One Hundred Miles of Hell

The sun was strong that day my friend. But I, in my infinite pride, took no notice. And here on the side of Lookout Mountain, with calves cramping, quads on fire, lungs laboring, neck aching, head pounding, eyes blood red, I pay the price for my lack of judgment. To escape the pain, I drift back in time to some five hours earlier…

The ride started cheerfully enough, a street full of brightly colored bikes and riders. It’s an exciting time for cyclists, seeing their old friends and checking out all the bikes. The crowd joked until time to go, and then wheeled happily out of the parking lot, oblivious to the nightmare ahead.

The first climb starts a few miles from town. Suck Creek Mountain is a six-mile ascent with a fairly gradual grade. It’s a climb that seems like it will never end. This is where the athletes leave the rest of us. I try to stay near the front, but as usual, I’m dropped. Winded, I reach the top and try to make up some time on the high-speed, hairpin-turn descent.

Eventually, back on flat ground, I bridge up with some other riders. We are probably the second pack back so we form a high-speed paceline to try to catch the leaders. For the next twenty miles, it’s wide-open hammer time. At the very least, even if we don’t catch anyone, I want to finish the metric in three hours.

At forty miles into the ride, there is a critical sag stop. I blow right past it without looking up. I brought three bottles of water and a couple of Power bars, so I figure I can keep going. A few miles later, I come up on the point where the metric and century rides split.

At this point in the ride, I make a fatal decision. One of the stronger riders in the paceline asks me if I am doing the century. Not this year, I respond. He says, "C’mon man, you gotta." It’s forty or so miles into the ride, I’m feeling pretty good, and I figure what’s sixty more miles…. At the last second, I am persuaded to take the right turn for the hundred-mile option. This way lies madness.

The next entertainment opportunity on the ride is Sand Mountain, a 3 to 4 mile climb on a bad road with a series of steep switchbacks. Many consider this climb to be more difficult than Lookout. The only advantages of the Sand climb are that it is mostly wooded and occurs earlier in the ride. Whatever energy I have left at this point in the ride is now completely expended climbing this hill. Most people have a major shift in their ride strategy at this point, from the excitement of riding through the countryside with friends to survival mode, where they just count down the miles until they can get off the bike. At the top of Sand, there are fifty miles left to go.

After the last grueling, killer switchback, I reach the top of Sand. At this point, my legs are starting to turn into noodles. The top of Sand is no bargain either, ten miles of rolling hills. Eventually, I get to the sag stop, which looks like a mirage in the desert. I pry myself off the bike seat. I try to rehydrate and absorb some calories, but I know I have to keep going. After a few minutes, I get back on the bike. Feeling a little better, I hook up with a couple of riders and we continue riding across the top of Sand.

Finally, we reach the drop off and head down the hill. It’s now 65 miles from the start of the ride and getting close to noon. It’s a typical Tennessee day: hot, humid, and bright. Between Sand and Lookout, there are about 10 miles of rolling hills. More energy is expended. Close to the base of Lookout, there is a vicious little hill, very abrupt and steep, which completely wipes out my legs prior to the big climb.

Finally, at 78.6 miles into the ride, I turn left at the sign that says: "Burkhalter’s Gap". I check my odometer, so far I’ve averaged 18 miles an hour, but now that is coming to a grinding halt. As usual, I’m completely cooked by this point, and now I face the two-mile, 7 to 9% grade in a state of exhaustion. With no other choices available, I start the climb.

Right off the bat, I’m standing up and my heart rate is maxed. I go a little further and the hill gets steeper. I’m gasping at the hot air coming off the asphalt and my legs are burning. In front of me a rider stops and lies down beside the road. I can’t take my eyes off of them; they look so relieved. It’s all I can do to force myself to keep going and not stop and lie down myself. Several people are walking, pushing their bikes up the mountain.

I swing out into the other lane of the road trying to traverse the hill by going back and forth between cars. My brain is screaming for me to stop, but through shear force of will, I turn the pedals.

Finally, I can’t take anymore. As I stand and try to turn the pedals, my left calf muscle is shaking under the weight. I clip out and stop the bike. The noon sun beats down on the road and the heat shimmers off the road. The temperature is hovering around 90 degrees. I’ve still got over a mile to the top of the mountain.

I try to walk in the weeds on the edge of the road but my cleats keep slipping in the loose gravel. Walking the bike up the 7% grade is not easy, and my heart rate stays high, which is also a sign of dehydration. I’m about half sick from the heat and the lack of a breeze and the blood pounding in my head. What’s left of my water tastes horrible.

After I walk for a while, I get back on the bike. I am able to go another quarter mile to the base of the "wall" section of the road. This is where Burkhalter’s goes from extremely steep to almost vertical. Fortunately, the wall is only about a quarter mile from the top, so I start pushing the bike again.

I lose almost an hour climbing Burkhalter. I am shot, destroyed, wasted. I camp out at the sag on top of the hill, steeling myself for the last 20 miles. And then I get back on and ride across the rolling top of Lookout. The top of Lookout gives no relief; it is continuously up and down. Through shear force of will, I keep pedaling. At this point, I can barely hold my head up because my neck is killing me.

Eternity passes; I get near Rock City and start the downhill on Ochs highway. I hope I don’t get wiped out riding down in my fatigued state. Thank god no pedaling is involved. Finally, I reach St. Elmo and then ride across town, through the red lights, and the irate drivers, back to the starting area.