The anatomy of a hillclimb

The short version is, I rode up a hill with Tool's Schism rolling around in my head.  On the way home to Wellington, I wondered if I could choreograph the ride to the song.  I've tested it a few times, and hope that it works for you!  It might help to have a stopwatch handy.  The paragraphs generally coincide with a meter change in the song.  Click "Play" when you pass the embedded youtube window (unless you hate Tool!).  Good luck!

One of the perks of stopping to spend the night with Simon and Sarah instead of heading straight home to Wellington, was that I got to join Simon on a wee jaunt up the Turoa skifield access road. It ascends almost exactly 1000 vertical metres in the space of about 17km, and according to the newly published Classic New Zealand Road Rides, written by Simon's bro Jonathan, with BikeNZ CEO Keiran Turner, this is the only Hors Category (sealed) climb in the country.

Home at Rangataua's about 5km from the bottom of the hill, and for some strange reason I thought we'd be driving down.  I popped the car stereo on, and just happened to have Tool's Schism playing.  I never ride with an MP3 player - mainly because I don't want to root my ears - but I often end up with one track or another looping round and round in my head.  The worst example was a couple of lines of a Queen track on a 7 hour road ride.  I simply didn't know enough of the song, and got the first couple of lines stuck in an endless loop.  I could do worse than Schism though - the regular changes in the pace of the song nicely reflects the mountain road.  Most of the ascent is in the last half, though there's a nasty section lower down to contend with too.

I loaded a couple of bottles of water onto the bike - the sun was shining, and if the previous few days were anything to go by, it would hot out there.  A couple of blocks from home, I realised that there was also a cool southerly breeze blowing, and shot back to the house to grab my trusty Ground Effect Flash Gordon - in sleeveless mode.  I caught back up to Simon, and we enjoyed not only a tail-wind, but a gradual descent down towards the Ohakune railway station, and the start of the climb.

We pulled up in the carpark, and I took an obligatory photo, with Simon in the background limbering up.

I got ready to go, already with Schism bubbling around in the background.  Time for some Hors Category hauling...

Click play, then start your timer!

(0:00) After a couple of minutes Simon reports he's out of stalling tactics, and we're off.  I find my second pedal, and chuck the bike down a couple of gears.  Simon starts his watch.

(0:13) These climbs are all about finding the right tempo, and the sooner the better.  I'm glad I have warm legs, and hit the sweet spot quickly.  We're in beautiful native bush, it's cool, and we've got a sweet climb ahead of us.  My right hamstring feels a bit tight, but everything else feels good.

(0:27) Here we go.  My legs are like pistons, up down up down up down.  I feel at one with my bike, and sense my legs going around, but not what's controlling them.  What a great feeling.  It's a good sign... I drop it down another gear.  I hear Simon do the same behind me.

(0:41) Simon swings past and takes a turn at the front.  I change up, then down again.  Nope, that first gear will do.  After a spell I come round Simon, and take the pace again.  My hammy's eased a bit, which is just as well - it's got a bit of work to do.  I can feel my heart racing as it tries to keep up with the effort.  It will, and then will settle down a bit.  Easy easy...  I take a swig of drink.  The day's cool, the setting is lovely, and my good buddy's with me.  Life's good.  Legs up down up down...  Breathe...

(1:08) This is my fifth time up here, and first in a year.  Last time it was three reps on the 69er.  About time to set that up again.  The heavy suspension fork on the front today's doing me no favours. 

(1:21)  Damn my guts are churning...  That's not supposed to happen - we're hardly even started yet.  I grab a banana out of my pocket and bite off half.  I chew it slowly and then swallow. That ought to settle things down a bit. I wash it down with a bit of water.  Yes, that was a good choice.  Good.  My legs are like pistons...

(1:35) There are subtle changes in gradient.  Some of them don't matter, and get taken care of by changes in cadence, or a slightly bigger effort.  My hammy's eased completely.  Great.  We're through the 3km mark now, which means the road's going to kick up soon. The 5th kilometre is a beast, and I'm not looking forward to it.  Oh well, not much I can do about that now.  I'm feeling smooth, and the bike's humming.  Simon's sitting behind me, but he'll get his chance to shine before long.  We're curious team mates with such different strengths, but it makes perfect sense in training - he pushes me on the hills, and I him on the power stuff.  Not much of that left today, best enjoy it while it lasts...

