When Each Turn of the Pedals Is a Victory
I didn’t know what I was getting into. Was that a blessing or a curse? I was about to find out.
My friend and Santa Barbara native, Johnny Stillwell, had pointed out a tough cycling climb in Montecito a number of times over the years as we pedaled past the road.
“If you want some real climbing, you go up there,” he’d say, pointing to Toro Canyon Road as it curled up into the hills off of East Valley Road (California 192). “It’s a dead-end at the top, but it’s a helluva’ climb.”
We had never discussed the details of the climb, just that it was tough.
Monday afternoon as I was riding through the quiet, hilly backroads of Montecito, I reached Toro Canyon Road and thought, “I’m feeling strong. May as well give it a try.”
I have been working hard since we arrived in Santa Barbara on January 26. I’ve ridden almost 2,000 miles while climbing 130,000 feet on the bike. I’ve lost 18 pounds which makes going uphill much, much easier. Losing weight is made more difficult by my cancer treatments which include weight gain as a side effect.
The lovely weather and spectacular beauty of this place provide all the incentive one needs to get healthy and stay healthy, even in a pandemic. While Carol is toiling away at her desk here on most weekdays, I’m out for three-hour rides. Or four-hour rides. Or the occasional six-hour ride. It’s a lot of time on the bike, and I couldn’t be happier.
We ride together on weekends and the rare weekday when she gets a break. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m spoiled, but I do my part — cooking dinner most evenings and keeping the place clean. I’m trying to earn my keep.
And this year, due to the pandemic, we get an extra month here. There’s always a silver lining.
I had already done a couple of really tough climbs on the ride, including the steep, straight-shot climb of Ladera Lane up to Bella Vista Road, 1.2 miles long and 535 feet of elevation. (I also descended that steep, straight road, as the max speed of 49.57 mph on my Garmin Edge 1000 attests.)
So I made the left turn onto Toro Canyon. The road parallels Toro Canyon Creek. I could hear the water rushing down over the rocky bed on its journey to the ocean.
Within the first one-tenth of a mile, my Gamin indicated I was on a 16% grade. (To add some perspective, the gradient on most Colorado mountain roads ranges from 6% to 8%.) I had no idea about the length of this climb, it’s average grade, or how steep it was at its steepest points. Then I hit a spot that was 19%. And I was less than two-tenths of a mile into the climb.
This is where one’s mind begins to say softly, “You really don’t need to do this.” But as serious cyclists (and those who have watched the Tour de France) know, suffering is a key element of the sport, and once one starts up a climb like this, turning back is not an option.
Neither is stopping to rest. Stopping on such a steep incline makes restarting impossible. The only two choices are going back down, or walking to the top in road shoe cleats, a humiliating spectacle even if no one is around to witness it.
I once asked my friend Rick Sudekum, as dogged and relentless a rider as you will ever meet, “You’d rather saw off your arm than quit a climb, wouldn’t you?” He just smiled and nodded his assent of ascending, pain be damned. That’s the spirit I seek to emulate.
So on I went.
The road twisted and turned, past a few driveways and groups of mailboxes. The mail truck was coming up behind me and the road continued to narrow the higher I climbed. It was down to a single lane.
I was inching along at 3 mph as the truck eased beside me. The mail carrier looked over, smiled and shook his head in a “Why-the-hell-would-you-do-this?” way. I smiled back, as much as one can smile while one’s legs are on fire and one is gasping for air. I would have given him the thumbs-up, but had I taken my hand off the handlebars, I would have fallen over.
The 10% sections felt like flat road compared to much of this climb. And on a normal day, a long 10% climb would be brutal. This was in another category of pain altogether.
Around every turn, I searched in vain for the dead-end. This had to be it. It couldn’t get worse. But it did.
At 1.1 miles in, I hit a stretch of road where the grade rapidly rose from 13% — already insanely steep — to 15%, then 18%, then 22%.
I could see a wall in front of me as the road climbed and snaked to the left. Except it wasn’t a wall. I could barely keep my front wheel on the tarmac as my Garmin registered an astounding 37%. It was like climbing a tree. On a bike.
I had to stand up and put all of my weight forward over the handlebars just to keep the rubber on the road. My heart: thump, thump, THUMP. My legs: “STOP! JUST STOP!”
But there was also a calm voice: “Turn the pedals, one revolution at a time.”
Every 180-degree rotation was a victory. Each full 360, an epic win. All the little battles to be won inside the war.
Unrelenting. Patches of 20% and 30% continued. Finally, as I scaled a small peak that for a brief moment registered 53%— 53 PERCENT! — I saw the end, an electric gate that spanned the road. I pedaled to the gate and touched it with my left hand. Leaned on it, really. Spent.
It took a while for my heart to slow. My legs felt like rubber, not a bone to be found. Once I caught my breath, I took a long swig from my water bottle and snapped a selfie against the sign for the homes that were beyond the gate.
1.64 miles, 964 feet.
It was all downhill from here. Well, mostly downhill. Thirteen miles back to the house, almost all of it either downhill or flat. I can do that, I thought, I can do that.
Suffering can be good for the soul.
