In 2017, I suffered my most brutal collapse I’ve ever had on the bike. It was 40 degrees and raining for that year’s App Gap Road Race; leftovers from Hurricane Isaac had made their way up to Vermont in the form of cold temperatures, torrential rain, and howling winds. Needless to say, no one was excited to race their bike that day.
It was so cold that I could barely feel my hands. I had just enough movement left to brake, but that was about it. My left hand was so numb that I had to across over my handlebars with my right hand, and use my entire palm to shift into the big ring. But what ultimately led to my demise was the inability to grab food out of my pockets. Somewhere around mile 35, I sat at the back of the field for no less than 15 minutes, desperately trying to grab a hold of the energy bars in my pocket. While I was able to get my hand in my pocket – I could feel the food in the palm of my hand – but my fingers could not grasp, and thus, I had no way of getting the food from pocket-to-mouth. I knew what the consequences were if I could not eat; a cyclist’s worst nightmare: “bonking.” (Bonking is when your body runs out of available carbohydrates – it can only store about 2,500 calories of carbs – and must resort to using fat and protein for energy instead. That means that, while you won’t pass out, you’ll hit a wall – you won’t be able to go fast anymore. Fat and protein fuel low-to-moderate exercise intensities of exercise, nothing more).
With just 10 miles to go, I bonked, hard. It happened on a 15% grade, just a short climb before the finale at App Gap. But all of a sudden, I couldn’t pedal. My legs locked up, and everything hurt. It was like I was riding underwater.
After 20 minutes on the verge of crying, collapsing, or quitting all together, I stopped. At the base of App Gap, I pulled over to the side of the road, and dug through my pockets for everything I had. In five minutes, I consumed over 2,000 calories of energy bars and gels – we had been racing nearly 5 hours and I hadn’t eaten a thing. What followed was arguably the saddest ascent of App Gap of all-time. I limped up the climb, giving it everything I had. But I couldn’t do more than 200 W. I resorted to the paper-boy technique, snaking from one end of the road to the other in a desperate attempt to lessen the gradient. I climbed and climbed with everything I had, and collapsed after the finish line in a cold, hungry, exhausted, and shivering heap.
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The App Gap stage of GMSR is my favorite road race of all-time. At over 100 miles and 7,500 feet of climbing, it finishes atop one of the hardest climbs in America (App Gap), and is the ultimate test of a true bike racer… This stage has a reputation, and a lot to live up to. But it never fails to disappoint.
In stark contrast to last year’s misery, we rolled out of the Sugarbush Resort parking lot in 65-degree weather and glowing sun. The course begins with 25 miles of rolling roads leading into the first climb, a two-part ascent of Rochester Gap, with long sections of 7-8%. A fast descent follows, and then another 25 miles of rolling/flat roads before the next climb: Middlebury Gap – this is where the race truly begins. Another fast descent into town turns into another 20-mile stretch, but this time, it is not flat. ‘The Notch’ climb is hellishly steep but thankfully short, and is quickly followed by a two-mile section of gravel and dirt road. There is one more flat section before the final assault to the finish, thirty minutes of pain up Baby Gap and then App Gap. The final climb is incredibly steep – App Gap averages over 9% for 2 miles, and includes sections of 12, 15, and 20+%. It is hard to describe just how steep a 20% grade actually is. Imagine a steep stair case that has been paved over, so that it becomes a ramp. Now imagine riding a bike up that – that is what the last 200 meters of App Gap is like. After four hours in the saddle, and having already traversed three major mountain passes, the final pitches of App Gap are enough to make many riders walk and just as many cry (count me as part of the second group; just a little bit).
The race played out in a way that no one expected. No one believed that it could/would ever happen, because it had never happened before in the history of GMSR; the early break stayed away on the App Gap stage. Usually, the early break is a suicide move. A few riders go hard early, pick up some primes, sprints, or KOM points, and continue to push on as the field slowly but surely reels them in. The longer and harder the stage, the less likely an early breakaway will succeed. So when 12-18 riders (I still don’t know exactly what happened) rolled away in the first 20 miles, everyone expected that we would see them all again – before the finish.
I made a mistake; I sat at the back for the first 20 miles, conserving my energy for the rest of the race. I should have been at the front, marking moves and keeping an eye on the GC guys. A race favorite got into the early break, and I should have been there to cover it. I’m disappointed in myself and also for my team, because I didn’t do my job and we lost the race because of it. I will never let that happen again.
When we hit the first climb at 25 miles in, the field exploded. Riders blew sky high, weaving across the road as I sprinted around them to try and latch on to the front group. I made it, but the front group accelerated again. At that moment, I made a decision: save a match now (“match” = a hard effort made during a race, of which riders only have so many; on a good day, I’ll have 10 matches to burn; on a bad day, I’ll have just one) by staying just behind the front group and catching back on over the top. There was a group of ~20 riders behind me, and I was confident that, with over 70 miles to go, we would catch back on.
