My Civil War Century, 2014
A little fear could be motivating; too much fear could be
paralyzing. Luckily, the concern over
riding this year’s Civil War Century, which I had since the moment of
registering for the ride, and which over the time grew to a fear, was evidently
of the right amount and quality because it motivated me to persevere and face this
challenge.
But, why the concern and why fear? You did it last year and
you will do it again!? Yes, but this year the ride added 3300 feet of the vertical
elevation gain to the last year’s already tough 7500 feet, which resulted in a
total tally of 10,816 feet of climbing on the 105.9 miles course. Just thinking of the last year’s climbing up
the Ritchie and Jacks Mountain Roads, to name only two of them, would make me tense. Now with the additional 3300 feet, it was
guaranteed the ride will be exceptionally tough.
One of the advantages of registering early on for a century
bike ride is that the registration sets into motion planning preparations for
the event. Preparations are necessary
for any century ride regardless of the ride’s intensity and planning clearly
keeps the person focused and motivated to exercise and build the physical and
psychological readiness for the event.
My preparations consisted of riding the distance, climbing
hills, and working on the core strength.
Unfortunately, my other obligations would affect my preparations
schedule. For example, on that very
important weekend before the event I was practically nowhere near the bicycle,
which elevated my concern to the fear mode.
Riding on the last Tuesday, a bit on Wednesday, and Thursday before the
ride on Saturday, September 6, was by no means a guarantee that I will be able
to ride the century at all. In the midst
of these psychological conundrums an email came in from the organizer letting
us, the registered riders, know that the course changed a bit (e.g., Jacks
Mountain Road was going to be closed because of the road repair work scheduled
for that weekend), and reminding us of the difficulty of this particular
ride. You know it is serious when the
organizer uses the terms such as “this is not an easy century”, “please do not
attempt the century if you are not prepared”, the difficulty of this ride is
“severe”. And, when the message also
says “the current prediction is for hot and humid century weather this Saturday
and there is a chance of thunderstorms”, you know that your chances for a
successful completion are increasingly dicey. A pseudo dilemma ensued; to ride or not. Pseudo because deep inside I knew all along that
I will not give up; a dilemma because I was not feeling that I had the
necessary strength to engage what could be my single most demanding physical effort
ever.
After an all-important good night sleep, I drove to Thurmont,
Maryland, and started the ride at 7:50 AM.
The weather at the moment was on a humid side, but neither cold nor
warm.
One deep breath and off I went. As described in my last year’s blog, the ride
begins with a 7-mile long climb through the Cunningham Falls Park and meanders up
along a lovely creek before turning to the left. According to the Google maps, at the nearest
point, the road comes within a mile of Camp David. In addition to its natural beauties, this first
mountain climb is guaranteed to get you warm within 10-15 minutes regardless of
the outside temperature. Although
looking formidable on the elevation profile map, I find this first climb to be
the easiest of the four officially dubbed mountain climbs.
The taste of the unknown in terms of the vertical elevation
gain came at Mt. Tabor Road; in the immediate vicinity of I-70. The road suddenly presented as a wall that
could be seen only up to the middle with the rest of it hidden by the trees. My
first impression was one of disbelief: that could not be, it is too steep for a
bicycle… No time to think: go. Do not let the hill defeat you before you even
trying. To summarize: I made it, but
under extreme duress. My front wheel
jumped couple of times as I pumped the pedals. Based on the noises coming from the behind,
one bicyclist from the group behind me apparently flipped or just stalled, and
fell. This one half mile climb was an
eye opener and a rather nasty surprise at the same time. Eventually, after some screaming rides
downhill and a climb uphill to the Gathland Park, we reached our first rest
stop.
Due to a bridge work, we could not follow the last year’s
route to Sharpsburg and Antietam.
Instead, the new route directed us to Porterstown Road; another about
half a mile long and a very steep climb that silenced even the most talkative
riders. It was terrible. The thought of dismounting the bike and walking
up the hill was almost irresistible. A
number of bicyclists did just that: they walked up the hill. To make the matter worse, there was an SUV
imbedded for some reason into a group of riders ahead of me. Unsure why the SUV was staying with the group
instead of taking of, but unable to go slower than it, I was forced to stand up
on the pedals and pass the vehicle at the worst possible spot on the entire climb.
(The ratio between my front chain ring and
the largest ring in the cassette was demanding that I move at least at a speed
of 6-7 miles per hour, which is why I would have to go relatively fast
uphill. Going any slower would make me
stall and fall.) The screaming ride
downhill that followed helped me clear the blur created by the uphill
effort.
Another ten or so miles of rather uneventful bicycling
before we reached another climb at Mountain Laurel Road. For some reason this particular climb did not
leave lots of memories; it simply was there and I rode it.
The Mt. Etna rest stop, just at about the midpoint of the total ride length, was the place to refuel and prepare mentally for the ensuing Raven Rock/Ritchie Road mountain climb. I described the climb last year and this year I could only add: under the impression of the climbs we had already covered, and out of concern about the Ritchie Road climb, I almost did not register the Raven Rock’s one mile of climbing. On the other hand, Ritchie Road was Ritchie Road. Regardless of how one prepares, those sixty-and-some miles of the preceding ride conspire nicely against you in combination with the seemingly never ending uphill course of Richie meandering mainly through the forest. Upon the completion, I saluted Ritchie as an old friend and continued.
