I started this blog to see if it was actually possible to get around Seattle by bike as a very casual cyclist. After two months of casually biking around Seattle, I can absolutely say the answer is … maybe.
The weather hasn’t been as much of an issue as I would have guessed. The hills, on the other hand, are both better and worse than I initially feared.
Unless you’re living at the top of one of Seattle’s seriously steep streets, you can – for the most part – avoid the worst grades that gave me pause as I first drove around the city. At least for my points A and points B, there are routes that minimize the steepness. (In general, north-south is better than east-west.) When you are faced with an uphill ride, the bike map has options for streets with bike lanes, where at least you minimize the dealings with traffic as you battle your way up.
But even if you miss the worst of it, you can’t avoid some fighting against gravity’s pull, and I have plenty of mass to be pulled. I was not exactly in biking shape when we moved to Seattle, and even though I’ve been getting out and about more, I’m still well away from ideal condition.
I have noticed a difference, though. When I first started out, it was a fight between my legs and my lungs as to which would give out first. (The lungs generally won this battle. Either way, I lost.) My thought process on those early rides went something like this:
OK, another hill. It can’t be that bad. You’ll make it. (huff, puff) Ugh. Why is this so hard? Why does it feel like my bike isn’t helping? (wheeeze) Jesus, I can’t breathe. Why aren’t my lungs better at this? The burning – my thighs! There’s the top, though. It’s almost over – no, there’s more. Damn, it’s steeper? Huh – I really, huh, can’t, breathe. No, serious-(huff)-ly. I might not make it. I can see my pulse. In my vision. That can’t be good. (wheeze). It’s. Almost. Over.
Then, once I crested the summit, I wasn’t able to enjoy the following downhill stretch so much as I hoped to hang on while I caught my breath and waited for oxygen to return to my brain.
A few months in, I’ve moved past the point (mostly) where I’m concerned I won’t make it up the hills alive. At times, I’m even able to power my way up at a pace where I’m no longer being passed by septuagenarians decked out in day-glo. Now, my nemeses are the stitches I get in my side after making the push up the hill.
“ Stitch,” however, is a poor term which doesn’t come close to conveying the sudden pain which hits. Sometimes, it feels a rough rope has been tied around my midsection, constricting the band of overtaxed muscle just under my deep fat layer, and is slowly being tightened. Other times, it’s more of a localized, sharp burn – like a hamster is trying to gnaw his way out of my belly – aggravated by every movement and pump of the pedals.
Either way, it’s a reminder both of my progress and how very far I have to go before I’ll feel like I’m really in biking shape, or at least Seattle biking shape.
Leave a Reply