The Curious Case of the 3-Speed Hill Climb

For a good few years after I first began cycling, I was quite weak at climbing hills. For steep gradients in particular, I needed low gears, a lightweight bike. And by 'needed' I don't mean preferred; I mean that I would be walking otherwise.

Three years of living in Ireland changed that. I am not the strongest cyclist out there by far. But I've adapted to my surroundings. And my surroundings are hilly! If I'm riding long distance, I sill prefer to have (and use) low climbing gears. But when it comes to each hill on an individual basis, I no longer strictly speaking 'need' a super-low gear to scale most of the ones within commuting distance.

Old and New

Visiting the Gap of Mamore a couple of days ago, we intended to photograph the formidable pass in a way we had not had a chance to when transversing it on bicycles earlier this year. But before we reached the mountain road, we made a detour for a tiny hamlet by the beach at Tullagh Bay, having noticed something there that piqued our curiosity.

What Goes Up Must Come Down

Admittedly, my experience with mountain climbs is far from expansive. But the ones that are local to me seem to follow a distinct pattern. I've attempted to illustrate it for you in this highly technical drawing.

The Last House

It is a road that I have climbed so often, it is really no longer a road, or a climb, but more like some inexplicably repeating drama. A play in which I find myself performing some peripheral, but necessary, role, again and again, as if caught in a dream loop.

Time Off the Bike: What's Your Damage?

As an optimist, I find it alarmingly easy to get used to a good thing. To embrace it as the default, even if deep down I know it is the exception - that precariously balanced, delicate state of affairs, where fortune chances its smile upon me. This goes for everything: health, domestic contentment, even cycling fitness. The warm summer breeze in my face, I enjoyed my spins up the mountains this summer all too well - conveniently forgetting that the stamina and climbing ability responsible for this enjoyment were hard earned - a product of months and months of putting in miles and pushing my limits.

But it doesn't take much to shake the illusion. 4 weeks off the roadbike, to be precise. Although I tried to be active in other ways, those weeks did their damage. I could tell by the way I felt as soon as I clipped in and pushed off, that we wouldn't just be able to pick up where we left off.

Of Mind and Gap

As a teenager, I once saw a black and white photograph of a magnificent landscape in a friend’s father’s study. I didn’t know quite what I was looking at. But, transfixed by the silvery squiggles strewn over the jagged mountain, I knew that it was stunning.

“The Stelvio Pass,” said my friend’s father. And I nodded, the exotic image forever fixed in my mind's eye.