I LOVE being able to ride my bike to work! Being within biking distance and somewhat near a long bike path was a prerequisite when we went house hunting in Hamburg and Seattle. My ride in Hamburg was 8 miles each way, VERY flat, and I cut 15 minutes off my commute time compared to riding the train. The only downside to my Hamburg ride was the horrific weather in North Germany nine months a year. That’s right, we moved to Seattle for better weather…

Last weekend, I suited up and got on my 9-speed road bike to take a test run to and from work – 15 miles round trip. Since I hadn’t been on a bike in three months (long story), I decided to try the ride with a few gears before committing myself to single-speed epic – I am SOOO glad I had a little forethought that particular morning… The ride in was great, fast, and a little scary. There is a +16% grade hill about ¾ of a mile long right by the house that I bombed down in amongst some sparse Saturday AM traffic. Holy crap, living in the flat land for 2 years made me forget what 50mph on a bike felt like! I passed a couple of cars on the right and made the drivers look at me crazy. I wish I could say that I was in full control, at the top of my game mentally and peddling for more speed. Sadly, that was not my experience. The road was gravely, my bike was shaking under me, I was right on the edge of losing control of the bike (lots of hamburger and road-rash at that speed), and on the very precipice of pissing my bike shorts. I survived the hill and the rest of my ride in was fairly fast and uneventful – 25 minutes from door to door.

The ride back was not as cool. I peddled back to the bottom of that monster hill and fired myself up for a little pain. I got a lot of pain and humiliation. For a cyclist, walking a bike up a hill is loathsome and reserved for fat sunburned tourists with grip shifters and gel-pads on their saddles. I shifted up to my biggest rear cog and stood in the saddle, mashing! About ¼ of the way up (I was on the sidewalk, which is already a weenie thing to do), my legs and lungs joined a union and started picketing my brain. I slowed to a crawl and started to weave slightly. Half way up my tongue was hanging out, I was sucking wind, sweating like a whore in church, and my vision started going a little blurry. About ¾ of the way up, I swerved into the grass and fell over a little – I stuck my foot out before actually hitting the ground. I then committed the ultimate roadie sin – I walked my fvcking bike the last 50 yards up the hill. I could feel the cold, laughing stares of the drivers as the passed me clicking along the sidewalk in my $200 carbon soled racing shoes, pushing a carbon and aluminum speed machine. I could even feel the hate coming off my bike. I felt absolutely defeated and like a big ol’ vagina.

Three days later I rode to work, and prepared myself for the battle with the ego-killing hill. I took some Tylenol, ate a bagel and raisins before leaving the office, got some sugar in my system, and slowly warmed my legs up on the approach to the hill. Again I attacked it and again it left me slobbering, bleary-eyed and defeated, though I did get a little closer to the top. On my ride of shame the rest of the way home I had an epiphany – when I moved to Hamburg, I had removed the 12-25 cassette group from my rear wheel and replaced it with an 11-21 group as I wouldn’t need the bigger cogs on the roads there. Hot damn! I went the next day and swapped the two cassettes and now I have two more gears to aid me in the coming grudge-match.

One side note though, I MAY have gotten in trouble when I was prepping the 12-25 to put back on. It was a little greasy, so I decided to clean it up. Naturally, I chose to do this in the bathroom sink. About halfway through, I looked down, saw the rings of grease in the sink and the thousands of black specs covering the entire counter and thought, “Oh SHIT, she is going to come in here, see this, and threaten me with violence.” I warned her about the lapse in judgment as I was called to dinner and cleaned up my mess right after so that I would have a warm and welcoming bed to sleep in that night..

Update 3/4/09: This afternoon, just as the sky faded into dusk, I started up the hill. I took the first 100 yards sitting down, getting out of the saddle and standing in the peddles at the last possible moment. I felt good going up the first bit with the 25-tooth cog whirling under me. I made it halfway without much hassle and wasn’t breathing too hard. I hit my previous high point and just as I started huffing, but I just kept mashin’ away. I topped the beast still riding hard and would have done a ‘Rocky at the top of the steps’ impression, but I couldn’t focus my eyes and was afraid of falling over and someone calling an ambulance – the one thing that would more embarrassing than having to push. The last 20 yards were real tough, but I knocked the bastard off and now I can approach the grade without dread and without the stigma of a coming walk of uphill shame.