Headed up to the mountains of North Carolina for the 4th annual Tour de Tuck. The Tour is a 105-mile suffer fest with nearly 11,000 feet of climbing, including the penultimate climb over the Richland Balsam mountain, the highest point on the Blue Ridge Parkway at 6053 feet. The forecasters called for highs in the low 70s and a 60% chance of rain; potentially hellish conditions for an already epic ride.
Loaded up the unofficial team van with John and Rob and made for the mountains. This was my second Tour and their fourth (since the Tour's inception). Though not a race, the route is timed, and a friendly competition had developed between them with John always coming out on top. Last year they had graciously invited me along and gave me a 30-minute trouncing en route to the finish. No surprise really. Both of them are consistently some of the strongest riders around. What was surprising is that I was able to hang with them for 65 miles before getting dropped. This year was going to be different. I wanted to get some of my time back; not just finish alongside them, but ahead.
This year would be different. Rob had the brilliant (and I mean that sincerely) idea to head up early and get in some mountain miles on a route called "The Ring of Fire." 40 miles, 5000 feet of ascent over two major climbs (some at over 10% grade) and potential suicide for Saturday's chances. Why not? You only get to do this once a year. I was all in. Committed. It was sunny and warm as we set off on the Ring of Fire, but all this was about to change.
Working the stiffness from my legs and tuning my lungs to climbing became the objective of the day. The first climb hit us straightaway with some tough gradients laden with gravel. The gravel made climbing that much more difficult and descending that much more terrifying. Descending has never been my strong point; I descend like a 14-year old girl. While the three of us reached the summit together, Rob and John quickly dropped me on the descent. I wasn't taking any risks. Between the gravel, wet roads, and hairpin switchbacks I had other things to worry about. When you're hitting turns at 40 mph on 23 millimeter tires you have to put a lot of trust in your machine. Hit a patch, your toast. Brake too much, rims overheat, brakes melt, and tires explode. Brake too little and well...
By the time things had flattened out and we had regrouped, my arms were so sore from braking that I could barely grip the bars, but there were bigger issues. Rain. First sprinkles, then buckets followed by a steady pour. I like riding in the rain. It's miserable, a blow to the psyche, and invigorating. The problem wasn't the rain, it was the temperature. My bike computer showed that the temperature had dropped 10 degrees in an hour. This was okay for the next climb, but made the descent absolutely hypothermic. My fingers and feet had lost feeling near the top and braking and shifting now required extreme concentration. I couldn't feel the bar so I had to focus completely on my shifters and force my brain to make the appendages at the end of my arms work. It was so hard they actually burned, and a couple of times, slipped off of my levers. I thought for sure that I was in the worst shape, until I saw Rob.
As we neared the bottom I could see that he had slipped back and his bike's frame appeared to be made of rubber. Very uncharacteristic. "You okay?" I asked. I could now see that his wobbling was caused by shivering. The shivering would stop on flat ground and instantly start up again with any kind of speed. "Dude will you ride with me?" he said to John. That's it. Now I knew we couldn't go on and stopping just made us colder. Luckily at that moment, a cyclist-friendly passerby offered Rob a ride back to our car, which he informed us was only a few miles away. I dreamed of sitting in the car, heater on full blast, getting warm and dry. It would take a good thirty minutes for the shivering to stop and I was beginning to question the logic of the Ring of Fire. Tomorrow would tell.
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