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Roscomare Road. I had tried it several months ago and failed. It's a few turns north of Sunset. A hidden canyon in the middle of Bel-Air, sided by two towering hills. Just getting to it is punishment enough. Two streets lead to it from Sunset—Glenroy and Bellagio—and both have short, steep climbs. Roscomare itself is tame. A steady 4-6% for a couple miles until you hit a wall that makes the Wall on Mandeville look like a speed bump. The Wall itself is at least four times as long as Mandy's Wall, with a 19% grade.

I had tried it several months ago and failed. I made it to Roscomare itself—barely. I made it to the wall. I saw it and shuttered and pedaled into it. I should have known better. I started up, got about 20 yards and was out of the saddle. I slowed down to a crawl, pounding down each foot at a time. I was breathing uncontrollably and nearly toppling over from such a slow speed. Then I made the mistake of looking up the road. I saw two outdoor lights from a house about halfway up the hill. The Wall seemed much longer now than it did from the car. My heart sunk, my left hand dipped down and my bike turned around, almost as if I wasn't controlling it.

Tonight, after reading all of Rosa's posts about food and burgers, we decided to eat at Barney's. I had the usual: turkey burger and fries with spicy ranch dressing. We got home and watched Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, in anticipation of the impending release of the third disappointment from the Lucasfilm franchise.

I heard a dog bark nearby and prayed that it was behind a locked gate. I wouldn't be able to accelerate if it started to chase me.

I hadn't ridden in a couple days and was clearly in need of suffering. The movie delivered the pain and then some, though it wasn't quite enough. At about 10:45 I decided I wanted to ride, and decided Roscomare was on order. It had been on my mind the last few days so I figured tonight was the night. The rematch.

I got my gear ready. Helmet-mounted headlight. Taillight. Leg warmers. Shorts, jersey and gloves. Clear glasses. I was yawning the whole time. Sleepiness was setting in, but that wasn't going to stop me. I pumped the tires, took the bike downstairs and set out onto San Vicente. The V.A. was closed so I had to take Wilshire to Veteran, then Veteran to Sunset. After a right turn on Sunset I made a quick left on Bellagio and started the suffering. The road wound up and gradually grew steeper. When I attempted Roscomare last fall I'd taken Glenroy. But this time I wanted to avoid Sunset as much as possible. So here I was, not knowing what to expect. I'd driven this in the car a million times, but you don't suffer pain in a car, at least not by the inch.

Bellagio maxed out at 8%. It wasn't murderous, but it was enough to make me wonder if I should head home and exact my revenge on this road when I was feeling a little more spry. A wonderful descent on the other side of Bellagio convinced me otherwise. This flew down a quarter-mile or so and intersected with Roscomare. Now I was past the point of no return. The only way out was up. So without slowing I started up Roscomare, forging ahead with ignorant arrogance.

Roscomare was quiet and seemed darker than it really was. Maybe that's because of the hills that surround it, shading it on even the sunniest of days. Sure, the road ahead was lit, but I looked around and couldn't see anything else. I was in the middle of one of the largest cities in the world, and I may as well have been on an uncharted island. I couldn't hear anything else, either. The only sound was that of my breathing, which was labored but controlled. I heard a dog bark nearby and prayed that it was behind a locked gate. I wouldn't be able to accelerate if it started to chase me.

Finally, I pedaled around a bend and saw the Wall in the distance. It looked worse than before; a continuous band of pavement rising unnaturally to the dark sky. I laughed aloud at the idiocy of my attempt. The thought occurred to turn back and salvage some dignity. But the thought was fleeting. I started up, keeping my cadence high, keeping a close watch on my heart rate. It didn't feel terrible yet, even though my cadence was slowing gradually. I thought back to my previous attempt and realized I'd passed the point where I had previously jumped out of my saddle. But tonight I was still seated. Then I passed the point where I previously had to stop and turn back.

I kept pedaling, figuring the worst that could happen was that I throw up on the side of the road, wipe my mouth, drink some water, and ride home.

And I was still seated. I looked up and saw the distant house lights that had so easily discouraged me in the past. They weren't doing it to me tonight. A new thought came into my head: I may actually do this. But I wasn't even halfway up yet, so I knew it was too soon to throw my hands up in victory.

I stood up onto my pedals, letting my cadence drop to steady my heart rate, which was humming at 186 beats per minute. The thought came back into my head: I may actually do this. Then everything changed. My entire body tensed up. My arms tingled. My legs wobbled. My stomach cramped, and I thought: I might actually throw up. But I kept pedaling. The nausea eased up, then came back stronger than before. But I kept pedaling. I wondered if I should stop. But I kept pedaling. The nausea went away briefly, then returned yet again. But I kept pedaling. I was almost panicking. What would happen if I had to stop? I was miles from home. Miles from anything remotely public. My cell phone, of course, was always out of range in this canyon.

More important than any of that: If I stopped, I wouldn't be able to get going again. I would have to leave this battle for another day. Another night. This was it. So I kept pedaling, figuring the worst that could happen was that I throw up on the side of the road, wipe my mouth, drink some water, and ride home. I sat back down in the saddle, which seemed to keep the turkey burger at bay. And I kept pedaling. I passed those one-time distant lights, veered right and saw the crest of the hill in my immediate future. I hadn't thrown up yet, so I pushed a little harder. And finally, I crested Roscomare Road.

The street leveled off to a pedestrian 7% grade. My heart rate came back down to earth. My stomach settled down. I passed Stradella and finally let out a victory grin.

But the suffering wasn't over yet. I knew I had a few more short, steep climbs before reaching Mulholland. I knew one of them looked ridiculously steep in the car, but couldn't remember which one it was or even how many climbs remained. I hit the first one and survived. Then I started up the second one, which was clearly more difficult. Yet I still couldn't remember if this was the last climb, or the hardest one, or none of the above. Then I heard a car up ahead, around a blind curve. Red light reflected in some of the parked cars I was passing. I thought it was weird to see taillight reflections from a car that would have been going my direction, but had never passed me. Then I came around that blind curve and saw the traffic signal on Mulholland. The light was red, which was the red light I'd seen reflecting a few yards earlier. The car I heard had just passed on Mulholland.

On Mulholland. I was on Mulholland.

I made it.

End.