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Steveyo's Unicycle Attempt
Whiteface Mountain Uphill Bike Race
June 11, 2005
“It’s 8 miles, but there’s only one hill.”
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The Setup
I've biked all my life, but never for more than exercise. I bought an inexpensive unicycle in July04, taught myself to ride, and then used it for exercise by riding a few miles. After a while, I decided I was sticking with this sport, and bought myself a 2005 model, 29 inch wheel Kris Holm KH29XC, a high-quality, aluminum "mountain unicycle" or "MUni".
I got interested in hillclimbing because it's the only kind of bike race where a unicyclist with limited talent can even remotely keep up with bikes. There are a few highly skilled unicyclists who finish far from last in actual mountain bike races on their "MUnis", but I ain't one of'em.
I was looking forward to this race for at least four or five months. I signed up after emailing the race director, asking permission to enter as a unicyclist. I'd been training, though mostly doing only rolling hills around Delmar, NY. I'd also gone to Thacher Park and ridden up from the base to the summit on two occasions, and a double version of that ride one other time. On reflection, I should have done much more of this type of training, rather than all those pleasant, hilly farm roads.
The weekend morphed into a family gathering as my brother-in-law Andrew, and then my wife, Rose, on race morning, decided to do the running race up Whiteface Mountain at 8AM on the same morning as the bike race, which began at 5:30PM. My sis Gail and Andrew and 3 kids and Rose and I and our 2 kids figured to make a weekend of it by renting a condo in Lake Placid (Wilmington, actually). My parents flew in from Florida to attend the spectacle, too, making it eleven people at the condo.
The Race
The day was unseasonably warm - 90f degrees (32c), 100% humidity, and the afternoon sun was still beating down viciously when the race began at 5:30PM. I rode the mile down the hill from our condo to the race and tooled around the starting area for a while, fielding many unicycle-related questions and trading good-natured banter with the congregating bicyclists. I finished my bottle of Gatorade before I even lined up for the start.
Bicyclist 1: "You're not riding that thing up there, are you?"
me: "I'm gonna try."
Bicyclist 2: "You're missing a wheel, heh heh!"
me: "I don't need the training wheel anymore."
There were four waves of starts, five minutes apart, separated by age-group 20-29, 30-39, etc. Although 42 years old, I, the only unicyclist, was to start, along with the lone tandem entry, in the front group. I intended to be at the back of my wave, but as the start signal was given, a rider came around me from behind and unknowingly spoiled my first free-mount attempt. Some of the riders and onlookers gave an little gasp, but as the rest of the front wave pedaled away, my second mount succeeded and was followed by a big cheer as I started my quest to be the first unicyclist to climb Whiteface Mountain. (caveat: If anyone knows someone who has done it “unofficially” (not in the race) then please let me know, and I’ll amend this.)
Though I didn't know it at the time, the first 3 miles on route 431 are some of the steepest, 8-9% continuous grade. They also happened to be shadeless, and the sun was baking racers’ faces and bodies relentlessly. Within a dishearteningly few minutes my upper quads started that familiar burning that comes from having to mash down hard on every pedal stroke, and as my thigh pain intensified I had the sinking feeling that there was no way I would be able to reach the 3 mile marker, let alone all 8 miles to the peak 3500 feet above.
The only break in the searing heat and pain during this hottest portion of the race came from slightly cooler, mist-laden air pouring off little waterfalls I passed now and then. It was like riding past an open refrigerator door and felt quite welcome, but each such oasis lasted only a second, a quick tease replaced immediately by the crushing heat again. I had to slacken my pace or I’d never make it.
A bicyclist can downshift, but my only way of slowing down was to pedal more slowly or get a smaller wheeled unicycle. As I made a concerted effort to lower my cadence, already much slower than that of all the spinning cyclists, I had my first of many unplanned dismounts. As long as I was off the uni, I figured I may as well catch my breath and rest my aching quads for a minute. As I sat there recouping my strength the second wave of cyclists passed by, many of them grunting encouraging grunts at me though their own hazes of pain.
Being less than expert on the uni, I'm none too good at free-mounting facing uphill, so my plan for remounting, should the need arise, as it always does, was to mount facing across the hill, and turn upwards. Waiting for a break in the cyclists, I got back on the one-wheeled horse and turned uphill to face my demons.
