Got a plan for this year? If you don’t, you need one.

If you vowed to be better this year, you need to start planning. You need goals to move you along. You need a carrot to get you out of bed and ride on a morning when it’s 25 degrees out. You need incentive to lace up your Asics and do your weekly track workout when your body is saying it would rather stay on the couch and watch the second half.

If you’re a road cylclist, for instance, you need an event to spur you on. The MS 150 in September, perhaps. Maybe Cycle North Carolina in October. Or perhaps one of the numerous centuries and half centuries that will test your endurance. (If you really want to test yourself, shoot for a mountain century; the Roan Moan in July is a good place to start.)

And mountain biking certainly isn’t without its share of interesting races. From the local TORC cross-country series, to 24-hour races such as Memorial Day weekend’s Burn 24-Hour Challenge, to quirky races such as Pisgah Mountain Adventure Bike Race that marry distance riding with thinking.

Are you a runner? Maybe you need those weekly 5Ks to string you along. Perhaps you’re in to distance running — or would like to be. I know of at least one, no, two, training programs ideal for folks interested in running their first marathon. Maybe you prefer trail running. Now’s the time to start upping the miles for April 1’s Mountains-to-Sea Trail 12M and 50K Challenge, among others.

Into the new breed of adventure 5K? There are more and more of ‘em out there.

Triathlete? You have to plan ahead because triathlons are so popular they fill up in an instant. Still, you may be able to find a good tri, sprint to ironman, with openings left.

If you’re into team sports, check with your local parks & rec to see what options they have coming up.

And if you’re like me and live for a good backcountry adventure, well, I had a little planning session myself the other day and came up with five must-do trips for this year: the Snowbird Mountains of western North Carolina, a section of the Great Smoky Mountains I’ve yet to explore, the little-known west flank of the Black Mountains, the Black Mountain Crest Trail — much of it above 6,000 feet — in winter, and the 73-mile stretch of the Appalachian Trail between US 19E and Damascus, Va. You can read more about those adventures here.

Stop reading. Start planning.

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Thirty miles into a mountain ride I wasn’t prepared for and I had yet to cramp. For at least the next 30 miles I wasn’t likely to, either.

One reason the Roan Moan isn’t considered among the Southeast’s more brutal, misery-inducing mountain centuries is because it only has two climbs of note: Spivey Gap, a 1,050-foot ascent over 5.5 miles that I had just gone over, and the ride’s feature attraction, the seven-mile, 6 percent average grade climb up to Roan Mountain that comes 80 miles into the event. On its own, the climb up Roan to 5,512-foot Carvers Gap is formidable. But with miles of pleasant cruising before, between and after those two climbs, the Moan ranks low in bragging rights among the Southeast’s cycling elite. Other mountain centuries bask in their punishing nature through their names, either subtly (Six Gaps, which as its name implies includes six significant climbs and 11,200 feet of total vertical climbing) or not so (Blue Ridge Brutal, which gains 8,900 feet and includes stretches on the notorious Buffalo Road that hit a 14 percent grade). The reason my riding partner and mountain century veteran Alan Nechemias had suggested the Roan Moan as my inaugural mountain century was because of its generous, beginner friendly recovery stretches.

We had one of those stretches to look forward to for the next 30 miles.

“That was nice!” Alan said after we’d descended pedal-stroke free three miles down the west flank of the Unaka Mountains into Tennessee. We took turns pulling through a wide river valley that dropped below 1,700 feet in elevation, the lowest point on the ride. Confusion arose in the town of Erwin, when several of us passed an unmarked turn (the route — most of it — was marked with green arrows spray painted onto the pavement); we flagged down a helpful river guide in a trademark sawed-off school bus who got us back on track. Concern returned around Mile 51, just outside the town of Unicoi where a gradual, 10-mile rise took us into the foothills.

On the ascent up Spivey Gap, I discovered that the climbs could be less taxing than the flat stretches. On climbs, you fall into your own rhythm, set your own pace. On the flats, you tend to ride in a paceline, at the pace of the strongest rider in the group. On this 10-mile stretch, that was Alan, who was ridding himself of pent-up energy he’d accumulated plodding along with me. The four of us who emerged from the town of Unicoi together didn’t burn this stretch of TN 107, but we did pick up the pace. It was especially noticeable after 50 miles, on a grade that ranged from 1 to 3 percent. As the pull rotated to Alan about seven miles in, he accelerated from about 15.5 mph, to 17. I got in the drops and stayed on his wheel. After two minutes when it was my turn to pull, I noticed that our two fellow riders had dropped off the back. “Nechemias has decimated the pack, leaving only debris in his wake,” I offered in my best Phil Liggett. Fortunately, I only had to maintain this pace for a mile or so, to the next rest stop. Fifty-eight miles down, 40 to go. Almost all of those remaining 40 would be in a rain that vacillated from drizzle to steady.

