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.