Monday, February 06, 2006

Mount Evans Hill Climb (July 23, 2005)

A few years ago, I ran the Mount Evans Ascent for the first time. The Mount Evans Ascent is, as one of my running buddies describes it, a “sufferfest” that starts at Echo Lake at an elevation of 10,600 feet and finishes 14.5 miles later at the summit of Mount Evans at 14, 260 feet. That’s an elevation gain of nearly 4,500 feet. The race is, as you might expect, nearly all uphill, with just a couple of places on the course where the roadway flattens out or actually loses a small bit of elevation. I liked the Sufferfest so well that I ran it three years in a row.

But I always had a problem when looking for race schedules and results on-line. Typing in the words “Mount” “Evans” and “Ascent” into a search engine typically returned more entries for a bike race up the same mountain – something that started to grab my attention more and more as I started riding more and more. And as it turns out, there is a reason that the bike race commands more space in cyberspace: it’s a much older race, so well established that it attracts pro cyclists from around the world.

Pro cyclists like Tom Danielson, in fact. In case you are not a cycling fanatic (okay, make that a semi-fanatic, who has followed Lance Armstrong and the Discovery Team and the big contenders in the Tour de France for just a few years now), Tom Danielson is, in 2005, a member of Lance’s Discovery boys. In fact, in 2005, Tom actually beat Lance Armstrong (his teammate!) in winning the first place prize at the Tour de Georgia. Lance has been known to praise Tom and his climbing skills. And it was Tom’s extreme climbing skills that led him to a record-setting victory at the Mount Evans Hill Climb in 2004.

Now, how can I resist riding in an event that pulls in talent like that?

So in the summer of 2005, Mick and I make the drive up to Idaho Springs to register for the Mount Evans Hill Climb on the night before the race. While I’ve been hankering to do this race, I’ve also been a bit intimidated, which is why we’ve procrastinated on registering. You see, the cycling version of this climb is a bit longer than the running race. The cycling race starts at Idaho Springs, at an elevation of 7,540 feet before climbing to the summit. Echo Lake, where the running race starts? Just a mere mid-point in this race. The damage is just over 27 miles with almost 7,000 feet of climbing. I wrestle with the possibility that I might be the last person up to the top of the mountain, and finally decide that the excitement of riding this race is worth the risk. And so we finally – at the last moment – decide to make the commitment and ride this thing.

This is the first sanctioned bike race for me, and it means that we have to decide what category to ride in. After consulting with a friend who used to race on bikes very competitively (and has ridden Mount Evans a few times), we decide to take the path of least resistance and register in the Citizen’s Wave. This is, at least theoretically, the least competitive of the waves. For me, this is a fairly easy decision. The Citizen’s Wave takes off earliest in the day – at 7 a.m. – while the women’s competitive classes are the last to leave Idaho Springs. My strategy is simple: to not be the last person to summit Mount Evans. I figure my odds are much better with a head start.

So at 7 a.m. on Saturday, July 23, we’re lined up at the Clear Creek Middle School in Idaho Springs with a healthy crowd of other cyclists when the starter sends us on our way. I’ve lined up about as far back in the crowd as possible, so there’s a bit of delay before we start to roll. The Middle School driveway where the start of the race is staged is up a slight incline from Highway 24, so we actually get a brief downhill roll as we start the race. But it’s a very brief downhill roll, and soon enough the long climb begins.

I’m dismayed that although I have started so far in the back of the pack, I’m still getting passed left and right in the early part of this race. But I know it’s a long road up the mountain, so I just watch as people stream around me, and I work to warm up and get into a nice cadence. In fact, Mick and I have ridden this route in reverse, just a few weeks ago, as part of the Triple Bypass, and it’s interesting to watch the terrain roll by in this direction. It’s a bit like watching a movie in reverse. The good news is that I like this entire stretch of roadway. The bad news is that in this direction it’s all – every inch of the way – uphill.

