3-State 3-Mountain 2005
Up This Hill and Down
by David T. Whitaker
Rider # 118 - age 51 - 5:56
Well, here I am in downtown
Chattanooga, Tennessee on a sunny Saturday. Scenic Lookout Mountain is over my
shoulder and up to a 1,000 fellow cyclists are lining up for the start of the
 3 State/3 Mountain Challenge Century. I’m having a pre-ride chat with fellow
Potomac Pedalers members Rick and Mariette on the new brick pavement between
Finley Stadium and the First Tennessee Pavilion as cyclists line up for the mass
start. Glancing around, it’s a mass of cycling helmets, colorful jerseys and
fast bicycles everywhere I look. Seems that we are in the right place at the
right time. Rick, Mariette and I have an opportunity to talk about places to
visit later in the day throughout the newly revitalized downtown Chattanooga.
I get a chance to show them
an old photo of my Grandparents and other now departed Chattanooga relatives as
we wait for the clock to click down and for the century to officially begin.
This family photo, enclosed in a zip lock bag, is going to sit inside my cycling
shorts next to my left quad and accompany me on this century of Tennessee, North
Alabama and North Georgia. It seems like an appropriate gesture since I want
their spirits to ride with me as I hammer the crankarms of my Litespeed up and
down those big ridge climbs, which were once home of the Cherokee Nation. Those
big browed hills were the backdrop for generations of my family, both Whitaker’s
and Winn’s, who lived their lives here in Chattanooga near the “Moccasin Bend”
of the Tennessee River. This is the place where I was born, where some of my
closest relatives still live, and where I am going to hammer my pedals really
hard today in their memory.
 The clock ticks down. The
sky is blue and I feel a slight chill in the air through my layers of sunblock.
I am not fooled by the morning chill and am glad I am wearing a sleeveless
jersey because I am going to get rather warm cycling up the ridge climbs over
the next several hours. A little more sunblock for the nose and the pace
motorcycles start their engines and begin moving forward. Rick, Mariette and I
wish each other fast, fun, and safe rides as we click into our pedals and saddle
up. Here we go! The movement of hundreds of riders is a pure adrenaline rush and
I move steadily to the outside and follow several cyclists wearing blue “Outdoor
Chattanooga” jerseys as we begin
 sprinting
toward the pace motorcycles. They seem to have this drill down as they make
effortless turns through downtown Chattanooga. Hundreds of cyclists are moving
fast through downtown and soon we are going up the US27 expressway ramp and over
the Tennessee River bridge leading northwest. We exit down a ramp, make a left
and the pace quickens. The pack thins out on an extended uphill dash toward the
Cherokee Boulevard tunnel. My heart rate jumps as I go into a heavy spin
movement up the hill toward the tunnel. The front pack has separated into maybe
a hundred riders and it is going to take me over to the first mountain climb.
That mountain will sort everything out on today’s ride.
We make a fast left onto
Signal Mountain Road and pass the Baylor School where my brother, father, and
grandfather attended high school. My heart
rate is reading in the mid-170’s bpm although I am feeling okay. The pack
continues to gain elevation at a fairly aggressive pace, but not going all out.
This pace seems quite fast though, but this what I need right now. My legs want
to hammer. When I got to the ride start this morning I was listening to an old
Flatt and Scruggs bluegrass tune over and over. Right now it is pounding through
my head at a real fast pace and it is like a metronome that is driving the
rhythm of my pedals:
“Oh a long long time ago
when I left my home to roam
Down in the hills of
Tennessee
Was the sweetest little
girl that was ever in this world
Down in the hills of
Tennessee…”
Yes, I just want to hammer
every hill in sight and am getting the opportunity early in this ride. I hear a
lot of hard breathing around me, including my own, on this leg of the ride. I
seem to be within my aerobic threshold and am not going too hard yet. Well, even
if I go a little harder, I know that we will get a couple of miles of flat
recovery just up ahead. My focus here is to stay in this pack! I will get a
chance to catch a drink from my water bottles as we turn left just up ahead.
 At last, we make the left
turn onto Suck Creek Road and I grab a water bottle and try to bring my
breathing under control. The cytomax in this water bottle tastes particularly
fine this morning. We cross the railroad tracks and it is time to reach back for
a gel pack and let the glucose do its work. The first mountain climb of the day
awaits us just a couple of miles up Suck Creek Road and I want to be
ready.
