Morning rolls around, alarm chirping away in the semi-dark afforded by the blinds.  Outside the sun has been up for an hour or better, a far cry from the spring’s dark morning rides.  I hide under the covers.

I don’t want to get up.  I hate getting up.  I want to sleep a little longer, then maybe have a snack before it’s nap time.  A bike ride after the nap, then home for a snooze, a snack and a movie.  In bed.  When my fantastic wife and kids went to visit the grandparents for the weekend, that’s exactly what I did.

The hardest part was getting through the guilt.  Phrases like “All the sleep you need when you’re dead!” rattled around in my head.  I could hear the voice of my mother admonishing me to “do something” with my time.  I went back to sleep, waking up just before one (yes the post-noon one) and felt fantastic.  You should really go for a ride I thought to myself, but stopped to ponder the nature of the “should” I’d used.  Why should I?  Because you want to dummy.  Oh…yeah, that.  I do.  I wanted to go find this Stairway route I’d been told about.

The selling point for the Stairway – “It’s a series of hills, very quiet – you hardly see a car or truck”.  It was a full-on road-ride, no paths but not a lot of vehicular traffic to be concerned with.  By the time I’d snacked, geared up, packed some sustenance and fluids, serviced the bike, loaded the bike…you get the idea.

It was 4:00pm and I was still in the driveway.  The clouds were rolling in and big, fat drops started to fall.  I backed out and headed for the gas station – more delays.  Finally fueled, loaded and enthused, I set off to explore the Stairway climb.  By the time I’d reached the far southwest of the city, unloaded and assembled the bike and was geared up to go, it was after five.  The trade-off of sleeping the morning (and then some) away I suppose.

I headed south along the route I’d been given and immediately realized how much trouble I was in.  It was not the hill I was looking at that concerned me so much as the top of the hill I was on.  In and of itself, not a horrendous obstacle but if the first bit of my ride is down the long hill, the last bit of my ride is going back up.  Just like going home.  A nicer finish would be a long ride down the hill followed by a flat section then the lot where I’d parked, but with a doughnut truck waiting.  Mmmm…doughnuts.

I rode down the hill with a giant grin, hoping I wasn’t going to eat any flying critters on the way down.  A brief flat section and then my first climb, an 8% grade for half a kilometer.  I was not feeling particularly good by the time I reach the top, but I made it.  I stopped to take a picture, find some air and have a drink before I went south again.  Down the hill, then up the hill, this one not so bad, but followed by a long downhill section, a long flat section and what appeared to be a very steep climb well down the end of it.  I’ll admit it.  It scared me off.

It’s not climbing on the way out that gives me pause – you go, you do (do or do not, there is no try – Yoda) and it’s all good.  With a series of rolling hills that you’re doubling back on, it’s not all good anymore.  No, you have to do what you’ve just done.  Have to.  Ride it or push it, the car is waaaay back there on the other side (the top side) of all those hills.

I started down the 3rd descent but he was too quick.  No. Freakin. Way! and before I knew what was happening, I’d turned around and was heading back towards the car.  The Quitter had taken over and had put an end to this ride, or at least had successfully determined the half-way point from which we’d turn around and head back to the car.  Now I felt awful.

It wasn’t just the humiliation of giving in and calling it off either, I was truly feeling ill.  A week of spicy foods culminating in a late night of spicy chili, spicy pepperoni and spicy tomatilla conspired to all but melt me from the inside out.  Heartburn raged through my system, burning the back of my throat with every pedal stroke.  Climbing did not appear to be a remedy for heartburn unless by remedy one means agitator.

Spent, ill and disappointed, I packed the Rescue Bike into the car and headed back to the hills we’d just climbed.  I wanted to know what I was getting into – I may have lost the battle but the summer is just getting started.  I followed our course along it’s paved route until it ended.  The end of the Stairway.

Now I don’t know about you, but when I think of stairs, I think of a progression that leads either up or down.  I thought I could climb up the “Stairway” and ride back down – this was wrong.  The Stairway is a series of large (in a non-mountain kind of way) hills with an average grade 8% but the Garmin data reveals the true nature of it as it ranges from little flats of 0% to bursts of 22%.

Looking back from the end of the route, I couldn’t help myself.  I unpacked the Rescue Bike once more, clipped in and prepared to suffer.  Worth every moment.