Eventually, it seems that the crowd has settled down, and now I’m riding with people of my own abilities, trading places every now and then. It’s quite a nice long straight stretch before we hit the first switchback, and I’m nicely warmed up at long last. I trade places a couple of times with the same people, and we start to talk to each other as we ride.

The next section of roadway is tough, as the incline gets steeper, and at some point I find myself riding along with a guy I’ve traded places with a few times. We chat amicably, and I learn that his name is Skip and he lives in Littleton; Skip has not ridden this race before, either. It’s nice to have someone to ride with, and so we pedal along together for what seems a long time. But Skip is carrying a bit of extra weight up the hill, and as we ride and talk, I start to notice how much energy I have. It’s not until we get caught by some folks from behind that I realize that my excess energy is because Skip and I have slowed down.

There is a woman in a group that passes us, and I chat her up as I try to regain some momentum. It turns out that she is from Maine, and has ridden the Mount Washington Hill Climb, and thinks this is a puny flat ride in comparison. Okay, she doesn’t use the words puny or flat, but that’s what her message relays to me. Feeling a bit of pride in my state and in our hills, I decide that I need to work to make a statement, so – although I hate losing my new buddy Skip – I take the pace up a notch, and soon I’m riding away from the entire group, including Macho Maine Chick.

Soon enough I recognize the terrain, and realize that I’m approaching Echo Lake. Echo Lake – the start of the running race – is almost perfectly at the mid-point of the Hill Climb. There is one delicious little stretch where the roadway flattens out just before we reach the lake, and I use this chance to sprint it out a bit. It feels so good to ride fast through here! I’m surprised – and enchanted – to find that there are actually some spectators along the roadway here, and the little amount of cheering gives me energy.

In my pre-race calculations, I’ve worked to determine exactly where on the course I’ll be when the pros start to pass me. You see, the Pros and Category 1 riders start just thirty minutes after the Citizens, so it’s a certainty that we’ll be passed on the way up the hill. The only questions are where and when? In my most conservative estimates, I’ve figured that I’ll be just short of Echo Lake when they start to go by. So it strikes me as surprising (and pleasing!) that I reach the turn at Echo Lake, and start up the Mount Evans road without so much as a glimpse of the fast boys in my rear view mirror.

But my calculations were pretty darn close, and just as I’ve ridden about a half mile from the turn, I hear sirens and see flashing lights in my rear view mirror. The pros are coming! This is a difficult, steep stretch of roadway, but I hardly notice it, what with all the excitement. A police escort goes by with sirens and lights blazing, and then the fast cyclists are passing me.

There are times in life to sit back and appreciate the efforts of really superior athletes, and today turns out to be one of those days for me. While there are no riders of Tom Danielson’s stature in this year’s Mount Evans Hill Climb, there are still some darn fast riders, and it’s pretty cool to watch them sprint around me. Just as I’m passing a guy from the Citizen’s Wave – we exchange comments like “How cool to be riding with these guys!” – one of the fast cyclists rear ends the Citizen guy. Just rides right into the rear of his bike. But no harm is done – nobody goes down, no injuries, no bike damage – and the pro cyclist, clearly caught by surprise, apologizes profusely. The Citizen waves him on, and the pro is off, riding at a furious clip again. I can only imagine what it was like for the racer – like when you’re driving along the freeway at full speed, and there is a car going at half speed in front of you, and you stomp on the brakes at the last minute hoping you won’t rear end the slower moving vehicle. Our (the Citizen guy and me) pace was so far different from the racers that it must have been a complete shock.

So I finish passing the Citizen guy, and continue up this roadway. Now I’m on a course I know all too well from my experience running the road race up this stretch. I’m happily passing a few folks who went out too fast, but the real fun is that I get passed from behind, over and over, from the subsequent waves of competitive cyclists who have started in 15 minute increments after the first wave. Each time that a new wave goes by, there is a flash of motorcycle cop lights in my rear view mirror, and then the flash of riders pedaling by. It gives the climb an entirely different flavor from the running race.

