Sweat & Hypothermia Century (Comments: 8)
Author: Jenn Clunie
Date: 26 November, 2008
Category: Albany, Bicycle Photo Tag, Cycling Thoughts, Events, Jenn Clunie
“Men invented war so they could be among themselves. In peacetime, they have bike racing.” Gabriele Rolin
But what does it mean when we insist on waging war upon ourselves, flagrantly dismissing dubious weather forecasts, common sense, and good advice from friends in some perverse determination to ride 100 miles in bitter cold temperatures at the end of November—just because we could? Nearly 72 hours have passed since I completed the coldest century ride of my life and I’m still trying to figure that one out while I de-thaw.
Background: over the past eight years, Heather Rizzi’s (in)famous Sweat & Ice Century has become an annual tradition cyclists from around the region (and those willing to travel) look forward to and swap tall tales about. Starting in Clifton Park, you traverse mostly rural and low-traffic roads through Saratoga County, into Corinth, up and over West Mountain, around part of Sacandaga Lake, over the Bachelorville Bridge and then hit a series of (perpetually-upwards) rolling hills in Edinburgh and Fayetteville before shooting through Charlton and back to the starting line. Designed to test a cyclist’s strength, hill-climbing capabilities, pace and endurance levels, many return to the Sweat course through the Adirondack Park year after year as a means of testing and benchmarking their fitness.
Three years prior, having purchased my first road bike that August and only completing one century in my life two months beforehand, Heather duped me into signing up that fateful day in November 2005 by promising: “You’ve only done one ride before this distance? And you haven’t ridden much at all the last 4 wks. b/c of rain? And you’re still riding in sneakers with toe clips & basket pedals? No problem! It’s a flat course. I tell people it’s a flat course—only one small hill.” Ummm, yeah…she failed to mention that her definition of “flat” included almost 5,000 ft. of total elevation gain, and “one small hill” was named WEST MOUNTAIN. During my first introduction to that beast I had to stop 4 separate times to bring my asthma under control. I ended up finishing in the dark that year…But from that experience, a biker chick addicted to long-distance rides that push one’s boundaries of endurance all definitions of “reasonable” was born.
Flash forward to this past Sunday: 7 cyclists assemble in a frozen parking lot and assess the situation. Thermometer is currently reading 21 degrees (and that’s not factoring the fierce winds blowing upon us). Wool? Check! Winter gloves and booties? Check! Craziness? Double Check! Let’s get moving before we change our minds.
Decked in my finest layers of winter cycling attire, I came prepared for the cold. Weather.com predicted a high of 37 degrees for the day; I figured as long as we kept moving, we’d be fine. After all, I rode last year’s Sweat & Ice Century in 28 degree temps, enjoyed myself thoroughly, and rocked it with a 5:48:33 course time (a new personal record). What I was NOT prepared for were the galling headwinds that plagued us for nearly 90 miles: factoring wind chill, 21 degrees become FIVE. Any body heat generated on the hills or climb up West Mountain was rapidly whisked away by the ferocious winds blowing off Sacandaga Lake: pedaling along the naked shore with trees stripped to their bark, you could see large waves being blown toward you churning in a dark and angry maelstrom. In desperation, I put my head down and cranked those pedals as hard as I could in hopes of escaping that wind.
When I arrived at the Edinburgh General Store, our 58 rest stop, I was dismayed to learn our warm-up oasis was closed and a bunch of cold and tired cyclists were forlornly huddled on its front stoop. Jon Stillman, along with Terry and Bryna, had ridden out to say hello and join folks for part of the course: it was nice to see them, at least for the first 5 minutes until I got dropped. :) No hard feelings, guys: Sunday’s ride was all about SURVIVAL.
Words cannot begin to describe how damned cold I was the entire ride, or how much extra force had to be exerted to battle the wind, simultaneously draining you of your energy and will to live. My lips and fingertips were quite literally turning blue and it was difficult to form words or sentences—not that I was in a coherent state of mind, regardless. LUNA bars and bananas, frozen solid, became difficult to chew and swallow. Good luck washing it down or replenishing liquids lost during your hard efforts: water literally froze in our bottles, preventing you from drinking unless you stopped to pick a few slushy ice chips out of desperation—the consumption of which only cooled you down further. According to the sag vehicle’s thermometer, the maximum temperature of the day was 24 degrees, which quickly plummeted after the sun disappeared behind the clouds ~1:30pm or so. True to the ride’s namesake, it was eerie to feel sweat trickling down your back while at the same time shivering so hard I had difficulty maintaining a straight line. When it started snowing on us around mile 75 and I spotted solid ice formations within the longitudinal cracks and potholes in the roads around Charlton, it was a surreal experience.
Never had I been so thrilled to roll back into the parking lot and peel off those cold and sweaty cycling clothes so I could ensconce myself in all the layers of the thickest wool clothing I own. Sunday’s ride was more difficult than the Riedlbauer`s Round Top Rally MTB Race in the Catskills, or the ADK 200K and 300K Brevets back in March and April…and it had very little to do with the course.
So, if you’ve read this far, you might be asking: why put yourself through such an endeavor? Are you trying to prove something? Have deep masochistic tendencies that need to be fulfilled? Or just plain nuts?
My answer: perhaps D) all of the above? But I’d like to share a quote from A Cherokee Feast Of Days that’s served as my mantra on more than one occasion: “The effort put forth to move gives strength to do it-and moves us to more effort. But like the tide, the effort to move is followed by a rest, and then movement again. Each effort makes the next time a little easier until there is maximum strength or full growth. Some things challenge our very existence. It is the nature of things. But every effort we make weakens the challenge. If we will not give up, but we move and rest, move and rest, the breakthrough will come.”
I have put forth great effort…and now I look forward to reaping the benefits of a great rest. (Well, at least until Friday. :) )
Read Paul Lambrie’s ride report: http://web.mac.com/paullabrie/Paul_Labrie_photos/Winter_Nutz_Blog/Entries/2008/11/24_Sweat_%26_Ice_Century.html
For the number-crunchers and data geeks: http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/activity/7194998
