Because it can't be all poker and politicsI started biking (road cycling) about a year ago after my zillionth round of physical therapy for running-related trauma to my knee. I stopped when winter hit NYC, and work prevented me from returning to it this spring. After three weeks back in the saddle, today I achieved a minor milestone. While it does not compare to some of the things I did on the bike last fall, it was very personally gratifying, and sounds kind of cool: I climbed Black Mountain.
I was a cross-country runner in high school, where I developed tendinitis in both knees (in large part due to the unfortunate combination of innocent determination and a coach whose entire repetoire of sports injury treatment consisted of “run it off"). In college, while running a “century” (up and down the stadium seats 100 times) for freshman crew practice, I blew out my left knee, and spent the rest of the season on an Concept II ergometer ("erg", or stationary rower) while everyone else ran. If you have ever had the pleasure of using an erg, you know that this is not a fair trade. It was particularly painful during our annual “triple century” event, which started with (if memory serves) 15,000 meters on the erg, then moved to a 6-mile run, and finished with 33 stadium flights. Poor Rick spent the whole day on the erg, ekeing out 45,000 meters.
Nearly every year since then I have tried to start running again. It usually works for a month or two, but once I start running more than about 3 miles at a time, inevitably I will come limping home to 6 months of physical therapy. I’ve learned a lot about my body: for example, my left iliotibial band (ITB) is very tight, which apparently creates additional stress on the weak tendons in my knee. It also accounts in part for the bursitis and sciatica that I suffer when I stay sedentary for too long.
Anyway, last year I decided that I hated physical therapy, and I best find something other than running to give me the endorphin rush. Since (stationary) cycling was a major part of my physical therapy, I started taking spinning classes. The pain, sweat, nausea and hamster-like pointlessness made me nostalgic for the erg, so I borrowed my brother’s bike and started riding up and down Manhattan’s West Side every morning. After a month, I knew I was hooked. I quit my gym membership and bought a road bike. I logged about 1000 miles between July and November, including three Centuries (100-mile rides). Then, as I mentioned, I stuck the bike in the closet (actually, the bike was always kept in the closet—I just stopped taking it out).
On July 6 I gave the bike a tune-up and headed out into one of the most bicycle-friendly communities in the USA. It was a pretty sad performance—my balance was awful, my cadence was atrocious, and my speed was just plain embarassing. It got dark, it got cold, I got lost. I didn’t get back on the bike for another week.
On July 14, though, I got back on the bike, and the results were much better. Not getting lost really helps. I’ve logged just under 200 miles since then, and with the exception of yesterday’s ride, which was delayed for 2 hours by a new rattle that—after adjustments to the head, seat, handlebars, derailleurs (front and rear), brakes (front and rear), and bottle cages—appears to have been caused by the air pump, it is consistently one of the high points of my day. The roads, weather and topography here are superb for biking (at least compared to Manhattan!), and I really don’t want to get off the damn thing (except to drive my car).
Today was my longest ride to date, although still a modest 25.7 miles. The old Polar S510 says I did it in 2:06:42, with an average heart rate of 158 bpm. What that doesn’t tell you was that half that distance was covered in the first 1:20 or so, because it was mostly uphill—or should I say, upmountain. Black Mountain, to be specific, one of the Santa Cruz Mountains and topping off at somewhere in the vicinity of 2,800 feet [correction: Turns out that while the mountian peak is 2800 feet or so, I climbed only about 2250 feet]. The grade varies considerably over the course of the climb, and I couldn’t tell you what it is, but some of it was pretty damn steep. [update: According to my Krebs Cycle Map (AWESOME MAPS!!!!), the grade of the climb starts at 4-6%, increases to 9%+ in the middle (4 miles or so?), and evens back out to 4-6% near the top.]
Anyway, there aren’t any mountains in Manhattan, so this was my first one (as a resident—I climbed the S-C mountains last summer on vacation out here, but I was at the peak of my cycling fitness then, and it was part of a much, much longer ride (just over 60 miles), so I don’t count it for these purposes). At the end of today’s ride I felt a little bit of that glow, that endorphin rush, that whatever-it-is that I used to get from running. As much as I love cycling, I thought I would never get that from anything but running. Now it looks like it might be possible after all.
Postscript: Going up, I have discovered, is the easy part. Going back down the way I came, I gave myself serious hand cramps from clutching the brakes, and had to stop four times to relax my hands. I learned that I find downhill hairpin turns at 35mph on a road bike absolutely terrifying. A lot of it is not being able to see what’s ahead, but I’ve never really tested the limits of this bike, and I don’t relish the thought of scrubbing the dirt out of road rash with a wire brush (something I had to do once before when I hit an oil patch at 125th street), or of doing an endo over the side of Black Mountain. I know that as I get more comfortable with the bike, the speed, and the road, I will use my brakes less, but for now, I provide amusement to the other cyclists who come zooming past me on the way down.
Next time I’ll bring a camera.
Post-postscript, to the kid in the Mercedes who took the turn past Foothills park at speed and almost bit it, and anyone else who feels the need to tackle the “twisties” on Page Mill Road at unsafe speeds: don’t be an asshole, you could have killed yourself or—worse—someone with brains. Next time I’m taking down the plate number and calling the cops.
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