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A little over 400 cyclists started Tour das Hugel 2009 from Zilker Park, but less than half of them would finish the entire 110 mile event. Those that did manage to finish could go home feeling proud of their accomplishment, as TdH took in the steepest and tallest hills in Austin, TX. Here is a short list of some of the steeper roads and grades of each ascent...
Westlake Dr. to Top of 360 3-4% 360 Bridge Base up to Westlake Dr. 5-6% Bee Caves Hills (2244) 5-6% Oasis Bluff Dr. 7-10% 360 Hill going up to 2244 Exit 6-7% McNeil Drive (Backside near Old Spicewood) 10% Comanche Trail (First leg) 3-15% Comanche Trail (Second leg) 3-15% Toro Canyon Dr. 7-12% Westlake Dr. 7-10% 2222 Hill to 620 10% Red Bud Trail 10-17% Far West Blvd. (Backside) 13% Bluegrass Dr. 10-15% Lost Creek Blvd. 10-15% Courtyard Drive 10-19% 15% first leg, 10% second leg, 19% last leg Bullick Hollow from Oasis Bluff to 620 15% Jester Blvd. 15% Beauford Dr. 15-19%
The beautiful scenery and weather definitely helped get us through the event; there were many times the climbs lead to gorgeous overlooks that were spoiled only by the now sprawling neighborhoods that are taking over the central Texas hill country.
The first portion of TdH was a 38 mile loop that took in the first few difficult climbs… Loop 360 - 6 miles Westlake - 8 Toro Canyon - 10 The High Rd - 12 Terrace Mtn - 16 River Hills - 26 Barton Creek - 29 Lost Creek - 34 Zilker Park - 38 miles
…before returning to Zilker Park for a resupply before starting lap two. Many of the riders who went out on a fast pace for the first lap were finished and did not even attempt to start the second lap. Going out on lap two we were faced with the following climbs:
Mt. Bonnell - 5 miles Mesa - 7 Smokey Valley - 11 Blue Grass - 15 Beauford - 22 Courtyard - 24 River Place - 30 Bullick Hollow - 36 Mansfield Dam - 40 620 - 43 Big View - 52 Jester - 56 Loop 360 - 65 Finish at Zilker Park - 71 miles (110 total)
This was, easily, the most pain and suffering I have ever experience on a bicycle. While I would have loved to have spun my way up many of the climbs, my cadence fell below 65rpm on numerous climbs and it required all of my strength to keep pulling through. Add to that a heart rate spiking to 200bpm and many of the climbs that leveled briefly from 15% to a 10% grade felt like rests. In the end I completed the entire ride without ever having to walk the bike or stop in the middle of a climb. Given the number of people that did have to walk up many of the steepest ascents, I feel proud to have completed Hugel in the clips! It hurt, I felt pain in muscles I didn’t know existed, but the sense of accomplishment at the finish was phenomenal.
We’re cruising through North Austin, Round Rock if you want to be technical about it, on a road called FM620. This road seems like it was hewn from the hillside for the purpose of training cyclists through a long series of endless hill climbs. Complete with a beautifully wide shoulder and just enough traffic to make things interesting, the road is consistently populated by tri-athletes –their aero bar widgetry protruding like the antler of some hideous, Technicolor elk- and endeavoring roadies seeking what seems to be mile after mile of intense punishment (the likes of which I have not seen since being expelled from Catholic School after what –due to legal and ethical restrictions– I can now only refer to as, “the incident”).
Every time we make the road trip down to Austin, which occurs roughly twice a month, I tell my wife Betty that “next time I’m bringing the Ridley.” On our last visit I happened to meet a pair of said Technicolor Elk at a small, hidden, local hang out that appears to be named after the swashbuckling star of BattleStar Galactica (the first version that is, the new one just kills the whole idea of the character by way of a sex change). Both riders were full of information and produced a map showing some of their “more common Sunday morning training rides”, the shortest of which covered FM620 in a 65 mile loop. The lengthier portions wrapped off the back of the makeshift map and included little arrows and notations like “128 mile short loop” and other numbers I would never associate with a bicycle, forcing me to point out that I raced track. As such, this suggested in itself that I was feebly incapable of traveling more than a few miles without a rather lengthy break for chatter about rollers and other useful, barbaric devices.
In the course of conversation I mentioned the one rider’s rig, which featured an interesting set of Power Cranks. I encourage you to Google this fascinating device, as it allows a cyclist to pedal each leg independently of the other. Easily qualifying as barbaric, I’m sure this set-up comes in handy when you want to pedal in circles. So far, however, my mind is incapable of determining how you might keep track of which leg is doing what; much the same way I cannot seem to accomplish the “pat your head and rub your stomach” routine without giving up -completely confused- and resort to mindless activities such as reliving the last episode of Metalocalypse.
All of this took place as we cruised westward toward 71 and our ultimate destination, a great crag for rock climbing known as Reimer’s Ranch. At the end of every cycling season I find myself in need of rest, but still desiring to endeavor in some form of physical pain and exhaustion. Fortunately, my wife Betty focuses the bulk of her year, particularly during the winter months, on rock climbing. What, you might think, does this have to do with bicycles? First of all, I am told that Reimer’s Ranch does have some fantastic mountain biking trails, but I wouldn’t know that first hand. Secondly, training in a sport that rewards accurate movement, problem solving, balance and core strength can only serve as a plus once I start my 2009 season. My wife and I rarely consult the guide book for grades of difficulty as a means of selecting routes, and depend instead on what has an aesthetic appeal. We’ve each selected a handful of project routes that require intense training away from the crag and provide us with distinct goals while training at the gym or in the apartment. For what it is worth, my wife has selected a climb with a much cooler and intense name than my own project. It is also difficult in a freak-of-nature-hard sort of way.
