CLIMBING MT BALDY

There have been many times, when I am preparing for a distance cycling event, that I hear things like, “It’s going to be hard, really hard.” Or, like the time I told my riding partner David Stone that the 2016 Tour of California L’Étape would finish with Gibraltar at mile 90, he said, “Sweet Jesus, that’s a tough climb. I can’t imagine what that will be like at the end of a century!”

These predictions are usually scarier than the day of the race/ride, if you prepare.

The word on this year’s L’Étape, up Mount Baldy, was that it would be brutal.

For the first time, I can say that brutal is an understatement. The ride was brutal cubed, with a healthy serving of fucking hard.

It was a beautiful day in Ontario, California yesterday. 60 degrees in the parking lot of Cable Airport as we all methodically prepped our bikes, slathered on sunscreen and packed our gear bags for drop off.

I chatted with Mike Davis, who was looking pretty special in the same pink Helen’s kit that I had chosen for the ride. Said hello Sergio Fernandez, waved to passing cycling acquaintances from many different clubs and past rides, and eventually found Ann McCamey, triathlete and good friend from the Helen’s ladies rides.

Later we loaded into the starting corrals and took a few photographs, eagerly awaiting the launch of over 800 cyclists.

Until the first beer at the finish, 8 hours later, it was the best I’d feel all day.

Since I was wearing bib number 19, I got to watch quite a few hardcore peddlers, like Phil Gaimon, up nice and close, until the road tipped up slightly. Also watched friends Rob and Terra-Kier Donovan disappear into the distance with Mike. That left me with Ann, who would become my partner for the duration.

The early rollers seemed harder than they should have been, but then, I always take a long time to warm up. The first climb came at 6.3 miles in.

We were feeling okay after we reached the summit, but the temperature was on the rise. We’d spend the rest of the ride out in the bald-ass sun (Mount Baldy, hmmmm) with the mercury in the mid-eighties.

Once we settled into a rhythm, and were sufficiently warmed up, the miles peeled off pretty easily. We talked about living in Tokyo, the last Friday of the month sample sales downtown, triathlon preparation, girl trouble, man trouble, good IPAs and how 60 dollars is too much to pay for dry cleaning a borrowed party dress.

The second climb hurt a little, but nothing more than the usual Saturday rides around Malibu. Knowing that we were scheduled for a hydration stop, at mile 52, I drained both bottles.

Then the hydration station was out of water. I’ll repeat that, the hydration station was out of water.  So, there would be more climbing, about 5 miles of it without said necessary liquid.

After a much-needed nutrition stop, Glendora ridge was next up. In the middle of the leg, there is a serpentine ridge road that allows for views of spectacular mountain vistas off both sides. It’s a special segment. To complete Glendora there is a fair bit of grinding, plus it was getting really hot. Burning legs, seared lungs, and an altitude headache is a great way to head into the last climb of the day.

4.7 miles at an average 9% grade. For the first 2 miles we thought, “Well, this ain’t too bad!”

Then it got Medieval.

I thought at one point, just keep it above 4 miles per hour, so you don’t fall over. Ann said, “I think my head is swelling inside my helmet.” and followed with, “Are you supposed to feel sick and weird? Do you feel sick and weird?” I said that I did, indeed, feel sick and weird.

The scenery, as we creaked along, was like something out of a Stephen King novel. A group of four or five men were huddled under some low bushes, staring with gaunt eyes and nursing water bottles, seemingly confused as to what to do next. Fully half the brave souls who attempted the ascent were walking their bikes. And not with urgency. The gait was more like an adolescent dragging a sack of cement.

I heard a nasty sound from my partner which prompted the quote of the day from her,

“That was totally a gag!”

So we pulled over for Ann to attempt to finish her business. But she, (and her partner) were so depleted, she would have no success.

I would like to say that I had really accomplished something by staying on my bike. But an accomplishment achieved at 2.8 miles per hour is nothing to crow about.

I waited for Ann at the flat that precedes the pair of shallow switchbacks to the final stretch. We took deep breaths, zipped up our kit tops (for our sponsors, thank you Helen’s Cycles and Ryan Ung of Amgen) and finished with heads held high.

With medals around necks and bikes gently parked, we made our way to a tent that handed out little blue cups that allowed you to sample as much free beer from local breweries as you could handle.

That first one had magical powers. As did the best grilled ham and cheese EVER.

My Strava reported 7 hours 19 minutes in the saddle, 75.3 miles and 11,583 feet climbed.

Many thanks to my partner in crime, Ms. McCamey, for sharing in the suffering and keeping the mood light, no matter the obstacle.

An epic day and another monumental Tour of California L’Étape. Bravo.