The “Angry” Weather, Staying Put, and Another Gear

Dear friends and family,

Yesterday my plan was to make a dash during the inclement weather to get from Lincoln City to Newport to allow the big storm to pass and be in a bigger town with lots to explore. 

The sky was angry. She threw her contempt forward with her foul winds, and from the south, to inhibit his feeble attempt to make progress. That wind screamed as it included the moisture from the clouds, to pelt him sideways stinging him with each pointed drop. And she felt success as he struggled to make way against the screaming fury. 

That was my day yesterday, except for the fact that there was no “angry” wind or “screaming” or “aggression” against my efforts.  I sometimes get caught up in that anthropomorphic thinking, then have to remember that is what winds and rain are supposed to do in a low pressure system in the first wave of the front. Yes, the wind was high and did stop my efforts, enough to completely stop me on steep downhill runs if I didn’t pedal hard, but that is what winds can do in a low pressure system while one might be riding a bike into it. The headwind averaged about 15 mph and gusted to almost 30. 

Not that I didn’t struggle, I did. It took me four hours to make 28 miles in that rain and wind. Only one big hill, but lots of highway riding with limited visibility and the necessity of focus to avoid stuff on the shoulder while still keeping out of traffic. Whenever there was at least a partially sheltered rest spot, I took it to catch my breath and break my focus for a few minutes. 

My rain gear worked wonderfully and I stayed just warm enough and just dry enough. I have to admit, it was the wettest and windiest four hours I have ridden yet and with the concentration needed, I was exhausted by the time I made my hotel-the Comfort Inn. Funny name of the place to stay for someone who seeks out so much discomfort🙂. I left quite a puddle at the front desk of the hotel as I checked in. Luckily, they had a room ready for me way before check-in time, and after a hot shower, I enjoyed the hotel name and took a nap.

I asked myself why I put myself in a situation like I was in, and remembered a situation from forty seven years ago that taught me something that I carry forward with me:

It was Grindelwald, Switzerland, in the year 1978. We both were staring at the north face of the Eiger from our barstools in town. I shared my thoughts out loud “I wonder what it would be like to be on that face” and the guy sitting next to me, Kevin, a Brit from Liverpool, answered “I hope to find out someday”. 

“Hmm, another climber, ” I thought to myself. 

Over the next couple of hours, we shared our future climbing ambitions, including the one in front of us. The North Face of the Eiger is thought by most climbers to be the big one, the most important and possibly hardest climb in the Alps. We both had come there not to climb it, but to fuel our ambitions in our climbing lives. “Someday” was on both of our minds.

So, we exaggerated our past efforts and successes, maybe forgetting to share that the big climb I/we did, was led by a guide and never led by either of us. So I was convinced that I was with a better climber than myself and Kevin had the same thought about me, giving each of us a boost of confidence and mitigation of risk. 

After a few beers, Kevin shared the idea that in the next valley over, there was an almost sheer three thousand foot ice face that had never been climbed: Ebnefluh North Face. This was the day of the evolution of ice climbing and gear designed for it, so that the sheer faces could still be “firsted”.  We decided to have a go and took trains and a bus to the base, next to a little town called Lauterbrunnen. 

After the hike to the closest climbers hut, we got a two AM start, to get on the face before the sun softened the snow and ice, so it would be solid to climb. We used safety techniques that both of us knew and belayed each other using ice screws as we climbed upwards on the front points of our crampons, with one ice axe in one hand and an ice pick in the other hand. 

This extra safety method combined with our beginners level of ice climbing made for a slow ascent. The day wore on and we realized that we would only make it about three quarters of the way up before we lost the daylight. It appeared that there was some sort of snow cave indented into the face a ways above us, so we headed for that. 

Turned out that our inexperienced eyes did not realize that this was simply a black rock sticking out from the face and no cave for shelter, so we sat on it as darkness came, dangling our legs over the edge about three thousand feet over the valley below. 

Since we did not plan a bivouac, we had no tent or sleeping bag, so kept moving and talking to stay warm. We couldn’t remove our boots or even our crampons because if either got loose, we would have no way to continue on our way.

Morning slowly arrived and we started upwards again. We reached the top of the face and realized that to make the summit, we would have to chop our way through the cornice of snow that was hanging over the summit and above our heads. We took turns attempting to chop through it, knowing that once through, the summit would be right there, except we couldn’t make headway getting through. The snow had melted and refrozen enough times that it was as hard as a rock and impenetrable to us.

Only feet from the summit and our “easy” expected walk down the other side and we were stopped. Our only choice was to downclimb the same face that we up-climbed over the last day and a half. Sure, gravity was on our side, but combined with our lack of sleep and exhaustion from front pointing had us steadily, but very slowly, making our way down.

I was truly exhausted by this point. Exhausted like I never had experienced it before. Daylight was used up and still we climbed down, step by step, breath by breath and so far past my definition of “all”. All I could do, all I could go. It was life or death, so there was no lack of motivation.

Kevin and I kept going steadily, and then going more. I had thought I had understood the limits of human exhaustion and the limit of going even more. I had been an athlete and had run a couple of marathons. I never knew this experience. I never thought I would break, it was the most unreal experience to witness in your own self, something that you never knew existed or was possible. Like another gear that was hidden.

Yes, we did make it down eventually and took a few days to rest. Recovery was quicker than what I might have expected, but I was 25 years old. What is it “god provides for fools and drunks”?

We told each other that we were the first to climb this face, not summit the mountain, as if we needed some reward for what we got ourselves into. 

I thought of this yesterday while pushing those pedals against the wind. I knew I would make it. I never thought it would take that superhuman effort like 47 years earlier, not at all. I was to be in the COMFORT INN, after only four hours. There’s something about my “why” in this. What do you think, Dr. Freud?

As I felt pretty unfit in that pedaling and still waiting for the big increase in fitness now that I’ve been riding for a few days, the alarming thought came across my consciousness “What if I am as fit as I am ever going to be?”

It hit me hard at first. “Oh, no, that would be terrible and my downfall is near” and then in only a few seconds I realized how utterly fortunate I am and have been to enjoy the level of health and fitness that I have and how could I possibly not realize this and be thankful for it. If I want to continue touring, I could just lower my plans for mileage per day and enjoy it all at this level, and what the heck is wrong with that?

Then again, thoughts of ” I’ll probably start getting fitter as I go” returned after my nap. I smile as I witness those thoughts. 

Sending love,

Charley