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Tjalling Ypma - 9/27/04
I always look forward to the September race calendar, even though the triathlon scene in the Pacific Northwest is usually shutting down by then as the water temperatures drop. To compensate for that we have a rash of other off-beat events to entertain us and stretch the endurance racing season.
Thus it was that I found myself on Saturday morning two weeks ago standing in the half-dark and pouring rain as I registered for the Mt. Baker Hill Climb. This is a bike race that replaces the now defunct DUMB ride (down-and-up Mt. Baker, in that order - the acronym says it all). The event is very simple: ride from Glacier to Artist's Point, the highest point reachable by road on Mt. Baker, climbing 4300' over a distance of 24.5 miles on highway 542 (geddit?). It was amazing to see over a hundred people show up on race day, despite extreme conditions on the mountain earlier in the week threatening race cancellation, and the cold deluge on race morning itself. The ski area reported that conditions on top were tolerable; I guess that means that it wasn't actually snowing yet, so the race was on.
We lined up some way down the road from Glacier (to get in the exact 24.5 miles, you understand) and set off with the usual click of cleats into pedals and jostling for position. Since my most recent ironman race was only two weeks in the past I was not sure what my legs would be able to do, so I let the fast pacelines go ahead. The field dispersed remarkably rapidly as I settled into a comfortable rhythm and found my pace. It felt good to warm up after standing around in the cold and wet for so long, though I was glad to be wearing a jacket and tights in the continuing downpour. I soon found myself trading places with Tammy Bennett, who was hammering through the early rolling sections of the course at a very respectable pace. I had the advantage of aerobars, giving me an edge on the flats and downhills, but she was pushing hard up the climbs. I thought I had dropped her on the long fast flats just before the serious climbing begins, so I was surprised to hear her right behind me as the road headed skywards. She politely asked my permission to ride on my wheel for the big climb, having had very little experience of pacing herself. I was of course pleased to have her company and subtle pressure.
The road was awash with water, and the air so thick with fog and rain that you could scarcely see more than a hundred meters ahead. The world shrank to a small gray bubble, with the glistening road running up the middle and dark cliffs and trees shedding water on either side. The only sound was the rushing water, our tires parting the waves, and our labored breathing. I sat in the small chainring and maintained a steady level of effort, focusing on spinning smoothly uphill while staying comfortably aerobic and relaxed. Despite the fact that I was riding my triathlon bike with the standard racing cassette I found the gradient surprisingly easy; the few times I stood on the pedals it was more to get a change of posture and stretch the legs than a need to exert more torque.
Every now and then a rider would emerge from the mists ahead; we would gradually catch up, exchange greetings as we passed, and then he would slowly disappear behind us. It was a process that was repeated again and again; our deliberate pacing was spot-on and we spun our way past a long succession of struggling riders while staying strong ourselves. It soon emerged that Tammy was the leading female rider, and she got some respectful compliments from the guys we passed - including her rather surprised husband - as we steadily advanced through the field. I invited those whom we passed to join the train, but apparently nobody could hold our wheels as we steamed up the wet hill.
I still felt fine when the upper ski station emerged through the mist. The last few miles from there to the top are steep and exposed, the rain was not letting up, and the altitude caused the temperatures to drop to near freezing. Fortunately there was no wind, so our exertions were enough to keep us warm. It may have been a blessing not to be able to see much of that final winding climb; life was reduced to sustaining the cadence up the relentless gradient into the fog while disposing of a few more weary warriors fighting up the steep hairpins. I recognized the last hairpin, pushed a little harder on the last long incline, turned through the final curve and yelled 'Sprint!' to Tammy as the ghostly figures lining the finish loomed dimly through the swirling gray mists. We sprinted, and surged across the line just seconds under the two hour mark. It was a new course record for the recreational women, set in impressively powerful and controlled style in very trying circumstances: while I hadn't really pushed myself I never backed off, and Tammy hung right in there. It was all the more impressive in that Tammy has very little road riding experience, doing virtually all her training by teaching spinning classes at the Y.
It was terribly cold on top; I was told later that they measured 2.5 inches of rain and a temperature of 40F at the ski lodge. Many of the riders, soaked with sweat and rain, were hypothermic when they arrived at the finish and had to be hurried down to the lodge in cars in order to recover. I had sent a bag of warm clothing to the top, so I was soon wearing several layers of fleece and polypro under a dry jacket and windproof tights. I needed lots of protective gear, including woolly hat and waterproof gloves, because to enjoy the full race experience it was my intention to ride back down to Glacier on the bike instead of sharing a ride in one of the vehicles going down the hill.
I must admit that the return journey was not a pleasure. I was shivering with cold and felt near my physical and mental limits. The road was running with water; bike control was extremely dubious and the brakes were largely ineffective. It was a matter of crawling downhill carefully, never being able to relax or allow any speed to accumulate. It turns out that this was fortunate; I discovered the next day that my headset was ruined so flying through curves at high speed might have had unpleasant consequences. It got steadily warmer as I dropped down the mountain, but I regretted not putting on booties at the top - sensation in my toes died long before I reached Glacier. I was wet and weary and cold but nevertheless very pleased with myself as I washed back into town. I felt I had ridden well, stood up to a tough test, and was delighted to have had a role in Tammy's triumph.