Like any tragedy, this tale begins quite humbly. Leaving West Brookfield, the skies were overcast, the general surroundings damp from the overnight rain. I stopped right away at a Subway I had noticed coming in the night before, and then got right on the road, headed toward Springfield. The elevation dropped 500 feet during the first 30 miles, including an easy roll through light traffic in the city.
I stopped at another Subway in the afternoon. As I was eating, the rain came down heavily outside. It passed in less than ten minutes. I used this break to scan the map for a way through the Berkshires. Aiming for Great Barrington gave me the option of deciding where to cross the Hudson the next day. The most logical route was 57.
I don't really feel like reliving Route 57. But for sake of saving some hapless rider in the future, I will sum up the afternoon in stages.
Stage 1: The Tease
With a wall of rock to the left, the ride began steadily, turning away from the mountain to begin what looked like a long, slow climb. Fine.
Stage 2: The Challenge
Within a few miles, out of sight of hopeful riders at the bottom, the road suddenly shot up. Bottom gear, pushing on the pedals, pulling on the bars, repeating to myself "Almost there," I could see a flat spot ahead. Made it.
Stage 3: The Beating
Small descent, another wall-like slope, small descent, another wall, small descent, etc. I lost count.
And then I quit riding. Took off my shoes, and started lifting the bike up these steps. Shoes on, off, on, off, etc.
Stage 4: The Gate
Literally, a gate. This huge highway sign in the middle of the woods. "Prepare to stop"? Think about that. Not "Test brakes", or "Use extreme caution". Prepare to just give up.
A 12% grade is falling, not rolling. This means sore hands on the brakes, sore neck from stress, and no enjoyable downhill.
Stage 5: The Insult
This injurious ride climbed to 1400 feet at its max, and dropped to 900 after the gate. Everything I've ever learned about mountains routes such as these made me believe the worst was over. No more walls, no more shoe changes, no more surprises only ten miles from this large town.
For the sake of my mental well-being I must have blocked out the next few miles. I never expected the road to climb back up to almost 1700 feet. I remember walking. I remember feeling wet and cold from this never-ending fog.
When I came to, I was in this stylish Chinese restaurant.
Sometime before this I must have ridden some downhill, turned suddenly into the first motel I saw, and showered and changed for dinner.
This is about as close as I'll come to the experience of alien abduction. As I sat eating crispy sesame shrimp I had a vague notion that I had been violated, but that I should forget about it.
These vegetable dumplings are delicious...
Why are my feet sore...?
3 comments:
Well... to help you remember... you did talk to me and the boys this night. You did seem really out of it.
Great post, Tim. I'm not a big Lance Armstrong fan, but I like this quote:
"Cycling is so hard, the suffering is so intense, that it’s absolutely cleansing. The pain is so deep and strong that a curtain descends over your brain… Once, someone asked me what pleasure I took in riding for so long. ’Pleasure?’ I said. ’I don’t understand the question.’ I didn’t do it for pleasure, I did it for pain."
It sounds like Hell Tim, but your post made kept me in suspense wondering what was going to happen during the next stage. Its a great read. Keep strong!!
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