Whiteface Report and the Madonna del Ghisallo
Author: Jenn Clunie
Date: 5 August, 2008
Category: Albany, Road Stories
So, my friend Brian from Oregon shot me an email with just the words “Madonna del Ghisallo” yesterday evening. A more appropriate patron saint could not be named after Sunday morning’s ride up Whiteface.
The climb to the Whiteface summit was beyond EPIC. We awoke at 4:15am and scurried about in the dark making last-minute preparations, with yours truly trying to swallow mouthfuls bad motel room coffee without tasting it a desperate attempt to shake my overly exhausted body of of its comatose-like slumber. No such luck. It started raining around 5am and by the time we rolled out the door at 5:30 it was pouring hard with no signs of letting up. No matter. Joshua and I had been planning this trip for months and it was now or never. Let’s lock and load.
After a quick 5.5 mile warm up loop, we started the 8 mile climb similar to Le Alp de Huez that would bring us 4,800 ft. above the base with an ancient stone castle and fire tower awaiting us at the top. Unfortunately, the pouring rain and shrouds of mist prevented me from being able to see more than foot front of me the entire time–I was, quite literally, riding directly into the clouds.
It’s amazing what a mental game a climb as steady and unrelenting like this provides. All your excuses, rationalizations, reasons and extraneous bullsh*t must be immediately vaporized, sluiced through as decisively as one guides those skinny tires through the rivulets of water trickling down the mountain as you push ever-upwards. It didn’t matter that I only got 4 hrs.’ sleep the night before, or was operating on a severe sleep deficient from the week prior; that I had ridden 505.40 miles of challenging and hilly terrain the last 8 days during the Amazing Adirondack Adventure bike tour and my body was begging for a break; that the pulled muscles in my right glut and hamstring refused to shut up, no matter how much Ibuprofen I jammed down my throat; that my asthma severely limits my climbing ability; that the rain was coming down so hard I couldn’t see worth a damn. As I settled into a rhythm and found my groove, head bent and eyes locked straight ahead, all of that excess baggage was left behind and my purpose (if not my vision) was clear. No stopping. No rest. No surrender.
Around the 7 mile (approx. 4,000 ft) marker the sky started spitting out white stuff and “hurty” rain and I looked around and thought, “Holy crap! It’s HAILING!” I thought of Andy Hempstead riding through that freak June snowstorm on the Gavia in the Giro de Italia and me getting caught out on top of Mariaville Lake this past Feb. on an early training ride and having to pedal 32 miles home in a whirlwind of snow, with blue fingers, lips and toes by the time I walked through my front door. But right then, in that moment, there was no hesitation. Head down. Pedal forwards. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Repeat…all the way to the top.
Arriving at the top was a bit anti-climactic–the views of the valley and our neighbors to the north the Toll Rd. is legendary for were completely obliterated by the fog—and what might’ve been a rip-roaring descent worth relishing under dry circumstances became a true test of one’s bike handling skills and brake-feathering through freezing cold and treacherous wet—but I couldn’t have any more victorious than Carlos Sastra at that moment.
Once again my Chinese fortune cookie tag I opened a week before my 300K Brevet in April (and still hanging on my fridge) rang true: “Determination will get you through this.” Exhaustion, muscle fatigue, severe sleep deprivation: sometimes sheer willpower does, indeed, conquer all.
Goal met. Mission accomplished. Next challenge? You tell me. I’m all ears.
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