Hills. Hills. Hills. Ever since I began my life as a “serious” biker (a road biker), hills have always put fear into my heart.
On group rides, I often get dropped on hills and on solo rides, I jump immediately into my small ring. I would rather be surprised by a hill and not see it coming in for an attack.Even though they scare me, I don’t shy away from hills. Every year I sign up for hill climbing clinics through the Maywood program and I climbed major hills last year in France. I don’t avoid hills, but I do complain whenever possible while I am climbing. I cry, hyperventilate, laugh hysterically – whatever it takes.
The hills yesterday coming into Governor Dodge Park (after 50 miles of riding with 80+ pounds of baggage) were the crying variety. They never stopped. It turned out that the park entrance was on top of a freakin’ mountain. It’s nice that the Military Ridge Trail takes you right into the park, but it would be nice if it took you to the top of the hill.
Whatever – the sights were beautiful and Ben put up with my complaining without even a roll of the eyes.
Crying always helps!