Wildcat Road, we meet again

In cycling, climbs have memorable names and mythical significance. Riders dream of suffering their way up the French Cols: Galibier, Tournmalet; or unzipping their jerseys, while stomping up the steeps of Italy: Monte Zoncolan and the fatal sounding Passo del Mortirolo. During my time in California, I faced and conquered some of our own nation's legendary hills, such as Gibraltar Rd. and the road up Mt. Whitney.

Though not nearly as difficult as any of those famous climbs, Wildcat Rd. has haunted my own cycling dreams, sometimes in the voice of Owen Wilson's Eli Cash from The Royal Tennenbaums, but always beckoning me to come back, and give it another go.

 

In 2011, I thought I was a pretty good cyclist. I had done the ride to Bear Mountain, and had dropped many fellow climbers on the park hills in Central and Prospect Park. But I had never encountered anything like Wildcat Rd. Though only a modest 2.5 miles averaging 5%, it's still a steady and challenging climb, with a few moments approaching 10%. And I happened to tackle it on a hot, humid, Scranton afternoon in 2011.

I remember making my way out of town on Main Ave. and coming to the fork between Wildcat Rd. and Rt. 6 (BUS). The choice was obvious.

I rolled up the steady, initial section, dropping down rapidly into the "granny" gear. Even riding a triple chainring on my Specialized Roubaix, I struggled. The road mellowed, finding it's way into pleasant woods, but then kicked again, and I cracked.

I didn't know that "cracked" is a term of art in cycling. But that day, I felt its meaning. I had already unzipped my jersey completely, been in- and out-of-the saddle, gasped, cursed, and finally stopped. I pitched over to the right side of the road, and sat panting and dazed.

 

Riding Wildcat Rd. this weekend was still no cakewalk. After it haunted my dreams for years, I got stronger, trained harder, rode much steeper, and longer climbs. I eventually began dreaming not only of revisiting the Wildcat, but also crushing it. Pacing my way up mellower sections and stomping my way up the steep bits. Looking pro on a Scott Addict with a 53/39. It didn't quite go that way. But I didn't stop and I rode a decent pace. So once again I was humbled by the Wildcat. It's part of the reason I love climbing. Gravity's pull is absolute, in a way that few things are in life. So the pain of 6, 7, 8% reminds us that as much as we dream, we must also be humbled.