Am I ready? The mountain is. Three thousand nine hundred twenty eight feet. Six and three quarter miles. Up. Nothing but.
The pain will come early and will never subside. There isn't a single place I can think of to rest along the climb's entire length.
This is the final race of my season - unless I catch the cyclocross bug- and it will no doubt be the hardest - at least for me. Since I live and work in the Roanoke Valley, I see Poor Mountain everyday staring at me from its lofty perch to the West. It's waiting for me. Everywhere I go it casts it's huge shadow. I can always see it, and it always sees me.
Singlespeed. I absolutely love my singlespeed. Sunday morning I may hate my singlespeed. I may hate it for six and three quarter miles. Up.
Am I ready?