The Mount Shasta Summit Century
We elected to start riding at 5:45,
which meant an early morning of coffee and breakfast negotiations
among people unaccustomed to sharing intimate spaces.
During the pre-ride semi-comatose
giddiness, a discussion of bagel toasting options arose. The house we
rented came with a hotel quality (although old) waffle iron. It
seemed natural that The Bagel Waffle-Iron Panini Press would be
appropriate. Would you like your bagel dimpled this morning, ma'am?
Sorry about the cheese oozing through. Does that make it hard to eat?
It was while eating my oatmeal that my
heart rate monitor band started pinching me. Making this observation
aloud may have been a mistake. “Make it tighter, Mammy! I know you
can pull my waistline in to 19 inches!” To which Beth replied,
“That's it! I'm going to market a corset-heart rate monitor
combination! Look good while exercising!” “Yes,” I replied
drily, “because when exercising, breathing is so unimportant.”
We started riding while the sky was
still a dark blue. There was ambient light and the sun was rising
somewhere on the other side of Shasta. We pushed our bikes through
the gate, turned on our tail lights and set off. Beth led the charge,
which was probably a mistake. She's such a strong rider. The first
leg was a gradual grade that looked pleasant enough. However, I don't
warm up until about mile 40. Starting out at good clip shot my heart
rate up higher than it's been all season. I knew this was not a
sustainable pace for me, but for the three miles to the meeting
point, I kept up.
Mt. Shasta loomed impressively to the
East. Somewhere behind it, the sun was peaking over the horizon,
shooting shards of dawn light into the clouds. As we rode, streams of
pink and peach painted the cloud layer in a Wild West water color
wash. Blue clouds clung to ridge tops. There was a chance of rain and
I left all my warm clothes back at the house. It was still cool –
then.
As we wound our way around the valley
towards the town of Weed (yes, the town embraces the name), we played
tag with a few cyclists. Like driving on the highway where you see
the same cars over and over, group rides enjoy the same scenario.
Blue Kneesocks Guy was the main attraction – having seen him doing
a tune-up ride in town the day before, his socks made an impression.
I wondered if he was wearing the same pair, and if they were dirty
from yesterday. And when we saw him for the first time during the
ride, I had a feeling he would become a permanent fixture. I glanced
over at Jim and chuckled. “I love it when things come full circle.”
It was about 6:30AM now. We were making
a fun descent – nothing too long or steep, and nothing we had yet
earned. Which meant, of course, pay later. A man who would soon
become a comrade led the charge, followed closely by Jim, Beth, me
and John. We were in a wooded stretch, probably going about 25mph. A
large dark animal darted from the trees darted and raced across the
road. Not a dog. Not a deer. Not an antelope nor an elk. Neither
suicidal squirrel nor or chipmunk. We'd already seen a bunny so we
knew it wasn't that. Having processed the possibilities faster than
HAL could shut the pod bay doors, I cried out “Holy Fuck!”. It
was a bear. A two or three hundred pound black bear deciding
that now would be a great time to cross the road. Those pesky
cyclists with their buzzing-bee wheel hubs needed to get their heart
rates up.
Our new best friend skidded and took
evasive action, dodging left while the bear went right. The rest of
us watched in stunned amazement as the bear darted (Yes, darted. He
was quick. Quicker than I'd like to think.) up the hill into the
trees. “What was...” “Did you see that?” “Was that what I
thought it was?”
It was.
The ride is a small ride (under 800
riders) and only a few lot of us were out on that stretch. If you
weren't in that group of a dozen on that section, just around that
curve, you didn't see it. It was literally a moment in time.
We rode with our buddy a few more
miles. I was behind him and frequently saw him shaking his head in
disbelief. That it happened, that he didn't hit the bear, that he
wasn't going any faster than he was or the bear didn't decide to
cross a second later. That it was a bear at all.
My corset heart rate monitor failed to
record the adrenaline hit. Design modifications are in order.
A few minutes later, we revisited the
encounter.
Jim: he's probably checking his
shorts.
Me: he won't be needing any chamois
butter.
Beth: all natural product!
Me: stay away from him at the SAG
stop.
Jim: what are all those flies doing?
