If you can't stand the heat...

...don't climb in the Devil's Kitchen. So goes the amusing little introduction to the most serious climb in the Tour of the Catskills, a 3-day stage race that marked my entry to the multi-day format of bike racing. The Devil's Kitchen is a 1300 foot climb near the end of the third day, that was nicely described by the winner of the Pro race: "steeper than Col du Tourmalet in the Tour de France, Verbier, or even Mont Ventoux". But I am getting ahead of myself, as Tristram Shandy said. I had to get through two and a half days of cycling before even facing the Devil's Kitchen.

Up the Devil's Kitchen. That's me on the left in long socks. It's steeper than it looks here. Photo courtesy of Jennifer Benepe.

Day 1 was a 2.2 mile individual time trial prologue. Very Tour de France, I thought. But why bother with a silly little 2.2 miles when 110 miles of racing lay ahead on days 2 and 3? Well, the thing about a TT is that everyone gets a different time, whereas the rules of cycling are such that if you cross the line in a bunch sprint, you all get the same time. So the TT provides a good little tie-breaker. I would come to be very thankful for this detail.

As a newcomer to bike racing, I get to race in Category 5 with all the other guys who have yet to finish 10 races. (Cat 5 is also known as Crash 5 for obvious reasons.) And this race has only 2 age groups for Cat 5 - under 35, and 35+. So I raced with the older novices. Prior experience has shown that this category is by no means non-competitive.

The TT went off at about 1pm on a Friday, and in reverse alphabetical order, so I was one of the later starters. While it was only 2.2 miles, it did include 479 feet of climbing. I figured this was in my favor, since I have never time-trialed before but I can climb a bit. I took off at my assigned time, powered up the first steep section of the course, which I planned to treat like a 3k run on the track, given the expected duration of 9 or 10 minutes. However, within one minute I was gasping for air, rather like a mile race in which one has gone out way too fast. I backed off a bit, and near the 5 minute mark I passed the guy who had started 30 seconds ahead. I managed some sort of self-deprecating comment as I went past. Near the top I passed the guy who had gone out 1 minute ahead of me. I never saw the 1k to go mark (and I had no computer on my bike) but soon I could see the stone church that marked the finish, so I got out of the saddle and hammered home. Crossed the line gasping for breath, much like I would after a 3k run on the track. Final results showed that I had managed the distance in 8:46, 6th out of 47 starters, and 39 seconds off the lead, much closer to the front than the back of the field. My fantasies of getting on the podium were not realised, but I couldn't complain. (I was off having lunch when they called the top 3 guys to the podium, so was actually a bit relieved I didn't blow that opportunity.)

I spent the afternoon driving over the course for Day 2 and making sure I was well rested for the "real" racing of the weekend. Not to mention well fed and hydrated. I was taking no chances on the carb storage - if there was a moment when I was remotely hungry, I ate something. Out for a pasta dinner and then try to sleep.

Day 2's race started 2 miles from my B&B, so I was able to ride over after breakfast to the start and sign in for the 2nd day. Apparently the daily sign-in is a ritual of stage races; when I had signed in and asked if I was all set to race, the officials "yes, it's just like the pros". The cyclist next to me, attempting to make some light conversation, and wearing his street clothes, said "how come no-one is announcing my name"; without drawing breath an official said "you're not wearing your race gear. You don't see the pros signing in like they just rolled out of bed." It was said with more than a little bite; the other cyclist and I made a few jocular comments but it was clear that the official was trying hard to create a real "pro" experience and wasn't too impressed at cyclists who didn't act the part.

45 riders started on Day 2 (a couple of folks either DNFed the time trial or realized they were out of their depth) and it was a huge and somewhat unruly peleton for about 25 miles. The last race I did, I felt like the least expert person in the field, but there were plenty of contenders for that title in this field. Crossing the yellow line down the middle of the road is a big no-no in the rule book (a good way to win a Darwin award, though) but that didn't stop some of my fellow riders. (The thinking, I'm sure is something like: "I want to be closer to the front. On this side of the yellow line, I am blocked. But there is all this open space on the other side of the yellow - it seems a shame to waste it.") After a few flagrant violations we got a formal warning from the official in the support van. And then not too long after that, we got an experience that I think no-one in the race will forget: a horse, scared and trapped between the passing peleton and a grassy bank, started to buck, apparently trying to throw his rider so he could get to the serious work of kicking in the heads of the 45 irritating animals passing him at speed. I crossed the double yellow line faster than you could say "brain damage". As I said soon afterwards to a fellow rider, "better DQed than dead".

With our adrenaline suitably primed, we were soon into the main climb of the day, about 1500 feet of it. The peleton broke apart pretty quickly, and I took my normal position of being relatively cautious, knowing that there was a lot of race left. Shortly before the top my calves cramped, as they are prone to do, but I got them sorted out and kept moving. I ended up about 8th at the top of the hill, and completely on my own, with 20+ miles of riding still to go. On your own is not a good thing in a bike race. The peleton is a powerful machine, and solo riders don't make good progress. But there wasn't much point in stopping and waiting to be caught, so I just pressed on, hoping I might catch some riders in front of me.