Scorpion Child is a wicked climb that starts with a perfectly horizontal roof of some measure, before launching skyward on holds that appear to be both bulbous and slick, or just large enough to grip with half of the first pad of your fingers. The aforementioned roof section has a single visible hold, an oddly shaped pocket that is just large enough to allow three fingers inside. Aside from that, the rest of the “holds” are more easily equated to the pull tabs on 80’s soda cans. She describes the planned movement to me in fine detail, and as such I believe in her ability to eventually send the route.
By focusing on a single climb as a goal, she is able to push the rest of her climbing to incredible levels through intense training and effort. She’s stronger than I’ve ever seen her before and climbing complex routes with a grace and affinity that only someone with her experience can allow. In the process she has also surrounded herself with other climbers who can help her train, motivate her while working their own projects and provide invaluable critique of her technique. In the process of seeing all of this I learned that when my legs have gotten enough rest and my season is ready to begin in earnest, a lofty goal must be set.
To this end my great friend and training goon, Will Swetnam, and I have nearly decided that riding 200 miles from Seattle to Portland seems like a really good idea. To make it more interesting, we’ve decided that the single day option really is the only way to go. Quite how we’ll train for this I do not know, but I figure it will require a few trips to Austin to get crushed by FM620’s regulars and more than a few miles being pulled, pushed and stoked as we fight to increase our endurance and stay on the bike for additional hours of mileage. The plan also includes training and racing at The Superdrome to increase power, cadence and for no other reason than to have fun. In the meantime, we’ll continue training in the gym, increasing core strength and training for trips to Reimer’s and Enchanted Rock to work projects. I am hopeful that this intense training will also translate well to the bicycle, but only time will tell.
I awaken slowly as rays of sun pierce the tent and highlight in little rainbows on the dew that has collected on the windows. Within moments I am sitting bolt upright and wiping at the corners of my eyes to clear away the long night listening to the drunken exploits of some campers down by the shore. I clear the fog from my slept-in contacts just in time to see that I have awoken exactly one hour later than I had planned, and precisely 45 minutes before the start of my very first road race.
After a brief moment to make certain I am dressed, I emerge from the tent to find our camping spot surrounded by cars, bikes and people. People who are already awake and warming up. I am not warming up; in fact I am not warm at all. While my fiancé sleeps soundly in the tent I forage in the trunk for my gear and head for registration. A line that appears to stretch longer than my start time looms in front of me, but I wade through the crowd and find my place in line. This is no worse than when I was racing motorcycles, and at least I won’t need to go back to the pit to fire up a generator and worry about having enough time to slap on some tire warmers…
Back at the car I beg, borrow and steal enough pins to hold two (crisp) numbers to my jersey. I’ve never done this before either so I enlist a woman standing with her husband and pray she does not draw too much blood. Luckily she’s done this all too many times herself and within minutes I am identifiable as #539 and ready to ride, if only I could make a final decision about layers and what to wear in an effort to stay warm without cooking before the checkers. My phone says it is 42 degrees as I rummage for tights. They’re at home. Minutes later I have used the free t-shirt to wipe dew off my bike, consumed a pair of bananas, filled two water bottles with Accelerade laced water and am lining up on the road for my start. Seeing as how I do not know how this will work, I decide to head straight for the back.
My plan, much like any plan I have concocted before a bicycle race, is to pedal really hard and go faster than other people. I also plan to do very little work at the front and I figure the hills will do a nice job of keeping the pack together for most of the race. After the start I sit around the back trying to figure out what is happening, where the road goes and where the hills are located. I also spend a great deal of time looking at other people’s bicycles and am fascinated by the variety of frames I have never seen before. I ask them about their bikes, but this only serves to confuse some of them. Others, I am relieved to find, have a great sense of humor and don’t mind a little conversation as we ride. Later, some of my joking actually caused someone to drop his water bottle, for which I felt very guilty, but quickly decided to work into future races as part of my plan. If I can accomplish this on the first lap I may very well dehydrate the field before the finish!
The plan, as it were, works perfectly. I feel great, I am pedaling and I am still attached to the main pack. I noodle through the field and find that I am able to carry momentum up hills, work when I want to and close any gaps quickly. Then, on the biggest hill at Pace Bend and on the final lap of the race I decide to do something without consulting the amendments to the plan. Somebody jumps out like gangbusters and makes a bee line for the front, so I get on his wheel and we’re off for a really fast, unexpected break at the base of the biggest hill on the course. Again, the plan works perfectly until we get to the top of the hill. This is when I find out that my legs have not been informed that the finish is actually a little further down the road and my lungs are asking me to please stop inhaling nails. Luckily, this becomes a rather humorous event as a dozen people pass me, all probably wondering if the loud bang was my heart exploding or a concerned citizen putting me out of my misery. I watch and laugh as they pass by, reveling in my own stupidity. By the time we reach the final downhill corner I recover enough strength to sprint my way to a 10th place finish. On the cool down I converse with everyone and we all agree it was a safe and enjoyable race. What better way to finish than with a whole host of new friends? I can’t help being pleased with this result and attribute much of it to the training I’ve been doing with the FCS / Metro Volkswagen team in Irving. They were nice enough to take my money and provide me with a really cool jersey, brutal training rides and refresh my eagerness to make my legs and lungs feel like they’re filled with lava.
