Frank vs. The Volcano: Haleakala, Part Deux

The Man with the Hammer lurks in the mountains. Cartoon by Pellos.

The French call it la fringale. It’s one of the worst conditions that can befall a cyclist, this, when our reserves are tapped dry and yet we still have some distance to ride and some obstacle to cover. It’s happened to me twice in my life, and one of them was when I rode Haleakala in January. Of course, I haven’t looked up the exact definition of this wonderful word – fringale – mostly because I’m afraid the definition won’t express to me the meaning I’ve already applied to it. I see the words “fringe” and “gale”, overlapping such that you can’t spell one without the other. Fringale expresses, in my interpretation, that you’ve been torn to shreds (fringe) and left to be scattered to the four winds (gale).

As I set out to ride Haleakala in January, several factors would conspire against me during the effort that lay ahead. First, I was completely unprepared for what it meant to ride the longest paved climb in the world, a climb which also almost paradoxically represents the planet’s shortest ascent from sea level to 10,000 feet*. Second, I was a full 9-month gestation from peaking. Third, I was overly optimistic of my post-holiday form, based largely on evidence gathered during much shorter and easier rides. Fourth, I overestimated the importance of riding the base Ã¡ bloc in order to gain time where the gradient better suited my riding style. Fifth, largely due to the previous, I would get a bad case of  la fringale with almost three-quarters of the climb remaining.

I’ve always believed that each mistake contains a lesson to be learned, and as such, I had several apples to bring to Professor Experience if I was to have any hopes of improving on my time. Within a week of returning from Maui, I was in the midst of planning my rematch. I was training better, eating better, and drinking better (which is the same as drinking less, given that I was a semi-professional drinker, but “less” is a more disappointing word than “better”). In training, rather than focusing on doing my most difficult climbing routes as I usually do, by riding hard uphill and recovering between climbs as a sort of natural interval workout, I shifted my focus to sustaining the high intensity between the climbs as well, in order to simulate the pressure of a long, hard climb. I also took to heart the sage advice from D.S. Gianni, which was, “The time you gain on the bottom by riding hard is nothing compared to the time you’ll lose up top when you’re blasted.” Finally, I reserved a very healthy respect for Pele, the Hawaiian Goddess of Fire whose foot soldier, The Man with the Hammer, lurks on these slopes.

It was with a completely different mindset that I leaned into the first pedal revolution as I started my rematch. A cooling rain fell steadily, and a strong wind was at my face; the rain was welcome, the wind was not. My mind was steeled against what would surely be another four-hour (or more) intense effort, but the lessons were applied at all their moments; I rode within myself on the lower slopes, and kept the pressure on during the steepest section, from 3,500 to 6,500 feet, knowing these were harder than the rest and thus not letting myself be bothered by a drop in pace.

But we athletes are suspicious creatures, for whom ancillary events take on a larger meaning. Somewhere along the Haleakala Highway, at around 3,000 feet and with still-good legs, I witnessed a strange event: a white German Shepard taking down and killing a fawn. I immediately knew it was an Omen of some kind, surely foretelling my fate higher on the mountain. The only problem was that I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be the dog or the fawn.

Once past the Ranger Station at the entrance to Haleakala National Park, near 7,000 feet, where the road gets easier but the elevation begins to take it’s cruel toll, I could cling to the hope that Pele would smile on me that day and I was increasingly confident that I was in fact the dog and not the fawn. Up past 8,000 feet and Michelle delivered my first and only split: 3:25 – sub-four is possible, but only with a hard effort from there onwards. I was encouraged by the news, yet the thought of continuing – or, indeed increasing – the effort was unwelcome. I would have almost preferred to be told I was slower than last time so I could ease off and only busy myself with thinking up good reasons why I would have deliberately ridden the hill more slowly this time. The rain and wind at the base would have featured a starring role in these justifications.

Instead, I was tormented by the idea that I might ride up in four hours and one minute or, even worse, four hours even, to be haunted by the knowledge that I most certainly could have shaved the time from my ride to go sub-four. The pressure in my legs increased in tandem with my growing desire to coax more speed from the pedals. And therein lies the cruel truth of climbing above 7,000 feet: you can’t dig deep anymore; there simply is not enough air for you to fuel your muscles.