(2:02) Ah, here we go.  I've been dreading this bit.  My pulse shoots up, and I gasp for breath.  That little bit stung, but it's eased again.  Shit, not for long.  I flip through a couple of gears, and stand out of the saddle for the first time.   Simon comes by, looking comfortable.  He loves this steep shit.  I swing across onto his wheel.  I'm not getting much of a draft at this speed, but psychologically it's good to be there.  I imagine I'm tied to him, and he's pulling me up the hill.  It doesn't help much.  I'm up and down off the saddle, trying to find a comfortable tempo.  Argh...  I can feel myself on the edge.  I can't go too close, or I'll be toast.  If I can just hold that wheel...  This will ease soon...  Come on John.

(2:32) My legs are like pistons, up down up down up down...  Sweat's dripping off my chin.  I take a swig of water, and pedal.  Come on come on come on...  Not much further.  I used to spout "I don't train, I just ride".  Well that's no longer true - this is training for sure, and it's hurting, and I'm loving it.  I'm an unlikely climber - 90kg this morning, but something about it just does it for me.  Pent up emotion?  Anger perhaps?  I'm taking it out on the bike, and drive the pedals down, hurting them more than I'm hurting myself.  Goddamn, when is this freaking hill going to ease?!  We're side by side.  No chatting today.  That banana seems to have done the trick, and my guts aren't churning the way they were.  Still, this steep stuff is not that easy on the stomach - if I go any harder, I'll bring that damn banana back up.  Another mouthful of water, and the gradient starts to lessen. 

(3:01) Right, this I can cope with a bit better.  First though, I need to get my pulse down a bit.  My cadence is good, and my legs feel fine.  I drop it down a cog, and speed up a little more.  I mustn't rush this - got to slowly bring the pace back up.  Plenty of time yet, don't overdo it.  I'm coming back to life, breathing a bit easier, and I can feel everything settling nicely.  Another cog, a bit more speed.  Easy does it, there's plenty of this hill yet to come.  A bit more water.  Damn it's hot.  Thank god for the bush cover at the moment - that won't last though.  Another cog...  Good.  Damn this bike's running sweet.  Considering the wet ride it had under my bro Dave a few days earlier, it's a bit of a miracle...  My legs are like pistons again...  We're in business.

(3:30)  OK, I'm back in control for the time being.  I unzip my jersey.  Ahhh, that feels better.  I've got a banana in one pocket, phone and wallet in the second, and a sleeveless vest in the third - I'll need that for the descent.  Even open my jersey's sitting nicely. Gotta love the lycra!  Legs up and down, up and down...  Good boy.  More water, while this gradient lasts.  If only the whole hill was like this.  I wonder why I like climbing so much?  When I first started mountainbiking, it was because it didn't scare me like the descending did.  I'd spent years commuting to varsity along a pretty hilly route, which I generally hammered.  I still suck at descending...  And, I still love the climbing.  Despite being 8kg over my 2007 Karapoti weight - too many pies...  It would be nice to get that down a bit, but the last thing I need now is to be stressing about my weight...

(4:02)  This is going well.  I wave to a chap hooning down the hill.  He left with his bike on the back of the car just as we set off.  That's one way to do it I suppose.  Simon's tucked in behind.  I can hear him shift gears when I do.  Now he's tied to me, and I'm pulling him up the hill.   Huh - there's a bunch of cars parked at a trail head.  "Fancy a walk to the waterfall?" I call back to Simon.  He reads out the walking time from the DOC signage.  I don't think he got my point.  I was suggesting we stop.  Shit, it's getting steeper again.  I concentrate on a steady cadence.  It's bloody hard up this end of the cassette.  There are big gaps in the gears, and I struggle to find my sweet spot. That cog's too small and the next is too big.  Three gear changes and I settle on the small one.

