D2R2 2015: Part II

Team Shad in the saddle

As the sun climbs higher and the temperature rises, as the hills grow steeper and longer, as the miles fall away under our tires, I let go of details and specifics. The Virginian handles the navigational duties as he's not only an eleven time D2R2 veteran but these roads are, to a degree, known to him, they're in his wheelhouse, they're local to him.

160K riders

Around mile 50, I feel the first twinges of cramping in my quads and so begin to really focus on my pedaling. After years of riding, I've become adept at recognizing the subtleties of positioning and technique; I can discern, and therefore direct, where the power of the thrust comes from.

When climbing, am I out of the saddle and relying on the thunder of the quads to generate the power? What if I sit down, shift forward on the seat, and sort of scrouch over the handlebars; can I shift the power focus to the calves and hips? Yes. I can also employ the "clawing" technique whereby I concentrate on the front downward thrust and upward pull back, imagining my toes as claws digging into turf, pulling, then thrusting hard off the claw hold. This alleviates the quad-heavy thrusting that comes natural when out of the saddle on an ascent, but it's also tiring and, on very steep ascents, nearly impossible to maintain. You have to get out of the saddle and hammer at certain points.

Thank goodness for Friday's rain. Where many of the climbs would have been loose sandy gravel, today they are more or less packed down. You're able to get out of the saddle and not spin out. Otherwise, you would have had to stay seated in order to keep weight on the rear wheel and maintain traction, but the hills being as steep as they are, I'm sure I could not have stayed seated so would have inevitably had to hike up certain inclines. As it turned out, I never had to get off the bike and walk.

One of the long, gradual grinds

So the last 12 miles before lunch I spend babying my quads, constantly adjusting my position in the saddle, coasting as much as possible, and generally trying to keep my legs from seizing up. It works! Around mile 62, the small lunch stop appears, there are twenty or so cyclists already there, bikes strewn about and tired, brightly-clad riders lounging on the grass. The Virginian and I drop our bikes in the bushes and attend to fueling up.

As promised, there's garlic aioli to spread on the made-to-order ham or turkey or hummus wraps. There's also pasta salad and an array of snacks like M&Ms, Fig Newtons, pickles, potato chips, and, blessedly, cans of Coke. Now, I normally drink a Coke maybe once a year and I've been avoiding potato chips for like two years but today I inhale both a Coke and a bag of chips. And a ham wrap. And a pickle and a package of Newtons.

And I make a key hydration substitute. At the first rest stop I'd mixed a bottle of sport drink but had used too much powder; the result was way too sweet, so much so that it sorta' made me nauseous. So at lunch, I dumped the rest of that concoction and switched to a mix of pickle juice and water. Salty, with twinges of vinegar, it tasted better than the sports drink solution and helped to actually alleviate some of the stomach discomfort that's a byproduct of consuming so much sugary energy supplements.

The Virginian in his glory

Lunch finished, two thirds of the ride in the books, The Virginian and I gear up and push on. Immediately after lunch, you zoom down a long, fast descent to the floor of a valley in Charlemont. "Sweet!" you think to yourself, "Nothing like a zinging bullet train to bury a few quick miles!"

But once a descent like that hits the valley floor, in the D2R2 you can be sure that a massive climb is the next order of business. In this case, we're talking East Road.

Now, East Road is a special climb for me, ever since the fabled "Assault on East Road" from the 2013 D2R2 (chronicled here). That was the time that The Virginian and I reeled in four guys who'd whizzed by us a half mile before the base of the climb; we'd been stopped at the side of the road taking a picture of some sunflowers when the foursome had zoomed past. Though they had a five minute start on us, we reeled them back one by one and cranked passed them, demoralizing them on the merciless slopes of East Rd. Much of this, my self-declared "finest day of my cycling life," was captured on The Virginian's video camera which he'd mounted on his rear fork (footage available at above link).

There would be no such heroics on East Road today. Depending on how you measure it, the total climb runs to three miles and, though gradually steady for much of it, in places the grade tips up sharply, at one point about two thirds to the summit, it veers up to 13.1%. And, despite the rain and the "perfect conditions," there are a couple places where the surface is not compact, and loose sand and stone force you back into the saddle to avoid spinning out.

The Strava segment of East Rd is called Backside of Berkshire East. It takes me 29 minutes to climb to the top. At one point, I think at the 13% grade, I am going so slow I don't know how I stay upright. It takes all my will and concentration to stay on the bike, to keep turning the cranks, to not get off and walk. I don't want to get off, I don't want to admit defeat, to further sully the memory of my once-upon-a-time accomplishment on this sacred climb. It's bad enough that I labor mightily just to stay on the bike; think of the ignominy of having to get off and push the Crux Elite.

I avoid that dread fate and manage to grind to the summit without ditching, though at one point I begin cramping, not in the legs but in my right shoulder and right tricep. Then it becomes a struggle to balance one handed while letting go with the cramping arm and holding it at different positions, including swinging it around trying to get the blood flowing. Upper body cramping becomes a concern the rest of the ride. I end up repeatedly taking my hands off the handlebars, sitting upright, waving my arms, alleviating the stress of gripping the bars too tightly.

At the top of East Rd, we pause and gather ourselves. Even The Virginian concedes that "Maybe we were a bit cocky about East Rd." We'd been taking excitedly about the climb for weeks. We'd imagined that we'd use the climb again as a launch pad, that we'd drop anyone who dared try riding with us, that we'd repeat our bravura performance of two years ago.

Then The Virginian drops a bomb.

"I even rode this climb earlier this year, in May, and it didn't seem as hard. And I was on my road bike."

Say what? A fucking road bike?! "Are you insane??" I asked with a mixture of admiration and incredulity.

He shrugged. "Yeah, I don't know, it was almost easier on a road bike, it's hard to explain."

Yes, it IS hard to explain. In fact, I can't imagine it. Nor will I ever know what it's like as I would never attempt East Rd on a road bike. But The Virginian is a special sort, as we've seen before.

The Virginian, much earlier in the ride, still fresh

East Rd conquered (albeit in humble fashion), we turn our attention to the stretch run, about twenty five more miles or so. Lots of rolling terrain, a modicum of pavement, mostly dirt roads, a lot of it descending. Though not all. One or two tricky stretches challenge my stamina and my crampy upper body but the terrain is fun, the rutty wood roads completely overhung with a canopy of green (as many miles have been today), and the climbs of short enough duration not to be killers.

By this point in the ride, the riders have splintered and drifted far apart. Earlier, you'd come upon a handful of riders not infrequently, or some would ride up and pass us. But now, we encounter almost no one else. We roll along largely by ourselves, enjoying the solitude, doing quiet solo battle with our own bodies, managing the discomfort while exulting in the realization that today's gargantuan challenge draws to an end.

And then we're there, Deerfield, the big green fields, the huge tent, the bee hive hum of activity, riders coming in, cars pulling out, the whole spectacle alive in the booming late afternoon sun that now shines unadulterated from a cloudless sky. AH!

And just as the morning was organized with a martial yet earthy-crunchy exactitude, so too is the afternoon after-ride party. The beer line is long though it moves quickly, the food line is short and accessible, the huge covered tent lined with tables and seats produces a dull roar of banter from five hundred or so contented enthusiasts, all scarfing dinner and sluicing Berkshire Brewing Company ales.

So Team Shad joins the celebration.

Team Shad at the table of champions

Back to D2R2 2015: Part I

One Week Before the Rasputitsa, A Look Back to The Assault on East Road and the Banquet of Rabbits

One week from today, the Rasputitsa gets underway. At last!

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.

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