Denver City Century Ride

Over the winter, Sam and I were attempting to plot out a potential century on the tandem at some point over the spring/summer this year. When we had a chance to do our “looping century” ride in early April, we thought that may be the end of our longer distance rides together this year. However, we had hopes of sneaking in one more in the form of an organized century before summer’s end.

It happened that the Denver Century Ride was coming up at a time that worked conveniently for us to avoid other events taking place in the coming weeks/months. Plus, we both thought it sounded interesting to get a taste of both city and mountain riding in one swoop. The tag for the century route reads:

This is the most challenging of all of the Denver Century Ride routes as it has the distance and a significant climb. If you are going to do this route, we recommend that this is not your first ride of the season but rather you have logged some miles on your bicycle in preparation. Never done a century ride before? Don’t let that deter you! Think of the accomplishment you will feel by making the Denver Century Ride your first century ride ever!

We’ve definitely logged miles this year, and aren’t afraid to try climbing on occasion, so why not give this a try? Plus, there are other route options (an 85 miler that skips the long/steep climb, a 50 mile option and a 25 mile route), if we felt like we just couldn’t handle the distance when event day arrived. I was a little skeptical about being able to complete the 100-mile ride because it had both a (to me) significant amount of climbing and it was a longer distance, but I tried to push those thoughts out of my mind and reminded myself that we are capable of both the distance and pedaling up hill.

Leading up to the ride, it appeared as though the weather wasn’t going to be very cooperative. We were waiting for both rain and thunderstorms to arrive on the day of the ride, so that wasn’t easing my mind. But, it is also part of summertime in the Rockies — we have to expect that we will, at some point during a long day in the saddle, get rained on and perhaps endure hail and/or thunder/lightning.

When ride-day arrived, we made our way to the start, hoping for the best. We were both excited to see what the route had in store, but expected that we’d have many opportunities to ride among the tall buildings of downtown Denver and eventually make our way to the mountains for the challenging climb.

We spoke briefly with a young man who was planning to do the 100-mile ride on a single-speed. He had approached us asking if we were doing the same distance on the tandem and he and Sam chatted a bit about single-speed riding, its challenges and benefits. He was concerned about the big climb, but was sure he’d be able to get up the mountain. We wished him well and told him that we’d be struggling, too, on the climbs, so maybe we’d see him along the way.

The first wave of riders made their way to the start line while we hung back and waited for our wave.

Waiting at the start was fairly pleasant. It was interesting to watch people (both spectators and participants). We expected that it would be a friendly ride (it wasn’t a race and we weren’t being timed, other than needing to be at the finish by 4p) and that people would be chatty and enjoying whatever came our way.

There were several waves of riders and we were in the second of these. I was impressed that the organizers actually got everyone moving on time without much delay. It’s tough to be waiting to start for long periods of time, so I certainly give kudos in this regard. Bagpipers played the national anthem and then we were off!

There were approximately 300 riders in each wave, starting about 15 minutes apart to help keep the paths somewhat clear. The roads would be open to all normal traffic, so everyone would have to keep right and be aware of all of those traveling the roadways. This didn’t seem too big of a problem, but, as we would learn, would become more of an issue as the day wore on.

I was shocked as we proceeded through the start at the intensity of the riders. Everyone seemed very focused and ready to start out at top speeds. For lack of better words, it kind of freaked me out! Knowing that we weren’t being timed I had assumed no one would be taking this too seriously, but I was very wrong. Fortunately, this seemed to mellow out a bit as everyone found their spot.

Initially, I personally struggled with dealing with other riders. I am quite used to being able to pedal freely and rarely do we coast at all on the tandem (except down hills when we run out of gears), but because of the number of other cyclists, we had to have patience and flexibility with our usual pedaling cadence. I found myself frustrated when riders were coasting because it was a time when we really needed to be able to pedal to get momentum for an approaching climb — and it wasn’t always easy to get around others because of motorized traffic and lack of passing space. Even with this issue and multiple signals and stop signs, we were keeping a relatively good pace and averaging a little over 17 mph (27 kph) for the first 25 miles of the ride.