One of the things that most impresses me as the competitive cyclists pass me is the number of guys who are generous in their comments. “You’re looking great” and “good job”. Over and over. And this from guys who are riding at roughly twice my pace. Who woulda ever thunk it? It inspires me. It makes me love the competitive guys. And it makes me want to ride all the faster.

The one brief respite from climbing comes near Summit Lake with approximately five or so miles left to the summit. For a long stretch, I look forward to this brief downhill. Normally, in the running race, I don’t really like this stretch since I know that every step that gives back elevation I’ve gained will only need to be ascended once again. Today, I don’t mind the thought of reconquering altitude already bought and paid for, since the thought of coasting downhill is starting to seem just heavenly. But when we hit the short downhill section, it’s a bust. The road here is buckled and wavy, and it’s more like waterskiing over choppy waters than a nice effortless descent.

Tom Danielson calls Mount Evans “a beast of a climb”, and I believe that he had in mind the rate of ascent that starts here with just four and a half miles to go. After the little respite from climbing, the road turns upward in earnest, and it’s a challenge to keep the pedals turning. The one thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that I’ve mustered my way up this on foot in the past, and I know I can make it to the top from here. So it is pedal to the metal, and every bit of climbing muscle that I possess gets pulled into action here.

The final miles are a blur of switchbacks and traffic: cars going up and down on the too-narrow asphalt patch of roadway, bikes going up and down, people hiking on the road. This amount of traffic might scare me if it weren’t for the pure effort it’s taking just to focus on pedaling and riding a fairly straight line. People go around me, and I go around people. I lose track of everything except the slow rhythm of my pedaling cadence. I can’t look up to count how many more switchbacks to go, because I am not sure that I can keep my balance anymore. I’m getting lightheaded, and I’m thinking that this is a crazy place to hold a race, and finally I round the last switchback and cross the finish line.

I find Mick near the finish line, warming himself in the sun at fourteen thousand feet, in a nice toasty warm spot that he’s made for himself, all nestled into some rocks. I look around for food, but there is none. It’s a supreme disappointment, since I could sure use a handful of cookies right now; I can’t for the life of me figure out why they don’t have something to eat up here. I spend a few minutes warming myself in Mick’s sheltered spot in the rocks before we both decide we should head down the mountain. We are both a bit light-headed, and sitting up here in the thin air is not going to solve that problem.

So we head down the hill again. Dealing with the on-coming traffic is actually much easier than I thought, so I’m relieved on this long ride down. We pass folks still working their way up the hill, and I offer as much encouragement as I can manage. The ride from Mount Evans to Summit Lake is a bit scary, with the switchbacks and steep bits, but the ride from Echo Lake back into Idaho Springs is a dream.

Later, we learn that the weather on top of the mountain went south shortly after we left, and the folks who reached the summit later hit some really scary weather – hail and snow and sleet and thunder and lightning – none of it the kind of weather I like to navigate in on my bike. But we had skedaddled it back down the mountain and were eating pancakes in the warmth of our usual Saturday breakfast place while others were out “enjoying” the July mountain storm. It seems that sometimes the whole point of going up the mountain is just being able to get back down again. And today, that’s a good enough outcome for me.

[For the record: The ride from Idaho Springs to the top of Mount Evans covers 27.35 miles and gains 6,580 vertical feet, with a total of 6,920 of climbing feet. Tom Danielson holds the record for the climb. He broke a record of twelve years standing with his 1:41:20 ride in 2004, smashing the old record by four minutes. I rode the same route in 2005 in 3:42:47 – more than double Tom Danielson’s time. Mick finished the race in 2:55. The top pro in 2005 finished the race in 1:52. I finished about 4 minutes ahead of the Macho Maine Chick, which brought me pleasure. My finish was good for 14th out of 20 in my age group in the Citizen’s Women.]

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