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Steveyo's Unicycle Attempt

Gear Up For Lyme

Mount Equinox Uphill Bike Climb 2005

August 6, 2005

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5.2 miles, 3248 feet elevation gain

The Setup

Mt. Equinox was the second major hillclimb race I've done on a unicycle this summer, the first being Whiteface Mtn.. I might not have signed up had I known the level of effort involved in such a climb, but I registered for Equinox prior to my Whiteface Uphill Unicycle Epic Adventure.

The race director, Andy, was genuinely pleased to allow my entering the race on a unicycle, saying he'd been waiting for such a request. As the race date neared, however, I secretly considered skipping the race despite having paid and registered. I was plagued by doubt and fear.

Though Mt. Equinox is less distance than Whiteface, having nearly as much vertical gain means it's much steeper (12% grade vs. 8%). I was unsure of my capabilities on such a sustained angle. Also, due to a busy July, I rode far less mileage and did no real hill work compared with my preparation for Whiteface, so I was worried my training was inadequate.

To compensate for the steeper incline I opted to attempt Equinox on a unicycle with a 24 inch wheel, rather than the 29" beast I wrestled to the top of Whiteface. Of course I couldn't compensate for the lack of training, but I decided it was too wimpy to back out now.

On Friday night, my wife Rose and I dropped the kids at their grandparents' house and drove to a small motel in Arlington, VT, near the race. When I awoke at 5AM and drove up Route 7A to the Mt. Equinox Scenic View Drive Welcome Center to pick up my racer's packet, the weather was clear and cool. Buying a large coffee on the way back, I arrived at the motel, woke Rose and we considered our options. Since Rose wanted to be at the finish line, she needed to start up the mountain by 7:30AM, when they close the road to cars prior to the race. So, finding a diner nearby, we ordered up bacon and egg sandwiches. My stomach was jittery from pre-race nerves and the coffee and I could only force down half of mine. Then we sped to the race starting area and arrived just as they were closing the gates to cars. “Wait! One more car to go up please!” we yelled.

I hurriedly, (and rather immodestly), changed into my biking (err…unicycling) clothes and took my wheel and hydration pack out of the car. After blessing me with a good-luck kiss, Rose drove away up the mountain, the gates clanging shut ominously behind her.

I became acutely aware that I was surrounded by a pack of keyed-up cyclists, all eyeing me and my machine rather doubtfully. Some of them began circling, coming in close, testing my defenses. “Are you riding THAT thing in the race?” one asked. “Didn’t you forget your other wheel?” another inquired. My usual response “I don’t need the training wheel anymore” seemed to keep them at bay, but for how long?

Suddenly, a young couple on a bigger and stronger mount than all the others, a tandem, cut through their ranks and stopped next to me. Then a guy on a beach-bike joined us and now I and the other non-conformists had safety in numbers. The agitated cyclists began to calm down and some got downright friendly, still skeptical of my unicycle and the other contraptions, but ready to accept diversity in their race.

I saw many of the same riders from the Whiteface race, and was asked by many more if I was the same unicyclist they saw there. I now realize it’s largely the same group of endorphin addicts at all these northeast hill climbs.

The Race

At race time the weather was beautiful: low humidity, not too hot with just a few cottony clouds. As the gun went off, the first wave of racers took off like lightening, in hot pursuit of the $500 “fastest first mile” premium. The second wave soon followed and then the third wave, comprised of those Age 50 and up, plus Clydesdale, Filly, Tandem and Unicycle categories, got ready to start. Not wanting to impede anyone in case of a bungled free-mount, (mounting with no support), I lined up at the back of the pack. Our gun went off and I mounted up first try, a good omen. Wobbling off in last place, trying to be the first person to ever unicycle up Mt. Equinox, I felt, a bit awkwardly, like I was at the tail end of some insane uphill parade. I guess I was.

As we got underway, the first steep section reminded me of why I’d chosen my smaller unicycle for this climb. With my 29” uni, keeping my cadence high enough to maintain balance would have required too much power output for me to sustain for 5 miles up such an incline. On my 24” I was still working hard, but the effective “gear” is almost 20% lower and I was able to keep my pedals spinning fast enough to ride. During the first section, trying to find a good pace, I actually passed a couple bicyclists, but my thighs were starting to feel the familiar flame of lactic acid.

I began to contemplate a rest stop when I rounded a bend and saw a group of people cheering beside the road ahead. Reaching them, I saw this was the end of the first mile and a perfect spot for a break. I pulled over and sat on the guardrail, trying to catch my breath. I was relieved to have reached this point, proving to myself I could ascend the steepness of this mountain, and I was 20% done, too. Sipping from the water tube, I daydreamed about the mother of the NE hill climbs, Mt. Washington. Since it has a similar average grade, I now had a one mile hint of what that climb might be like, and it is a goal of mine to try it someday on one wheel. Of course, I learned later that the first mile of Equinox, with its 10% grade, is the least steep portion of the race, and it’s not as steep as Washington, but I didn’t know that then, and ignorance was bliss.

After my break I was in second-to-last place, but I could still see the riders in front of me and I hopped on and began chasing them. Right away I realized they were still within view only because the hill steepened sharply here and they were now grinding away at a slower speed. I again managed to pass a couple riders, but now the mountain was flexing its muscles, challenging us with a 13% grade in the second mile. The fatigue and burn in my quads slowed my cadence past my balancing ability after only a half mile this time, and I watched the few remaining cyclists pass me by again as I sat and recouped my strength.

