Dig down to the core, climb to the top

Cyclists that do a lot of climbing and riding know one thing: Suffering is involved. Especially with a long, steep climb. Suffering, in that there is discomfort encountered while keeping the bike moving up a long, varying grade, with continuous pedaling.

Of course, this is where our relative fitness comes in. It is where we see how well we respond to an extended physical challenge.

Suffering is something that any endurance athlete is familiar with. Marathoners, tri-athletes, professional road cyclists, and many others know it well. These athletes don’t fear suffering, they see it as part of the deal, and learn how to perform with it.

They learn how to keep a rhythm in their breathing and their motion that allows them to relax their bodies as much as possible while under duress. They know that tension is their enemy under duress; that it will lock up muscles and bring them to a halt. They push away tension by relaxing as many muscles in their body as possible while maintaining the breathing and motion of running or cycling or swimming. They manage to keep moving efficiently, even when they’re at the brink of maxing out physically.

The best way for a cyclist to successfully climb up a mountain without stopping is to have an attitude about it. That is, a stubbornness, a mental toughness. That starts with not ever thinking about the suffering ahead, which blocks out any negative thoughts. It is a quiet resolve to keep moving, to slog it out when the going gets tough, and maintain forward progress all the way to the top of the climb.

Now, this means you need enough energy food in your system before a climb, and a couple of full, tall water bottles on the bike. And when the climb turns really tough on extra steep pitches, stubbornness, and single-mindedness take over. Will keeps a rider moving uphill. It blocks out any stray thoughts of how hard the climb is, how tired the rider is, how great more water would be. That it would be great to be at the top right now. Instead, the determined rider digs deep into his or her core to keep all systems going forward despite the suffering.

No doubt, the mental toughness to endure and continue to move ahead while under physical duress comes natural to some, and is learned by others.

Those that learn it, essentially learn not to listen to any negative thoughts and doubts about their strength when challenged. They refuse to even consider bailing out when it gets tough. They instead learn to be curious about how far they can push their limits and still keep pedaling. They learn how to break through what had been mental barriers to improving their physical stamina.

I remember a climb my buddy Marc and I did a few months ago of Mount Hamilton, where an observatory sits in the mountains east of San Jose, Northern California. It’s a very long slog to the top, and I remember the last thousand feet of climbing required from me a full on survivor mentality to keep going. It was sunny and hot, no wind. I was out of water, tired, but the road just kept going on, seemingly endlessly, with the white domed Lick Observatory at the top looking like it wasn’t getting closer nearly fast enough. I had to concentrate on pushing away my suffering and maintain my pedaling and breathing. I knew if I stopped, I would lose my momentum, and being tired, it would take even more energy to get moving again.

Not only that, I figured stopping was giving in. So I just relied on my stubbornness to keep going, gut it out, no matter what. We find out a lot about ourselves in these situations. How well do we respond to a major physical challenge?

There are more than a few riders and runners, who aren’t interested in taking on a challenge that pushes them beyond their normal pain thresholds. They don’t think it’s worth it and stop. And that’s fine, no big deal.

But many riders thrive on challenges, and are competitive. So a challenging climb that backs them up against a wall is right up their alley. They want to see for themselves if they have what it takes. Making it to the top without stopping on a tough climb doesn’t make them better than anybody else, although some naturally like to have bragging rights over their buddies!

I like to think of it as a personal physical test that shows us where we stand. It’s fine if we can’t hack it, and stop and rest. It’s impossible for any rider to feel at full strength on every ride. We have strong days, middling days and sluggish days. But we can always test ourselves. Pushing our endurance limits on climbs is a good habit, especially if we feel heavy and slow on a ride. It’ll give us that much more zip on full strength days.

Here’s a video of a rider recently climbing Mt. Ham that was posted on YouTube. Just watching this brought me right back to the suffering I felt on it. This rider is determined to keep pedaling up the road while hot, tired and no doubt thirsty. He keeps his breathing and pedal rhythm, and impressively hangs tough all the way to the top. Once he gets up there, he does what Marc and I did, headed for the shade. There was reward: a chilled water fountain was right there, as well as soda and snack machines. Right about then it’s hard to think of a more welcome sight!

Check this out and see a rider who is up to the task of not giving in to suffering on a tough climb:

Wow! Way to go!