 Look around at the scenery
here David! The grand old Tennessee River is to our left and Raccoon Mountain
sits big as life on the far side of the river. To our right, Signal Mountain
rises up although the tree cover mostly obscures my view. I can see the
morning fog rising above the Tennessee
River about a mile or so in front of us. This is surely one of the most scenic
river gorges in the United States and I want to take in the sights and smells.
Morning fog on the Tennessee River is one of my fondest memories of my youth
while living in the Chattanooga area and this inspires me to shift to a bigger
gear and begin to move up in the pack and get ready for the long climb up ahead.
I guess that the gel has made an impact.
Here comes the climb. The
pack crosses the bridge over Suck Creek at a fast pace and the road begins to
bear off to the right and go rapidly uphill. Gears are shifting all around me.
Fortunately, it is a tree covered climb with nice pavement at a rather gentle
grade. No need for the climbing gears yet. We move briskly up the first mile of
this five plus mile climb and then I begin to hear riders yelling. I look up the
road and see the first breakaway riders stand and begin to rock their bikes on
up the road. Man those guys look surreal, almost like pro climbers in European
races. They stand and start gunning up the road, rocking their bikes in quick
movements to put distance on the rest of us. This starts a lot of movement as
various riders move up quickly on my left to chase down this breakaway. I am not
following this. I have no idea what awaits us up higher. No way I can sustain a
sprint pace on this mountain and I am not going to give up my legs when we have
three and a half more miles of this ridge climb to go. I keep up my brisk pedal
motion and stay secure with all the hard breathing riders around me. Although I
feel strong today, it makes no sense go anaerobic and possibly explode this
early in this century ride. Keep spinning a moderate gear at 80 rpm, and work to
keep my breathing in rhythm, and remember to stay focused on this climb.
Cousin Jim told me to look
for the Prentice Cooper sign on my left and to expect one more short climb
before the downhill. I finally see the sign when I am nearing five miles on this
climb. I then begin to move up on the left. I start to go a good bit faster to
catch several riders who have passed me. One final uphill grind up ahead. Shift
into a hard gear, stand, grab my brake hoods and throw my legs hard into this
one. Catch those yellow and red Atlanta medical jerseys on this last minor hill.
Caught them. Now hang their wheels and get ready for the downhill of a lifetime.
We are flying across the top and here comes the downhill. Oh boy, here we go!
Wow - This is a FAST
downhill with a switchback or two that compels me to feather my brakes to avoid
any unpleasantness. There go the yellow and red jerseys down the road, but I
would rather follow than lead on this long unknown downhill. This descent goes
on forever and I hit 48mph. Eventually we reach Powell’s Crossroads at around
mile 20. My arms are almost fatigued at this point. It appears that the climbs
and fast downhills are over for a while. Time to find a big gear, a strong
paceline, and pedal briskly across the flatlands.
A large paceline begins to
form and I am fifth from the front. There are some really strong legs in this
group so I want to get comfortable and let this train lead me on down the line
at around 24 to 25 mph. This is very flat to lightly rolling terrain with little
to break up our momentum. We can hammer along here without going into the red
zone. The paceline grows as we gobble up more and more riders and seems to have
grown to 30 or 40 riders in what is now a double paceline. Luckily, there are
hardly any cars on these roads. I see several of the yellow and red Atlanta
jerseys and more blue “Outdoor Chattanooga” jerseys, also club jerseys from
Birmingham, AL, South Carolina,
and an Asheville, North Carolina racing outfit. A
lot of the jerseys and cycling shorts say “Hincapie” on them. It appears that
George Hincapie’s line of cycling clothes must sell well down here in the
Southland.
I sit on the wheel of a
rider in an Ashville, NC club jersey. He has a smooth and easy pedal stroke and
he looks comfortable in the saddle with predictable riding skills. This guy is
strong and probably rides his “Seven” bicycle on up to Mount Mitchell as a
regular training ride. I also notice that most of the riders in this group
appear to have shaved legs. I guess that I am in with a Master racing set.
