As a youth, I’d been introduced to fixed gear bikes, I just hadn’t seen the point. A few years ago I re-discovered singlespeeds and fixies. I fell in love with the whole thing. I looked for more and more challenges. (I still do.)
I was struck by a couple of intriguing ideas. First, “Why not do a century on a fixie?” And then, “Why not do one of the nice flat Florida brevets on the same bike?”
I did not just jump blind into these pursuits. I did do some testing, and a good bit of training. (I mean training!)
I’d been riding the new fixed gear Giant a good bit. I felt strong on it, and I’d settled on a ratio that seemed to work well for me. I picked a particular day, and did a “Fixie test.” I rode the fixie to work that day. I led a ride on it. I then met with several friends, and went out for another ride, and out-and-back of about 45 miles. Then I rode home. My net mileage for the day was close to 90 miles, and I wasn’t destroyed.
I’d already signed up to do the century, but had reasoned that I could always bail and do the thing on a geared bike. My test was so positive that I was encouraged to go forward with the challenge.
The ride I’d picked was noted for being one of the least hilly in this general area. I’d ridden it before and found it so. Of course… It didn’t turn out to be quite what I expected, but that’s another story. Suffice it to say, my experience in the century was positive.
>>Technical digression follows:
On a fully geared bicycle, the best practice for climbing is to downshift early, and stay aerobic. This means one lets the hill slow the bike, but maintains a steady and even pace as the climb progresses. Downshifts are made before they are needed.
The technique for tackling a hill on a fixed gear bike is a bit (to say the least) counterintuitive. There is only one gear available. It is usually too high for the hill. Shifting is not an option. So fixie riders tend to attack the hill, spinning up before the climb begins, and working hard to stay “on top” of the gear for as long as possible. Then, as the climb progresses, they are slowed, and if it is a long enough climb, forced to stand and even “tack.” All of this can make it a bit odd for riding companions not used to the vagaries of fixed gear cycling.
>>Back to that century.
I arrived at the end in good order. The legs were pretty tired, but I felt good! That made the decision. I would go to Florida in the coming year and unleash the fixie on a 200K brevet. I’d ridden that particular event the year before. It was a pretty flat route, so I figured I could well manage a 125 mile ride on the fixed gear.
When it comes to hills, Florida cycling people have, it seems to me, a bit of an inferiority complex. There is nothing wrong with flat terrain! But they seem to think that the rest of us look down on them for not having hills. So, whenever possible, Florida ride organizers will go way out of their way to include as much hilly stuff as they can!
The previous year’s 200K had been delightful! It was essentially a flat ride, through lovely rural countryside. But this was a different year. The organizer felt that, since it was a qualifying year for P-B-P, it would be necessary to include as much hill work as possible. Thus, a completely different 200K! I was caught unaware. I saw something on the cue sheet about a Knox Hill Road, but I didn’t think too much about it. It was about 2/3 of the way through the ride. Seems like, anywhere you go, there’s some road that is named something like “op-and-So Hill Rd,” or some such. Just a shrug.
Oddly, it is possible to find some hilly stuff I the Florida panhandle. The new brevet route included a fair number of rollers. Early on it was apparent that we weren’t following the old route. This one was less than flat. I was working, but not seriously so. I was enjoying the day, chatting and joking with my riding companions. Sometimes I would be a bit ahead, and sometimes a bit behind, due to the characteristics of my bike versus their more conventional rides.
I was checking the cuesheet. The turn for Knox Hill Road was just ahead. I called that info out to the group. (I tend to fall into the role of navigator.) I was close to the front of the group when we made the turn. We rounded a gentle bend in the road, and it was revealed. “It” was a hill. Not just any little hill, but a steep one, and one without a visible top. I knew I had exactly two choices. One, go for it, get up over my gear, and hope I could hold on to it. Two, roll up to the base of the hill, lose momentum, slow to a grind, and then dismount and walk. I chose the former.
I stood and accelerated. I saw a couple of startled looks on the faces of my riding companions, but I had no time to explain. I had the bike up to speed as I started up the grade. Just after I passed the climb initiation, I saw faded paint on the road. In large red letters, “It Starts HERE Have FUN,” painted across the right hand lane. “A joker,” I thought, “Cute.”
This would recur several times. Road paint that alternately encouraged or taunted, at each change in pitch.
My riding companions were downshifting and spinning up to stay close behind me.
The highest point in Florida is near the town of Florala, 345 feet elevation. Knox Hill Road did not start in the Gulf of Mexico, so the climb had to be less than that. I have no explanation. That road climbed for two and a half miles. The grade varied steady to steep and back, and it never let up completely. Logically, a good estimation of that climb is over 700 feet. Not possible. But there you have it.
The road climbed briskly. I settled down to making power and preserving forward speed. I was working to stay ahead of the hill. My companions were falling behind. They were riding intelligently, using their gearing and good sense. I had little choice.
“Go NOW!” the road paint said. I was already tired, and my legs were beginning to burn, but this was a critical point. I summoned the will, and charged into it, as the steepness came on, I stood up, legs and lungs burning, and powered the bike.
As the climb broke (finally!) a logo of a winged wheel and the letters PCF was painted on the pavement. Below the logo, in bright letters, “This delightful climb brought to you by courtesy of the Panama City Flyers Cycling Club” After that the road leveled. It became flat. It actually descended at a nice easy grade. I was alone.
After about a mile I was breathing normally and the pain was leaving my legs. My companions caught up about there.
I spent the next hour trying to explain it. My performance on that hill had not been an act of bravado, but rather one of desperation. I rather think they didn’t believe me.
The last 40 miles of that ride were very long for me. My friends, all but two of them, left me behind. I didn’t have the legs to follow. But I did finish!
