Pass the Polka Dot Jersey
Tuesday 15th August 2023
I use this App called Strava that allows me to track my bike rides, hikes, swims, and even rock climbs. These Strava activities are then shared (including photos) with my fellow cyclists, kayakers etc. Strava folk have a saying…
If it’s not on Strava it didn’t happen.
With Mrs P currently out of action, yesterday, when I woke early to do a big (ish) cycle ride I made sure to record it on Strava.
Even my shadow was up early to climb that big hill in the background
It was going to be my longest climb on a bicycle ever. The Gerlitzen Alpenstrasse. Eight miles to the start of the climb then 7.5 miles (12km) up 1,258 metres (4,128 feet) at an average gradient of 10.2%. On the website (which prior to my ride I had never heard of.) climbfinder.com this climb gets a difficulty rating of 1,360. I, like you, have no idea what that means. Check out the link if you want to know more.
Whose stupid idea was this?
So let me try to put it into context. There is a famous ride in Mallorca called the Sa Colabra which cyclists go on holiday especially to ride. It gets a paltry 489 on the difficulty rating and has an average incline of a mere 6.5%. Had I known all these numbers before I set out that morning, I may have stayed in bed.
My trusty stead taking a rest
I’m new to all this pedalling up just one hill for hours on end. My mates do it all the time. Sensible folk that they are, they do it on modern road bikes, with narrow tyres and gears that work. My bike is far from suited to the task.
I’m going to continue to throw lots of numbers at you, I hope you will find them interesting/amusing.
My bike is more than 18 years old. It should have 24 gears, but 8 of the useful ones for hill climbing don’t work. For cycling aficionados, the smallest cog of the front set doesn’t work. It has 2 fat, knobbly tyres. I have two knees, between them they are more than 118 years old. I had 750ml of water with me.
More numbers. The lake, Ossiacher See, my starting point, is at 501 metres
Fifteen is the approximate number of minutes it took me to begin to wonder if I hadn’t bitten off more than I could chew.
This thought didn’t last long. I figured that all I had to do was keep turning the pedals. Besides, it kind of reminded me of pulling a pulk in Norway. Only this would, I estimated only last for 2 hours, not 10 x 70 days.
So, I committed to just keot those pedals going round. Here’s some more numbers that went through my head as the climb progressed.
Temperature at start of ride: 30°C (86°F)
Number of weird klunking noises from my suspension: quite a lot
Times I got out of the saddle to relieve a numb bum: 5 or 6
Number of times I had to stop to pee: 2
Number of times I was disconcerted to find that my man parts had gone numb: 2 (that’s 2 too many!)
Number of times I changed down a gear during ascent: 1
How long this lasted: Less than 30 seconds
Number of bikes I overtook: None
Number of bikes that overtook me: 2, but both electric, so they don’t count, so also none
Number of other idiots I saw cycling up: None
Number of idiots on mountain: By process of elimination and simple maths; 1
The lake got slowly, but reassuringly, further and further away
To be honest, there’s not much else to do other than think of numbers as you grind up this kind of hill. You might get an occasional glimpse through the trees of the lake far below. For me though it was the numbers that took on a whole life of their own and became my focus. The number of kilometres (usually too many) left to the top for example, which are shown on signs at the side of the road. These signs can be spotted through sweat streaked glasses while two knees slowly but surely go up and down, round and round somewhere on the periphery of consciousness. The altitude was also shown, which brought on a bout of maths as I subtracted it from what I wrongly thought was the final height and came up with a figure that was wildly inaccurate, “Another 5,342 metres to go!?” I really should have paid more attention in maths class all those years ago.
I even counted the number of times I wobbled round insects rather than run them over. I needed all the good karma I could get. Twelve, if you were wondering.
That last example gives you an idea of just how slow I was going. I could not only see insects in the road, but watch their trajectory. I’d swear that one overtook me!
Slowest registered speed: 2 mph (3.2 kmph)
Most common registered speed through sweat filled eyes: 3.2 mph (5.1 kmph)
The end of the road.
I finally made it to the end of the tarmac road to find just a posh hotel. No cafe, no souvenir store, nothing useful. Just posh folk lying around a pool. I followed a gravel track as far as my bike would go to 1,795m and declared it, ‘job done!’ Turned round and headed down.
Ah, so not the only idiot.
All told, the descent, not counting stops to take photos and one to briefly visit a cafe (that turned out to be closed!), it took about 10 minutes to get down what had taken nearly two hours to get up.
Number of cars overtaken: 2
Maximum speed: 37 mph (60 kmph)
Number of other idiots seen cycling up: Approximately 8 (I’m not counting electric bikes. They hardly have to pedal!)
Number of insects dodged: None. Sorry
All I then had to do was cycle the 8 miles back round the lake to our campsite. Easy. Tour de France eat your heart out!
Back with Mrs P and Gandalf, I felt fine and even managed a short ride out later, with Mrs P for coffee and ice cream.
My prize: Ice cream and the adoring gaze of my biggest fan
Incidentally, except for the picture of my bike taking a rest, all of the photos were taken on the way down. There was no way I was stopping to take pictures. Id never have got going again!