Soon we reached the feeding station, and with no bottle thief in this race I picked up a full bottle of Gatorade from Christy as I rode through. Then on to the next big hill, which I tackled alone. Near the top I caught another rider, whom I was disappointed to find was not from my race, but a laggard from the race that had started ahead of mine. I couldn't get help from him, so I carried on in search of other riders from my race. Before too long, I heard a voice behind me, and I had company from my own race. In fact, lots of it - a group of four or five riders had caught me, as will typically happen to the solo rider. I could not have been happier, since riding in a group is both more efficient and more fun than going alone. These guys were organized as a fast-moving paceline, and I gratefully joined the train. With about a dozen flat miles to go, we were all in it together, trying to chase the guys who had beaten me through the hills, and avoid getting caught ourselves from behind. We must have been moving at 25mph for most of the last 10 miles. Each of us would take a turn at the front, peel off, move to the back, and wait for their turn again. This was probably the best fun of the weekend. Suddenly we saw the finish line in sight, and went into sprint mode. My sprint is truly horrible - just enough to keep me attached to the bunch, but unable to get ahead of anyone. So I finished 12th for the day, but with the same time as 7th, and when the General Classification (or Classement General) was announced, I had held on to 7th place, less than 6 minutes back from the Maillot Jaune.

Saturday night I had another carb-loading frenzy that couldn't be beat and hoped that my legs would recover sufficiently to tackle a much tougher day. Day 3, at 58 miles and 2600 feet of climbing, would be just a bit longer than Day 2, but the fact that those 2600 feet happened to be largely concentrated in the 2 mile stretch of Platt Clove Rd known as The Devil's Kitchen had given everyone pause. There were a few attempts to break up the peleton in the first 30 miles, but they didn't amount to anything. We entered the feeding station with all our starters in one group (we were now down to about 40, with a few DNFs and a few missing the time cutoff - you had to be within 40% of the stage winner to continue on to day 3). Another successful bottle handoff and I was getting psyched for the big climb. Then, about 7 miles before the start of said climb, I heard a pop. I had time to ask the guy next to me "was that you or me" before the air left my tire and I had my answer. How is it that I have had only 2 punctures in 4 years, and both in races? Well, we had a support van, I pulled over, we got my wheel off and a new one with a good tire put on, and I was on my way. No idea how long I was stopped - maybe 2 minutes. I could still see the peleton in the distance, but not close. I had to catch them to stay in the race (see earlier comments about solo riders.) I got into my best time-trial position (which is nothing great) and started hammering, all the time knowing that I couldn't afford to arrive exhausted at the start of the dreaded DK. To my good fortune, the entire field was nervous about the upcoming climb, so they were not going nearly as fast as a peleton can go, and after about 5 miles of heavy breathing (and no small amount of saying positive things to myself out loud), I did catch them. I figured I was completely screwed at this point. I just had time to catch my breath, relax a bit, and then it was Kitchen time.

The Pros on the Devil's Kitchen. This gives a better sense of the steepness. Photo courtesy of Jennifer Benepe.

The Devil's Kitchen is reported to be 1300 feet of climbing at 14% average grade, with some sections at 22%. That puts it steeper than Mt. Washington (albeit much less high) and with sections matching the infamous "wall" at the top of Mt. W. One of those sections comes right at the bottom, and within a minute I was thinking "no way can I hold this for 1300 feet". But then it flattened out a bit, my legs got some rest, and the next steep section arrived. The fluctuation in grade definitely helped make it manageable, and just as in the Mt. Washington race, I adopted the strategy of going as slow as I could without stopping to walk. Slowly I made my way to the front of the field. Just shy of the top the road flattened out, and with no work to do suddenly, my hamstrings started to cramp. I pounded them with my fists and started pedalling, causing me to move further up the field, and then it was time for the final push to the top, where I think I was 6th guy over the summit. I had one rider on my tail, but as I was still punching my hamstrings to try to get the cramps out, I could hear a few expressions of dismay from him as he was no doubt almost colliding with my erratically moving bike. I urged him to pull along side.

We started the descent as a twosome, but soon we had company, maybe 8 guys in total, and about 10 miles to cover to the finish. It was similar to the prior day - even mostly the same group of guys, but we had picked up one or two others who fit the "Crash 5" moniker a bit more closely. There were a few near crashes and some crossing of the yellow line, but mostly we managed to proceed at speed towards the finish. There was one exciting moment - a section of road that had been cut away and filled with loose gravel - which fortunately we had been warned about, and negotiated safely. Soon it was into the main street of Hunter for another bunch sprint, and I knew that if I could stay in the group again I would keep my 7th overall place at worst. As the sprint got going I managed to do a bit of drafting so I didn't die so soon, and this time I actually beat 2 guys (while getting outsprinted by 6). OK, I have some work to do on the sprint, but I got what I needed, which was the same time as my bunch.

Final results had me 7th in the GC, with only 36 of our original 47 finishing the race, and only 31 making the time cutoff (20% behind the stage leader). My total time of 5:41:45 was 9:51 behind the winner, with an average speed across the 2 long days of 19.75 mph. Yes, those peletons move fast, when you consider that I was probably doing 4 mph up the Devil's Kitchen. And the difference between me and 10th place? 29 seconds, all from the time trial.

This is a great sport. But I've got to get myself out of Cat 5 (where everyone complains about the other riders, but never admits to being dangerous themselves).

Finally, a bit of suitable music:
Wheels - Cake