Nearly everybody speaks with accents that tell me that I am not on a club ride
in Maryland or Northern Virginia today. One guy yells out at a dog, “you don’t
want no part of this action” and everybody smiles as the dog moves off the road.
A fast tandem has moved up
and our overall pace quickens a bit. There are very few cars on these back roads
and we are outright flying. We keep moving at a brisk pace for what seems like
20 miles and the only interruptions are the occasional crossing of train tracks
and a couple of turns. Somewhere in the distance I can hear the sound of a train
horn and I look up when we ride underneath I-24 wondering just where we are in
Tennessee right now. I sense that the Tennessee River must not be far off. Okay,
I can now see the river in the distance and it looks like a really big lake. We
must be near TVA’s Nickajack Dam. Uh oh, nearly all the riders in my paceline
turn off at a rest stop just before the “Blue Bridge” over the Tennessee River. I feel okay and
I keep going. This could be tough going to be solo with no other riders to serve
as a wind shield. (David Whitaker is the rider in the blue sleeveless Jersey
and white helmet in the picture above.)
 Okay, I drink a lot from my
bottles, eat some of these malted (melted?) milkballs and go into “bridge mode”
to catch a solo rider 200 yards up the road from me. I push the tempo and get to
him and he and I cross the “Blue Bridge” together. Soon two other
riders are on our wheels. We turn right and move into a headwind from the west
and we begin to share pulls as we approach the Tennessee Valley Authority’s
Nickajack Dam on our right. The headwind here seems tough, but I bet it is not
too strong. I am having to work harder now though. I must keep my pace up on
each of my pulls and take the wind so the others can recover on this stretch. I
move up to do another pull, drift back and then I do one more strong pull up a
hill where we turn left.
We are around mile 50 right
now and the four of us have moved back into hill country. Low and behold it’s
Cousin Jim Whitaker in his trusty pickup truck coming down the road toward me.
Talk about surprise ~ I am always glad to see Cousin Jim, but never more than
right now! I am getting low in water and he is holding ice-cold lemon-lime
Gatorade out the window of his truck for me. This is completely unexpected and
is truly fantastic!
Take a moment and put my
feet on the pavement. I thank my Cousin for showing up out here in the middle of
nowhere Alabama. Hey, how the heck did you ever find us way out here? Jim tells
me that the Sand Mountain climb is just up ahead
and he has been all over looking for us. I drink profusely and jump back on the
saddle. Jim then drives along taking a photo or two and then he stops and lends
a floor pump to a cyclist who has just flatted right up the road. This is an
example of true to life Southern hospitality! I will see him down the road.
I am on with some other
riders and I eat another gel and start stretching out back muscles to get ready
for that big climb up Sand Mountain. I keep noticing
all that red clay soil by the side of the road. We don’t have that up in the
mid-Atlantic. This reminds me of a Gillian Welch tune:
“Now Jordan’s banks are red and muddy
But I got no boat so I will be good and muddy
When I get to the other side.
But when I pass through the pearly gates
My gown be gold instead
Or just a red clay robe
With red clay wings
And a red clay halo for my head”
Okay, hang tight with this
group of riders. The Asheville jersey is back and before we know it we are off
into the woods again and the road is going uphill fast. This must be Sand Mountain and from the look of it
this is quite big.
 This road has a steeper
grade and a rougher pavement than back on the first mountain climb. I start
shifting to my lower gears and going into a climbing rhythm. I let the Asheville
jersey go and I settle down into a pure climbing posture as I begin to work my
way up Sand Mountain. I hear the birds
singing and a woodpecker appears to be knocking the living lights out of a tree
up somewhere higher up the mountain. I go around a tight switchback. The road
keeps going up and I am not sure how far this climb is supposed to go. So, I
shift my thoughts from my legs and hard breathing and begin to think of the
lyrics to an old Delmore Brothers tune called the “Sand Mountain Blues”:
“When it makes you lonesome to hear that freight train blow
Then you will know I’m riding, but I didn’t want to go
It’s a lonesome feeling, Sand Mountain blues”
I am thankful that this
climb is tree shaded and I decide not too put my heart rate too high on this one
since I don’t have a clue how many miles this road goes up before it levels off.
