Killer Hill

I like to think that I do my “Sturdy Girl” cycling gear proud most days. Sunday I fear I proved myself unworthy of the jersey I was wearing. I did a nice little 30-mile ride that was mostly flat with some rolling hills and one “training” hill at the end. It was described as something like, “one of the steepest climbs you’ll find in Oregon” and I think there were adjectives such as “grueling” and “challenging” thrown in there as well. Being a cocky Sierra Mountains import I thought the wee little Willamette Valley with its little hills and dales couldn’t possibly throw in my path anything I couldn’t handle.

First I missed a turn – a miss that ended up adding another 12 or so miles to my ride. Then I must have not read extended ride description carefully enough. I knew there was a killer climb coming out of the small town of Laurelwood, but I was certain that it started after I turned off Laurelwood Rd onto Bald Peak Mt. Rd. So the extraordinarily sharp ascent on Laurelwood Rd that popped up suddenly as I rounded a corner came as a bit of a surprise.

I hit it a bit too hard and by the first slight leveling (still ascent, just not the sheer kind) I had to stop and wheeze and pant and gasp and blow for a number of minutes while silently praying that my heart wasn’t going to explode. The road continued along in a series of sharp climbs with occasional semi-breaks where the climb was more moderate. I tried to go at a doable pace and took a number of huffing, puffing, heart grasping pauses, but there were times when I didn’t know if I was going to be able to make the next pedal rotation. Finally I reached a point where I was barely mashing the pedals down, my legs felt like there were going to rip apart, and I had started to teeter because I was going so slow. I rounded a corner hoping for some slight reduction in the grade before me but found myself looking at a very long, unyielding slope. That was when I stopped and started walking my bike. I had been on the brink of vomiting a number of times by this point.

I could barely even stand at that point and was feeling slightly desperate. My car was on the other side of this mountain so I either had to go over it or backtrack 20 or so miles. I knew I couldn’t make it up the road in front of me but didn’t know if there was a more level spot where I could get back on the bike or if I would have to hike uphill pushing my bike for multiple miles. I considered hitch hiking.

In the end I pushed my bike for maybe 15 minutes before the road leveled (somewhat) and I was able to pause, regroup and remount. The remaining hill took me quite a while but was something in the realm of possible and in the end I made it up to the top of the mountain. The photo I took with my phone doesn't even come close to capturing the gorgeous day and how it reverberated throughout the valley. It was amazingly beautiful with panoramic views of the pastoral valleys and farmlands and waterways and mountains around. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t worth it.


Of note: After walking up hill – before getting back on the bike – I discovered mashed up road kill wedged in between my back break and rear tire. On the flats I had been thinking, “wow, it seems harder to ride than usual today.” I’d thought it was the wind or my just getting over being sick, or maybe my bike needed a tune-up. No, it was road kill acting like a perpetual break on my back wheel. It was thoroughly unrecognizable and I had to extract it with a thorny blackberry leaf. Not to fall back on this as a reason that I got my ass kicked by the mountain, but it definitely didn’t help.

Part of me wants to never ever have anything to do with that evil climb again. The more stubborn, competitive part of me wants to go back and kick its ass this time. I definitely need to do some training before I get to that point and it won’t happen until the memory of the unpleasantness had faded a little bit.