All: (laughter)
Time and miles passed. We started up
our first climb. As we were all novices to this route, we didn't have
any expectations or fore-knowledge of the climbs. Since I rarely
pay attention to route sheets on organized rides (the turns are
spray-painted onto the road fergawdssakes), I had less knowledge than
my riding companions. Is this the beginning of the climb? Is this the
beginning? Are we climbing to the climb (like Ebbetts) or are we
actually on the climb? Climb 1 (Fawn Creek) was a gentle 1500 foot
climb with no real steep bits. For a warm up, it was a good climb.
And, predictably, at just about mile 40, my quads started jumping
through my skin and my legs wanted to go. I wanted to bolt, but
wanted to stay with my buddies and knew I needed to keep some
reserves for later in the day. It was a push me-pull you exercise.
How to pedal without pedaling? How to not appease the greedy quads?
We got to the SAG stop. Beth and I
agreed that if the rest of the climbs were like this....
How very silly of us. Somehow from the
beginning, which mostly felt downhill, we had already climbed over
3000 feet. We still had 7000 feet to go. It was not all going to be 5
and 6%. The bike math simply wouldn't allow that.
Aaaaaaaaaand it wasn't. Climb 2 to
Castle Lake made me glad I didn't hammer Climb 1. The sun was now out
and the mercury was rising. Castle Lake Road started out pleasantly
shaded with gentle grades. Soon it kicked up and started feeling like
an actual hill. A real hill with sunshine and heat that required
sustained effort. 7.1 miles of sustained effort. At the top, we were
rewarded with shoulder massages. Although my corset was binding, I
managed to guzzle most of a pepsi to wash down my watermelon and a
few fig newtons. Beth said to me, “I can't sit here much longer.”
I agreed, “We can rest on the descent.”
And then we looked at each other,
somewhat stupified. What had become of us? Oh, yeah. Death Ride.
Because we weren't under the same time
pressures as Death Ride, Beth, Corinne and I stopped for a photo op
with Mount Shasta as the backdrop. After all, we needed to record
this for posterity.
At the lunch stop, we reconnected with
Jim who had arrived ahead of us. Sated, quenched and relieved, we
headed out for the last climb. We were riding in an oven. Climbing 1
and 2% grades in our granny gears because the heat was so oppressive.
The sun bore down, a crushing weight of light on our backs, heating
our heads, sapping the energy from our legs. 2% at 5mph. We meandered
a tad through town to the main road of our climb. Suck. Suck. Suck.
Life draining out the bottom of our shoes, through our cleats, being
spent on our pedals for very little return. Turn the crank, go
backwards. Turn the crank, go backwards.
And then, what is this mirage? A man
standing at the end of his driveway. Misters suspended into the air.
The man has a hose. He asks if we'd like to be sprayed down. I ask
myself just what had been slipped into the gatorade at the lunch stop
and if so, would it already be taking effect. Because this wasn't
real. Nobody stands out there in 100 degree heat and offers to spray
down stupid baking cyclists attempting to climb a mountain.
The cold shower was real. And
refreshing. Refreshing enough to allow cooler heads to prevail and
realize that I had my phone in my back pocket and I hoped it wasn't
toast. The cool-down seemed to help Jim, too. I realized he was
slowly pulling away from me. I remained static as he got stronger.
Corinne and Beth were still close behind.
After a very short bit, our jerseys
dried and the sun continued its Easy-Bake Oven treatment of us. We
were in our little aluminum petri dishes baking two inches from a 100
Watt bulb. The salt from our sweat formed a perfect crust on our
skins. When they were to find us later on the side of the road, four
husks curled in fetal positions still clipped in to our pedals, they
could chip the salt away and sell it as human crystals in downtown
Mt. Shasta. Someone would make a killing. The salt-encrusted corset –
a museum piece.
Jim was still ahead. I had him in my
sights but couldn't close the 100 yards. I desperately wanted to
close that gap. If only I could catch him, I could tell him I wanted
to stop. I was done. Kaput. Ready to make that loser U-turn and head
back to the start and eat. In the shade. The cool shade. On a nice
cool lawn. Finally, I did close the gap. I talked about being ready
to pivot at the first water stop on the climb. We looked at the map
as we continued forward. A few more miles. Then we started getting
very (very!) intermittent patches of shade – enough to cool us for
a second before pressing on. The shade patches increased in frequency
and in length and we were catching a few wisps of air funneling up
from a valley. The temperature dropped a degree. Maybe. How would we
know? Can a human tell the difference between 150 degrees Fahrenheit
and 149? Has that been tested?
