Self-confessed climb-lover Rich Rothwell reckons that you’re missing out on half the fun if you don’t learn to love the ups as much as the downs.
Words Rich Rothwell
There’s a climb in the Cheviots that strikes fear into even the skinniest northern local. The direct route up Windy Gyle. It’s three kilometres long and tops out at over 600m. In classic Cheviot style, the ground is springy grass at best, wheel-sucking saturated sponge at worst (read ‘usually’). The bottom is very steep, the middle bit is pretty steep, and the top 150m is very, very steep. So fair to say it’s a steep climb. Then at the top of the very, very steep bit (when your heart is popping out your ears), the ruts and steps start, carved into the peat by hillwalkers (or exhausted hikeabikers).
It is a total git.
Every time I ride that climb, I curse it (I’ve been riding it for years; that’s a lot of cursing). From down in the valley, as I stare up, my muscles involuntarily start producing lactic acid like a salivating Scooby Doo when someone mentions Snacks.
It doesn’t get easier. You just go… the same speed
As a youth, on a 26in-wheeled, rigid-forked, triple-chainringed, ‘state-of-the-art’ aluminium ATB, I would ‘just’ claw my way up the final grassy steps and steep pitch. I’d reach the Pennine Way fingerpost that points its arms both ways along the Border Ridge, and hang my head over the bars, chest and head rhythmically rising and falling, while enjoying a good view of my feet.
Many years later, onboard a full suspension, single ring, ‘state-of-the-art’ carbon MTB… well, nothing much has changed. It’s still very, very steep, very, very draggy and very, very hard. As it was back then, I still ‘just’ scramble up the last very, very steep tricky bit and feel a bit dizzy and rinsed at the top. Years of riding have not changed the fact that Windy Gyle is ‘just doable’. It never gets easier.
Then I raise my head and, on a clear day, soak in one of the most spectacular and surreal views in the North of England. The rounded mass of the Cheviot dominates the horizon to the northeast. Over the border further north, the fell drops away spectacularly to the southern farmlands of the Scottish Borders.
Endearingly, this ancient landscape seems impervious to time. Bar the odd new temporary fence or gatepost, the fells stand stoic and immovable. The feeling of being high and far away is overwhelming in this hard to reach spot.
I’ve got older, my bike has morphed in form and evolved with technology, but nothing else has changed. This hill is still a brute to climb. The reward of sheer isolation, as well as the apprehension of the pending very, (very) long downhill remains unchanged.
All my own work
Climbs and descents. One could not exist without the other. We must get up to get down. Sure, you can enjoy an uplift or an electric bike, but there is a unique satisfaction in getting to the top of a big hill under your own steam. I’ve enjoyed riding e-bikes up some big hills and yes, there was an adrenalin kick and a load of fun to be had, but it lacked the purity of being all my own work.
People who actually ENJOY climbing are weird surely? They’re all into fitness and training and stuff? The best bit is going downhill. It’s why we mountain bike, obviously. Aren’t the ups not just a task to be tolerated?
I don’t think it’s that straightforward. The more you climb, the more you descend. It’s part of the reasoning for a big day out right? Unless you are uplifting for pure downhill action, climbs are fundamental to the mountain biking experience. Whether we curse them or not, there is great satisfaction to be had from ‘getting to the top’, however quickly or slowly we do it. There is a strong internal affirmation that we have earned our right to plummet downwards. There is a pure feeling of escapism as we turn our back on the lower ground and head UP, and start banking those hard-earned gravity credits. Invest in more gravity credits and enjoy a greater descending cash in.
Even in the trail and enduro meccas, riders earn their turns. Riding the Innerleithen Golfie recently, the fire roads had a constant stream of riders hauling up and smashing down; lots of metres climbed and plenty of credits cashed in.
There is a very tangible sensation of escaping earth’s gravitational pull; in the big hills and mountains our awareness is magnified visually. We see the world from a different angle and, like looking out of the window of an aeroplane, it never gets boring. It is always special.
It’s just like going down. But up.
Many years ago, on a big day out in the Lake District, a downhill racer friend said: “Climbing is often just like going downhill in reverse.” This initially struck me as a bland and mindless truism. Then we started tackling some of the super tech climbs around Tilberthwaite (sadly now gravelled over). His maxim suddenly made sense, and transformed the jumbled labyrinth of slippery boulders in front of us into a fun problem to solve. It was no longer an obstacle that restricted our progress to the next downhill, rather another engaging and often comical opportunity to mess about on a bike, improve our bike skills, and taste a bit of adrenalin.
For many of us, in our early mountain bike forays, it was all about adventure. Mountain bikes give us the freedom to explore at the perfect pace – slow enough to ‘take it all in’, fast enough to get us out there into the wild and see what’s over the next hill knowing we should be able to get back (and enjoying the adrenalin of plummeting down, sometimes into who knows where). A good ride has plenty of corners; some of them turn left and right; some go up and down and need climbing and descending. We wonder what lies around the next bend, and as mountain bikers, we wonder what lies over the next brow of the hill. Climbing is our passport to the next plateau, the next valley, or the next high-speed plummet to the pub or the village bakery.
Just do it
So get out and climb a big hill. Hikeabike up it. Scrabble to stay on your bike. Take on a tech section. Try your hardest, if that floats your boat. Or meander, take in the view, and chat to your friend, because let’s face it, it’s easier to have a good catch-up when you’re going up rather than going down. We spend more time climbing than going downhill, so enjoy the climb – it’s often the longest part of a ride!
There are many angles to climbing and plenty of aspects to enjoy. Climbing is not just a means to an end. Spend a bit of time at the top and savour both the view and accomplishment, enjoy the rush of the downhill and maybe pedal back up the hill just one more time. You won’t regret it.