I stick near several riders and several others have passed me. They must know
this climb well. After around 3.6 miles or so, we seem to have gotten up to the
crest of old Sand Mountain. No time to hang
back and recover. Move up quickly with another cyclist in white and green
Florida jersey on my wheel. I need to catch those three jerseys up ahead of us.
I begin to sprint to bridge over to them, which is particularly tough since they
are moving quite fast. Get to those riders David! Okay, we are back on at last.
Now get my breathing under control. Up in front is that strong-legged cyclist in
the blue “Outdoor Chattanooga” jersey who passed me on the climb. He seems to
want to pull this paceline at a rather brisk pace along the top of old Sand Mountain. I hope he doesn’t want
to hammer too fast, but this guy is really powerful and I intend to hang on for
this ride!
 We appear to be over 60
miles into this ride now and the views off of the brow of Sand Mountain of the Sequatchie
Valley are incredible! I move up to do a half mile fast pull and quickly fall
back to see only three riders holding on now. Keep this pace going and keep
fluid going in me. Cousin Jim appears to be up the road on the left taking
photos but I am going way too fast to do anything but extend the fingers of my
left hand. The blue jersey rider is back in the lead and this pace is brutal!
Two other riders finally pull over at a rest stop and the blue jersey rider
keeps trying to set a land speed record up here. Since it would be foolish to go
up here alone, I hang onto his wheel and refuse to let go.
Finally, the blue jersey
cyclist begins to slow so I pull up to take a several mile pull all the while
hoping that the long downhill off of this mountain is just up ahead. I can’t
seem to find that downhill, but I must keep going at this 22mph pace. Mile 75 or
so and we start to go downhill at last. A couple of riders pass us and I try to
swallow more gel as we take the tricky descent off of Sand Mountain. This must be Georgia
now. I down as much Gatorade as I can and stay with this group as we begin to
descend off of Sand Mountain. Let the cool air flow
around me and get my heart rate back down now.
Wow what a downhill. This
is one that will make you smile from ear to ear!
Down in a little valley
between the mountains. Low and behold, there is Cousin Jim along side of the
road with more cold Gatorade. Man ~ do I need it right now! I stop very quickly
and we shake hands. He tells me to “drink up” and I drink one Gatorade outright
and pour the other into my water bottle. I do not fill the other water bottle
because I must be careful to not carry too much fluid to the next mountain
climb. Everyone tells me that the road up Burkhalter Gap is pretty steep and if
I carry too much weight I may want to toss a full water bottle before I crest
that beast.
Slow up just a bit for some
turns and down more melted milkballs. I see a rest stop ahead and I ride under
their water sprinkler to cool down before the climb. Nice idea! Okay, I turn
left onto Burkhalter Gap Road, and hear somebody ahead of me groan ~ “This is
really steep! Where are my extra gears?” Welcome to Burkhalter Gap David. Yeah
buddy ~ This is a Real Hill Climb!!!
Stretched out ahead of me
is what looks like a death march of cyclists going up this pretty steep and
unrelenting road. I ride up it for a little ways and look down to see “2.5
miles” painted on the road. Isn’t that comforting? Not much shade going up this
straight as an arrow climb and I see my speed drop from 7 mph to 6 mph as I set
back into a pure climbing mode. My 39” x 27” gearing seems a bit too large for
this hill. Cousin Jim drives by and says something encouraging and all I can
think of is attaching a grappling hook to his pickup and getting a lift on up
the hill. Unfortunately, I don’t seem to have a rope and hook handy and I watch
Jim drive on up this sun-drenched hill. I see two riders moving by me with
triple cranksets and I wonder why I didn’t consider appropriate gearing. Okay
David, get comfortable with the gears that you have and fix your gaze on jerseys
up ahead and see if I can get up to any of them. Not a lot of luck so far, but I
move my glutes back into a standard hill climbing position and grab the tops of
the bar, being careful not to grab too tightly. I begin to increase my pedal
power and get back to a solid 7 mph. Yes! At some point I notice a painted sign
on the road indicating “1 mile” to the top. I begin to see a hang glider flying
up ahead of me. Right now, I need to focus on the white sail of the hang glider.
Try to float like that glider and take my mind off of this ugly sweat drenched
climb. Put all power back into my legs and find a slightly higher rpm. I begin
to feel a bit more leg strength at this point. I know that I can suffer through
one more mile of this Burkhalter Gap Road.
