A Weekend of Dubious Training Value

What was I thinking you ask? I wasn't. Because if I had, I most definitely would have thought twice about doing either of these rides, particularly with fixie extraordinaires Rocket and Manimal. But ah, life is about adventure and what better way to journey than on your heavy winter bike-up monster climbs, in a ridiculous gear, in the middle of February?

After taking Thursday off, Friday I decided to sneak a quick leg workout in at the gym. It was tame enough but the problem was that I hadn't been in the gym in a week and a half so yup, I was going to be sore. And sore I was. I woke up Saturday morning and was in a major "spot of bother" when I went to put my socks on. This was going to be a long day. I was to meet Manimal and maybe Rocket at noon for what would be a low-key ride- I hoped. But "low-key" or "keeping it mellow" are not phrases that neither of the aforementioned abide by.

Thankfully Rocket was tied up with work so it would just be Manimal and I meandering through the hills of Litchfield County on yet another windy February afternoon. These two have a habit of going at each other and I unfortunately get caught in the crossfire. Besides that, the only problem around these parts is that you really can't go on a flat ride unless you drive down to New Preston, pop your beach cruiser off your car, and do laps of Lake Waramaug.

Manimal and I "decided" that we were going to hit Warren Hill Rd. (Rte. 45) which takes you from Rte. 7 in Cornwall back up to Warren. Manimal was going on vacation so he seemed to feel he needed to go away with a good ride under his belt. Wonderful. He had me video him at the bottom of Bunker Hill on our way out to Warren Hill attempting to break his max cadence PR of 210 something rpms. I'm not sure if he hit it, but it's really something to see someone pedal that fast. I'd post the video but I'm sure he'll use it as fodder for his next post here. It actually is quite unnerving watching these types of descents.

I pulled when I could when we got down to scenic Rte. 7 because my legs were about a -2 out of 10 and we were still five miles from the base of the climb. When we got to the turn (at a hair over 20 miles on the left profile), I basically told James to go at his own pace as I wouldn't be much company given my current state of affairs. The climb isn't terrible by any means, but it basically maintains between 7 and 11% gradient for almost 3 miles. Watching Manimal out of the saddle in the 42x17 was inspiring so I had to at least do it in the 19, right? Given that I just had to pre-fatigue my legs the day before and I "couldn't" down shift to the 23, this was perhaps the worst pain I've ever experienced in my legs while on a bicycle. I called on any available fiber in my lower limbs to turn the pedals over. The only other time my legs felt like this was when I was in high school and I would ride my old 10 speed to a neighboring town, run hill repeats on the ski slopes, and ride home. It's funny how you don't remember self-induced pain because who would honestly do half the stuff we do on our bikes?


So 10-15 minutes later it was over and the rest of the ride went off without a hitch, though every riser we hit on the way back to the shop felt like I was one of the horses being whipped by Charlton Heston in Ben-Hur. Of course, when we got back to the shop, we just had to tell Rocket of our exploits or shall I say, idiocy, if you're not into climbing huge hills in way too hard of a gear. I think something in us likes to defy the common training logic of "base miles" in winter.


Well, that was Saturday. I took my lovely Valentine out to eat that night where I downed my favorite recovery meal- steak, garlic mashed potatoes, and steamed broccoli. I was hoping my body would pull whatever it could from what I ate and when we got home I was tired of being tired so I drank a quart of FRS. I swear this stuff works. I went to bed early that night hoping for a good night's rest because Sunday was a date with the Rocket. Before I fell asleep I wondered where I could get some EPO.


I got to the shop late Sunday because yes, I was filming a commercial. It turns out that Em's cousin Karl works in the advertising department of a local cable company and he needed people on film stating what cable station(s) they watch. I was able to wear my cycling kit and of course, my line was "Cycling, on Versus." I'm kicking myself for not bringing my camera to capture this because Karl said I was quite good. This is reassuring in case I go pro and have to peddle useless products to the American people.


Not to be outdone by the Warren Hill Climb Saturday, the Rocket threw down the gauntlet and boldly stated that "We should do Carter." For those familiar with this climb, it's usually one we reserver for July, not the February. It is absolutely brutal. Carter winds up the same ridge as Warren Hill and attains the same vertical in about a mile or so less distance. When you take the left off 7 onto Carter you immediately strain your neck if you dare to look up. Not 20 feet past the stop sign you're hit with the first of two "steps" that average between 15 and 18%. The only problem is that the space between the steps "levels off" at 10%. Beyond that it gets worse in sections, particularly the switchback at aptly named High Watch Farm where you're a tick below 20%.


Given what I had done the previous 2 days and in particular, the pain I experienced just yesterday, I began to wonder on our way out to Carter if in fact I could do it without walking or even dying. Before the dreaded turn skyward, I pretty much did everything short of bribing Rocket to not do Carter. "We could do 341 (a less steep climb back to Warren)", I begged, tears streaming down my face. Ok, maybe not quite like that but his reply was "341 will be worse." He wasn't budging, so Carter it was.


Once we hit the turn we were committed. Getting over the first two humps really tenderizes the go-go sticks and I honestly thought the Rocket was going to pack it in. To his credit, he kept churning over that 17 as if he was a marionette being controlled by a 92 year old arthritic puppeteer. I was doing my own Mauricio Soler imitation. I stopped looking up after a while as not only was I fighting my own pain, watching the Rocket suffer seemed to exacerbate mine. With each pedal stroke I was only traveling 49 inches. So as you can imagine, at 20 or 30 rpms, this one was going to take a while. I remember almost dipping below 3 mph at one point and I began to wonder at what minimum speed I could "achieve" before I tipped over.


So we crested the climb nearly together as I was able to sit and turn the 23 over as the grade came down to single digits. We looked like a couple of sopping wet bath towels slung over our bikes at this point and admittedly I took a perverse pleasure in witnessing Rocket breathing laboriously as I came up to him. He always seems to mask his pain or maybe he figured he'd let it out for once seeing that he just pushed a 42x17 up freakin' Carter. My average HR for the climb was 171 with a max of 183 covering about 850 ft in 1.7 miles that took about 12 minutes. I wasn't setting any speed records with that gearing for sure and I was hovering around my LT the entire time. I guess maybe I'm getting stronger because the suffering was nearly as bad last year in a 39x25 with a lighter bike, body, and fresher legs. To my surprise, Rocket did later suggest that we do repeats on this climb at some point with our better geared bikes. Ouch.


It's funny how at a certain point you become one with the pain and it becomes this transcendent experience. That's what I felt Sunday. I kept remembering a line from one of my favorite books, The Long Walk: "The limits of human endurance are far beyond what you they think they are." Not particularly profound, I know, but testing those limits is what I've always enjoyed. The bar keeps getting raised and the next adventure awaits.