Out of the Box
Grinding up that hill
When I was informed in January that the annual Schnai Day Hill Climb might be cancelled this year, I was struck with acute ambivalence. On the one hand I was disappointed, having committed myself to participating in the strenuous bike race as a way of jump-starting the race calendar. I had taken a year off from the race, which is the only way for my brain to have adequate distance from the event to agree to do it again. On the other hand, it meant I wouldn’t have to face this abject suffer-fest.
Since 1988, when mountain bikes gained two-wheeled prominence, Smithers’ Schnai Day Hill Climb has simultaneously started the cycling race season and ended the ski season. Held in mid-April on the last day that Hudson Bay Mountain’s ski facilities are open, this climb to the lodge is a true challenge to any cyclist. It’s 22 km long, 16 of which are hard climbing on gravel that’s sometimes loose, sometimes washboard and sometimes both, with grades up to nine percent. It hurts, especially since it hits you at the start of the year when you have hardly turned a crank.
The phrase “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” has become overused, but it certainly applies to this race. Your legs, heart and lungs all come away from it with a newfound appreciation of the little things in life—like not climbing Hudson Bay Mountain, for instance—and are hardened in the crucible of exertion. Dropping the mountain when it’s over revitalizes your entire being. Only your hands get a workout on the descent—from braking.
Last year the race got a facelift. It became only one facet of a relay race that included cross-country and downhill skiing. Race participation had been dropping over the years—I once did it with only eleven others, greatly decreasing my chance of finishing ahead of anyone—and the organizers decided to try something new. However, costs have made the relay race less likely, and the combination of a high entrance fee (for insurance) and shrinking numbers of people willing to pay the bodily price of ascension has put the race under threat.
The race begins from McBike in Smithers, but is “neutral” until the rail tracks have been crossed. The riders, who until now have been rolling along at a mild speed, amiably chatting and joking, now split up as the Greyhounds take off. Until the houses disappear from the sides of the road, the route isn’t too difficult and the Greyhounds stay in sight of the Also-rans. The gulf widens though as pavement turns to gravel and the road tilts up dramatically just before the first switchback.
For me, this is the most intense part of the race, as many concerns and feelings strike me at once. My most profound emotion is deep regret that I have undertaken this race anew. The first impulse to quit grips me. I look up ahead to the riders I think I can catch by the end and peer back down the hill from the switchback to see who I have to elude.
After that it’s essentially climbing like a stricken monkey, trying to make up time on the flat and slightly downhill section where the cross-country trails begin, and climb, climb, climbing again, with the music braying from the lodge festivities teasing me into believing every corner leads to the finish line.
The fastest I’ve ever completed the route from the tracks is 1:36, the slowest 1:45. Both times pale in comparison with the record of 1:01, set by McBike’s own Peter Krause, a talented and wily rider who has won 80 percent of all the races I’ve ever entered.
I suppose I could attempt the Shames Mountain Hill Climb in Terrace, usually held a month later. After all, I’d have more kilometres in my legs by then. But I think it’s better to confront the devil I know, the vertical beast whose face is familiar.
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