MAP It's a beauty ride that has a little of everything; mountains, rivers, lakes, beaches, forests, farms and, of course, highways, clear cuts and city streets (small city). The weather was perfect for the climbs, overcast and cool. Still, we'd've enjoyed some sunshine though, especially on the downhills. It was the Irish Triumvirate consisting of Matt, Mike & Me. We're a good group for the ride and I always get my workout being the heaviest of the three of us on the climbs. Downhill though, I'm rather like a rock in free fall, untouchable. I still want my big BIG chain ring though. I want to be able to catch Glenn sometime. I rode with him on a Spirit Wheels ride about a year or two ago and we did the eastern portion of the OCC (the now defunct Olympic Cycling Classic). He started bombing down O'Brien Rd. and I figured I'd uber-tuck and see how soon I'd catch and pass him. But then, he did something I wasn't expecting. At 35+ mph, he started pedaling and I couldn't keep up. He started pulling away and I geared all the way up to Big Daddy gear and was pedaling air, no chain tension no matter how fast I whipped the pedals around. I was at a distinct disadvantage here. He had the BIG gear! SPEED (MPH)  Well, this ride, the "Hell of the West (backwards)" has become somewhat of a traditional ride. I tend to sign the boys up for the Fort 2 Fort every year (except last year due to cancellation) and we collectively need to train for their first event ride of the year. So, without fail, we'll ride the Hell of the West . . . backwards. ACTIVITY
I was introduced to the course back during the limited Olympic Cycling Classic days, a May ride to remember. It was part of the standard or English century (as opposed to the metric century) that started from the city pier. After having ridden the eastern 62 miles of the eastern part of the course, the Hell of the West (forward) headed west along 112, across Piedmont to 101, etc. It was truly hellish because by the time you made it to the city pier, the westerlies were blowing and you were in a headwind all the way out to Salt Creek. Once down Camp Hayden Rd., you get the beautiful view, at beach level, of the beach. But, then comes the wall! The road follows along the beach front and you're having one of those magical moments on two wheels where the whole world and all of your petty troubles fall away and your in some sort of serene setting just experiencing one of those moments in your life that you pray to your deity of preference you'll be seeing again that momentary eternity just before you die. And then, the road takes an turn and you realize your dream sequence has abruptly ended and you are heading straight for an epic climb that will be having you cursing a blue streak that'd make a sailor blush, your mother cry and have dock workers taking notes as you start slamming gears and stomping on your pedals. Sweat will start to pour off of your nose and chin and everything pointing down in bullet sized plops as you read the pink spray paint some sadistic lunatic sprayed on the road, "GOT GEARS?" You may even think you're about to black out from lack of oxygen as your lungs feel like they're about to explode and your legs feel like they're about to ignite your Lycra bike shorts. And then, somehow, through some sort of miracle of modern science and/or technology or perhaps an actual miracle of the Pope kind, you've made it to the top. Now, due to oxygen debt, your idyllic end of life dream sequence has vanished forever. Those neurons are now just the latest casualties of the battle to get you from where you started to where you were going, back to where you started. Sounds crazy when you put it like that but, there it is. You'll have to reinforce that memory some other way. But wait, there's more. There's the Piedmont climb, something like three miles of 8% that'll have you wondering whether or not you're on a conveyor belt made of asphalt and you're heading in the wrong direction. And, the Hell of the West forward has perhaps one of the most sadistic twists yet. At mile 100 (if you're riding the whole OCC course), after descending down Indian Valley heading east on US 101 still, oddly, into a headwind, you take a turn onto Olympic Hot Springs Rd. and then a quick left onto Little River Rd. ELEVATION (FT)  That's right, you'll be heading UP Little River Rd. after having already ridden 100 miles. The inaugural ride of the OCC, Lisa and I opted out of the Hell of the West precisely because we didn't think that after riding 100 miles, a feat in itself, we'd be able to even look at the 15% section of Little River Rd. without falling off our bikes, curling up into fetal positions and bawling for our mommies. The next two years though, and sadly the last years of the event, we did the whole 100+ miles and 6500+ feet of climbing. Little River Rd. starts with a false flat and is quite dreamy (watch out). Within less than a quarter mile or so, you're looking for the crease in the road where the floor meets the wall of vertical that'll make a man out of any pantie waist that climbs it, male OR female. It's 15% for a very short mile by tape measure, but it's an eternity by sweat measure. I learned it wasn't impossible, just unthinkable for the uninitiated. Just go to granny and grind that puppy up. Well, remember that dream sequence you wanted to savor? The one you hoped you'd be seeing when things got rough or relaxed or whatever? There is a way to bring it back. I know just how to do that. Ride the damn thing BACKWARDS! Those asphalt walls of voodoo turn into flights of shear terror and unimaginable exhilaration. And that's just what we did this Saturday. Not the whole OCC ride, but the Hell of the West backwards. If you've got the opportunity, this one comes highly recommended.
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Sunday, May 30, 2010
Hell of the West (backwards)
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