Until next time, remember to strap on a helmet before every ride. And then, do your damndest to keep the rubber side down!
-- Mark Eric Larson

Mark Eric Larson has written two books of essays, "The NERVE...of Some People's Kids," and "Don't Force it, Get a Bigger Hammer. To read, visit: 
http://www.scribd.com/Mark%20Eric%20Larson/shelf

Ride challenges? How about ripped tires, angry honkers

Riding along only to have a tire rip, making it unable to be a usable tire anymore, is of course, no fun at all. You’ve lost the tire, the tube, and since you’re not likely to have an extra tire packed with you -- and there's no fully equipped sag wagon trailing you -- you can’t continue riding the bike.

This happened to a buddy while riding the road up Mt. Diablo in Northern California. He hit some glass and it sliced up his front tire. He pretty much thought he was going to have to walk the several miles back to his truck with bike on shoulder.

He shot a short video of his dilemma:

But buddy Pat caught a great break. Another rider coming down the Diablo climb stopped and offered his help. He lived a few miles away near the start of the ride, and said he could switch a tire with Pat’s, and patch it to hold well enough to get back to his house. He gave Pat his address and directions and by golly, he was able to continue the climb of Diablo and return descent. 

We dropped by the guy’s house on the way home and switched tires, no stress, no mess. Now that is about as good a solution to a sliced tire imaginable. A lot of luck and good will from a fellow rider.

But Tony, another riding pal, recently recounted to me another story of a sliced tire incident. And happy to say that it ended well, too. This story involves a little creativity that turned into a great tip to share. After seeing his friend’s tire rip and lose air, Tony thought the guy would be forced to walk his bike back to the beginning of the ride or just hang out by the side of the road until Tony or someone else would ride to the start and drive back to pick him up. 

But the guy, a veteran cyclist, wasn’t flustered in the least. Tony said he took a piece of mylar wrapping from an energy bar, and glued it against the inside of the tire rip with some Gu energy gel. He then inserted a replacement tube and pumped it up, not with an air cartridge, which might displace the makeshift patch, but with his mini pump. He got the tire to hold the tub without it bulging too badly through the lacerated part, and enough air to get back on the bike. He was able to ride back. Who knew? Gu and mylar can be your friends in unforeseen ways!

There are patch kits for tubes, but tire cuts usually present a more fundamental problem that can’t be solved without tossing the ripped tire and getting a replacement. So, the takeaway here is even though it may seem like you’re stranded due to a mechanical problem, never say never. Sometimes, a little creativity can get you back on the road long enough to make it home.

Oh great, another tolerant driver...

As cyclists are well aware, obnoxious drivers that honk at riders or try to edge them off the road unfortunately are out there. Here’s a link to a video that shows one of the worst cases I’ve seen. The riders handle it well, probably better than most would under the circumstances. It brought a flood of comments, 277 as of the time this was written. Check it out: 

Well, there are always two sides to a story, but this one is hard to fathom. So I'm thinking the guy just caught his daughter in bed with a spandex wearing cyclist, and just couldn’t help it. Whatever it was, let's all hope the guy gets a handle on his anger and doesn't decide to do more than honk at cyclists.

Anyway, til next time, always strap on a helmet before every ride, and remember, do all you can to keep the rubber side down!

-- Mark Eric Larson

Mark Eric Larson has written two books of essays, "The NERVE...of Some People's Kids," and "Don't Force it, Get a Bigger Hammer. To read, visit: 
http://www.scribd.com/Mark%20Eric%20Larson/shelf

The Agony and the Ecstasy -- Part II

The Flume Trail ride resumes with the second half of a mountain bike trek to remember. The rainy cliffside bike ride overlooking Lake Tahoe on its northeast corner, now turns to a big climb up the mountain looming above the high altitude Marlette Lake.

The fire road was steep and sandy, making for a granny gear high-speed spin cycle of repeated slowdowns and bursts. After long minutes of panting like tired dogs in dire need of oxygen, we kept climbing with high heartbeats through about a 1,000 foot increase in altitude. Needless to say we were joyous when the rutted, rocky, sandy road finally flattened out. 

We rested for a short bit, long enough to breathe normally, and started into the single track phase of the climb. It was a  switchback trail to the top, which Marc had ridden before and described only as “technical.” 

Which translated to steep, rock infested, sandy, twisty. And demanding of continually quick bike handling reflexes to keep forward movement up the mountain. And because this stretch of trail comes at about 8,000 feet above sea level, strong cardio conditioning is definitely your best friend.

Because I hadn’t been mountain biking for a few years, I got quickly reacquainted with just how tough a mountain bike climb can be. I thought I'd have enough cardio fitness for this ride's demands, since I regularly do high altitude climbing on a road bike.

