I've been training diligently for it and feel well prepared. The weather & road conditions will be the determining factors in how the race goes, not my physical conditioning. I am ready. I could gnaw off a 50 mile shank, chew it up with iron-hinged jaws and wash the whole plate of poutine down with a liter of pothole water.
But in looking ahead to next week's entanglement in the Northeast Kingdom, I also want to look back to last summer and perhaps my finest day of cycling. I'm referring to the 2013 D2R2 and, specifically, to what has now become known as "the assault on East Rd." May I have available the same suitcase of courage next week that I rummaged through successfully on that long, torturous climb in Hawley last August. Here's how it unfolded.
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| Dawn, just before the start of the 2013 D2R2 95 miles over some 8 hours Mostly dirt roads |
At about the 70 mile point you come to East Rd in Hawley. Everyone knows the climb is coming and most fear it. Approximately 3 miles long, the climb gains 1000 feet of elevation with a grade at times of 5.4%. Coming as it does three quarters of the way through a long, hard day of riding, the climb can be demoralizing and deflating.
The Virginian ("TV") and I stopped in the valley just below the start of the climb; TV, as he does each year, was documenting the ride and, coming across a copse of blooming sunflowers, decided to capture a few iconic images before starting the ascent. As we paused on the roadside, a group of four riders whizzed passed us heading at speed toward East Road and the base of the climb. They seemed serious.
TV got his photographs and then made some adjustments to the small video camera he had attached to his down tube. I took note of the fact that he positioned it to film behind him, not ahead of him. The nerve! The presumption!
Suddenly, an odd sensation came over me and I became aware of a miniature apparition sitting on my shoulder. It was a small figure that resembled Eddy Merckx and he spoke to me in Belgian-accented English. He told me that I'd just been insulted and that I could not let the implicit challenge go unmet. I had to make a move on East Road, he insisted. I understood.
Off we went. I felt strangely refreshed, my legs loose, my arms and shoulders relaxed. We picked up the pace and were soon rushing toward the base of the climb. I began to think of the four riders who had sped past us five or ten minutes ago. In my mind, I transformed them into rabbits and began to envision them as prey, a frenzy of panicky hopping somewhere just up the road.
We hit the climb with a head of steam and began the ascent. First it was gradual and then it was not. Up up up the road, a canopy of trees, loose gravel, dirt and shadow. We both fell into rhythm, a relaxed but determined turning of the pedals. I felt better as we climbed. The Merckxian Miniature whispered in my ear "Remember the video camera, mon ami, he has disrespected you!"
At about the 5 minute mark, we catch the first rabbit and dispatch him. At about the same time, I move past The Virginian out of the video field. I am infused with blood lust. I want the rest of the hares. And over the next fifteen minutes of relentless propulsion, we overtake and consume each one. In our wake, we scatter bits of fur and bone, chewed steel cable, torn scraps of gaudy Pearl Izumi racing jerseys, ground up tire tread.
The Merckxian apparition chortles with approval. He spits into the wind, he claps his hands, he bellows encouragement. He shouts "Yes! Yes! You ride with purpose! You deserve your banquet of rabbits!"
Watch the full 19.25 minute Assault on East Road
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