The day was hot and so humid that distant vistas were smeared like a smudged pastel drawing. A stiff wind was in my face, and I cursed at the cyclometer not to drop below 6.5 mph as I cranked at about 60 revs on the steepest portion of the climb. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” I thought. I don’t really believe that sentiment, but it’s hard not to think of it when sweat’s stinging my eyes, my heart’s pounding, and my quads are burning. I was almost at the break in the grade, but that didn’t mean there’d be relief. I had three minutes of hardship ahead of me before that. I was simply coming to the top of the first steep step, and then there would be a less steep but still rising slope of about three percent grade, followed by a longer tough step before the top. And that’s when I heard him.

Another cyclist came even with me on my left, climbing the hill out of the saddle — very hard on the legs, but it maintains speed. He was breathing as hard as I, but he was hauling a lot less weight. I had a box of wine on the rack and a fully outfitted touring bike; he was skinny, and he rode a bike with skinny tires and not one ounce more than was absolutely necessary — no rear rack, no lights, no second water bottle, no fenders. He was a cheerful and encouraging guy. “You’re doing real good,” he gasped. “This is a hard hill,” he muttered as he inched ahead of me, bobbing up and down with each stamping pedal stroke. “One of the hardest!” he blurted before sitting on his saddle and pulling away on the less steep spot. I couldn’t be sure if he was speaking to himself or me, but it was encouraging to see that he wasn’t gaining on me very much.

Whatever route I choose to ride, there’s no gentle glide back. The least difficult route requires climbing about 600 feet over about 12 miles, with one climb over three-quarters of a mile on an average 10 percent grade. To reach my berth, I’ve got to climb hills. Some are long and steep and end with screaming descents that leave brakes smoking. Others are shorter and much steeper with no descent at the end, just a breathless relief that it’s over. Usually I choose the route that ends with a stepped ascent of a pair of short arduous grades. They’re especially fun with 50 pounds of groceries in tow.

Few roads in the northern foothills of the Adirondack Mountains are level for any distance. The best a tired cyclist can hope for is gentle winds and a rolling stretch of state highway (with heavy traffic to endure) or secondary roads that parallel the state highways, and which come complete with mongrel dogs, deep cracks and potholes in the road, and the occasional speeding vehicle piloted by a driver who’s more interested in talking on a cell phone than watching for cyclists.

Still, this is a great area for cycling, when it’s not snowing. You can ride for miles without interruption by a stop sign, never mind a stoplight. Pleasing surroundings make enduring winds and hills easier. You like pastoral farmland? It’s here. Woods and rivers and ponds? Those too. The hills build strong legs and condition the cardiovascular system. Steep grades may be hard work, and fast descents can be a mixed blessing, but that’s what brakes and all those gears are for. And there’s always the option of walking.

This last week, I rode some roads that make it plain WHY there are so many undulating routes — if you know what it is you’re looking at. As little as 12,000 years ago (“little” being a relative term), this area was covered with glaciers. In the closing days of the Ice Age, glaciers melted and receded north. As they ground their way out of the area, they left behind a thick blanket of loose sediments. Meltwater rivers distributed such sediment far and wide, and a lot of it accumulated in poorly-drained areas. The result? Piles of sediment — elongate hills called drumlins, sinuous raised riverbeds called eskers, and high-and-dry deltas that once were drowned under glacial lakes and inland seas. As those seas and lakes drained away, the exposed deltas were further dissected by rivers and streams, by wind and rain, snow and ice.

Today, as I ride my bike up steep grades and swoop back down the other side, I’m reminded of the countless streams and rivers which carved gullies that became the vegetated valleys we see today. When I see a deep gravel or sand pit, I think of the briny or fresh waters which covered the area, and of the animals that lived in those waters. Every so often, a seal or whale or other marine animal’s skeleton is found in those deposits, reminders of a long ago time before man inhabited the area. For this geologist, these reminders are rewarding. But you don’t have to be a geologist to enjoy the cycling, though a knowledge of our geologic past enhances every trip. Read more about remnants of the last Ice Age…

Tags: cycling, geology, Ice Age