In the midst of this increased effort, just before 9,000 feet, I was faced with an apparition from my January ride: a man stood next to his bicycle, suffering from severe cramps. A double take to make sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me, and then a word of encouragement for him to carry on (which he did).

The road from 9,000 feet is the easiest 1,000 feet of the lot. With the very painful exception that there is a steep, final ramp that takes you to 10,000 feet and the summit. As you claw your way along the mountainside towards this last ramp, the observatory at the top comes into view. It is the closest it’s been, but it is still a long way away and distressingly high above. And then you remember that the Visitor Center, where the climb ends, is the small building to the left of the Observatory. To the left, and higher.

The bidons. The bidons. They’re just dead weight now, dragging me back down the mountain. They are nothing but two little malicious anchors, serving only to slow me down and ensure I never reach the visitor center. I hate the both of them, sitting in their cages like that. Just as Jaques Anquetil would never have won a single of his five Tours de France had he not moved his bidon from his frame to his jersey pocket, I would never have reached the top had I not jettisoned mine as I started the final ramp. That single act was the only one that saw me to the summit, 6 minutes and 40 seconds shy of the most unthinkable time possible, four hours even.

Having comfortably gone up in under four hours (3 hours, 53 minutes, and 20 seconds), I am shocked at how much easier a climb is when you haven’t bonked already before the halfway mark. I guess that’s the loophole in Rule #10:

It never gets easier, you just go faster. Unless, of course, you ride like a complete twat.

I find I have to tell myself things in order to give my mind the space it needs to prepare for a truth I’m not yet ready to know. My (repeated) declaration in the Visitor Center that I’ll never do the climb again is such a thing. So shortly after the effort, I’m not prepared for the fact that I will soon be plotting my next assault on the mountain. I need a few minutes to savor the accomplishment before marginalizing it by declaring I’ll do better.

But I won’t go up again only to carve 5 or ten minutes off my time. 3:53, 3:50, 3:45; they are all the same. Next time I go up, it will be for sub-3:30. I’ll have to come up with a plan for that one. And I’ll probably need more of Gianni’s dog vaccinations.

Video: Frank vs. The Volcano: Haleakala, Part Deux

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Photos: Frank vs. The Volcano: Haleakala, Part Deux

[dmalbum path=”/velominati.com/content/Photo Galleries/frank@velominati.com/Haleakala August 2011/”]

*The elevations in this article will generally be referred to in feet as this is how the roadsigns along the road are measured and, while it breaks with the convention set forth in  Rule #24, these measurements have been forever burned into my brain. 10,000 feet is 3048 meters.

frank

The founder of Velominati and curator of The Rules, Frank was born in the Dutch colonies of Minnesota. His boundless physical talents are carefully canceled out by his equally boundless enthusiasm for drinking. Coffee, beer, wine, if it’s in a container, he will enjoy it, a lot of it. He currently lives in Seattle. He loves riding in the rain and scheduling visits with the Man with the Hammer just to be reminded of the privilege it is to feel completely depleted. He holds down a technology job the description of which no-one really understands and his interests outside of Cycling and drinking are Cycling and drinking. As devoted aesthete, the only thing more important to him than riding a bike well is looking good doing it. Frank is co-author along with the other Keepers of the Cog of the popular book, The Rules, The Way of the Cycling Disciple and also writes a monthly column for the magazine, Cyclist. He is also currently working on the first follow-up to The Rules, tentatively entitled The Hardmen. Email him directly at rouleur@velominati.com.

View Comments

  • @Minion

    @Marcus


    @scaler911

    @Marcus

    @scaler911

    @minionWhats the issue with Adidas down there? I personally am a big fan of Solomon shoes (made by Adidas). Some child labor thing or something? Or just a weird Kiwi thing like putting beets on your burgers?

    The Kiwis are upset because they can never find "Edides" in the phone book under 'E'.

    Ha!I kid, but I almost took a job there and was in the process of getting a work visa when the VMH got preggers (like I wasn't there). That country looks fantastic. Friendly, relaxed, mountains, roads on those mountains, close to the South Pacific Islands. What's not to like?

