Chris Clark (left) and Chris Seymour, on Mauna Kea's Summit Road.

It began at dawn: Nine cyclists symbolically dipped their front tires into Hilo Bay, turned around and, with zero fanfare, headed up Waianuenue Avenue. Up past the schools—Hilo Union, Hilo Intermediate, Hilo High. Up past the jail, Rainbow Falls and Hilo Hospital. Through the still-sleeping neighborhoods of lower Piihonua and across Akolea Road to the point where it connects with Route 200, otherwise known as the Big Island’s notorious Saddle Road. It’s maybe eight miles to this juncture—all uphill, but nothing particularly challenging for riders accustomed to spending hours at a time on their bikes. At this point, the body is really just starting to feel good.

It begins to rain, and now comes another twenty miles up the Saddle—a twisting, two-lane strip of pavement that winds through the misty Hilo Forest Reserve and across the increasingly desolate lava flows that separate Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa. The road flattens out occasionally, but for the most part it’s just one long, uphill grind, with an average biking speed of ten miles per hour. At this rate, one can while away the time on the lower Saddle by picking out the many spots where speeding drivers have missed a turn and punched through the thickets of uluhe fern that line both shoulders. On the upper Saddle, there are only vast fields of lava and (on a clear day) the twin summits—Mauna Loa on the left and Mauna Kea on the right—to occupy the mind. Finally, the red cinder hill known as Puu Huluhulu rises up in the distance, marking the point where the Saddle meets the Mauna Kea summit road—the point where the ride takes a turn toward the truly extreme.

"It’s really funny when you watch endurance guys over the course of a day," says Big Island cyclist Chris Seymour, who was one of the instigators behind this summit ride. "The ride starts, and there’s this huge excitement. Then a few hours go by, and it’s food time. Then, before you know it, you’ve got elevation: Before you even reach Hale Pohaku [the ranger station midway up the summit road], there’s a section that hits a twenty-two percent grade—that’s huge! After that, you’re at 9,000 feet, and then there’s everything you go through before you get to the top: You’ve still got six miles and another 5,000-foot climb, most of it on unpaved switchbacks. At that point, pretty much all that’s going through your mind is, What was I thinking?’"

"And that’s when you see God," laughs the other Chris, Oahu’s Chris Clark. Along with Seymour, Clark was one of five riders to reach the summit. Both are well- known in Hawaii’s cycling community: At one point or another, each has been considered the top mountain biker in the Islands, and both are known for their ability to cycle at the outer limits of endurance. In 2003, for instance, they were among five Hawaii riders to finish the notorious Leadville 100, a 100-mile off-road race in Utah that never drops below 9,000 feet. Before Clark broke his shoulder in late 2003, the pair teamed up with two other riders to create the four-man team to beat on Oahu’s fledgling twenty-four hour endurance racing scene. Now that Clark’s healed, there’s been dreamy talk of entering La Ruta, a three-day race in Costa Rica that traverses the country from its Pacific to Atlantic coast, along the mountainous route followed by Spanish conquistador Juan de Caballón.