But this is a different kind of riding/climbing altogether. Road biking on flats, rollers or climbs is rhythmic, cadenced. But technical single track mountain bike climbing is like playing full court basketball, hockey or soccer: lots of quick sprints, interspersed with very little time to slow down or rest. It’s like being in a marathon boxing match, you’re bobbing and weaving, sprinting, and coasting to catch your breath, only to sprint to get up a sudden steep pitch. After you do that for close to an hour, you can get a little punch drunk. Your bike handling skills become less precise and more prone to fall-inducing moves.

On rides like this it’s key to be able to kick out of one of the pedal clips quickly if you lose the speed needed through a twisty rocky, nasty part of the path, and have to quickly stop.  But when you get tired, the “Pull out!” message from your brain to the appropriate foot will lose some precious nanoseconds. And yep, that’s when you tip over, clipped into the bike. When this happens, it’s really no fun at all because you’re at the mercy of whatever you’re falling onto and its relative sharpness, hardness or roughness.

The first time that happened on this ride, I tipped over to the steep downhill side of the trail, unable to pull out of my left pedal. I did a twisting fall and landed on my lower back on top of a toaster-sized piece of granite. I felt it grind through the skin against a vertabrae or two. Not really a good feeling!

I got right up, glad that I could do so, and not need to be airlifted to a hospital with my head taped to a board. But at the same time I was not so thrilled about hitting my back where I’ve already had to deal with a lot of pain over the years. It’s the Achilles heal of my body and that rock -- BAM! -- caught it square. Arrrggg! Me no like this!

When I caught up with Marc at a switchback about three quarters up the mountain, I could feel my lower back starting to throb.

Yeah, my back feels like it got hit with a club

We had a snack and moved on. I was determined to ride through without giving any thought to the pain receptors starting to light fires in my back. But it wasn't long before I had another snag. I slowed to a stop and couldn't pull my right cleat out of the pedal in time, and again, fell with the bike. I broke my fall with my right forearm. And that resulted in a little cheese grater action under my forearm from a big round but sandpaper-rough granite boulder edging the trail. This drew blood and from me, a primal scream, not of pain, but of I-can’t-believe-I-fell-again-and-caught-another-blanking-rock frustration. Godfrey Daniel, Mother of Pearl!

The annoying thing was that there's an easy fix to a pedal that clicks too tightly to your cleats. A small hex wrench turn on the front of the pedal can loosen its cleat grip, so kick-outs are quick and don't stick. Of course, this time I forgot to check and adjust the pedals before the ride. I should have known to do this because it was a borrowed bike. So, yes, I paid for the oversight with a pair of bruising, bloody falls.

Anyway, I picked myself up, got back on the bike, feeling like a boxer that had gone 15 rounds and had been smacked down to the canvas twice. I rode on, not particularly keen on taking another fall.

Marc was ahead of me and, feeling lightheaded from the thin air,  fell too. But he was more fortunate. His back landed on a soft patch of sand. He was very happy about that! He, too, has fought back pain. No doubt, falling off your bike and landing on your back is something that can really mess you up, like when you land on a rock or rocks or anything else that is harder than your body. 

But injury-causing bike crashes are unfortunately possible whenever you ride a bike. You just ride, and do your best to keep the rubber side down. If you fall, hopefully it doesn’t knock you out -- much less likely with a helmet on -- or worse. 

But I'm glad to report that eventually, the toll of blood and sweat it took to get to the top of the climb paid off. When we laid the bikes down on the treeless mountaintop field of small rocks, dried out weeds and sweet-smelling scrub sage brush, we were rewarded: We had a vast, awe-inspiring, 360-degree view overlooking many square miles of sheer natural beauty.

To the southwest, below us was Marlette Lake, with the sprawling big blue Lake Tahoe beyond that. 

And hey, lookie, the sun was out as predicted/hoped, lighting up the sky. The clouds left behind by the earlier rain offered a palette of textures and colors ranging from high, fluffy whites to flattened grays with ominous rain-heavy black undersides. The scrub brush field fell away to the south, then rose like the ridged, humped back of an elephant, and headed down toward pine and cedar forests in the distance beyond. 

To the north, a higher forested ridge contrasted plenty of textured greens with the yellows, browns and golds of the rock strewn field we stood in. 

To the east, the elevations fell away in undulations of fields and forests under slate bottomed clouds moving on the breezes toward the Nevada desert.

After taking all this in, we suddenly had all new sun-powered energy. And we were stoked about the fact that we had a lot of fast and fun downhill riding ahead. We jumped back on the bikes and let 'em run with gravity down a rollercoaster-like single track that made us instantly forget the tough climb. We came to a fire road and hit more fast descents. 

