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Cheat Mountain Challenge Ride Report (2005/09/25)
This past Sunday, I took part in the Cheat Mountain Challenge Century,
a 104-mile ride in the mountains in Pocahantas County, West Virginia. The ride was sponsored by Snowshoe Resort and by the West Virginia Cycling Foundation. This was the inaugural event for this partnership, and it came off well. WVCF had arranged for half a dozen volunteers on motorcycles to patrol up and down the column of bikes to make sure everyone was safe (and not lost!), and had plenty of the most helpful volunteers I have ever seen at every rest stop (and those were very frequent in the mountain portion of the ride). 130-odd riders braved the fog, the wind, and the chill morning air (58 degrees Fahrenheit on top of the mountain) to start the century, and another 40-odd more were on-hand to start the accompanying metric century (which omitted a lot of the tasty roads through the forests, but kept the mountainous climbing loop). The ride began and ended at Snowshoe Village, altitude 4875 feet, and we started out into the wind, with fog so thick you couldn't see more than a few riders in front of you. I was grateful for my arm warmers and for my $2 windbreaker from the thrift store. The route wound up to the summit of Showshoe, not much above where we started, then snaked its way steeply down to pick up state route 66, where we all took a left for the descent towards Cass. The road was quite twisty, the pavement was perfect, and, this not being a competitive ride, riders were giving each other lots of room, so even though a few folks were a little squirrelly about holding their lines, it wasn't as hair-raising as a mass descent could have been. It was quite fun, actually, and I spent a lot of that first dozen miles with a huge grin on my face. Before we got to Cass, the route turned right onto Back Mountain Road, which is little more than a wide, paved bike path. It's a real road, open to vehicle traffic, and is in excellent condition, but it's barely more than a lane wide. This being West Virginia, there wasn't much traffic--especially on a Sunday morning. At this point, the route started to undulate a bit, and the road wound around and switched back on itself a bit. I passed the first rest stop at 15 miles and kept on cranking, feeling really good, and picked up Laurel Run Road, which continued on in much the same fashion, for a few more miles, eventually dumping me and my fellow riders out onto state route 28, where we hooked right to head south for awhile. A fellow I'd met at the start, but who'd been having some shimmying problems on the initial descent, caught up to me at this point, and we rode together and talked a bit, until another rider caught up to us and the two of them set a pace that I could not match, so I let them go, content to burn matches at a sustainable pace, which for me was about 22mph. I kept on that way for awhile, when a very strong rider came up beside me and said, "You're working too hard! We have a big train; catch on." Twenty-five or thirty bikes passed me at that point, and I caught the last wheel. The train mowed down the next ten or twelve miles at 27-30mph. I kept waiting to see riders drift back in the usual paceline fashion, but it appeared that the original guy who talked to me was pulling this train all by himself! Would that I was that strong. Maybe someday. The train came to the next turn at state route 39, where we all went left and came to the 33-mile rest stop, and the whole train stopped. I took a much-needed a nature break, then I refilled a water bottle. The temperature down here was in the middle 60s, so I wasn't losing water as fast as I expected (and remember, we started the ride with a big descent out of the clouds, starting up in 58F and wind, so we didn't sweat much then, either). I missed it when the train left the station, so I was riding alone again. No matter--West Virginia is beautiful, and it's no problem to be alone in your head when riding there. The route turned right onto Brush Creek Road for the next several miles, and gently rolled its way to Watoga State Forest, in the middle of which was a 1-mile climb at over 7%. This was merely a preview of things to come. The road through Watoga was even narrower than Back Mountain Road, but again, it was very well-paved, and it was a pleasure to be riding there. I was always near other riders at this point, either passing them, riding with them for a little bit, or being passed by them, so there was time to talk a little bit, mostly teasing and being teased about my triple and the suffering others were going to get for not having triples. :-) Past the crest of the climb in the forest, the road began a tight, steep, winding descent at 30-35 mph that I really, really enjoyed. As the road widened and unkinked, it continued with just enough of a downgrade to allow for easy pedaling at a sustained 