  “So many good cyclists have to walk up Mt Tabor.” Mt. Tabor, Mt. Tabor, Mt. Tabor; I was getting sick of it. However, every time my mind started to wander, Mt Tabor would loom up in front of me.

To make matters worse, the route actually took riders down Mt Tabor a day prior to its ascent. That made it a historic Hilly Hundred. For the first time, the day one route took everyone down Mt Tabor to give riders a feel for the 22 degree gradient. It did nothing for my confidence. Half way down, I had to apply my brakes to maintain control as the bike’s front tire skittered over pothole patches poorly applied by the Monroe County highway department. In all fairness, it is hard to apply asphalt to near vertical surfaces. I am guessing that all of those little tar covered pebbles would start rolling down the hill before that tar would find traction and hold on to the side of that hill.

Even with the Mt. Tabor ascent in front of me, it was a great ride. Saturday started a little rough. A steady light rain had settled in over night. The sky, gray and low, was a portent of November weather. According to the weather channel, it would be with us until around 1:00; at least three quarters of the ride. Rain with temperatures in the high 40’s does not make for a very enjoyable ride. However, there were 50 miles to ride and like a boy scout with a discover card, I was prepared. In fact, the last item, a pair of over the glasses motorcycle goggles to keep the rain out of your eyes, had been delivered by the UPS guy, that Santa in Brown, just two days before my departure for the Hilly.

I was prepared; over prepared in fact. It would appear that the third long sleeve biking jersey trapped too much of the heat generated on long climbs. 45 minutes into the ride, it was time to stop and, like a snake, shed one of my layers. That done, the next 45 minutes was spent shivering while the sweat generated from the first 45 minutes evaporated and my body temp came to a decent equilibrium. So Saturday was spent slogging along. One turn of the crank at a time, wondering what if I could make the climb up Mt. Tabor on Sunday.

Sunday arrived bright and sunny. The wooly worms were out in force trying to get warm on the pavement. You can imagine that any kind of circulation problem with that many feet would drive you to distraction and cause one to make decisions that were unwise in an effort to seek comfort. So out they came. I, being a kid at heart, proceeded to dart around the width of the road putting an end to their winter prophesying aspirations; making up limericks about the experiences.

Why limericks? The lovely Miss Beverly had been struck by inspiration in a dream on Friday night. While I was lying in bed listening to the rain drip from the eaves, she was reaching for the Ipad calling her Facebook nation to another limerick challenge. It was a perfect distraction from the cold damp weather and the times when Mt Tabor loomed too large. Over the two days, I wrote and posted 11 limericks. A hundred miles of pedaling up and down hills provides a lot of free time for the mind to roam. I do fear that the prodigious quantity of quality output from my two days of trekking may have scared challengers off. Don’t worry. I get pie from Miss Beverly all of the time. It is only right that someone else receives the blessing of a Miss Beverly pie. If you would like to participate in this challenge, send me a limerick in the comment of this blog, or a facebook message. We will get you in on the opportunity to win.

In between limerick construction and wooly splats, I was struck by the great difference in rider ability. You had some folks on old schwinn bikes. Others were riding the latest carbon fiber. This group was delineated even further by a small number who would ride to the top of a tall hill, and turn around to ride down for the chance to ride back up again. This difference in ability was vividly on display on the ascent of the first hill on Sunday morning. Right at the bottom of the first hill, Shwinn guy had already abandoned ship and was pushing his bike up. I was plugging along and the couple, on the tandem was powering their way up the steep incline.

Shwinn guy’s determination amazed me. On the very first hill, he was off and walking up. He had at least a dozen more to go, and there he was getting right after it. I had spent two and a half years riding, getting into some kind of shape to do what I could to get over each of those hills. After a fair amount of perseverance, road miles, and lost weight, I felt confident enough to give it a try. But Schwinn guy just jumped on his bike and took off, and tandem couple? I last saw them cresting the hill having a dialogue about the Hilly Hundred not being a beginner’s ride. It was too difficult for beginners.

The day proceeded and there it was. 92 miles into the 100 mile ride, Mt. Tabor rose up. The approach comes right after a bridge crossing a creek with a sweeping right hand turn and then a half mile ride along the valley floor. You get to look up the elevation the entire time. There were 5,000 people on the ride on Sunday. Consequently, there were no gaps in the stream of cyclists. Looking up at Mt Tabor, at all of those people, I was struck that they looked like salmon trying to lunge up stream and there was the bear, Mt Tabor, ready for a tasty morsel. Schwinn guy was off at the bottom of the hill happily pushing his way up the hill. He was joined by half of the intermediate cyclist’s not so happily pushing their bikes. The carbon stud cyclists were standing up merrily powering up the hill with some of them coming down to the left, grinning, ready to give it another run. The rest had heads bowed, backs bent, chains in the lowest gear, huffing and puffing, turning the crank just fast enough to keep the bike upright, scratching to make it to the top.

I chose to throw my lot in with this last group. These were my people. Scratching my way up, three images from the weekend swirled in my mind; the guy who crashed on Bean Blossom Hill when his chain broke (how do you break a bike chain?), the guy who crashed going around a curve on a decent who had the wide eyed look of “what the hell just happened” etched on his face, and the speed that I could unclip my cleats and get my foot down without falling over should I need to abandon ship.

While the entire hill is steep, there are differences in gradients. The worst is about 5/6 of the way up. You are already tired hoping for relief and it gets worse. When you hit that transition, you have no reserve. You just keep pedaling. The panic rises when you realize that your speed just fell below the pace where you can unclip and step off gracefully. You are either going to make it to the top or fall over still clipped to your bike, forcing your fellow salmon to fall as they struggle past the bear’s mouth.

Then, the grade shifts again. This stroke was a little easier than the last. The burn in your legs eases just a little. Slowly, your speed quickens. You could safely abandon ship and walk. Why would you want to do that? You are going to make it. The bear isn’t going to eat you this time. You are to the top and after every top there is a hill to coast down.

Happy coasting.

Take care,

Roger