Soon I see that the road
begins to turn to the right and sharply increase in grade. That doesn’t look fun
at all! Several riders are traversing (zig zagging) back and forth across this
section of the road. Oh boy, this part is going to be really tough! I hear my
Cousin Jim yell something at me from just up this road and I am clearly in the
Red Zone and can barely respond. My mind goes to the family photo against my
left leg. I silently ask the spirits of my departed relatives to ride with me
now. This is a really tough climb and I want to do it well. I somehow find
energy within me and say out loud: “This is how to climb a mountain.” With my
newly found bravado and a lot of adrenaline flooding through me, I stand up and
start pedaling straight on up this sheer wall. Soon, the sheer grade of this
section forces me to sit back down and I turn sharply to the left, then right. I
am now traversing with all my might just behind another rider who is also
traversing. I am taxing all body systems to get up this monster hill! It occurs
to me that Coxey Brown Road and Harp Hill Road in Maryland are a “piece of cake”
when compared to this final grind on up Burkhalter Gap Road.
The next thing I see,
someone dressed in black with horns who looks like the Tour de France Devil is
coming straight towards me pointing his red trident right at me. He is loudly
saying to me, “Do not get off that bike!” Yeah right, I think to myself ~ I will
get off this bike only when you manage to pry it out from under my dead carcass
with my legs still gripping it ~ I will not get off one minute sooner. I then
tell the Devil in no uncertain terms to “Go back to France!” Those are the only
words that I can manage to say at this moment. Breathing takes priority on this
section of Burkhalter Gap Road.
 I traverse once more to my
left and then yell loudly to my cousin, “Whitaker’s Never Quit!” Jimmy yells
encouragement at me and after one more sharp traverse. I stand and grind the
pedals straight on up the final 20 or so yards to the crest of Burkhalter Gap.
As I turn, I look back at my Cousin Jim and pump my fist into the air. Jimmy
smiles at me and we both head over to the rest stop at the top of the hill. I
really need to taste some cold water right about now!
The volunteers at the rest
stop are really helpful. I was initially afraid that I might not be able to lift
my right leg over my bike after that final section of the climb, but it seems I
can do that and even walk a little bit. I fill a bottle with cold water, down it
instantly and fill it again. This water tastes great! Okay, put something sugary
into my mouth, chew and try to swallow. I talk to Jimmy for nearly a minute and
thank him sincerely for the Gatorade and the encouragement getting up here on
Lookout Mountain. I drink some
more cold water and chew my last melted milkballs. Two minutes have passed and
my heart rate has come down considerably, so it is time to saddle up and move
out with a group of riders who are heading out from the rest stop. We are moving
north across the top of Lookout Mountain. Let’s go and find that downhill overlooking Chattanooga.
Four of us move on up the
road. I can sense that we all gave the better part of our leg strength on
Burkhalter Gap Road so the overall speed of our paceline is vastly reduced. We
are unorganized and cannot get a decent paceline to work or seem to share pulls
very effectively. I begin to see that we are going up a steady series of false
flats and longer hills. We pick up some riders and some riders fall off. I down
another gel and get frustrated with our lack of organization and lack of speed,
so I do a longer pull on one uphill stretch. I sense immediately that this was
not wise as I fall back in the paceline and see two of the riders that I am
working with pull away from me. One guy is hanging my wheel, but he eventually
slips off. Oh no, I can’t get back to the other two riders and I can feel the
wind slowing my momentum on this next long uphill. “Where did my leg strength
go?” I am alone with a light wind slowing my already slow momentum on this hill.
Must keep my pedal cadence up and get through this part!
After another mile, someone
thankfully passes me and I grab his wheel and he hauls me through a residential
area toward the right turn off of Lookout Mountain. I slow up just before the right
turn and drink the remainder from one
water bottle. I know this downhill off of Lookout Mountain and I tap the photo on my
leg and think, “Watch me on this downhill ~
Ladies and Gentlemen, this is how it is done!”