The fire road was rocky, rutted and sandy in spots. With big sandy areas, or any others with obstacles like gravel, or little creeks, which bring short dips followed by quick up-pitches, it works best to ride as fast as you can through it with soft hands on the handlebars. Speed will get you through the rough stuff. Which can seem counterintuitive, because slowing for obstacles is a natural reaction. But with mountain biking, slowing can cause you to lose  enough speed to make you stop, or worse, crash. We had good speed coming down the mountain so the sand didn’t slow us much at all. 

We got to the south end of Marlette Lake, then did the half-mile or so climb for the last descent of the day, the same steep fire road that kicked our butts at the start of the ride. It took total focus on a few sections to keep from losing control when riding over humps, or through scattered small rocks or sandy spots. While on this descent, I let the bike go as fast as it wanted, no brakes. Total adrenaline flowed, ripping down to the valley below. And of course while doing this, I felt no back pain!

Different story when I got back to the truck, though! My lower back throbbed as if large men in jackboots were tap dancing on my lower back, while my back muscles were poised to spasm when I'd turn my torso ever so slightly the wrong way.

But I’ve been through this back pain stuff before. So after some Advil and water I was well on the way to recovery. Just replaying the ride in my mind on the trip home almost made my aches and pains go away. Still, I'm glad to report, I fully recovered over the next few days. And oh yes, I'm very grateful for that.

Til next time, always strap on a helmet before you ride. And remember, do all you can to keep the rubber side down!

-- Mark Eric Larson

Mark Eric Larson has written two books of essays, "The NERVE...of Some People's Kids," and "Don't Force it, Get a Bigger Hammer. To read, visit: 
http://www.scribd.com/Mark%20Eric%20Larson/shelf

The Agony and the Ecstasy, Part I

I couldn’t remember the last time I hit a dirt trail on a mountain bike, but I’m pretty sure it was about eight years ago. I had done a lot of mountain biking over a six-year period before that, with colleagues and friends.

But, injuries, family commitments and other factors made getting out for trail rides with buddies increasingly difficult. I resorted to riding my mountain bike by myself on a paved trail near my home. Then, about two and half years ago my mountain bike was stolen. Thieves broke into a side door of my garage during early morning hours, and made off with it.

When that happened, I figured my mountain biking days were over. I got the insurance money for my Cannondale Jekyll, a “Lefty.” It was a great handling full-suspension aluminum frame mountain bike. I then bought a Scott CR1 Team, a carbon fiber frame road bike. Now that was a move that really paid off! I found new friends to ride with, and since, I’ve had nothing but a string of amazing rides.

Marc, one of my road biking buddies, also has a mountain bike, and he recently asked if I wanted to mountain bike the Flume Trail, a scenic but challenging trail on the northeast side of Lake Tahoe. Pat, another riding buddy, had a mountain bike I could borrow, so I figured it was a great chance to hit the dirt again. Marc knew of a more ambitious version of the out and back route I’d done on the Flume Trail a few times. His route circled up a steep rocky trail behind the mountain that sits above the northeast end of Marlette Lake. He raved about the amazing, windy mountaintop view of Marlette and Tahoe.

I later discovered he kind of soft-pedaled the price of admission to see that view: A hefty dose of steep, technical climbing on a rock and sand-heavy trail. In high altitude.

The weather prediction on the morning we started out was sunny with a high around 83. But Tahoe weather badly fooled the forecasters that day, because when we hit the trail that morning a few days ago, dark clouds were overhead. The air was heavy and cool and it smelled like rain.

We had prepared for hot, dry riding by lathering up with sunscreen and wearing T-shirts. We were in no way dressed to ride in rain. We stopped at the bike rental shop at the trailhead and Marc asked the guy behind the counter if they sold rain ponchos.

“It never rains here,” he said, eying a satellite map on his computer showing that, yes, rain was headed this way.

And no, he had no rain gear.

I grew up a few miles away on Lake Tahoe’s Nevada side and over the years learned that weather in the Tahoe Basin, especially in the spring, summer and fall, can literally change in five minutes. In a snap, it can morph from a brilliant warm sunny day, to rain squalls, to hail, to even snow. My mom always crowed, “If you don’t like the weather here, wait five minutes!”

Tahoe weather will definitely keep you on your toes, and always seems to do so when you’re least prepared for it. So when we shoved off to do this major ride, I knew one thing for sure: We were going to get wet, and it was going to be cold.

But knowing Tahoe weather, I also knew that despite any rain we’d run into there was a very good chance it wouldn’t last all day. It would blow in, and blow out, and I was even pretty sure the sun would eventually come out. I told Marc that.