(4:33)  It's getting steeper and I change gears.  I tip some water down my back - it feels good.  And a mouthful for good measure.  Man that water tastes good.  I shouldn't have said anything.  I should have been breathing.  Dick.  I go to change gear again, but find I'm at the top of the cassette.  Middle chain ring is the order of the day, and I'm in "granny".  "I'm out of gears" I call back.  Shit.  Concentrate.  Enough of the talking.  Breathe...  My legs are like pistons.  The 11km marker passes slowly on my left.  It's going to really kick up soon...  Hang in there...  The road's wide and there's no shelter.  But I'm loving the water down my back.  Setting off with 1.5L seemed a little extreme at the bottom, but right about now it seems perfect.  The gradient eases, and I chuck it down a gear.  My legs are like pistons.  This hill really is a stunner - shame it's so far away from home, and a shame I'm not stopping to admire the view. It's all unfurling behind me, and here I am with my back to it.  I wonder what's going on back there.  I haven't heard Simon for a bit...

(5:12)  It's getting steeper, and I'm spending more time out of the saddle.  It hasn't caught up with me yet, but it will.  My arms are taking a lot of weight, and they're not used to it.  Sit.  Pedal.  My legs are like pistons.

(5:20)  Now I'm burning.  The switchback is steep, and pushes me into the red.  There will be no respite now until the top.  The second switchback is even worse, but I manage to keep the bike moving, and my legs ticking over and over.  Just.  Come on John.  This is not hard.   Pain is an illusion.  Focus.  Smoothly does it.  Up down go the legs.  Just like pistons... 

(5:40)  Fuck.  How much more of this?!  I tip more water down my back and more into my mouth.  Argh!  Grit all over the road is the last thing I need.  I cross to the other side to avoid the worst of it.  My legs are starting to scream for mercy, and I'm starting to weave, looking to keep the gradient down by riding further.  It's not working.  MY LEGS ARE LIKE PISTONS.  I look down, and see the sweat ricocheting off the top tube.  Come on John.  It isn't much further.  You can do this, there's fuck all left, and you're doing well.  Breath.  Sit and pedal.  Nice smooth circles, come on.

(6:00)  I'm in self-destruction mode.  I should be stopping.  I'm hurting myself.  I'm gasping for breath, my guts are churning, and my legs are faltering.  Left right, left right, left... right...  Concentrate.  Argh, not through the grit again, and watch out for that drainage grate.  Must... be... almost... there...  Come on John come on.  You are almost there, you've got to keep going.  I try to find another gear, but I'm out.  I know the pieces fit.   Come on...

(6:25) I now feel every muscle in every pedal stroke.  I focus, it's simple, come on - you've suffered worse than this.  You love this shit.  Come on John, fucking pedal.  Up down.  Pistons.  Pistons.  Come on.  It's not pain, it's an illusion.  You're not hurting.  You're imagining it. Pedal man, pedal.  You're getting close, not much more now, come on, come on, come on, come on come on... come... on...

(6:47) Ahhh.

Both feet are unclipped and I'm stopped, perversely next to a no-stopping sign.  This trip has been all about disregarding direct orders, and I'm not about to stop now.  I lay the bike down, and stagger away from it.  Systems which shut down many minutes ago slowly start coming back on line, I take a long swig of water, and take a photo.

Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me

Simon arrives a minute later, and heads past in search of some shade.

I pick up my bike, and waddle after him.  My legs will be the last things to return, and they've not yet.  I join Simon in the shade and demolish the second half of my banana.  I ask him how long we took.  He'd hoped to go under 90 minutes, and did 66 and a half.  That's about on a par with our session of three the previous year.  No way I could do another at that pace.  I move into the sun, and relish in its warmth.

A van pulls up, and a woman jumps out calling "Fancy seeing you up here".  The look of horror that flashes across her face indicates we're not who she thought we were.  We're friendly enough though, and I ask her to take a photo of us.

She's about to ride down the hill with her friend.  I don't know if she realises she's already missed the best bit...