At 3 miles, the course turns past a toll gate which marks the beginning of Whiteface Memorial Highway, the 5 mile long toll road to the peak. Also on this first section sits the closed-for-the-season "Santa’s Workshop" amusement park with empty parking lot and fading paint. We had seen it that morning when we drove up to retrieve Rose and Andy after the running race, and I incorrectly remembered it as being right near the toll gate, which it is at 55 mph.
When I reached the ghostly place, in the most anaerobic and muscularly sore condition I may have ever been, the line of riders and road snaked up and around the long hill ahead with nary a toll booth in sight. In my agony and exercise-induced fever, "Santa’s Workshop" silently shrieked at me of my own folly. I half planned to stop when I reached the toll road’s base and half hoped for an equipment failure to stop me. Then I could be satisfied with a hard ride and consolations instead of congratulations.
Finally, after a couple more dismounts to rest, the toll booths came into view with a fair number of spectators gathered about. While I was still fairly positive I’d never manage the whole race course, I had now reached the first big milestone, and I’d chewed up a significant portion of the distance and vertical gain – not half way, but still a good chunk. That knowledge and the crowd, with their looks of disbelief and enthusiastic cheers, urged me onward, and pedaling through the tollgate, I decided to shoot for 4 miles and just see what happens.
A couple of things happened. First, the sun went behind a big afternoon thunderhead (these clouds play a role later in the story) and all of a sudden the heat became closer to what one might term bearable. Also, the road’s slope eased off a bit to a 6-7% grade. I couldn’t rest, but I found I could pedal fast enough to maintain balance with maybe only 80% of the searing level of thigh pain I’d experienced earlier. I got into a maintainable rhythm for the first time in the race, and it occurred to me that there might be a glimmer of a hint of a chance that I might climb the whole damn thing.
Nearing mile 4, I rounded a long bend and saw my dad, Howie, and brother-in-law, Andy, clapping and waving insanely at me from a pullout area in the road. Now the rules said no cars were allowed on the road during the race, but they had stopped partway thinking I would need more water. Seeing them and the car, I realized I had my out. I’d done almost half of this grueling thing and here was my rest, my deliverance, throw the uni in the trunk and it’s beer-thirty.
My dad could see in my face how hurting I was, and he told me “You know you can stop if you want, you’ve already won, already did something no else here could do.” Now that I’m a dad, I realize that a dad’s worst thing is to see his child in pain, even an adult child.
I sat there on the back of the car, deciding whether to push on, internally debating Dad’s advice, my own pain, my own desire to finish what I’d started. What finally tipped the scale may have been that, as the first and only unicyclist in this race, I was kind of representing our demographic. I wanted to post a unicyclist time in Whiteface Mountain’s books. After a big drink of water and an ice pack on my forehead for a minute, I felt a bit of energy returning to my legs and I knew I could still pedal. My support team said they’d drive up a mile and wait again, and again I jumped on my uni, pedaled across the road and turned uphill.
At some point around the 4 mile marker there was a sign with the elevation of 3300-something feet and a quick calculation, which took my mind off my legs, showed I had done about half the elevation, and half the distance. The road starts steepening here to 10% grade and I realized if I could manage to balance with a slower cadence I might be able to hang on for the duration. I knew I could bail at the car the next place it was waiting, but I started turning over in my mind how awesome it would be to finish.
After 4 miles the sky grew quite dark, cooling things off a bit more. It was still hot and humid, but now a slight breeze and the dark shade under the thick clouds gave me the insane notion that I could do it. An awesome view to the Northwest could be glimpsed though openings in the trees by the road side, and this provided a welcome distraction. Also, there was now thunder in the clouds off to my right and I thought about that new danger if only to let my mind wander a bit.
I was having a terrible time whenever the road banked around a turn, my lack of skill showing. A unicycle, especially with a slick road tire, just doesn’t track a straight line on a side hill like its two wheeled cousins. Obviously I had no speed to carry me around these banked turns and the road was tipped steeply sideways on these sections, especially the edges. To manage these side hills, I would cross to whichever shoulder was on the uphill side of the banked turn, the least tilted side, but that required pedaling up the steepest pitch in the road, up the bank to the top of the turn.
Pulling on the unicycle’s front seat handle gives leverage to push down on the pedals and allows the climbing of such steep surfaces, but it scorched my already screaming thighs. I came off the uni on or just after several of these banked road crossings. Remounting on these curves was difficult, too, as I’d invariably mount and flail all the way down the curve’s bank to the low side and have to try to climb back up it to ride on the top, less-tilted side again.