In 1999, on the first Cycle North Carolina, Day Two of the two-week, 920-mile ride from Murphy to Manteo began in Franklin, in a thunderstorm. “We’re really going to ride in this?” I naively asked? “And the option would be?” came the answer. The downpour and the crackle of thunder and lightening all around took my mind off the day’s intense climbing. It worked again here — until we pulled into the Burbank Volunteer Fire Station at Mile 79.3. After this cinderblock structure along TN 143, the seven-mile, 2,442-foot climb up to Carvers Gap begins. And not a ways past the fire station; not 50 yards up the road it spikes for a breath-stealing distance before disappearing around a bend.

“Really, it’s just the first couple of miles that are hard,” Alan had told me earlier of the climb. “After that, you can start using gears again.” The MapMyRide elevation profile confirmed as much, showing two miles of 7 percent average grade followed by a mile of 6 percent and near the top, a leveling of sorts, to 3 percent. (By comparison, the 4.8-mile stretch of Interstate 40 that begins near Black Mountain and climbs west to crest the Eastern Continental Divide has an average grade of 4.8 percent.) I didn’t bother waiting to put on my mask of pain; it went on as I pulled out of the fire station and immediately found my lowest gear (I was riding a 50/34 with a 28 cassette, if that means anything).

Alan is one of the most efficient climbers around. He’s strong, smart, knows when to push, knows when to save energy and back off. A true rhythm climber who, at 58, can still climb with the best of them. I knew I wouldn’t  ride with him up to Carvers Gap. But if I could follow his educated lead through those first two miles, I might have a chance. I put my head down and churned, watching as my speed dropped from 7 mph, to 6.7, to 6.4. I managed to keep Alan’s rear wheel in the corner of my eye. At 6.3 mph, he began inching away. I pushed and brought his rear wheel back into view. Twenty yards later, he inched ahead once again. I bridged the gap but only for a moment; 1.5 miles into the climb he began inching away for good — 10 yards up the road, 15, 20. I thought of “Castaway,” when “Wilson” slowly drifts off leaving Tom Hanks to watch helplessly. I didn’t scream, I didn’t cry. I didn’t have the strength.

My legs were cooked and on the verge of cramping. 2.3 miles into the climb I was about to pull over and stretch when I noticed what appeared to be a gap ahead. It offered a moment’s respite (I was, as Alan promised, able to shift gears), but only a moment. The road spiked again, I dropped below 6 miles per hour, a speed at which simply staying upright becomes a challenge. Again, I was about to get off and stretch, again I was teased by a brief plateau. I tried to stand on my pedals for extra power. My legs told me to sit back down, quickly. By Mile 4 the jig was up. The grade had diminished, but it was too late. My legs were giving notice: Stop and walk it out or risk cramps that’ll last through Labor Day. I pulled to the shoulder, clipped out and exchanged the mask of pain for the mask of shame.

Later, Alan, Jason Halsey, who finished fifth, and I discussed cramps over the post-ride barbecue. We talked about the role heat played. We talked about hydration. We talked about nutrition and we discussed a theory about how the position of your feet in the pedals could bring on cramps. But we couldn’t skirt the ultimate truth: If you haven’t properly trained, if you aren’t up to the task, no amount of cool weather and sports drink will save you. I managed to stave off eternal cramps by pushing the bike a little, riding the bike a little for about two miles.

Enveloped in a drenching fog as I neared the summit, with just one mile of climbing to go (the remaining 13 miles back to Bakersville was nearly all downhill), I found the incentive to get back in the saddle for good: I was not about to walk my bike into the rest stop at Carvers Gap. Soaked and cold, I slowly wheeled up to the blue roadside welcome tent, ate two chocolate cookies, then gave my legs the rest of the day off as I floated down to the finish.

Photo: Always a welcome sight, this Welcome sign never looked better than it did after pedaling seven miles up Roan Mountain.

