Thoughts on Washington - Race Report
Posted: Tue Sep 03, 2013 10:05 pm
As a rookie racer of Mt. Washington considering the task that was before me, my thoughts varied from curiosity to apprehension. Seven and a half miles, 12 percent average grade, 22 percent max grade, cold, wind, no breaks. Can it be as hard as they say?
I prepared for the day. I did my hill repeats on Wednesdays, worked on climbing the Kanc, Kinsman, Moosilaukee and Three Mile Hill on summer weekends. Solo time trial paced threshold workouts during the week instead of my Ripper rides with the crew in Winchester.
I was as ready as I could be.
Race day came and fortunately the sun beamed down through the morning mist. The peaks of the Presidential Range shone brightly. I practically grew up in New Hampshire, so I had seen this all before, but when I stood in the parking lot I knew this was going to be something extraordinary.
The steepness of the grade a hundred yards from the start was daunting, no gradual incline, just directly in your face. I looked up at the summit and noticed the reflections of the cars on the auto road, so far above you couldn’t even make them out.
This was my first Washington Hill Climb so I started with the 40 year olds in the fourth wave, one before the last. A cannon blast signaled our time had come and we crossed the bridge which acts as the start and immediately started to climb through the trees and dense forest. The road alternated between steep and steeper and I used gears I had looked at with disdain a day before. I climbed in the saddle for the first two to three miles on the steeps and shifted up and stood on the short “flat” sections which were only forty or fifty feet long. Standing gave the back and the legs a rest. Sweat poured down, I unzipped my shirt and took off my gloves. Too hot. As I passed some of the racers they murmured,“Good Riding” and “Go get ‘em.” “Thanks, you too.” was my response, but sometimes it was just a mumble.
The forest gave way to scrub bushes and then the road broke out into the open and a glorious cool 30mph wind hit us in the face. The temp dropped and I zipped up my shirt. Just what I needed, a reprieve from my self inflicted heat. The grades were steep, but more consistent, and I settled into a rhythm with deep breaths while trying to push the largest gear I could manage. I looked over and saw Wildcat Mountain with its ski area below me. That’s over 4000 feet - we’re getting up there. I was passing people from earlier waves, but it was a battle. At times the wind would be at your back and other times directly at you. The road swung around and I looked over at mounts Madison and Adams, almost even with their summits at over 5000 feet.
Switch backs and turns. New Hampshire granite. A cyclist turning above me . Nothing but his profile and the blue sky. The wind whishing and whistling. Harsh breathing. A sip of water. Endless.
From above me on a switchback, “You’re almost there – keep it up.” Sure. Don’t believe it. Head down keep going.
Unexpectedly the sound of bells. The summit building above and to the right. The road flattens slightly. SHIFT UP! Speeeeed! Come on now – go! Where is it? The wall? The twenty God knows how much percent spike that is the finish. Unexpectedly Maria shouting “Go Rich GOOOO! “ My daughters Ana and Sofia, cow bells clanging, running alongside me, screaming GOOO DADDYY!!
Legs burning, attack the last climb. Too hard of a gear, not fast, but power and determination slam down the pedals. Please, please don’t break the chain. Too far to the right and almost off the road as the wind hits me at the top, I barely bring it back and drive the last freaking feet across the line. Hands grab me, and the bike, and wrap me in a blanket.
Congratulations, you’re on top of Mount Washington.
Time 1:10:28
Rate 6.5 mph
Overall - 39th out of 500
Age group - 5th
Clydesdale Category -( yeah that's right over 190, but just barely !!) - 1st!
Rich
I prepared for the day. I did my hill repeats on Wednesdays, worked on climbing the Kanc, Kinsman, Moosilaukee and Three Mile Hill on summer weekends. Solo time trial paced threshold workouts during the week instead of my Ripper rides with the crew in Winchester.
I was as ready as I could be.
Race day came and fortunately the sun beamed down through the morning mist. The peaks of the Presidential Range shone brightly. I practically grew up in New Hampshire, so I had seen this all before, but when I stood in the parking lot I knew this was going to be something extraordinary.
The steepness of the grade a hundred yards from the start was daunting, no gradual incline, just directly in your face. I looked up at the summit and noticed the reflections of the cars on the auto road, so far above you couldn’t even make them out.
This was my first Washington Hill Climb so I started with the 40 year olds in the fourth wave, one before the last. A cannon blast signaled our time had come and we crossed the bridge which acts as the start and immediately started to climb through the trees and dense forest. The road alternated between steep and steeper and I used gears I had looked at with disdain a day before. I climbed in the saddle for the first two to three miles on the steeps and shifted up and stood on the short “flat” sections which were only forty or fifty feet long. Standing gave the back and the legs a rest. Sweat poured down, I unzipped my shirt and took off my gloves. Too hot. As I passed some of the racers they murmured,“Good Riding” and “Go get ‘em.” “Thanks, you too.” was my response, but sometimes it was just a mumble.
The forest gave way to scrub bushes and then the road broke out into the open and a glorious cool 30mph wind hit us in the face. The temp dropped and I zipped up my shirt. Just what I needed, a reprieve from my self inflicted heat. The grades were steep, but more consistent, and I settled into a rhythm with deep breaths while trying to push the largest gear I could manage. I looked over and saw Wildcat Mountain with its ski area below me. That’s over 4000 feet - we’re getting up there. I was passing people from earlier waves, but it was a battle. At times the wind would be at your back and other times directly at you. The road swung around and I looked over at mounts Madison and Adams, almost even with their summits at over 5000 feet.
Switch backs and turns. New Hampshire granite. A cyclist turning above me . Nothing but his profile and the blue sky. The wind whishing and whistling. Harsh breathing. A sip of water. Endless.
From above me on a switchback, “You’re almost there – keep it up.” Sure. Don’t believe it. Head down keep going.
Unexpectedly the sound of bells. The summit building above and to the right. The road flattens slightly. SHIFT UP! Speeeeed! Come on now – go! Where is it? The wall? The twenty God knows how much percent spike that is the finish. Unexpectedly Maria shouting “Go Rich GOOOO! “ My daughters Ana and Sofia, cow bells clanging, running alongside me, screaming GOOO DADDYY!!
Legs burning, attack the last climb. Too hard of a gear, not fast, but power and determination slam down the pedals. Please, please don’t break the chain. Too far to the right and almost off the road as the wind hits me at the top, I barely bring it back and drive the last freaking feet across the line. Hands grab me, and the bike, and wrap me in a blanket.
Congratulations, you’re on top of Mount Washington.
Time 1:10:28
Rate 6.5 mph
Overall - 39th out of 500
Age group - 5th
Clydesdale Category -( yeah that's right over 190, but just barely !!) - 1st!
Rich