30-32mph for the next couple of miles until we got to Seebert Road, and then the road turned back upward a bit to wind its way up to U.S. 219. Up to this point, we'd just done 50 miles or so through forests with almost no traffic, and it had been very, very fast (I was averaging about 18mph to this point). I stopped at the 55-mile rest stop to fill a water bottle and eat a little bit of salty food, and a fig newton (I'd been munching one every half hour as an anti-bonk measure). A volunteer there told us that the ride would begin shortly. :-) I left the rest stop alone and rode a mile or two north on 219, then turned left on state route 39, which led to the mountain portion of the ride. Around about mile 57, the road turned sharply upward as it began the climb up to the Highland Scenic Highway. This began the longest climb I'd ever done to that point in my life--I'd done lots of hill riding in the preceding two months to get ready for this century, but Western PA doesn't have big mountains; it's a foothills area, so I string together dozens of half-mile climbs instead of a few big climbs. Route 39 climbed steadily for the next three miles, gaining about a thousand feet in the process. I found myself aerobically limited more than leg-limited, and found that if I grabbed a bunch of gears and stood on the pedals and turned low RPMs, I could rest and let my heart rate recover a bit, then downshift back to my granny gear and spin for awhile, then grab gears and stand, rinse, repeat, and that got me up the mountain. This is only my second season of "real" bicycling, and I'm not yet strong enough to turn 65-70 rpms on a grade like that in the saddle, and I don't yet have the aerobic capacity to spin 90 rpm the whole way up, either. I managed--without stopping to push. The road leveled off at the entrance to the Highland Scenic Highway (state route 150), where there was another rest stop. A volunteer took my proffered bottle and filled it for me, and I thanked him profusely. Honestly, the volunteers on this ride were amazing--I've never seen volunteers hustle like this, ever, nor have I seen them so cheerful after standing for hours (and these volunteers had ridden the course the previous day, too!). After chatting for a minute or two, I set off up 150, which made a stair-step climb for the next five miles, gaining another 1200 feet in the process, taking me up to nearly 5000 feet above sea level, and I was once again in the clouds, with a chilly breeze coming in from the West. I passed a couple on a tandem on one of the inclines of the stairstep climb, and they were having some kind of a conversation, and as I passed, the captain, being goofy, said, "...which brings me to world peace." I responded, "Whirled peas!" and we all chuckled, and I continued my slow, steady progress up the hill, making about 8mph or so in 30x17, standing on the pedals, and making 8.5mph or so when I'd sit down to spin 30x25. At the top of the climb, the fog really closed in, and it was hard to see for the next couple of miles. It was also very quiet, aside from the mechanical sounds of the bike and my own breathing. A volunteer rode up on a scooter to check on me, and I said that I was fine, except that my toes were cold. :-) He said he was a little chilly, then rode up to check on the next rider. After a few miles, I came out of the fog to another rest stop, where I only stopped long enough to do a little bit of stretching. It was windy and cold up there, so I didn't want to stop for very long. I had plenty of water, and I had a jersey pocket still half full of fig newtons, so I thought I was in good shape. I rolled along a little more, and came to a blazing, five-mile descent, where I tucked in and enjoyed 50+mph for a good six minutes or so (I topped out just over 51mph). This descent rolled out to the penultimate climb of the day: 3 miles at a steady 7%, with no undulations at all--there would be no place to ease off and rest, unless you stopped. This was a hard climb for me, and I found that I had to be very careful to avoid getting into trouble, lactate-wise. I would spin for a few tenths of a mile, then I'd grab gears and stand and mash for a few tenths of a mile, and keep alternating. I was making 6-7mph up the climb, and it just seemed like it was going on and on and on (about half an hour in all). On the way up, I re-passed the tandem, which had passed me when I had stopped to stretch earlier. The couple on the tandem were alternating standing and sitting, which I'd never seen anyone do on a tandem before. I was impressed. As I got farther along in the climb, in addition to mentally driving myself to finish it, I started to feel bad physically. I was starting to feel shaky, and I was starting to worry that I was going to fall over. I didn't want that to happen, as I feared I wouldn't be allowed to complete the ride. I figured that I was running the tank empty, coming close to bonking, despite