Head for the hills

Posted by Neil on 21/07/2009 under training | Be the First to Comment

When I used to cycle a lot, about 10 years ago I was no lover of hills. I just used to try to avoid them because I used to find them so hard. Thinking about it now, I realise that I always used to attack them, honking up them, standing on the pedals like I was some kind of road racer. I would try to beat them with the inevitable consequence that they would beat me. I would start off well but slowly grind to a halt, thighs on fire. I wasn’t fit enough to climb that way and I didn’t have suitable gearing for a slow steady accent.

When I would read about other cyclists going on tours through Yorkshire or the lakes, it was a mystery to me how they could enjoy touring in such hilly geography. How could they take on such a landscape and enjoy it so much?

I now realise two things; they had suitable gearing and they took it steady. With my mountain bike I now have the right gearing and with my attitude to cycling changing from speeding to touring and enjoying the journey, I think I have a better approach.

Nevertheless, climbing hills has been still niggeling me; at the back of my mind doubts lurked. Was it something in my physiology that meant that climbing was always going to make touring a misery?

Since I started cycling again most miles have been on flat roads. I felt it was time to try my newly configured MTB/Tourer on the hills. I decided to go to a very steep hill that is close to my home. I don’t know what it’s official gradient is but it is respectably steep, as steep as most routes I fancy tackling in the Lakes or Yorkshire. I had my panniers on with some ‘ballast’ to simulate touring conditions.

I slowly cranked my way up the hill, dropping gears one by one, keeping the caddence up. The forward motion of the bike slowed to the same speed as a person walking, but I carried on. My heart rate and breathing speeded up but not to the point that I couldn’t hold a conversation. I proved this when a Lycra clad elder statesman of the road racing persuasion slowly creaked past me. Sweating heavily and standing on his pedals, he croaked out ‘get out of that granny ring’. I suggested he tried climbing with my panniers on his bike but got no reply. Off he went and I plodded on happily enjoying the view. I stopped for about 30 seconds for a drink but carried on to the top.