I can’t climb and other myths
When I was growing up in Illinois and getting into cycling, my friends used to say, “You’ll never ride after you get your driver’s license.” Of course, being a kid, I took those as fightin’ words.
On any given summer Saturday, as my buddies strolled to the mall, I rolled out for my solo ride, which normally took up the better part of the afternoon.
Next was finding love with the Fox River bike trail and taking a hard lump in my first race—despite being the oldest kid by two years.
My Midwest cycling career began like many probably do: with a group of great people in “the fast group” at Fermilab in Batavia, Illinois, a half hour north of where Christian Vande Velde grew up. In over my head for a year or two, I steadily improved.
The epic group ride from the Riverwalk in Naperville was my next meat grinder. Attended by pros, Olympians, and a group of serious hard-asses, they were hard days but provided continued improvement. Over time, and with the help of my coach, Steve Thordarson, and my wife, Lisa, I advanced and won several Pro-1-2 races.
Around this time, my wife and I moved from Urbana, Illinois, to a small town in the mountains of northern New Mexico called Los Alamos.
Back in Illinois, it was flat and about 600 feet elevation. I recall that my hematocrit was 34—and that was while being fit. One regular training ride from Urbana was to a town named Flatville. Seriously. Hill training was a joke, with the cliche highway overpass done ad nauseum. Climbing to me was unfamiliar, dreaded. I never sought it and waited for certain death when it was upon me.
By slight contrast, Los Alamos sits on the perimeter of the Jemez Mountains at an elevation of 7,300 feet, and there’s not a flat road for 20 miles. The “California”-type riders I always took special joy in deconstructing on the farm roads back home suddenly seemed to know something that my 184 pounds of ass, brain, and other parts didn’t.
Transitioning to high-mountain racing was, for me, a multiyear education. Focused intently on my career, my first year saw little racing but a good deal of riding. I dreaded the hills, but everybody seemed to buckle down and just dealt with it. I did okay, but if there were big climbs I wasn’t with the top riders. The Thursday group training ride featured a 4-mile competitive climb of about 1,700 feet, which was key training.
For me, long climbs are like time trials, where not losing concentration is critical. Weight, aerobic capacity, and raw strength are important. Flexibility, in the sense of being able to adapt to changes in rhythm, can matter in competitive training rides. In racing, the climbs seem to come down to sheer fitness, and real “attacks” are above my pay grade—and maybe amateur racing in general. It may be that the climb is a sufficient decision mechanism, such that attacking is unnecessary.
I’ve made the cut in a few climbing races, including the 2004 Tour of the Gila as a Cat. 2, and that’s how it’s been on the big racing climbs that I’ve done.
The road-racing scene here is based out of Albuquerque and generally pertains to New Mexico races. This state is large and somewhat isolated, though each year usually also includes a couple of trips to races in Colorado, Arizona, Texas, or Mexico. The season begins with flatter races and transitions toward those with big climbing, like the Taos Alpine Classic, allowing some time to ramp up for those efforts. Other spectacular climbing races include the Tour of the Gila, Sandia Crest, and TP to TA, or Tres Piedras to Tierra Amarilla, where the average elevation is 9,500 feet.
After two years or so of riding around here, I was out training one day and looked up the road: finally—a climb! After some confusion, even introspection, it dawned on me that I actually like climbing.
Gene Dougherty is a contributor to CyclingReporter.com. He lives in Los Alamos, New Mexico, where riding a road or mountain bike is an option but climbing’s not.
CyclingReporter.com is looking for contributors. Been racing? Submit a report. Shoot some killer photos? Need to flex those writing muscles? Get published. Read how here.