The post The Roan Moan: Finishing (and finished) on top appeared first on GetGoing NC!.

Saturday, I tackled one of my two goals for the summer — two goals that have been on my list for several years. The one, which I have another month to prepare for, is a half marathon. Saturday, I got to tackle the other: A mountain century ride. That is, a 100-mile bike ride in the mountains of North Carolina.

On this particular ride, the Roan Moan,  that meant elevations ranging from below 1,700 feet in Tennessee to 5,512-foot Carvers Gap on the North Carolina/Tennessee line. Depending upon whose altimeter you believe, there’s anywhere from 7,500 to 9,000 feet of total vertical climbing along the route. While it’s not considered among the Southeast’s most difficult mountain centuries — that debate includes the likes of the Assault on Mount Mitchell (total climbing of 12,000 feet, the bulk of which is in the last 25 miles from Marion to the top of 6,684-foot Mount Mitchell), Mountains of Misery (10,000 feet, ending with a three-mile climb that averages 11.9 percent and hits 16 percent in spots) and Six Gaps (11,200 feet, including a seven-mile stretch that averages a 7 percent grade), among others — it’s a stout ride nonetheless, known for a seven-mile, 6 percent average climb up Roan Mountain that begins at mile 80.

A mountain century has been on my list for years, more years than I or my riding buddy Alan Nechemias of Chapel Hill can or care to remember. At the start of every cycling season I’d proclaim that this was the year I was going to do a mountain century; at the end of every cycling season I’d wonder where the time had gone. “Oh, well. Next year … .” Recognizing that I wasn’t getting any younger, Alan began gently pushing the point as spring approached, suggesting we start scheduling some mountain training rides. When I kept finding reasons not to go, he said, “Let’s just pick a ride and sign up.” Basically, put your plastic where your mouth is. I did and suddenly found the motivation to do a couple of mountain training rides.

But as we were driving to the mountains Friday afternoon, two measly training rides in the mountains suddenly seemed like not nearly enough. In fact, my whole training scheme, which basically involved two-hour mountain bike rides at Umstead two or three times a week, seemed frighteningly insufficient. I’d been riding at a state park in the rolling Piedmont: What was going to happen tomorrow when I was suddenly facing 100 miles and 7-plus hours in the rugged Appalachians?

That’s why, as the 50 or so of us on the century ride (there’s was a better attended metric century option) lit out of Bakersville at 7:04 a.m., I was well aware that I might burn myself out on the five-mile “warm-up” loop that heads east of town before circling back through downtown and making a beeline west for Tennessee. Three miles out and I couldn’t catch my breath, despite the fact the peleton was doing a mild 19 mph pace. We came to a sharp drop and the back end of the group, five or six riders, myself among them, hit their brakes and dropped off. An ensuing rise dropped another half dozen. Over the next five miles the pack would splinter into groups of no more than a half dozen.

Relieved of the pressure of keeping pace, my breathing settled. The gradual descent along Cane Creek put my legs back under me, and before long I was riding with five other cyclists, though hardly in an efficient paceline. Rather than ride single file and let the lead rider break the wind and create a drafting void behind, we individually sped up, slowed down, dropped off, came back. About Mile 17 our two-lane road dropped down to the North Toe River for seven miles of relatively flat riding, and what should have been recovery and preparation, for the first big climb of the day. Instead, we continued to yo-yo and when we did start the climb up to Spivey Gap, we were on our own. For me I assumed, that meant that my legs would seize up in one massive cramp.

But here I discovered something I would have learned had I done a sufficient number of mountain training rides: On a long, challenging climb — the 5.5 miles up to Spivey Gap would gain 1,050 vertical feet — it’s better to be on your own. You find a pace you can live with, you get a rhythm going, you pedal and look up the road only when you must. The climb proved a relief from the energy-zapping paceline-that-wasn’t. I pulled into the rest stop atop Spivey Gap at mile 30 surprisingly refreshed and cheered by this revelation.

“You’re here already,” Alan said, surprised, when I pulled up to the roadside tent where volunteers were handing out PBJs, bananas, orange slices and cookies. Alan is a 15-year veteran of mountain centuries, completing in the neighborhood of 50, finishing most at the front of the pack with the cyclists who aren’t on hand for the scenery. Yet he was so determined to get me through my first mountain century that he had agreed that, after going out with the fast kids, he would wait at the first rest stop and ride with me the rest of the way.

