This will be my fourth ride in the Colorado mountains. I am always cognizant of a question that lingers in many non-cyclists' minds that read my blog entries and journals. That question is why am I doing this? Sometimes it is hard to put reasons into words and when I recently came across the following answer to that age old question I thought it was appropriate to publish it.
Here is an excerpt printed on a blog by former pro cyclist, Jonathan Vaughters, who is now the director of the U.S.-based pro-cycling team Slipstream-Chipotle. As a rider for the U.S. Postal and Credit Agricole teams, he was so good against gravity that he set the record for the ascent of France's Mont Ventoux, the extinct volcano of racing legend that appears on the venue of the Tour de France on a regular basis.
"Why do people want to climb? Climbing, at its very core, is just a simple and hearty battle against gravity. The basic law of nature that oppressively pins us to the earth seems to be the one we feel the greatest need to fight against. Perhaps, this is why we are always trying to climb? Whenever we climb, we are proving that we can take on a force greater than ourselves. We're pushing against something that holds us down. It's the fight for freedom, freedom from the oppressive laws of nature (designed by God) as laid down by that rather aristocratically named gentleman, Sir Isaac Newton. We all know humans have a long and volatile history with the pursuit of freedom. Climbing is just a facet of this same fascination with being free.
With this noble and never-ending battle between gravity and the human race permanently underway, it would only be logical that when the greatest invention known to man, the bicycle, came into existence, the first thing we would want to do with this mechanical marvel would be try to climb hills with it.
And, of course, when the greatest sport ever known, bicycle racing, came to be, the most immediate and most illogical thing to do would be to put the largest possible mountains in the race.
And if the fact that we are so very enamored by the ability of those who can pedal their way up hills swiftly and gracefully wasn't enough, this is where the irony really sets in: because of the sad fact that we don't seem to be able to power bicycles up hills as fast as we can on the flat, that 30 percent energy savings that one can derive by drafting another rider at 30 m.p.h., is useless while plodding up a hill at 10 m.p.h.
Because of this simple fact, the most important parts of bicycle races are always uphill. The tactical genius of those who stealthily hide behind the dolt plodding away into the wind up front is lost on hills. Hills put bike racing back into the realm of Darwin and the grunting cave man. The laws of nature rule on the hills, and only the strong will survive.
Of course, due to our twisted need to watch nature weed out the weak, we gather, in the millions, every year in France to watch men climb really big hills on bicycles.
God help us.
That's my amateur psychoanalysis of the human race on a bicycle.
Rule 1: Get on with it. Climbing mountains on a bike is not fun. So, to do it properly, you need to accept this fact and get on with it. I see so many people looking for that secret technique or training method that will make climbing painless and suffer-free. This will never happen. Training and techniques will make you suffer slightly faster up hills, not suffer any less. Climbing is painful, period. The sooner you just accept that and stop looking for ways around it, the better you will learn how to climb. Let the suffer-meter serve as your internal tachometer, letting you know how close to your limit you are. Accepting and really allowing yourself to feel that pain will make you a better rider. Trying to ignore it will distract you from the task at hand and make you ride slower.
Rule 2: Don't be self-conscious. Suffering isn't pretty. It isn't meant to be. If you are going about your business of climbing properly, you will be breathing like a water buffalo, sweating like you were on a chain gang, and probably have snot dribbling off your chin. If this is not the case, you aren't doing this correctly. Over the years I've ridden with so many people who are always worrying about breathing too hard in front of their buddy. You're supposed to be in pain and you're supposed to be breathing hard, I mean the harder you breath the more oxygen you'll get to your muscles, so let the image thing go, and get down and dirty with the hill. Anyway, if your buddy is two miles behind you, he can't hear you breathing anymore, can he?
Rule 3: Relax. O.K., I know this seems a bit contradictory to rules 1 and 2, but this is the real Zen of climbing right here. You have to learn to accept the pain, breath like a warthog, and keep everything else relaxed. Gripping your handlebars with white knuckles and doing brake lever pull-ups does not make your pedals go around any faster. Your hands should be so relaxed that if you had to, you could play the piano. Your shoulders, arms, and upper body should be so relaxed that you just sort of rhythmically flop along with the pedals, like Stevie Wonder in concert. Also, if you look at all the pros, notice how they look like they have a pot belly when climbing? That's because they let their diaphragm relax and drop. They breathe by expanding the soft tissue of their belly as opposed to trying to expand the bones of their ribcage. This is the opposite of what you do at the beach, where it's belly in, shoulders back, chest out. This is belly out, shoulders relaxed, and forget about your chest.
Rule 4. Pedal all the way around. Momentum is what you don't have very much of when going up a hill. So, if you just push the pedals down and let the chain go slack the other 250 degrees of the pedal stroke, you will be losing momentum with each and every dead spot. On a flat road this doesn't matter too much, but on a hill this will cost you dearly. So, keep the tension on the chain the whole way 'round, especially at the 12 o'clock and 6 o'clock pedal position. Push outward with your quadriceps at the 12 and pull back, like you're scraping mud off your shoes, at the 6. This will help keep that precious little momentum from slipping away.
Rule 5: The Little Engine That Could. 'I think I can, I think I can, I think I can ' .Think I'm joking? No, I am not. The rhythm of your breathing and thoughts are crucial to grinding your way up long hills or mountains. You must synch your breathing, your pedaling, and your thoughts in one monotonous, focused, and plodding rhythm. Exhale forcefully and inhale naturally in time with every contraction of your muscles; let your body sway to the rhythm that it creates; then set the metronome in your head and be The Little Engine. Laugh all you want. It works.
If all else fails, you can just stop on the side of the road and rest, right? Maybe ask for your mommy and curl up in a fetal ball while you're at it? Which brings me to the most important rule of all when it comes to climbing: Never give up."
This last phrase in Jonathan's article reminds me of one of Winston Churchill's famous speeches. The speech was made in October 1941 at his old school, Harrow: "Never give in--never, never, never, never, in nothing great or small, large or petty, never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.''
And the enemy we all face as cyclists is gravity.
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