    What's not to like? Well, I won't go too far, but the short answers are:1. Its full of New Zealanders. So is Australia2. The weather is shit. Found shade under the one fucken tree in your country yet?3. Its full of Kiwis. So is Straya4. Their economy is fucked. Just wait sunshine.5. They speak funny. So do Australians6. They are obsessed with the All Blacks. Explain AFL to me again

    Strong work Minion. I live in a city (Auckland) and just two K from my house i can be in serious climbs of 20%, soul crushing TT training flatlands, gorgeous beachside cliff tops. Oh and Gordon Macauley (HardMan ex-PRO) can often be seen shouting abuse at me and any other flabby cyclist out training. The man has gravel for blood i tells ya.

  • @frank

    Aloha again Frank. I was the first asshole who went under 3 hours. The pic is of me on the summit road in the first official "Cycle to the Sun" in 1982 BC (before children). The lousy pic is a snapshot from a 30 min video done on the race. Check the leather hairnet, when I had hair. The bike was a 64 cm Raleigh 753 Team Issue Bike with Campy Record (20 lbs), I got by way of a traveling Euro Pro. I'm 6'0" and other than the high top tube I dug the geometry and ride. I custom built my own Suntour 7 speed freewheel (13-14-16-19-20-21-22) and used 42/45 front chainrings. I didn't used the 22 until the summit. Those are Sidi Titaniums and Clement silk crit tires.

    Next time you visit, we'll have to get together and I can give tips on about 10 places on the route where you can lose time. It probably would save you about 10+ minutes. One tip is to learn to ride on the white line (1 mph faster). The other 12+ minutes you need, you are on your own. Maybe more "V"'s on the road could help. You are right, the grade drops big time from 7,000' up, but the road surface is not as good as below. You really have to search for the smoothest line from there on up and ride in the drops going into the wind.

    I may have missed it, but what was your gearing? What was your F/R tire pressure?

  • @mauibike

    @frank

    Aloha again Frank. I was the first asshole who went under 3 hours. The pic is of me on the summit road in the first official "Cycle to the Sun" in 1982 BC (before children). The lousy pic is a snapshot from a 30 min video done on the race. Check the leather hairnet, when I had hair. The bike was a 64 cm Raleigh 753 Team Issue Bike with Campy Record (20 lbs), I got by way of a traveling Euro Pro. I'm 6'0"³ and other than the high top tube I dug the geometry and ride. I custom built my own Suntour 7 speed freewheel (13-14-16-19-20-21-22) and used 42/45 front chainrings. I didn't used the 22 until the summit. Those are Sidi Titaniums and Clement silk crit tires.
    Next time you visit, we'll have to get together and I can give tips on about 10 places on the route where you can lose time. It probably would save you about 10+ minutes. One tip is to learn to ride on the white line (1 mph faster). The other 12+ minutes you need, you are on your own. Maybe more "V"'s on the road could help. You are right, the grade drops big time from 7,000"² up, but the road surface is not as good as below. You really have to search for the smoothest line from there on up and ride in the drops going into the wind.
    I may have missed it, but what was your gearing? What was your F/R tire pressure?

    You're in the big ring there if I'm not mistaken. Nice. And bitchin' sausage helmet!

  • @frank
    Hey, I know you're all banged up from your recent exploits in paradise, but I was wondering (for entirely selfish reasons) when the Vuelta VSP was going to be up? I'ma gonna be out of internet service tomorrow through the weekend starting late afternoon (anniversary). I can go for a shortish drive and get it (I will), but wondering about a guestimate?

  • @mauibike
    Good work, I thought you were an aussie. Ditto with Wellington, though instead of breezy pacific sunshine, the weather resembles the image at the head of this post more closely.

  • @frank

    "It's funny, I've found that a lot of my drinking had to do with habit and an OCD desire to consume something. Just pouring a glass of water and sipping that while I cook or have dinner serves much of that purpose."

    I hear ya. We've got a soda stream. My beer substitute is to make a big bottle of bubbly water. It fills me up more than still water and "feels" more like beer. I never feel guilty about drinking wine with my meal. And a benefit of cutting back on quantity is you feel justified in increasing quality - same per week expenditure but on half as much wine twice as good. It's a win/win. Except when you want to get pissed. Bubbly water isn't very good for that.

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