As I mentioned before, Mt. Nemesis is an 11% grade at the intersection of Old Sauk Road and Old Middleton Road, a hill that looms in the middle of an otherwise moderate to easy bike route. I try to end my local rides there, as a final challenge. With due respect to Edmund Hillary and his ilk, it strikes me as Everest struck them, an indifferent obstacle that can't be bullied, only respected. I look forward to the day I can reach the top without dropping to lowest gear, when I can pass the "Thanks for Slowing Down" sign without feeling as though I'm being mocked.
Yesterday seemed pretty much the same. I stole a couple hours from the middle of the day, and rode downtown to the bike shop, from there across campus along the lake. I took an alternate route through Shorewood Hills, with a couple fairly long gradual climbs, along winding roads under massive trees and past stately houses, the smell of money mixed with that of the flowerbeds. Then curled back to the bike path, toward Nemesis. As I drew near, at a moderate pace, a rider whizzed past, startling me with a curt, "On your left," a lanky gray-haired guy (so many gray haired cyclists here) on a decent bike, with an air of confidence, maybe even arrogance. I decided to pace myself with him, which was not easy, since he was making a good clip. A few blocks later he made the turn toward Nemesis, and I followed.
As we began grinding upward, I noticed I was gaining on him, and ended up riding at his left shoulder during the final part of first of Nemesis's two summits. On the brief flat before the start of the second ascent, I passed him, with a brief, "Hell of a hill, innit?" He grunted. It occurred to me that, perhaps, he was more like me, aiming for a level of performance he had not yet achieved.
In any event, I gradually pulled away, and topped the hill with him fading into my mirror. I turned toward home, on Ozark Parkway, and he continued down Old Sauk.
The climb had been hard, as always, and still involved granny gear, but once I had topped it I felt charged, and the moderate incline toward home seemed irrelevant. As I rode along I thought about what had happened, and reminded myself to steer a careful course between the Scylla of smugness and the Charybidis of confidence. Certainly the hill is easier now than it was in April, and I climbed it better than at least one Madison cyclist.
As I drew near my final turn, I came upon another cyclist. I pulled up alongside and greeted him with, "Beautiful Day, hey?" This rider, very gray-haired indeed, jerked sharply, turned toward me with a startled look on his face. "You shouldn't sneak up on people," he scolded.
I apologized and went on my way not, I hoped, too smugly.
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