But he didn’t look convinced.

Soon after the ride’s start near Spooner Lake, there’s a long, tough climb on a fire road that, in 7,000 feet of altitude, will quickly put you in touch with your fitness. Or lack thereof!

I’m in good high altitude climbing shape for road biking, but this had me breathing like I was in a panic sprint trying to escape an angry grizzly. I drew deep for oxygen all the way up this thing. 

After a short recovery rest at the top, we descended about a half-mile down a steep fire road to the southwest shore of Marlette Lake. The long, narrow lake sits above and parallel to Lake Tahoe behind a high, narrow mountain. We rode along the lake’s west shore to an inlet where the trail takes a hard left. It switches back and forth down a rock and sand path, through a small creek and out toward the western face of a mountain cliff of conifers and broken slabs of granite that juts high above Tahoe.

Slightly sloping across the face of the cliff, the Flume Trail once supported wooden water-fed chutes. About 160 or so years ago, they floated felled logs down the mountain to lumber mills that sawed them into posts and planks for silver mines in Nevada towns like Virginia City. The chutes are long gone, but the trail remains, and has become a mountain bike ride favorite in the region.On past rides on this trail, it’s been sunny and clear. That makes for plenty to see: the vast deep blue waters of Lake Tahoe looming below and miles across its surface to the forested mountains on the west shore. Visible almost straight down, far below the trail’s edge, are the white sand beaches of Sand Harbor. The stupefying high altitude panoramic view is a dangerous distraction to riders negotiating the trail’s mushy turns of unstable decomposed granite. Riders figure out fast it’s best to stop and get off their bikes to do their gawking, rather than risk riding off the edge of the cliff.

This time, though, as soon as we rode onto the flume part of the trail, a steady rain pelted down. Wind gusting up the cliff combined with it to make my flimsy T-shirt a thin defense against the cold and wet.

A pair of riders had stopped along the trail to sit out the rain under a cave like space they found above the trail. Marc was ahead of me, and I figured I’d stay warmer if I kept pedaling.

But riding on the sandy trail in the wind and rain got old fast. When I caught up to Marc, he stood in a dry area under a granite overhang. 

Now, waiting this stuff out seemed like a good idea.

So, with our bikes leaned against the granite wall of the trail, we munched on some jerky, and jumped up and down once in awhile to stay warm.

From our high vantage point, we could see the middle of the lake was socked in by a moving mass of low rain clouds and mist in multiple shades of gray. It made Tahoe look like an ocean, since the mountains on the far side of the lake weren’t visible. Black spears of rain shot down to the lake’s ruffled gray/black waters. As we surveyed the squall, we could hear the staccato sound of raindrops slapping the wet trail sand. A look southward down the eastern edge of Tahoe revealed a Big Sur-like coast, with rain damp forests meeting fog edged gray waters along the inlets and points of the shore. Looking north, past Tahoe where the weather seemed to be headed, we saw pale blue skies.

In one way, it felt a little dreary, off our bikes, standing semi-protected from the cold, wet, gray day, with limited visibility. But at the same time, it was also exhilarating. We were in the middle of a cliff overlooking Lake Tahoe, watching a late summer weather front bully its way through the Tahoe Basin, loaded with dark, rain dropping clouds.

It was an adventure, and the best adventures usually have a few obstacles to overcome. So I told myself, don’t fight it. You’re here, so enjoy the show! Nature is the boss, just deal with it the best way you know how.

The clouds began to lift off the lake and soon we could see the dark profile of the mountains along the west shore. This shadowboxing storm was now backing off, quickly allowing more light and more miles of visibility across the lake. We got back on our bikes and warmed up by riding as fast as we could over the nicely dipping remainder of the cliff trail.

At the end of the trail was the fire road where we again met the two other riders standing in the dry area under the canopy of a cedar tree. They had ridden by us while we waited out the rain along the trail. They were going to arrange a ride back to their car, more than happy to bail on any more riding.

 “This weather won’t last,” I called back, as we pushed up the steep, rutted, rocky fire road. “Don’t be surprised to see the sun later.”

Somehow, I don’t think they believed me.

Til next time, always strap on a helmet before you ride. And remember, do all you can to keep the rubber side down!

-- Mark Eric Larson

(Coming up in Part II, read how the tough stuff gets ratcheted up a few more notches on the second half of the ride, when some pain is doled out on the way to the top.)

Mark Eric Larson has written two books of essays, "The NERVE...of Some People's Kids," and "Don't Force it, Get a Bigger Hammer. To read, visit: 
http://www.scribd.com/Mark%20Eric%20Larson/shelf