"Let's do the Bridge to Bridge," you said, only a few days before its 22nd running. You knew how I felt about it, and all those reasons immediately ran through my mind: It's too expensive. It's too logistically complicated. I can ride those roads any time I want for free. I hated the only other century I did. The local riders who get all geeked out about it every year bug me. Et cetera. But you wanted to end your road season on a big note, so you made your case for it. I told you that, while I wouldn't choose to do it myself, if you wanted to ride it, we would. So we made our plans, and while I started to get excited about it, if something had derailed our intentions as we waited to the last minute to register (fearing one of us would catch strep throat from Addy), I wouldn't have cared too much. But we stayed healthy, dodged a registration glitch, and got signed up on Saturday less than 24 hours before the start. We were in.
We lined up with 500+ other riders just before 8:00am on Sunday morning in Lenoir. Even though you agreed that we should ride our own pace and simply survive the ride, as soon as we lined up, you wanted to move up closer to the front, revealing that competitive spirit that drives you take on new challenges. And that spirit helped us cover the first 50 miles of the ride, though the rolling hills of Caldwell and Burke counties, in just a little over two-and-a-half hours.
Refueling at the base of NC 181 with our riding partner for the day, former JIRDC co-worker and century ride veteran Will Moomaw.The 12-mile climb up NC 181 to Jonas Ridge is the real start to the Bridge-to-Bridge, and it represented a mini-challenge for you of sorts. As I had my previous reservations about B2B, you had your previous reservations about this particular climb, mostly due to the high traffic it carries. As we settled in to the effort, it was beginning to occur to me that there was something more special about this ride to us than simply a cycling challenge. Having lived just outside of shouting distance to the climb, I had ridden up 181 dozens of times over the years. And now, there you were, tackling this same mountain for the first time. We would now have a common connection to a route that is a rite of passage for area cyclists. However, as the broader meaning of day began to coagulate in my mind, I started to have my crisis point of the day halfway up the climb; I started to suffer, and I had to slow down and drop away from you as you rode ahead, steady in your effort. My thoughts returned to managing my effort, which was becoming labored and very uncomfortable in the unseasonable heat. At its worst, I questioned whether or not I would really be able to finish the ride. I settled down and caught a second wind in time to catch up with you at the summit rest stop. As we stretched and refueled, I knew we would finish.
Early in the climb up NC 181.
Resting up at the summit of NC 181.After the rest, we set out to tackle the remaining 40 miles of the ride. Despite the effort, I realized that as we traveled roads I had ridden on in years past, I was sharing part of my life with you. We talk often about how different our lives were at one time; we were each previously married, we grew up in different eras, we did different things. But cycling is a part of me that is the same, and these roads we were riding were a way for you to know me 20 years ago, when I first started riding them as a student at ASU.
Shulls's Mill Road 
Shull's Mill RoadThe climb up Shull's Mill Road, from Hound Ears, to Blowing Rock, was particularly special to me. I had ridden that climb many times in the years that I lived in Boone, and it was always one of my favorite climbs. Despite my affection for it, I had not ridden it since probably 1993. So even though it meant more climbing in an already brutal event, I was happy to hear of its inclusion in this year's event due to construction on the usual route up US 221. On this particular day, it would mean that after the screaming, 40+mph descent out of Linville to Foscoe on NC 105, we were less than 25 miles from the finish. The climb was as beautiful as I remembered it, with the road canopied with green leaves under cloudless skies. I was so happy to be sharing it with you, and the ride continued to morph from just a ride to a profound experience between us. For you, however, it was becoming a different experience, and strain of the day was beginning to take its toll.
Climbing toward Grandfather on the Blue Ridge Parkway.
Even a lousy photographer gets lucky from time to time.
Grandfather Mountain looms in the distance...
Cresting the south slope of Grandfather on the Viaduct, with only the climb to the summit remaining.The change in the route for 2010 also meant that ride would ascend the south slopes of Grandfather Mountain via Blue Ridge Parkway, cresting at the famous Linn Cove Viaduct. As with Shull's Mill Road, this climb is another favorite from my Boone days. However, we have actually done it before, albeit not after 90 miles of cycling.
We crested the ridge over the Viaduct, and after a brief descent, turned onto US 221 for the 1-mile trip to the entrance to Grandfather Mountain. We had covered 99 miles, but with only three miles remaining, we knew the final two would be the stiffest test of the day. We made the right turn into the park, and the road immediately turned upward. We tried to settle into a rhythm that would get us to the top. As the road winds through the park, it gets steeper as it moves towards its terminus at the famous swinging bridge. Your pace slowed a bit, but you kept turning the pedals over.
We were inside of one mile to go, and the road pitched sharply up, over 15%. As we grunted our way up this pitch and around the corner, the final test lay before our eyes: the last half-mile, the steepest section of the road, folded into steep switchbacks and devoid of trees so that we could see every last foot of the climb. Participants walking their bikes up the cruel slope outnumbered those who were still pedaling. The big yellow sign indicating 1/2 mile to go took the wind out of your sails, and you had to stop to gather yourself. We pulled off, stared at the final hurdle ahead, and steeled ourselves for possibly the steepest climbing we'd ever done, with muscles long depleted of energy.
We set out and started the last half mile. It is hard to describe the severity of the climb, but we both know that the picture above of the start of this section doesn't begin to reveal its difficulty. By the time we reached the first switchback, you said you needed to stop. We pulled over to the side, which mercifully had an asphalt pulloff, and the look on your face was one of desperation. You told me afterward that you were near tears and were facing the despair that after all those miles, you didn't know if you could make it to the top. I knew that you were in a dark place, at least as far as cycling goes, and after a day of challenge after challenge, you were at rock bottom. You said to me that you just didn't know if you could do it. We assessed the rest of the climb and determined that the next two sections, separated by one switchback, were not as steep as what we had just done, so if you could just regain your momentum, you'd have something left for the final steep rise to the finish. Off we went again.
You clipped in and steadied yourself on the steep grade, and I immediately began encouraging you. I was so determined for you, and I wanted so badly for you to finish on your bike, because it meant so much to you. You rounded the last two switchbacks, staying steady, before facing the final wall to the finish line.
As you stood on the pedals, with spectators and earlier finishers cheering you on, I knew you were digging as deep as perhaps you ever had on a bike to get up that final grade. We watched others stop pedaling up that slope, unable to finish; we watched some get off the bike at the bottom and not even try it. But you did it. You would not quit. We crossed the line together, 8 hours and 10 minutes after leaving Lenoir that morning.
I love you and am so very proud of you for everything you have achieved this year. Thanks for talking me into the Bridge-to-Bridge.
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