There’s a way I know that I'm finally rounding into shape on the bike. The last thing to come together for me is climbing. And the last element of climbing to come together is my ability to climb well out of the saddle

Part of this is certainly a function of strength and weight. My wife has little, spindly legs that are amazingly strong—like when you look at a horse's thin legs and wonder how they can propel such a large, weighty beast so quickly. Then there's the fact that my wife—at 105 pounds—is no large, weighty beast. Therefore, my wife has been able to leverage her superior strength-to-weight ratio to climb long hills entirely out of the saddle. She still owns bicycle course records at places like Ironman Canada and Ironman New Zealand (the older, Auckland course) where her climbing skills were used to their maximum advantage.

I, on the other hand, am a large, weighty beast. I'm 6'2" all the time, but have weighed in at 200 pounds, and, at this same height, 160 pounds. I'm now hovering in the low-to-mid 170s as we speak, so I'm within striking distance of fightin' weight and can now finally employ some cycling skills I haven't been able to use in awhile—such as climbing out of the saddle efficiently.

As we all know, standing up on the bike generates a bit more power. This is because you’re using body weight in addition to muscle power to push the pedals. But because you're using your muscles to not only turn the gears but support your body weight as well, you'll get tired easier. In fact, you get tired so easily, you can only do this for several revolutions without wiping yourself out. How do you get to a point where climbing while standing up doesn't slay you after just a few strokes?

I've come up with my own Peter principle, in keeping with the modern compulsion to generate an acronym for everything. As opposed to the more familiar version of this principle, my acronym is spelled PPTRR. So it could be the putter principle (which I'd use of this were a golf-related site), or the potter principle (if it were a literary site), or even the potater principle (if I were writing about cooking).

Since I am now, it is painfully obvious, digressing ad absurdum, we'll repair to each acronym letter forthwith:

• Practice: This is so obvious as to sound trite. If you'll reflect upon it, though, you'll find this is probably something you haven't done. By "practice" I mean attempting to stand up while on a hill for a longer and longer period of time. You'll be amazed at how easily your muscles adapt to this position, both from motor-learning and muscle-development aspects. Stand up for 10 strokes. Then 20. After awhile you'll be able to stand up and climb for a minute at a time. Then two minutes. Finally, you'll be able to stand for a mile without sitting, and then longer. It is not extraordinary to stand for two or three miles at a time, if you so choose, and to do so comfortably..
• Position: It is impossible to stand on a bike for very long unless your bike is set up properly. You should not be bent over at the waist while climbing out of the saddle—or at least the bend should be minor. The best technical examplar of standing up while climbing that I ever saw was Tour de Suisse winner Andy Hampsten, one of America's best-ever climbers. He looked like he was on a Stairmaster when he was climbing out of the saddle. This is exactly what you want to emulate. If your bars, or hoods, are too low, or too close to you, you won't be able to comfortably adopt this position.
  
• Technique: As is the case with seated riding, your legs should not be fully extended. There should be a slight bend in the knee at the bottom of the pedal stroke. You shouldn't be weaving, or rocking your bike or your body from side to side to any great degree. Your weight should do the work, and so you should strive for an easy, perfectly balanced motion. The key to proper balance is to have your weight centered directly over the bottom bracket. If your hands are too far to the rear, or too low, your upper body weight will be suspended by your arms. You want your weight on the pedals. Your arms should simply be braces.
• Relaxation: When you get good at this, it is actually a relaxing way to ride. I can usually ride about a tooth smaller cog in the rear standing versus sitting at the same cadence, and with close to the same pulse. I find that the key to riding out of the saddle is not to think about jamming but, on the contrary, to think about relaxing. Controlling and slowing my breathing rate is an important element. When approached in this way, what for most people is a more arduous way to ride can become almost an easier way to ride.
• Revolution: Or, to put it another way, cadence. The higher the cadence, the better. On the other hand, the higher the cadence, the higher the heart rate. So cadence and heart rate should be somewhat linked. The benefit of a slightly lower than optimal cadence in the beginning—while you're getting used to this position—is that you'll be more relaxed and can therefore stay out of the saddle for longer periods, especially while you're practicing this. A cadence that is too low, though, means you'll be lugging up the hill and you'll lose all sense of balance and relaxation.

All the above is true whether you are a road rider or a triathlete. There are things that must be said, though, to a triathlete in particular. First, with regard to saddle positioning, I find that using an optimal out-of-the-saddle technique means the nose of the saddle (of a steep seat-angled bike) is jabbing me up the arse on each pedal stroke. This further illustrates just how tight and short a triathlete's cockpit distance is. The saddle is closer to the bottom bracket for triathletes, or perhaps even in front of it. The handlebars must be moved backward toward the bottom bracket. This leaves precious room for out-of-the-saddle maneuvering.

None of this is a problem for me, though, because of the way my bike is set up:

• While my bike is a 78-degree seat-angled bike, I use a "standard" seat post configuration, one with the clamp about two centimeters behind the centerline of the post. This, as opposed to, say, a Dean, or a (straight) Thompson seat post, with the clamp centered over the post. This moves the saddle back a bit. Suffice it to say that I wouldn't ride with the nose of the saddle poking me in the butt on every out-of-the-saddle pedal stroke.
• I employ a slightly longer stem than would be normal and a shorter aero bar. This means the distance from the saddle nose to the aero bar ends is the same, but my armrests are effectively moved out of the way so I don't slam into the back of the armrests with my kneecaps when I'm out of the saddle.
• This has the added benefit of moving my pursuit bars (base bars) further in front of the bottom bracket, giving me a less-cramped position for climbing out of the saddle.
• And about the base bar—it is flat. There is no declination to it. Remember, the base bar, or so-called pursuit bar, is not the aero position. It is the climbing position. If you use a pursuit bar that angles toward the ground when it leaves the stem, you'll end up with a position roughly equivalent to road bar drops. This is not what you want as your alternate position on a tri bike. You need a climbing position. Unless, that is, you never climb, in which case you've wasted a lot of time reading this article, and a lowered "out-of-the-aero-position" makes sense. This is how Vision Tech makes their one-piece bars. While they're popular bars, I'd like to see them make an aero bar with the integrated pursuit bar extensions level to the ground. This would be more useful in hillier areas, such as where I live.