Seems like once a year I end up failing during a climb. Today was that day. By fail I mean I overcook by going too hard on a steep section. Today's climb was along one of the stages for the upcoming 2010 Tour of California in May -- stage 8, the last day, and Decker Road specifically. Decker was one of the Santa Monica mountain climbs I hadn't done in the 2 years I've been riding these hills. From the looks of it on Mapmyride.com, it wasn't any worse than some of the other steep climbs I successfully completed. In fact, it was less steep than some (Las Flores), but the steep section lasts longer.



On the way:



I honestly didn't approach it with any concern. I was just prepared to go slow and hurt more than usual. The 10 mile approach went well and by the time I hit Decker I was feeling good and warmed up. The first mile was tough, but no real difficulty. Around the 1.5 mile mark the gradient becomes less steep and lasts for nearly a mile, so that was a relief. But then by 2.5 miles the intense steepness returned, and I marched on, most of it standing.

Beginning at the 3 mile mark the gradient returns to a more reasonable 6-4% and lasts that way for the last mile before it begins to level off at the point where I'd turn off to swoop down Mulholland back to the coast. Well, I didn't have a gradient map in front of me, and I didn't study it at all before beginning the day. At the end of mile 3, all I saw was up, and as I looked to my left, I saw this:



Just more up, one road worse than the other and I didn't know which one was mine. What I didn't know was the Mulholland route I was aiming for was actually below the first ridge right in front of me, and what I was seeing on the horizon was a completely different route (Yerba Buena). It was at that point I had the following conversation with my brain:

Brain: Hey, do you realize your vision is narrowing?
Me: Yeah, what is that?
Brain: It's called tunnel vision. You're oxygen depleted and about to fall over.
Me: I don't want to fall over. What should I do?
Brain: If I were you I'd stop to rest.
Me: OK. (stops and straddles bike)
Brain: How do you like all this sweat running into your eyes?
Me: I don't like it at all. And my rubbery legs and anvil-like arms aren't to my liking either.
Brain: Nothing I can do about that. You overcooked man. Going too hard when you have no business doing so.
Me: I feel like I'm going to faint.
Brain: Put your head down on your handlebars and keep breathing.
Me: OK. But I still feel like I'm going to faint.
Brain: Then get off your bike.
Me: I don't want to.
Brain: Why not?
Me: Because I'll fall over.
Brain: OK by me. Stay on your bike.
Me: I still feel like I'm going to fall over.
Brain: Then get off your bike.
Me: I don't want to.
Brain: Why not?
Me: Because I'll fall over.
Brain: Look, either fall over or get off the bike and lay down.
Me: I can't lay down on the side of the road.
Brain: Why not?
Me: Because that's totally giving up and I didn't start this to take a nap.
Brain: Did you see what's ahead of you? Miles more of up, and you're in no shape to continue. Turn around.
Me: Abandon?
Brain: Yes. It's either that or death.
Me: I believe you.
Brain: So what's it going to be? Abandon or death?
Me: I don't know.
Brain: Your call.
Me: I should turn around, but I still feel like I'm going to fall over.
Brain: Falling over while descending could be disastrous up here.
Me: I know.
Brain: So what are you going to do?
Me: I don't know.
Brain: Why not?
Me: I don't know.

Some 10 more minutes of that and I gradually began to feel better. Not enough to continue up, but still too rubbery and deflated to even clip back in. It was as if I was on drugs. Horrible feeling! As if I hit a "wall." I didn't even trust that I would be sound enough to use my brakes on such a steep descent.

Well, I convinced myself to turn around and begin descending, and I managed to use the brakes effectively. Sweating profusely until then (it was only 75F), the cool rush of air on my face and through my helmet felt good. By the time I hit PCH at the bottom I was relieved, but I still had 10 miles of return route to go, which included a few 100-200 foot humps. Fortunately, I had a tailwind, and took advantage of it whenever I could. To soothe my damaged pride, I made the effort to climb up those humps as I would normally.

A view heading down:



Last 7 miles:



So, 30 miles and nearly 1700 feet of climbing. Fail? I don't know.

Then when I got home and was about to take my bike out of the car, I smelled smoke. I walked around to the back of the property to see this:



I live on the boundry of a state park, which is also a serious fire storm hazard at this time of year whenever the strong winds kick up. No sooner did I see the smoke, when I heard neighbors rustling about and talking about the "fire department." Minutes later I heard sirens. They knocked it down within 5 minutes. What happened was someone with a parked camper-trailer down the hill attempted to fumigate the trailer, but apparently didn't shut off the stove pilot flame. When the gas inside the trailer became strong enough, it ignited. Neighbors said they heard a loud boom before all the smoke.

Happy Halloween.