Shortly thereafter, we reached the point labeled as “bail
out”. This is where a rider could choose
bypassing the remaining climbs by strolling (easily, they say) back to Thurmont. I did not bother even for a moment to think
about “bailing out”. As the bicyclist
riding immediately ahead of me yelled - “not now”! In all honesty I believe that this exit point
should be labeled differently than “bail out” (e.g., “tough 75 miles”) as the
term seems to signify giving up. Any
rider who had ridden worst of the worst thus far should be lauded rather than regarded
almost as a quitter just because of electing to “bail out”. Anyway, I continued toward Route 16 making some
easy miles. A fellow female bicyclist
spotted somehow on my University of Florida jersey from my last year’s ride in
memory of Dr. Michelle LeBlanc, and commented something that I did not hear
except her mentioning Michelle’s name.
That pleased me a lot and gave me strength.
The ease of riding on the shoulder of a generally downhill-slopped
and very busy Rt. 16, was helping and concerning at the same time. Helping as it was allowing us to maintain a 20-30
miles per hour speed with ease; and concerning not as much due to the traffic
that was moving only feet away at 70 miles per hour, as much as due to a realization
that sooner or later we were going to pay for that ease. Jacks Mountain Road closure made the
organizer find an alternative route to get to Fairfield and the organizer did
just that.
The steepness of Steelman Marker Road exiting Rt. 16, is hard to describe. Just imagine a wall that is hard to see in its entirety, which is growing against you if you hesitate even for a moment. Several times my front wheel jumped up threatening to dislodge me from the bike, just like an unbroken horse would do to its rider. Unsurprisingly, the road sign at the bottom of the hill read “Dangerous Hill”. Luckily the climb was only about a quarter of a mile long. Tract Rd. that soon took over too contributed to our vertical elevation account. Combined, Steelman and Tract Roads, in my opinion, more than compensated climbing-wise for the Jacks Mountain Road.
We made it to Fairfield!
The rest stop visit coincided with the hottest time of the very hot day
(low to mid 90’s F, or low to mid 30’s C), and many bicyclists were looking for
the shadow. Tired but happy; the worst was
over and from here all will be literally downhill. At least that is what I had expected to be the
case on the basis of the last year’s ride.
Briefly, one would ride to Gettysburg, through the battlefield park,
reach the other side of the mountain ridge and stroll all the way down to
Thurmont. Not so fast! The organizer has to be recognized for the
remarkable ability to find every hill in the area and somehow incorporate it
into the itinerary. To make it short,
instead of the expected easy ride to Gettysburg, we ended up climbing yet
another climb on Bullfrog Road. For some
reason I was feeling somewhat tricked; Fairfield is it – the point separating
the suffering from recovering - and, then - this climb! Anyway, soon we were in the battlefield park
with the battery positions markers, and Little Round Top on our right. The brief moment of looking at Little Round
Top suddenly made me realize the obvious; this otherwise small hill, will be
there for eons to come looking basically just like it was looking at that very
moment. Perhaps largely due to the
concern about my own survival, this was the only moment during the entire ride
that I was clearly thinking of the battle of all battles of the Civil War.
We continued to roll toward the next rest stop riding a
relatively easy and wide road. Feeling
strong (unlike last year at the same place), I decided to skip the last rest
stop and ride the remaining 18 miles in one go.
Storm was coming. Dark clouds were gathering on the Western horizon and soon first sounds of distant thunders started to come in. Very soon the sharp line of the mountain ridge on the West, we rode an hour before, got blurred by the white veil of rain. I got concerned about our brothers and sisters still riding in that area. In about 10-15 minutes the rain reached me in combination with a strong head wind. This first wave actually felt good and refreshing after the heat that we endured thus far. Then another wave of rain came in accompanied with thunders. To make it short, the main line of the storm missed us for a couple of miles, but a substantial rain, along with the wind and thunders, remained with us. Occasional motorists would pass, some apparently empathizing with us, the poor creatures riding on the storm, and others yelling at us apparently celebrating the fact that at least at that very moment they were better off and that the extent of their comfort in their trucks is proportional to the level of our misery out in the rain. Many bicyclists found the temporary shelter at farm buildings next to the road, but the hard core of us refused to leave the road. At some point the rain slowed down, stopped, and the blue sky started to appear on the horizon. Soon we crossed the first and the only covered bridge; Thurmont was now within the reach. Finally, after riding 105.9 miles, climbing 10,816 feet (3,297 m), in 6h57min at the expense of 6800 kcal, the ride was over.
This was the single most grueling bike ride I have ever
done. Even with the best preparation this
would still be a formidable ride. Some
climbs were simply mean; steep and choppy.
Riding across the mountain ridges resulted in the pattern of slow
climbing up followed by fast climbing down.
For example, going uphill for 10 minutes at a speed of 7 miles per hour would
be followed suddenly by going downhill at a speed exceeding 40 miles per
hour. In fact, some downhill climbs were
so steep and long that the mere thinking on how it would feel to ride them the
opposite way, i.e., climb them up, was sending shivers down my spine. This ride also reminded me on the importance
of the body and mind working together.
For example, during some of those grueling climbs the image of my couch
would come to mind making me wonder how it could be that I, who often find it
difficult to walk a few steps in my living room to grab my remote, manage to
ride these treacherous hills. Body and
mind.
This year the female riders in general elicited my
admiration. So many of them would
apparently with much less effort than their fellow male riders be climbing up those
same hills; graciously and rather quietly.
The organizer, again, deserves kudos for an exemplary organization.