“Man, I found my tempo on that climb,” I said with a PBJ in one hand, a banana in the other. “I got into a rhythm and just spun my way to the top. I feel great.”

“Good,” he said with all sincerity. Then, merely stating a fact and not meaning to, he brought me back to Earth. “Now we just have 70 miles left.”

Tomorrow: The 70 miles left.

Photo at top: Alan Nechemias, right, and Jason Haley discuss strategy at the start of Saturday’s Roan Moan.

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Actually, Sage Rountree corrects, this may be the perfect time to start thinking about goals for the fall. Rountree lives in Chapel Hill and is perhaps best known for her yoga-for-athletes books and clinics, which she conducts internationally. She’s also a coach, working with both elite and beginner athletes, and a marathoner (3:43:00 at Boston 2008), Ironperson (13:08:17, Ironman Coeur d’Alene 2009), ultramarathoner ( 5:10:45 in this year’s Frosty 50K trail race). And she has two kids.

“Picking your next goal before your race is the perfect way to channel that extra energy during the taper,” says Rountree.

While I haven’t quite begun to taper — the Roan Moan is just a week out but the Rock ‘n’ Roll half marathon isn’t until Sept. 5 — I knew what she meant. Two big goals I’ve yet to tackle, but they will soon pass. Then what? The last thing I want to do is let months of training fizzle while I ponder what’s next.

When I mentioned the Second Empire fall series, Rountree was on board.

“Series are great,” she says. “They’re a way of sustaining a goal. In the triathlon series, for instance, it takes the pressure off any one single race. You approach it as part of a whole.”

And, she adds, you establish a sense of camaraderie. “You see the same competitors, you go up against the same people in your age group.”

I like a series for another reason. There were eight races in Second Empire’s Spring Series. In my age group (50-54), no one did every race and only two guys did seven. By my cyphering, if I had done all eight (I did one: the Second Empire 5K Classic), I might have cracked the top 10 finishers. (The No. 10 guy only did three races.) Persistence, in a series based on cumulative points, equals glory.

A series isn’t the only kind of sustained goal. Fall is when a number of 0-to-5K, walk-to-run training programs kick in. I’m a graduate of the Fit-tastic program offered through The Athlete’s Foot in Cameron Village. The 10-week program, which begins Aug. 18, takes non-runners and gradually introduces them to running. At first, you run a minute, then walk for two. Over time that ratio flips until you’ve weeded out the walking altogether and are capable of running the entire Monster Dash 5K (3.1 miles American) on Oct. 31. The program launched in fall 2008, has added a spring version, and has had 425 participants. (For more on beginner runner programs, check out this GGNC post from March 31.)

For runners, in fact, fall is the time to ramp up. Cooler weather means more races, from 5Ks to marathons. Cyclists are more likely to suffer what Rountree refers to as the “post-partum blues,” as the onset of cooler weather and shorter days causes a significant drop in planned events. But they aren’t without options, either. A century ago, pro bike racers in Europe got antsy in the off-season. So they came up with cyclo-cross racing — basically racing modified road bikes off-road — which gave them reason to train between the warm weather road events. Today, cyclo-cross racing stands on its own, and the North Carolina Cyclo-Cross Series gives Tarheel cyclists reason to keep racing throughout the winter.

Your fall goal can be whatever you make it. Races are good, so are classes, and chances are your municipal parks & recreation department has a wide offering for the fall. Here in Cary, for instance, there are various levels of Taekwondo (beginner, for families, for kids as young as 4), dance classes, cardio classes, aerobic classes and yoga classes (including chair yoga), as well as assorted team sports (basketball, volleyball, softball), a tennis ladder — pert near anything you’d want to do. You can even come up with your own goal: By Thanksgiving, be able to hike the 7.2-mile Sycamore Trail at Umstead State Park, or the 6.2-mile Ridgeline Trail linking Crowders Mountain State Park west of Charlotte with Kings Mountain State Park in South Carolina, or the 5-mile Moores Wall Loop Trail at Hanging Rock State Park.

The point: Fall needn’t be a wind-down time. Start planning now and you’ll find plenty of incentive to keep working. The season may be winding down, but you don’t have to.

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I flinched. “That’s the one we’re doing today?” My grip on the steering wheel tightened.