Once I was on the least-tilted side, usually still quite tilted, I had to lean way over to the uphill side, pushing more on the uphill leg and absolutely flooding it with lactic acid. I just mashed and mashed through it, until the road flattened, and then banked the other way so the torture could swap to the alternate leg.
After this point, for most of the rest of the course, I was riding near a couple of bikers, one a woman, Loretta, with a big knee brace, and a man, Tom who appeared to be her significant other, riding with her. I’d ride past them slowly, but they’d pass me every time I fell or stopped to rest. Tom, who’d done the race before, told me we were approaching the upper switchbacks, the easiest part of the race. This was nice to hear and really made me believe I could finish after all.
Right at the mile 5 marker there’s a spot where we could look directly up at the finish area of the race, still over a thousand feet vertically above us. This point was directly under the center of three miles of switchbacks which lay between us and the end of the race. It was great to finally be able to see our goal, but from that angle, directly below the top, it looked impossibly high. I now became so determined to ride all the way that I rode past my waiting support crew without stopping and told them to meet me at the top.
At about this point, some of the riders who’d finished were starting to descend (many opted not to ride down due to the weather). As these cyclists rocketed past, upon seeing the "unicycle guy" still climbing, they let out huge roars of encouragement, surprised to see that I’d made it so far. I’d hear the loud flapping of their windbreakers as they flew by with Doppler-shifted bellows of “YOU’RE AWESOME DUDE” and “ALMOST THERE”. Needless to say, this got me more and more stoked that I really was going to make it.
I reached the far right side below the first 180 degree switchback turn and to my delight, the angle eased off a bit to maybe 6% grade or so. I became aware that the thunder was all around us and we began to see flashes of lightening off to our left, fairly close by. At this point, I could have hunkered down to wait for the storm to subside, which may have taken hours, walk my uni up to the top, or just keep riding. I risked the ride, rationalizing that I was less conductive with my rubber wheel touching the ground than I’d be if I was walking, and my two companions were feeling the same way. I began to hear cheering from the finish line high above as the folks up there had a clear view of the road and we few riders left on the course.
At some point between the two 180 degree switchbacks, I passed the 6 mile marker without seeing it, and then, nearing the last turn, I passed the 7 mile marker. I felt like I’d been handed a free mile of progress. From then on I concentrated on riding on the lower side of the road as this last turn is particularly exposed on the summit ridge. Though the lower side was more tilted, at this point I was watching lightening strikes to my left and BELOW me and thought I should stay as low as possible. The pedal-while-leaning approach again took its toll and I had a few unplanned dismounts and remounts rounding the final bend. Here's where I finally dropped off the back of the "pack" of cyclists, in this case a pack of two, Loretta and Tom.
As I rounded the bend and looked up the half mile or so home stretch, I saw a long line of cars awaiting the opening of the road at the end of race so they could drive down. Those cars were full of riders who’d just ridden this demanding race and their companions, all of whom knew there was a unicyclist coming up the road, and as soon as they saw me they went crazy! Car horns started honking and what seemed like hundreds of people were hanging out the windows and jumping out of all those cars bellowing at me “You’re the winner!” and “You’re awesome, dude!”, and generally yelling their athletic hearts out about how psyched they were to see me make it.
My eyes teared up, the pain in my legs evaporated, and my 2005 Kris Holm KH29XC Unicycle just glided serenely, effortlessly, up into the smoothly paved summit parking lot. As I passed the closest few cars I raised up both arms, almost fell, then did it again. Now all the cars in the line could see me and the noise grew ten-fold into a deafening honking and screaming. I felt like Rocky (in Rocky 1, of course).
The rock walls on this home stretch were pretty high, lowering my lightening anxiety, and the right side of the road still rather sideways tilted. My legs were hammered from the last side hill effort, so I zigged through the stopped cars to the left side of the road where it was still uphill, but pretty flat side-to-side.
Just then a woman named Diana, aka Palomino Filly, who I’d met earlier in the day, came jogging over to me and told me that the finish chute was back on the right side, and that I needed to swerve back over there. So I cut back through the parked cars back to the right side of the road as the din seemed only to increase. As soon as I got back onto the right side, through my tear-blurred, endorphin-addled haze, I saw bright red lights right up in front of me in the race lane.