 I take one look to my right
at the entrance to Rock City and nod my head to a
photographer. I then begin flying down off of Lookout Mountain. This is a
superb downhill and the fact that I know it well from my youth empowers me. I
hear that Flatt and Scruggs song again and Earl’s fast paced banjo solo seems to
power my legs to sustain a really fast cadence. I just outright hammer this
downhill. I can feel my power returning as I turn my biggest gears and pass a
couple of riders on a breathtaking descent of old Lookout Mountain. I don’t think
that I have tucked so low in years. I fly by the entrance
to “Ruby Falls” and enjoy the fast moving
landscape. This is almost like a downhill in Italy and it feels too good to
describe after all of the climbing we have done!
I am at the bottom of
Lookout Mountain at last. My legs are really pumped and a lady police officer motions me
to the right side of a set of cones as I fly by. I thank her and move up the
road rather briskly. I now feel rejuvenated and I find a good gear to spin in at
a high cadence as I begin to make up some time that I lost up on the top of
Lookout Mountain. Soon I can see the stadium lights two miles or so in the distance as I
am time trialing down Broad Street, remembering to thank each of the police officers who are holding up
traffic to let all the cyclists move through unimpeded. Lots of 60 mile cyclists
are moving along at a relaxed pace along Broad Street and I am flying by them.
I pass over a viaduct and manage to catch
up to one of the guys who dropped me on the mountain. This feels good and we
hammer up to a big sweeping left turn and a then a quick right toward Finley
Stadium.
One more quick left and we
sprint toward the finish line with the last bit of power that remains in our
legs. I see the time clock and I am amazed when I see the time of 5:56 ~ What an
incredible sight to behold! Finally, I manage to complete an organized mountain
century in under six hours. Yes!!!
Fly by the finish line and
down the hill. We pull over and I pat the rider that I sprinted in with on the
back and tell him “Good Ride!” He says back, “I’ve done this several times and
this year I finally managed to finish it in a respectable time.”
 A number of people come up
and congratulate us and a Chattanooga Bicycle Club volunteer hands me a green
and white 3 State/3 Mountain Challenge patch. I look down at this patch and know
that I earned it ~ I will value this patch and I will surely be back for another
one.
I then look toward Lookout
Mountain and lift my shorts up from my leg and grasp my family photo in the sweat
drenched zip lock. I hold it up toward
Lookout Mountain and I bow my head silently in respect. It is important for me to thank
those family members who are no longer here for the great ride I had today. I
dedicate this ride to my Grandparents, Miss Helen and Dandee, as well as to my
recently departed uncle Jim Whitaker. I believe that they rode with me this fine
day, at least in spirit.
My car is parked right next
to the ride finish and I hustle over immediately. I put away my bike, towel off
and put on clean clothes. As I am doing this I quickly swallow a protein
recovery drink that I picked up at the Chattanooga YMCA. I need to get good
protein back in me fast. I then walk to the food table and quickly pick up
several pieces of pizza and a soda. I head right back to the finish line in
order to see Rick and Mariette finish the event. Here they come and they look
strong! I put down the pizza and congratulate them. Both of them have ear-to-ear
smiles too as well as a days worth of sun and road salt. The smiles on their
faces tell me that this was a lot of fun for them too. The three of us have been
to the top of the mountain and we have come back down empowered by the
experience ~ and with stronger climbing legs. Right now, that endorphin high
feels sooo good!
Okay, it’s time for me to hit
the showers, get some healthy food, and go and visit the 4 Bridges Arts
Festival. Cousin Jim mentions that we should head over to a Bluegrass music
festival over at Raccoon Mountain for the late afternoon and evening. This seems
like the thing to do. Let’s go on over and hear the great J.D. Crowe play banjo
with Raccoon Mountain as a backdrop. Later, as I sit there in front of the
stage, just before sunset, I find myself looking east across the valley at the
impressive vista of Lookout Mountain, I nod in respect to that mountain and
think, “Hey Lookout ~ You’re a real hill and I’m looking forward to cycling up
and over you again the next time I’m down Chattanooga way.”
ps, "Up this Hill and Down" is the title of a classic
Bluegrass song by Sonny and Bob, the Osborne Brothers. The Osborne
Brothers made the classic recording of "Rocky Top" in the late 1960's that all
other versions of "Rocky Top" were derived. It seemed an appropriate name for
your superb century down and around Chattanooga and nearby hill climbs.
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