The Revolution Bicycles Christmas Ride

Without a doubt, the highlight of my social activity in the last few years has been Friday night drinks at Revolution Bicycles.  Prioprietor Jonty Ritchie, famous for his purple socks, 6th place in the junior worlds back in the early nineties, high placings in NZ DH and XC races on the same bike and on consecutive days has long encouraged a fairly large and diverse group to congregate at his shop on Friday evenings.  Pizza, all manner of junky food and boutique beer have flowed over the years, and there's even been the occasional film night.  The conversation's always good, and sometimes there's even an opportunity to do a bit of work on bikes.  Conveniently for me, the shop's between work and home, and often lies between a stressful week, and a chilled weekend. 

When Jonty called me on Thursday evening to make sure I knew about the 2010 edition of the shop ride, I was delighted.  Last year's had been a beauty, and so despite some pretty miserable weather, I turned up at the shop with bells on.  Jonty's is one of the few shops in Wellington I'm completely comfortable hanging out in in my Roadworks kit - he's got a great relationship with Oli, to the extent that they even appeared in a magazine together holding hands!

The invite had been "6 for 6:30" and I turned up with plenty of time for chit-chat.  I arrived with a six-pack of beer, and felt only slightly odd running the gauntlet that was the church cake-stall immediately outside the shop.  Alex was prepping his new Jamis race bike for the Rice Mountain Classic, and was yarning to yet another local legend, Geoffrey Notman.  Neither he nor Geoffrey were riding with us, Alex on account of the race, and Geoffrey on account of the conditions outdoors. 

As time flew by, the shop started to fill, and the footpath outside was soon chocka with bikes.  The weather wasn't looking at all flash, but the evening was warm, so I opted for a sleeveless vest on top of my Roadworks race kit.  My Epic in bits, and my XTC sparking clean, my trusted Raleigh XXIX SS-29er was my weapon of choice.

Jonty grabbed his bike and six of us followed him outside.  Another few, including Oli, stayed to mind the shop.  We were soon underway, the order of the night being to simply follow Jonty.  Before too long I'd surpassed that "goddamn it's good to get out" threshold, helped by the conversational pace, and the mild temperature. 

Follow the leader was a bit of a hoot, and on account of none of us knowing where the hell we were going, and most of the time not even knowing where the hell we actually were, there were plenty of stops to make sure no-one got lost.

Things got a little sketchy from time to time, partly on account of running a minimal Stan's Crow out back, and a ever-so-slightly less minimal Raven up front, but mainly I was in the groove, and really enjoying the riding.  The company was great too, and frequent stops or walking sections were just as enjoyable as the riding itself. 

Having started out a group of seven, our number dwindled somewhat after about 30 minutes' riding.  A phone call went unanswered, but eventually a txt confirmed we were down to six.  Onwards we went, wet but warm.

Soon we were off road again, and the ride continued to be a joy.  I was riding mid-pack, enjoying the sweet scenery, and the fact that I was single-speeding in the rain, when all of a sudden I found myself stalled on a narrow bit of track.  I put the power down to try to recover some momentum on the reasonably steep gradient, but my rear wheel spun, and I was resigned to putting my foot down.

"Fuck, I didn't see this coming" flashed through my mind as I leapt down the cliff, desperately trying to find something to arrest my fall.  I'd had my weight on the downhill side of the track, but there'd been nowhere to put my foot.  I crashed through a couple of trees, and eventually my feet found solid ground.  My upper body kept going, and I came to a final halt upside down.  I quickly ran the usual post-crash diagnostics, and soon concluded all was not well.  "HELP" I shouted.  "HEEEELP"

I knew time was of the essence...  The ball of my humerus bone was sitting about 5cm lower than it should have been.  My third dislocation...

* * * * *

The first time I'd popped the shoulder I'd been riding alone on SWIGG at Makara Peak.  I'd seen the tree coming, and knew I was going to clip it, and as I picked myself up off the track I'd been bloody confused about the pain on my other side.  Turned out the handlebars had whipped around, pulling my left arm clean out of its socket.  The pain that time had been excruciating, and had worsened as the minutes passed.  I'd given my Epic to the first person who'd offered to take it, and about half an hour later (but what had seemed an eternity) I was at A&E.  I'd urged Jo to run red lights - she hadn't - and almost lost skin jumping out of the car before she'd come to a full halt outside the hospital.  I must have looked like I was about to faint, because the nurse at reception had appeared out of a secret door before I'd finished saying "I think I've dislocated my shoulder".  I screamed as they put me on a bed.