I was right; a few minutes later (after a screaming descent in which I hit 60 mph!) we caught the front group. And at that point, the race was on. More than 40 riders had been dropped on the first climb – they never made it back. The early break had almost 3 minutes at this point, but one of the major teams had missed it, and I was happy to see them chasing for the next 25 miles…
Middlebury Gap was always going to be hard, I knew that. I’ve done this race the past three years, so I’m no rookie. But man, I didn’t know it was going to be that hard! Nate Brown – a World Tour Pro who’s worn the KOM jersey in the Tour de France – got on the front and dropped about 30 riders. My teammate, Will Cooper, was one of just two riders to stay with Nate – I couldn’t believe how strong Will was. By the top of the climb, riders were strewn out across the road in ones or twos. For the last five minutes of Middlebury, I was going as hard as I could. For the power nerds out there, I was doing 6.2 W/kg, and still got dropped.
Coming over the top of the climb, I employed the same tactic as I did on Rochester: save a match instead of staying with the leaders, and trust that the chase group will catch back on. It took even longer this time – almost 20 minutes – but once again, I was right. Another important note: with Will in the front group, I was able to sit-on in the chase group, allowing me to save precious energy for later in the race.
When we hit The Notch, I got nervous. I struggled up the steep grade, and even got dropped from the front group, again. The pain in my legs was so horrible that I didn’t think I would even make it to the finish without walking – App Gap is just as steep as and four times longer than The Notch. I downed a packet of chews and a Vanilla Bean GU gel (eating something that tastes like ice cream really boosts the morale!) and prepared myself for Baby Gap.
All of a sudden, I felt good. I was able to follow Nate’s attacks on Baby Gap, and I stayed in the top 5 the whole climb.
I’m ready; bring on App Gap.
During the short, three-minute descent between Baby Gap and App Gap, I had more GU gel and flew into the climb in 10th position. It didn’t take long for Nate to attack, once, twice, three times… With each and every attack, more riders were getting dropped. We started the climb with 25 riders; we were quickly down to 10, and by the third attack, we were down to five. But the fourth attack was what finally broke me; everyone, actually. I remember it vividly, like it was a dream. We were coming into a left-hand switchback. The gradient was about to get steep – super steep – and it would stay like that for another 2 km. Nate sprinted into the turn like it was a perfectly flat road. I stood up to go, and I just couldn’t, not that fast.
And then there were three of us: Bryan Lewis (in the yellow jersey), Will Dugan, and I. Nate was up the road – he would not be caught – but Connor Ryan was coming up quickly behind. As we neared 1 k to go, our group of three stopped collaborating. We started looking at each other, and no one wanted to pull. With Nate long-gone and a stiff headwind for the next 500 m, we hesitated just enough that Connor was able to claw his way back on. At 200 m to go, I knew that Hell was waiting – the last 200 m average 20%, and hit a maximum of 24%, enough to make grown men cry, or walk, or both.
I got on the front and drilled it. And let me clarify, ‘drilling it’ means that I pedaled at 80 rpm in my easiest gear, a 39×28 – that’s how steep it was. At 100 m to go, I started to die. Connor and Will came around me, and part of me broke. But then I said, No, not today. I started coming around them again, focused on the road in front of me and nothing else. When Will attacked, my mind went blank. I clicked it down a gear, then two, and sprinted as hard as I could to the line. At those speeds and on that gradient, my 50 m “sprint” lasted about 45 seconds. In that moment, I thought about nothing. I felt no pain. Actually, all I felt was pain. But when you feel only pain, what’s the difference?
I crossed the finish line in 7th place – four riders from the early break had stayed away – and just 21 seconds behind Nate. I immediately collapsed. I couldn’t stand up. They had volunteers to catch me – my old coach from a USAC development camp actually caught me – for which I am very thankful. They even have a big blue medical tent set up next to the finish for riders who are in serious difficulty. But after a water and a minute, I felt OK. My body still cried out in horrible pain, “Why do you keep doing this to me?!”
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This was probably the hardest I have ever pushed myself on the bike. In those last 200 meters, I wasn’t thinking about the pain anymore – it was like being in a state of shock. It all hit me as soon as I crossed the finish line, and immediately I wanted to cry.
Looking back, I’m disappointed in myself for making such a simple but consequential mistake: letting the early break go with a GC guy in it. That said, I am incredibly proud of my effort and for our team, who put 2 riders into the Top 10 Overall. Like my teammates said they day before, “I had so much fun racing my bike today! That was awesome! I am so happy right now!!”
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