the fig newtons, so I promised myself that I would eat something a little more substantial at the mandatory rest stop at the top of the climb (the first such stop was at the 78 mile mark, at the top of the present climb--riders had to make it there by 4PM, or else they'd be escorted back in the SAG vehicle. Each rider had to give his number to a volunteer, so that everyone would be accounted for). I got to the rest stop and very carefully coasted to a stop and leaned my bike against a wall. I leaned against the bike and took a few breaths before I decided to move. I decided to reacquaint myself with my good friend peanut butter & jelly, so I did. I felt a lot better after that, and after another quick nature break, I pulled on my windbreaker (it was again very cold and windy up there) for the descent back to 219. 150 snaked its way past what would have been some spectacular views to the East had it not been for the fog, and on one part of the descent, on an exposed lefthand bend, the wind was so strong that I had to downshift and pedal downhill to maintain speed. A few miles later, I came back to U.S. 219 and turned left, and snaked down a few S curves into the valley, and just started chugging--I had about 20 miles left to go to the finish at this point. I stopped again briefly at the 92-mile rest stop to remove my windbreaker and eat another fig newton--the end of the ride featured a 6-mile climb back up Snowshoe, gaining nearly two thousand feet in the process, and I didn't want to bonk there. The sun was shining down in the valley, but I kept my arm warmers, as there were occassional very strong wind gusts--enough to drive me down from my cruise speed of 22-23mph down to a struggling 16-17mph (I'd switch from the big ring to the middle ring when one of these suckers came, just to be able to keep spinning). I also figured that it would get cold as I neared the top of Snowshoe, and I'd be glad to have the arm warmers. A few miles out of the rest stop, another train caught me, and I caught on. This train was a little smaller, and a little less well organized, but people were taking turns at the front. That was fine by me, as I was tired of fighting those damned wind gusts by myself. I was on the wheel of a fellow I'd seen earlier in the day, waiting, waiting, waiting to come to the front. I peered around him to find that he'd been unable to stay on the wheel in front of him, and a big gap had opened in the line. I groaned internally and waited a bit to see if he'd close the gap. He tried, but then courteously pulled aside, and I turned on the gas to pull the line back together. By this time, there were only two riders in front of me. I was catching them, and I called up to them to invite them to fall back and take a rest. They acknowledged and did so, and I was set to take a nice pull when another one of those wind gusts came on and knocked me back from 23mph down to 16. I waved my hand behind me before I downshifted, to warn the guy behind me that I was slowing, and then I pulled for a few hundred yards more against that gust, then moved aside, figuring I'd get another turn before the mandatory check-in at 98 miles. I let the line pass me and caught the back, and then the guy who had been behind me decided that he'd just pull and pull, but he wasn't strong enough to accelerate against that wind, and we gradually slowed to 15mph or so. I was a little surprised that the guy didn't pull off and take a break, but at this point, I figured I'd just sit out of the wind and be happy, and save my strength for that last climb. At mile 96, we turned right back onto WV-66, fought the wind another mile, then turned left onto Snowshoe Drive. The mandatory 98-mile check-in, at the base of the last climb, was about a mile in. We called out our numbers and took a little break (and I ate a fig newton). I'd deliberately not refilled my empty bottle at the last two stops--I didn't want to carry any extra weight up the mountain. My 2nd bottle was almost full (my bottles are 32 ounces), and that meant two pounds right there. No point carrying 4 pounds up instead of two, when I knew I wouldn't even finish the two by the time I got to the top. I decided I'd had enough rest, and I knew several of the other riders in that paceline were stronger than me, so I took off before them and started the climb. It started easily enough, and I was turning 42x23 for a bit, and then it turned upward with a couple of 12% pitches (according to another rider who had an inclinometer), so I backed off and stood, always trying to stay within myself. It stayed pretty steep, but alternated steep and medium-steep the whole way up, so there were times when I could sit and pedal, and times when I'd stand and pedal, and times when I'd stand and push really hard on the pedals just to keep going. On the first steep pitch, the group I'd been riding with caught and passed me, and one of the riders said, "Follow the