Some cyclists are natural climbers. I’m not one of them. I’m a brick rather than a kite. I descend fast and with confidence, but climbing is often a slog. Of course, climbing is always hard work, even for the pros. I believe it was Greg LeMond who said that bicycling up hills never gets easier, you just get faster. And another cyclist you might have heard of, Eddie Merckx, said, “Cake isn’t bad for cyclists, hills are what’s bad for cyclists!” I can only dream of being a smidge as capable as Merckx and LeMond, but I’m trying to be a better climber. And part of my training program is aimed at improving my concentration and attitude about climbs.

Unless you live in South Florida, where hills are rare and hardly justify the name, sooner or later you’ll have to climb a hill. I’m not talking about altitude. I’m talking about grades, and you don’t need to live in the Rockies to find some monsters. Here in the northern Adirondacks, some grades are as steep as 30 percent. That’s three feet of rise for every ten feet of run. Steep.

Some cyclists go miles out of their way to avoid riding up steep grades. That’s not possible where I live. The longest relatively level stretch of road that I’ve found is a couple miles from start to finish, and then the climbs begin again.

Not all hills are made alike. There are short gentle grades, and short very steep grades. And then there are the long climbs with steep knobs built in. Ten- to 20-percent grades are common on my riding routes, and to make them even harder, slopes are often concave—they get steeper the closer to the crest you get. But the odd thing is that sometimes the long hills that appear to be vertical walls when you approach them are not as bad as they seem.

Every cyclist approaches climbs his or her own way. Some attack in high gear, wanting the climb to be over as quickly as possible. Some cyclists move up at barely a walking pace, spinning furiously. Others walk. I ascend short, very steep grades with some aplomb, sometimes out of the saddle, sometimes not. But on the long grinding ones like in the photo above, I have often asked myself if I’ll ever improve.

This year I decided on a new strategy for tackling the long climbs. I shift down into a gear that allows me to spin along at about 70-80 rpms, just below what I call “The Burn.” The Burn happens when I push hard enough that my muscles begin to hurt, to burn. Burning is fine on short pushes when I have time to recover, but on longer rides, I want to preserve the energy stores in my muscles, so I just spin. I try not to look at my cyclometer on those climbs, but instead concentrate on something other than the amount of time it’s taking me to get to the top. I’m not training for the Tour de France, after all, and on a heavy bike like the LHT hauling a heavy load of groceries or a full camera kit, I’m not going to be a contender, anyway. So I try to enjoy the ride, cranking along below The Burn, concentrating on holding my line and building muscle for future efforts. And you know what? I enjoy the climbs a lot more now.

 

 
Climbing hills doesn’t have to be humiliating or demoralizing. Strategy, determination, resolve, and attitude make the hardest climbs possible—and worthwhile. And remember, too, that hills eventually come to an end, and that makes them a lot easier to endure than a stiff headwind. But that’s another story altogether.

 
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