At last, the water stop. Pepsi number
2. GU number 1. (2X caffeine!!!). I attempted a cookie. Couldn't
swallow it. Heat and food don't mix. Mental and physical recovery
began. The folks at the SAG lied to us and told us we'd have more
shade between this and the next water stop in 5.2 miles. We'd already climbed 1890 feet since lunch and had
another 1670 until the next stop. Which would be fine if it was
shaded like they said. And maybe it is shaded when they drive or ride
it early in the morning or late afternoon. But between 2 and 3:30 in
the afternoon, notsomuch. But they lied and we chose to believe them
because it was either that or despair.
Beth and Corinne pulled into the stop.
Seeing that they were still working this damn hill motivated us to
press on. We mounted our trusty steeds. Since lunch, I
had consumed almost two quarts of water and electrolytes and had no
need to pee. This is not how proper hydration is supposed to
represent.
If I thought the first stretch was a
mind fuck, the second segment was doubly so. Still hot. A few breezes
now and again falsely promised relief. The mental soundtrack that had
earlier kept me plucking along had turned into a Bob Dylan dirge. I
was ready to scream. Nasal, whiny and a-tonal ramblings buzzed in my
ear as I pushed one increasingly hot foot in front of another.
Please, breeze, just blow through the toes of my shoes and cool my
feet down. I can't afford to get “hot foot” now. Where's the
shade? What mile are we at. 3.5 miles still until the next water
stop? I thought there was going to be shade. This patch? This is what
you call shade? My bike makes more shade than that. Maybe I'll just
stop and curl up under the shade of my bicycle.
Jim and I commiserated. There was
kvetching. Even swearing. Some whining. Talk of the loser U-turn. Or
getting to the water stop but NOT going to the top. Another 2 miles
past.
But then.
Something happened.
Our TNT buddies who had done an
alternate version of the ride drove past. They hooted and hollered
out of the car windows as they passed.
“Shit.” I said to Jim. “Now we
have to finish. Because they've seen us on the climb. We can't claim
that they missed us because we were at a SAG stop on the downhill
run. They'll know. They'll know if we don't get there.”
We rounded a corner and there they
were, pulled over in a turn-out. Standing outside the car, all lined
up with cameras and cheering. No cowbells, thankyouverymuch. And Dave
standing there with a 22 ounce bottle of Racer 5. Cold. Cool water
condensing on the bottle. Held out for us to grab: the brass ring
inducing us to get off our merry-go-round bikes, quit and drink beer.
How cruel. Desperate to quit and being taunted this way, knowing if
we did... we'd be shamed forever. Jim said something I'd never heard
him say before, with far more passion and energy than I thought he
had in him at this point in the day.
Despite the obnoxiousness of the
taunting, our teammates' cheers and support boosted our spirits. We were united in our temporary loathing, but were
extremely gratified to see them. The surprise almost-beer SAG stop.
Eventually, we arrived at Bunny Flats, two miles from the "top." The “top” of our ride isn't
the summit of Mt. Shasta, but it's the end of the road up Mt. Shasta.
Our buddies were at that last water stop, cheering us in, offering to hold our bikes,
getting us water and whatever else we might need. Again, we were
honor bound to continue on. Or face the music.
We left the SAG. Jim joked, "We could
just go around this corner, wait 20 minutes and come back down." I
said to him, “You'll know, young Jedi. You'll know.”
We rode on. At last we saw the
final switchbacks to the end of the climb. And then we were up. “Good
job, Coach,” I said. “Good job,” he said back. Pepsi
number 3.
How do you describe the perfect
descent? It has to be long. It has to have very little traffic.
Splendiferous views. A clean and smooth road surface. Not too steep
of a grade nor too tight of turns. It's a hill that you can ride
relaxed with very little, if any, intervention from brakes. You can
maintain a good speed of 35 to 40 mph in a way that doesn't cause
alarm. The lanes are wide enough, with enough long-distance
visibility to pass another cyclist confidently and safely.
Everitt Memorial Highway, the road that
climbs Mt. Shasta, is that descent. It is the perfect descent which
makes the three hours of climbing worth every molecule of suffering.
It is an E-ticket ride. An epic climb matched with an epic descent.
Do it.
