“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

More Bike-Car Conflicts in the news, this time from our neighbors to the North (and here I thought Canadians were much so more reasonable and rational than U.S. citizens):

http://www.treehugger.com/files/2008/11/toronto-cycle-car-confict.php

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.

(Jason sez: Please welcome the first — but not the last! — essay by our newest contributor, Jenn Clunie. When she’s not riding ridiculous distances, Jenn is the Program Manager of the New York Bicycling Coalition. Welcome, Jenn!)

That’s me in the background

In my continual quest to push my endurance, stamina and (some would argue) sanity to its utmost limits, I set off at O’DARK THIRTY this past Sunday morning, April 27th, to accomplish my first 300K Brevet, presented by Adirondack Ultra Cycling. For those unfamiliar or yet to be initiated into the world of LSD (Long Slow Distance), let me offer a quick definition supplied by RUSA:

Randonneuring: Randonneuring is long-distance unsupported endurance cycling. This style of riding is non-competitive in nature, and self-sufficiency is paramount. When riders participate in randonneuring events, they are part of a long tradition that goes back to the beginning of the sport of cycling in France and Italy. Friendly camaraderie, not competition, is the hallmark of randonneuring.

It was a bit of a cold start when the six hardy souls rolled out of Schuylerville 4:15am Sunday morning to temps hovering around 40 degrees and light rain. Cycling in the pitch dark, except for the too-dim wattage of commuter lights (note to self: next time, bring your Nightrider HID, no matter how heavy it is) offered an almost surreal experience as fog and mist swirled around our tires and projected eerie shadows back up at our lights. Being able to take over the roads all the way to Fort Edward was an empowering experience for cyclists all too often forced to hug the curb or take our chances with the treacherous objects lying in the shoulder as cars whiz by and refuse to share the road. Having that extra room to navigate proved especially fortuitous when I made the mistake of getting too close to the white line so slick with rain I hydroplaned straight into a crevice between the line and shoulder theretofore unseen in the darkness and it took all of my bike-handling skills learned on the trail to bring that front wheel back and stay upright. “Ahhhhh!!!! Whoa. That was close. Thank GOD I’m a mountain-biker. Everybody awake now?” :)

Luckily, the first hour and a half of dark rain yielded to muted daylight and cloudy skies; when the sun broke through around noon (?), we finally started to shed layers and dry off. It turned out to be a beautiful day to ride one’s bike and for those who cried “uncle” when they saw rain in the forecast, I’m sorry they missed out. The ride around Sacandaga Lake was astoundingly beautiful, especially when we climbed up to Hadley and enjoyed a brief peek at the overlook before continuing onwards to Corinth, Moreau, rural Saratoga county and finally back to our home base in Schuylerville.

Gorgeous!

While I was experiencing serious sleep-deprivation (couldn’t get more than 3 hrs. the night before–nerves/anxiety/excitement?) and started throwing coffee down the hatch at every Stewart’s checkpoint to jazz myself up, I don’t recall feeling really physically fatigued until ~174 miles in. Considering my longest ride to date was the ADK 200K 27 days prior, I felt this to be a major breakthrough. Even more notable: managed to ride the entire course in my first 2 chain rings, even the bitch of a hill around mile 165 that brought me to granny last month. Dig deep, push, and…you’re up! You’re there! Let’s GO! Clearly all that spring training “Belgian knee warmer style” with my racing friends who kick my butt each and every time we ride together has paid off.

191.51 miles in 11:59 hrs ride time, 14:25 hrs. time out on the road. Not too shabby, considering our slow start in the darkness, 2 flats, 9 control checkpoints/stops and needing to stop at least half a dozen times to fiddle with my front brake that kept rubbing against the rim (grrr).

Yes, I’m tired. Yes, I’m sore as hell. I woke up Monday morning and every joint, sinew and muscle fiber in my body ached. But knowing this exhaustion was well-earned makes it somehow all worthwhile.

As Steve Young says, “The principle is competing against yourself. It’s about self-improvement, about being better than you were the day before.”