This steep stuff was serious work. When I finally reached the 2 mile mark, I took yet another break. With this increased workload, I was starting to feel lousy, digestion-wise. At this point one of the “sag wagons”, vehicles sweeping for riders who had had enough, happened by and the driver asked how I was doing. “Fine”, I lied. I wasn’t giving up that easy. In retrospect, I’m glad he took me at my word, but I must have had a nasty green complexion at that moment.

I made it to the short downhill section, though this is no boon for a unicyclist. Not having the ability to coast, I had to use energy slowing myself by applying pressure back against the pedals. It was a relief to use different muscles but immediately after the down is a really steep uphill section. Toiling up this section, my stomach got worse and I stopped and pitched my breakfast into the bushes. Great, I thought, I’d probably quit and take the sag wagon, but he’s above me now. Unbeknownst to me, and to the race organizers’ credit, there would have been another one along to pick me up had I just waited there.

My belly immediately felt much better, however. If it got bad again I could always quit later, but I figured I might as well keep going, though I promised myself I’d rest whenever I felt like it, and not push too hard. The third mile marker meant I was well over halfway there, but the grade there steepens even more to 16% and I was resting at least every quarter mile. Heaving like a locomotive after battling that brutally steep section I approached a turn with a minivan parked in the pullout area.

There waited two angels of mercy with bottles of cold water, heartwarming encouragement, and tales of a wonderful place not far ahead. A beautiful place among the peaks they spoke of, with sunlight, flowers, a clear view of mountains unending, and a merciful, precious section of flat road. There, the legends said, a unicyclist of pure heart may float forward on the energy rising from the monastery in the valley far below.

Thanking them for the refreshment and their counsel, I set off with renewed vigor in search of the magical land called the “Saddle”. My labor and pain to reach this place was not in vain. The saddle was a gorgeous plateau, an arcing ridgeline blanketed with alpine grasses and on this perfectly dry summer day, the view was incredible. Maybe it was trick of the hill or maybe it was the monastery, but my unicycle crossed the saddle by itself, with no effort from me. When I thought about how I’d gotten to that spot, I realized this was a place and a moment to rival the best outdoor experiences of my life.

Departing the saddle, the magic faded like a dream and my legs and lungs immediately began objecting to the angle of this last, steepest section of the course. At this point I was picking points not too far ahead and seeing if I could make it that far. The angle was ridiculous for much of the last mile. I have a dim memory of receiving another cold bottle of water from my two guardian angels in the minivan when I stopped one time in there. There was also an EMT-type guy on a motorcycle chatting with us and then he backed me up the rest of the ride, even radioing up to the finish line that I was coming, I was going to make it. I was glad one of us was confident.

Leaning on the seat sucking wind during a rest-stop. photo by Rose Duhan

I knew I was close when I rounded a turn and saw two tiny figures standing atop the next turn. Hearing a distinctive “Woo-hoo!”, I knew one of the people was my wife, Rose. I raised my arm to show I heard her, but no way did I have the wind to shout back up to her. I couldn’t make it all the way up to where they were standing in one go, but reached it on the second try. As I breathed hard and drank water, Rose told me I’d see the finish line around the next bend, but then she laughed and said wait, the next two bends, and I wasn’t falling for that old gag. I could hear noise and a loudspeaker at the summit so I knew I was close.

Heading into the final turns. photo by Rose Duhan

The exertion required between there and the finish line was vast, and I hesitate to darken the light of day to speak of it. There was a cursed place, a place with two quick turns where the hill ahead seemed to rise almost as a wall. After scorching my thighs on the 0.07 mile long section that lays claim to 28% grade, I was thinking of resting when I turned the last corner and saw the finish line. If no one was watching that last stretch I would have stopped once or twice, but people were watching now, a lot of them.

Still far away, I heard on the loudspeaker “*(static)*unicyclist*(more static)*Steve Relles*”, which was followed by wild cheering. By this point I’d removed my fogged-up glasses, so I squinted just to make sure the banner up near the crowd said “Finish”. It did. Now I was passing cyclists changing clothes and loading bikes onto their cars parked along the road, all urging me onward. Lots of people up at the finish were yelling “Go Steve!” because the guy on the loudspeaker had said my name, which was sort of surreal.

By the time I reached the finish there were so many people packed around the line I could barely cross it. I ridden far longer, from before those steep turns, than my body had wanted. When I crossed the finish line I dismounted without a single extra pedal and just stood gasping air for a long time. Andy’s lovely wife and race co-director, Stephanie, led me slowly through the crowd from the finish line to the guy who collects the tag off the race bibs. People, most of whom had just ridden this thing themselves, kept stopping us, clapping me on the back, congratulating me, and shaking my hand. Then (I’m sure it was coincidence) we ran into the medical folks, who politely asked if I felt alright. I said, yes, but I’d like some Gatorade. Then Stephanie took me to the drink table and left me in the capable hands of Rose, who, it turned out, had jogged up the whole last section behind me.

My finishing time was 1:50:17, just a little under my time for the Whiteface race. Though this race was shorter, this shows it's really the vertical gain that determines how long these hill climbs take. It was an awesome experience, but now I’m worried that I’m starting to like hill climbing.

	Grimacing across the line. photo by Lee Krohn
	Tired but happy at the end. photo by Rose Duhan
	Newsflash: Only unicyclist wins division! photo by Rose Duhan

Steve R. aka Steveyo

Questions - email steveyo(a*t)nycap(d*t)rr(d*t)com

LINKS

Back to Steveyo's unicycle race write-ups page.

A photo album of my ride.

Gear Up For Lyme race homepage

NE uphill riding resource, with stats and graphs.

Whiteface Mtn. Uphill race home page..