by David Goldman
We were panicked. The Kanc was two days away and we were going to be riding a never-ending climb with bikes geared to ride over flat land. We lived in Illinois and bikes purchased there came with gears meant for little or no climbing. Here’s a bike lesson 101: Low gears allow easier pedaling but give you less distance per pedal stroke. High gears mean greater tension but also greater distance per pedal revolution. Illinois has the terrain of a sheet of paper so our bikes came without the low gears we would need in two days. There was always the option of riding up the mountain in the SAG (support & gear) car, but we didn’t fly all the way out here with our bikes to take a car ride up the hard parts. We wanted to experience the whole thing. We asked the mechanic what we could do. He said the next day’s ride ended in North Conway, NH. and there was probably a bike shop in town. Maybe they’d have the proper gear sets. We had hope. All we had to do was make it to North Conway.
The next day we started out bright and early once again. It was a beautiful ride that day. North Conway is located in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Each road is more scenic than the last. Too bad we didn’t see any of it. It seemed like the entire day was spent riding uphill. We couldn’t look at the scenery because we were looking at the road either below us or in front of us and willing ourselves on. We’d switch from sitting on the saddle and pedaling, to standing and pedaling. We’d try to avoid looking at our speedometers which would say we were moving at 2.8 miles per hour, drop down to 1.6 mph, and then rocket up to 4.0 mph. We were constantly riding in our lowest gear and it was nowhere near low enough. I tried to tell myself to look around at how beautiful everything was, but it was pointless. All I could concentrate on was pedaling up the road one pedal stroke at a time.
That day we learned the meaning of a false flat – a road that appears flat but is in fact sloping ever upward. Then there was the woman who, each time we got to the base of a climb would shout out, “lift!” to let us all know we would be climbing again. Chris and I argued over who would have the honor of killing her that night.
Finally we arrived in North Conway. We were staying in a hotel that night and as soon as we got to the room, I got out the phone book and found the bike shop. I called and told them what we needed based on the specifications the mechanic gave us. Luck was on our side. They had two in stock. The bike shop was a few miles into town and I told Chris I’d ride there, get them, and bring them back. Then we gave our bikes and our new low gear sets to the mechanic so he’d have us ready for the next morning, a day that would begin with The Kanc.
I was never a breakfast person and I don’t usually eat until lunch. I learned quickly though on this trip that I had to eat breakfast. You really do equate food with fuel on a ride like this. No food means no fuel and a miserable ride. Chris and I decided we wanted to get an early start that day. On this tour all the riders had their own set of directions and were encouraged to do each day’s ride at their own pace. By now everyone on the ride referred to us as the Flatlanders. It was our name. Being the Flatlanders, we decided to get an extra early start on the day. We got up, ate and left the hotel. We saw the other people in our group just coming down to eat when we left.
It was an easy ride to the start of The Kanc, about five miles of mostly forested road. We arrived at the covered bridge which signified the beginning of The Kanc.
We rode through the covered bridge and looked down at the Swift River below us. When we emerged, we started our ascent. At first it seemed reasonable. After all, we now had the proper gear sets so we should have a good chance of making it.
Within about three miles we were both in our lowest gear and struggling. Even though we had ridden about 10 miles, it really wasn’t much of a warm up. Plus, it was still very early and quite chilly. Chris said he brought a tube of Ben-Gay. He thought we could put it on our legs to warm them up. I was willing to try anything, so we pulled over and rubbed Ben-Gay into our already weary legs. We got back on our saddles and started riding again. “I really think this is helping,” I told Chris. Within half a mile we decided we needed more Ben Gay.
We went on like that until the tube was empty. Then, we were on our own with no chemical aids and no convenient excuses to get off our bikes.
In the past three days of riding up various hill and mountain roads we always knew that the climb would break or even go slightly downhill to give us a momentary reprieve. So you could set a goal – there was almost always an end or at least a momentary end in sight. Just make it up to the top of this climb and you can coast or pedal easily for a while. It doesn’t work that way with The Kanc. Once you start going up there are no respites in sight. All you can see is the road ahead of you angling ever upward. It goes up and up and up until it reaches a bend. You go around that bend and you see more of the same. Steady climbing. No flats, no downhills. Just up. It tires you both physically and mentally. You look at your odometer and are shocked to see that all that pedaling netted you four tenths of a mile. You try not to remind yourself that this climb is 34.5 miles longs. The more you try to stifle that thought, the more prevalent it becomes.
We struggled on. We’d encourage each other with, “you’re doing good” in order to fool ourselves into thinking we were. We started setting goals for ourselves. “Okay, see that sign way up there? Let’s make it to there and we’ll stop for a break.” We continued like that and we kept making the landmarks closer and closer. It finally got to the point where we’d go from telephone pole to telephone pole and have to take a break. “Who thought this would be fun?” we asked ourselves. “It’s supposed to be a vacation. This is the hardest I’ve worked at anything in years!” We talked, coaxed, and insulted ourselves slowly up the mountain. There were times when our bikes were moving at 1 mile per hour. A brisk walk is about 3 miles an hour. We considered walking our bikes up. We thought it would be faster. But we decided against it. We came here to ride and we were determined to ride all the way up The Kanc.
After countless hours, we came around a bend and we saw it. The scenic overlook at the top, which signaled we had finally made it, and not a moment too soon.
We pulled into the picnic area there and saw quite a few people from our group. “About time you made it!” was what we were greeted with. Yeah, about time we made it. But here’s the thing, not one of these people passed us on our way up. We were positive of this because we talked about it often. In fact, nobody passed us. All these other New Englanders who had dubbed us Flatlanders had taken a ride up in the SAG car.!! And we’re supposed to be the Flatlanders? This gave the two of us a lot of confidence. We were definitely the most inexperienced climbers in this tour and if we could make it up The Kanc, we could handle anything.
My blood sugars had been crazy that day -- constantly up and down. But I had made it up this damned mountain.
Too bad we didn’t know the worst was yet to come.
End part two
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