I’ll never do it again! That’s what I said after my first climb up Mount Mitchell in 1991. It was cold, it was raining and I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. I had no cold weather gear and by the end of the ride I couldn’t feel anything. I’m sure I had hypothermia because I remember on the ride back down, I couldn’t read the road signs. I could see them, I just could make out what they said.  While I did get to the top that day much of the ride has faded from my feeble memory. What I do remember is “I’ll never do it again!” And I stuck to that for a long time.

Step forward to 2008. I’m almost 50. Call it a midlife crisis or a test of manhood. I had to prove that “Old guys can still do stuff”. Something about that age made me question. Could I beat my time? Can I just get to the top with my dignity intact? Or would I quit halfway up the Parkway and cry like a school girl until the broom wagon swept me up. When I told my wife I had a ride number her response was. “Are you sure you want to do this?” She had seen me do it the first time and apparently her memory is better than mine. I would find out later that it is.

The weather at the start was perfect and I’ll always remember the sound of that many riders clipping into their pedals at once. Other than dodging dropped water bottles and getting held up by the paving crew the ride to Marion was nice and fairly uneventful.

Hwy 80 is deceptive as it starts out rolling and shady. It’s beautiful ride past Lake Tahoma and along Buck Creek until I arrived at that dreaded spot where someone has painted “3 miles” on the asphalt. Like an omen that would soon reveal itself. The road turned up sharply and the switchbacks seemed to go on forever. I could hear voices above and below me like surreal echoes through the trees. Finally at the entrance to the Parkway I was greeted by the wonderful people who ran the rest stop. Every one of the volunteers on the ride should be sainted. They were outstanding.

The parkway is not as steep but, it climbs on and on. By this time it was brutally hot.

I saw one rider pedal off into the grass and just fall over. He made no effort to unclip or catch himself. He reminded me of Artie Johnson on his tricycle in the old TV show Laugh-in. The sun was directly overhead and only a few overhanging trees offered shade. There was no relief except for the two descents.  One short, I welcomed it and one long, I dreaded knowing I was giving up precious altitude that would have to be reclaimed.

The entrance to the park is very steep as well but knowing I was only 5 miles from the top boosted my spirits. I did get to the top and I did beat my time (By a whopping 8 minutes) and the only tears I shed were when I hugged my wife at the finish and told her “If you love me you will never let me do this again” We stayed at the top a couple of hours to clap and cheer on the finishers. I wanted to stay until the very last one but it was time to go. On the ride back down I saw the people still out on the road. Some looked like they were on a death march. I found it difficult to look at them, some barley able to turn the pedals. Some walking, pushing their bikes alongside. I still can’t explain what kept them going, what kept me going. But I do know.

I’ll never do it again!