It was early Saturday and Alan and I were headed to Blowing Rock for a mountain training ride. Our objective for the day was the 57.1-mile Blowing Beech route, which begins and ends in picturesque downtown Blowing Rock, with a mid-way detour up Beech Mountain. Just three and a half miles, but in those three and a half miles we would gain 1,700 feet.

Why?

We were training for the Roan Moan two weeks out. The Roan Moan is a popular mountain century ride that goes along civilly enough for 71 miles. Then it begins a 7-mile, 1,700-foot climb up to Carver’s Gap, elevation 5,512 feet.

“And the climb up Roan,” Alan said paging ahead … . I let my mind intentionally drift, tuning back in as Alan was putting his Phil Liggett on the ascent, “really, it’s only the first two miles you need to worry about. After that, it, well, it doesn’t level out. But you can start using gears again.” I pictured myself wearing Phil’s renowned “mask of pain!”

Doing a mountain century is one of my two goals for this summer. For years, my adventure accomplice Alan Nechemias has been gently encouraging me to try one. At the start of every cycling season, I’ve proclaimed, “This is the year.” At the end of every cycling season I’ve found myself saying, “Well, dang, maybe next year?” This year, after extensively discussing the merits of the various mountain century rides — the Blue Ridge Brutal, Bridge-to-Bridge, Hilly Hellacious, Assault on Mount Mitchell and the Roan Moan among them — we concluded that the latter might be the best for a first-timer. I made the ultimate commitment: I got out the plastic and registered online.

Alan’s oration from John Summerson’s “The Complete Guide to Climbing (by Bike) in the Southeast” worried me. I hadn’t romanticized doing a rigorous mountain century (easy to do watching Contador, Shelck, et al pumping their way up the Alps and Pyrenees) but I was starting to realize that, with two weeks to go, I wasn’t adequately prepared, either. I’d been riding, three times a week, mostly two-hour rides on the mountain bike at hilly Umstead. I’d even done a couple mountain training rides. But my longest ride of the year was 62 miles, and the toughest climbing I’d done was the Triple Hump — and of the three humps I’d had to stop briefly going up Pilot Mountain and I’d cramped climbing Hanging Rock. I had been training, but not training smart.

That was in stark contrast to my preparation for Summer Goal #2: running a half marathon. For it, I plunked down $125 and joined a training program through FAST (Functional and Specific Training) Coaching. The program included a day-by-day training schedule for the 12-week program, two organized training runs a week (one to work on pace, the other distance), and access to two coaches. When I went into the program, my goal was to simply finish a half marathon. After four weeks, I had little doubt I could finish; My thoughts had shifted to how fast I could finish. I didn’t need a list of 10 reasons why coaches help, I had physical proof.

Left to my own devices on the bike, I was still worried about simple survival.

We pulled into Blowing Rock a little before 10 under an unsettled sky. The forecast called for a 30 percent chance of rain in the morning, increasing to 60 percent by mid-afternoon. After years of getting suckered by bad forecasts, we had no second thoughts about pushing off.

After a gorgeous 5-mile descent down Shulls Mill Road, we jogged briefly onto NC 105 before heading southwest on Broadstone Road. Shortly after passing through Valle Crucis, we began a 4.5-mile climb up NC 194 that’s not in John Summerson’s cannon, but could be. (A MapMyRide profile shows the climb ranges from 6 to 9 percent.) That’s when the sky turned from ominous to overflowing. A little spit at first, and then — with about a half mile to go to the top, with our glasses fogged and bodies soaked through, Alan steered us off the road and under the meager eve of a small building.

“Now it’s just unsafe,” he said.

If we had $20, we agreed that we would have flagged down one of the ubiquitous pickups passing by and caught a ride back to Blowing Rock. Instead, we until the rain let up, reversed course and headed back. We wound up doing three good climbs over 38 miles, but it was far short of the 57-miler with the mettle-testing climb up Beech Mountain that I felt I needed in preparation for Roan Mountain. My schedule precluded a return training trip this week, next week is too close to the race.

Had I sought out a cycling coach, I doubtles would have more mountain miles in the saddle. I’m sure I would have done more long rides, probably a couple in the 70-mile range, and I likely would have done weekly interval work. And I know I  would have put in far fewer junk miles, or miles basically just for the sake of riding.  At this point, for this ride, it’s too late for a coach, even a Chris Carmichael. Now, it’s desperation time.

Anybody know if Tony Robbins is still around?

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