The lights confused me for an instant, and then I realized they were numbers, and they were ticking, and it was a big clock and it was THE clock and then this must be the Finish Line, The End and that means I’ve finished. I don’t have to say how far I rode before quitting, and this was it! I was DONE!
I then focused on what the numbers said and they said 1:59:10, 1:59:11…and I leaned forward and cranked through the last few feet for a time of 1:59:14. I jumped down and clumsily hoisted my trusty steed over my head and let out a choked-up woohoo, then lifted it higher, cleared my throat and let out another whoop that might’ve been heard back in Albany, had the surrounding honking and yelling not drowned me out.
My original goal had been to finish in under two hours, simply because the race is only timed for two hours and I wanted an official time. I wanted to make the “time to beat”, but that was before I had any idea how hard this ride would turn out to be. My goal, after the first couple miles, was to make it to Santa’s Workshop, then to the 3 mile point, and so on.
If I ever do anything like this again I’ll try it on a smaller wheel, because my cadence was less than 50 rpm, and cyclists’ comfortable uphill cadences are much faster, 70 rpm and up. I saw some bike riders with gears so low they appeared to be pedaling more than twice my rate. I’ll also ride more and bigger hills while training.
It would also help to be a more skilled rider, as I’m sure that flailing ones arms like a turbocharged windmill is not efficient. I don’t flail all the time, but at times it probably looked to the cyclists passing me like I was fighting with an invisible assailant.
After grabbing a banana and a juice box from the post-race snack table, my dad took the uni, and we started walking back to the car, getting stopped by people congratulating me, shaking my hand, clapping me on the back. One guy handed me a cold beer, and then I ran into Loretta and Tom, the couple who I rode with for a while and Loretta hugged me and Tom shook my hand vigorously and we all exchanged congratulations. I’m still high from the whole thing.
My family’s reception at the condo was almost as loud as the one at the summit, with my Mom and Dad, Gail, Andy, Adam, Henry, Samantha, Monya, Denali and Rose all clapping when we arrived. After that I cracked open another beer, took a shower, kissed the kids goodnight and headed down to the bike race party.
The prizes were doled out but, unfortunately, there were no prizes in the unicycle category. That is until my wife graciously yelled out “WHAT ABOUT THE OTHER CATEGORIES? WHAT ABOUT UNICYCLES?” I then got my last good crowd cheer of this most amazing day. We chatted with people and I got forced to drink a couple shots of hideously sweet Jagermeister and Rose drove us back to our condo instead of me.
Nothing I’ve ever done was that intense for that long. It’s the hardest physical thing I’ve ever done, and I've always been an pretty active guy. A distant second for me is a 2-on-2 version of ultimate Frisbee called “Ironman” which is incredibly exhausting, but lasts for only two five-minute halves, and so pales in comparison.
It’s sobering that at least one person has ridden a unicycle up Mt. Washington, which is 4727 vertical feet in about the same distance, and thus averages 12% grade, steeper than any portion of the Whiteface Race. Three more unicyclists will attempt Washington later this summer. I wish them luck, and advise them against a slow cadence, what the bike racers call “mashing”. As I'm sure they all know, it cooks the thighs. They’re all far more skilled riders than I am and I have confidence that will carry them up that more difficult climb, but it’s GONNA BE REALLY HARD. They’re nuts, but obviously it takes one to know one.
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Steve R. aka Steveyo
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The race: 8.0 miles, 3522 vertical feet, 1073.5 vertical meters
Climbing starts off with about 8-9% grade for first three miles. It flattens some around the toll booth area, then resumes at 10% average grade for the next three miles before tapering off again. The minimum grade is reported to be 6% after the first hairpin turn around mile six.
RPM calculations:
8 miles * 5280 ft/mi * 12 in/ft = 506880 inches in race
The wheel:
29 inch diameter * 3.1415 (pi) = 91 inches per wheel rev.
506880 inches in race / 91 inches per rev = 5570 wheel revolutions in race (assuming I went perfectly straight, which I didn’t)
5570 revs / 119.233 minutes = 46.7 revs per minute UGH!! TOO SLOW!
Speed:
8 miles in almost exactly 2 hours. It’s too depressing to mention, so you figure it out.
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Questions - email steveyo(a*t)nycap(d*t)rr(d*t)com
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Some relevant links:
Back to Steveyo's unicycle race write-ups page.
NE uphill riding resource, with stats and graphs.