yellow snake all the way to the top." I didn't realize what he'd said until quite some time later. I was in my own personal "Just get there" zone. All I could think about was getting to the top without stopping, and without redlining myself. After the first switchback, it was a few tenths of a mile to where the pitch decreased a little bit, so I hung on to get there, then sat down and dropped to my granny gear to spin, and my desperation decreased. The organizers had painted marks on the road "6MTG, 5MTG, 4MTG" to tell you how much was left, and I was dragging myself up to those marks. I was making 7-8mph up this climb, and it was taking awhile. I was more mentally tired than anything else, and the wind gusts had picked up again, making the climb that much harder--I'd just get myself into a rhythm and then I'd get blasted by the wind and have to change. I knew the climb was much less steep near the very top, so I looked forward to that and kept on chugging. As I finally started seeing the signs for the attractions up at Snowshoe Village, my spirits started to come up, as I knew I was almost done--I knew I was going to make it without stopping. I had a few more undulations to get through, and then the road leveled off and I was actually able to change to the middle ring and start up a spin. Then, of course, the wind gusted again and drove me back to the small ring, but at least I could still spin a few gears above the granny, and with only a fraction of a mile left, there was no reason to save anything, so I hammered it home. The guy marshalling the last turn asked me what my number was, and I told him, and he radioed it ahead. As I neared the finish, an announcer called out my name and my hometown over the PA, which was a nice touch, and I finished to the applause of all present. The announcer handed me my finisher's medal, and I rolled my bike out of the way and just stood still for a little while. The wind was still blowing, and I was getting cold, so I pulled on my windbreaker, and then my wife and son came walking up, surprised to see me (my wife expected me to take quite a bit longer to finish than I did). I slowly followed them to the car, put my bike on the rack and locked it, and got my bag. The organizers had provided for riders to take a hot shower after the ride, and that's where I was headed. I entertained the notion of calling off work the next day to spend the entire time in the shower, but thought better of it. :-) The tally for the day: 104 miles, 9860 feet of climbing, the last 6000 of which was in the last 44 miles of the ride. The last 6 miles gained 1800 feet and took me 49 minutes. The total ride, including rest stops, took me just under seven and a half hours. The cyclocomputer racked up 6:46:44 and an average of 15.3mph, which I'd call quite respectable given that, as I said, this is my second season of "serious" riding, and I've only been putting in about 150 miles a week (with about 6000-10000 feet of climbing per week). I got to reacquaint myself with the mountainous beauty of West Virginia, enjoy some truly tranquil forest backroads, ride with great people, and enjoy the support of the best volunteer staff I've ever seen. I will be back. Some technical notes: I was riding my '03 Specialized Allez Elite 27, which has a 30/42/52 triple on the front and a 9-speed 12-25 cassette out back. Most of the time when I was on the big climbs, I was either spinning 30x25 or I was standing on 30x19 or 30x17. An observation: 30x17 is a gear ratio of 1.76:1. 30x19 is a gear ratio of 1.58:1. 30x21 is a gear ratio of 1.43:1. 39x27 is a gear ratio of 1.44:1. IOW, when I was standing and climbing, I was typically turning a bigger gear than I would have had if I had a "conventional" double crank (39/53) and a "mountain stage" cogset (12-27 or 12-28). It would have meant standing a lot more often, though; the triple allowed me to sit and spin more than I otherwise would have been able to, which meant a lot less stress on my already fragile left Achilles tendon, which was sore Sunday evening and all of Monday. I also highly doubt that I could climb "the wall" (a very steep hill on Whitestown Road in Butler County, PA, that averages a 24% grade, with a pitch in the middle over 30%) in 39x27--it's all I can do to get up that thing in 30x25! I don't know how Danny Chew (founder of Pittsburgh's "Dirty Dozen" ride) can get up Canton Street (37% grade, cobblestones) with a 42 small ring. Cheat Mountain Challenge website: http://www.snowshoemtn.com/todo/even...ntury_ride.htm -- Chris BeHanna '03 Specialized Allez Elite 27 '04 Specialized Hardrock Pro Disc ----== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com - Unlimited-Uncensored-Secure Usenet News==---- http://www.newsfeeds.com The #1 Newsgroup Service in the World! 120,000+ Newsgroups ----= East and West-Coast Server Farms - Total Privacy via Encryption =---- |
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