A second eternity later I was being prepped for a morphine drip in my right hand, and moved my chest left in a desperate attempt to ease the pain.  My arm fell off the bed, and as my arm arced forward, the shoulder rolled back into place.  I've been fascinated by my reaction to that ever since - I must have been well in shock by that time (probably an hour after the accident), yet with that simple motion, my world instantly returned to normal.  Pain, on the scale of one to ten, had been "fucking TEN", yet seconds later had eased to a dull ache.  My brain was also instantly back in charge, no longer trying to cut through the intense pain.  "I'm fine.  I can walk to xray" - all in all a remarkable transformation.

The second dislocation had come about a year later.   I was carrying a queen mattress up a narrow path when I lost control of it, and out the shoulder popped again.  Calmly, I'd leant over the adjacent hand-rail, and relaxed, letting my arm swing forward as it had done at A&E that first time.  Probably less than 10 seconds after the dislocation it was back in place, feeling a little achy, but otherwise fine...  That event had triggered an arthroscopy which had detected no major structural damage, and I'd decided to avoid surgery to tighten the ligaments, and to simply be a little more careful.  That had been fine for about 5 years, but here I was, wet and a little scraped up, desperately looking for a handrail.  Tick, tick, tick...

* * * * *

Luckily there had been a couple of guys behind me, and they got me quickly back up onto the track.  Fuck knows how I would have got up on my own.  I tried my magic trick using the handlebars of the nearest bike, but my forearm hit the wheel and it didn't work.  I could feel myself starting to panic.

I started walking up the track, in the direction I'd been riding a couple of minutes before.  I lay down on the track, and swung my arm down, but again it didn't work.  The outside bank was not sheer enough, and I couldn't both get the shoulder supported and give the arm the full ability to swing.  I asked one of the guys to support my shoulder, and swung my arm down again.  Again no good.  Perhaps I was trying too hard.  I needed the arm to swing - it was no good pulling it down.  Back off up the track...

Eternity...

Around the corner the others were waiting.  I suppose I babbled something at them.  They'd stopped just over a narrow bridge.  Perhaps my last opportunity before my muscles went into spasm, I laid down on the bridge.   I had five onlookers, probably wondering what the hell was going on.  I held my arm by my side, took a deep breath, and slowly relaxed it.  My hand arced forward.  I laid there, face down on the bridge, and breathed a sigh of relief.  Fuck...

The fellas had been awesome and the continued to take great care of me, the Christmas ride temporarily on pause.  The call went out to the waambulance, rather than the ambulance.  Despite being back in one piece, I was still wet to the skin, and there was no way anyone was going to let me try to ride anywhere.  Oli was soon on his way, and Simon agreed to wait with me.  It made little sense for the others to wait with us, so they bid us farewell and went on with the ride.

Another 10 minutes and I'd surely have been shivering, but soon I was sitting in the car, with Oli's own Roadworks jersey draped over my wet legs.  By the time the bikes were secured on the back, I'd managed to steam the windows up, but we were soon heading back to Jonty's shop to grab my keys and car.  Minutes later I was bundled into home, feeling like I'd gone a couple of rounds with a bear.  I thanked the guys, and they headed off.  A hot shower, a bit of food and some voltaren were high priority.   The only thing standing in my way was my skin tight, sodden lycra.  After what seemed like the third eternity of the night, I finally got the shirt over my good shoulder...

I had a couple of reasons to be relieved as I hit the sack.  I realised it was my very first crash ever that I hadn't thought on the way down "please let my bike be OK" - the beauty of riding a simple work-horse!  Insult to injury is a broken bike, but there was so little to break, nothing had.  Obviously getting the shoulder back in place in situ was also prominent in my mind.  I don't think I'll ever forget the agony I experienced during that first ride to hospital, and I was damn pleased to have avoided that.  First and foremost though was my relief at not having to phone Simon and Oli back.  They are the most wonderful friends, but asking them to come back to undress me would have been too much!