At the first aid station around mile 20, I had to stop to use the facilities. I was feeling the pressure and knew I wouldn’t make it to the next station without this stop off. Unfortunately, there were only two portables and about 50 people waiting to use them. After 20-25 minutes in line, we were back on the road.

When we hit the base of the climb at around mile 25 in Golden, Colorado, I was preparing for our slow ascent. I knew that we would only be traveling between 3-5 mph (5-8 kph) up the climb because 1) tandem – truly, I don’t know how other teams move so swiftly up some of the climbs! 2) I’m just not a good climber, even on my own, so our pace tends to be quite slow despite my best efforts.

I knew that we’d be doing straight up climbing for a solid 2-3 hours. I tried to put that thought out of my mind and focused on small gains or points in our path. Single riders would pass us — some thought we were cheating having two riders on a bike, others told us that we were their inspiration to keep climbing because they knew how difficult it is on a tandem. No one was moving particularly swiftly, so it was an opportunity to have short conversations with others, regardless of their thoughts about the tandem.

The views were beautiful as we got higher – something I forget at times, despite being surrounded by this every day. I wish that we would have taken more photos, but Sam is still perfecting his riding-while-taking-photos skills and I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle this task without stopping, so we just appreciated our view and continued to work toward the top.

Climbing up into the mountains – Sam did pretty well with this photo.

As we rode, one of the SAG wagons came by and rolled to a stop. When we glanced over, the single-speed rider we’d spoken with earlier was walking over to the car with his bike.

“You aren’t stopping, are you?” I questioned.

He looked down at the ground, smiling sheepishly, but it was easy to see that he was feeling defeated. He nodded in response.

I couldn’t help myself and replied, “Nooo… you can’t give up! The SAG-pickup option will always be there. Keep riding. You can do this!” I smiled at him as we very slowly continued our pull up the mountain.

I didn’t know if those few words would have any benefit or convince him to keep going, but I hoped that he would continue to ride. Sam and I chatted about youth and remembered a number of instances when we both attempted something, but wanted to give up (or did give up). I suppose some of the benefit of aging is realizing that even though our bodies may have a more challenging time in certain instances, we have learned that we are capable of completing more than we believe we can. It is that knowledge that often allows us to keep pushing, even when we feel defeated ourselves.

About a half mile farther up the climb, a voice came from behind us, shouting our names. We are used to this as we have a nameplate with both of our names on the rear of the tandem, so often when strangers pass, they say hello to us. However, we had removed it a few weeks ago because the rattling was getting on Sam’s nerves. We decided that until we find a good solution to eliminate the noise, we’d take it off. So, I was confused a bit and realizing this must be a person who actually knows us. A few moments later, a smiling, familiar face came in to view.

It was Len, a man we have known for several years from local rides.

“Hey, hey!” he said as he approached. “I knew I recognized that tandem. Keep climbing!”

“We’ll get there — eventually,” Sam said.

It wasn’t long before he was in front of us and out of sight, but it was nice to see a familiar face on this long climb. We watched single riders stopping along the side of the road, taking photos and/or resting on this steep climb. We, however, were determined to make it to the top without having to stop. Those stopped riders would eventually pass us, but then stop again so we’d pull ahead once more, only to be passed again as they continued on.

More climbing – this photo has a bit of a haze (Sam says it’s from the lens getting sweaty in his pocket).

As we rode, we spotted another tandem coming from below on one of the switchbacks. They seemed to be moving pretty swiftly, especially for a tandem traveling uphill. Within moments, they were beside us and seemed to pass without effort. They greeted us with a hello and a wave and continued on. They weren’t wearing race numbers, so we knew they were just out and happened to be riding here. Still, we were both amazed at their abilities!

“How are they going so fast?” I asked out loud to no one in particular.

A few moments passed and another single rider came up and asked if we’d seen another tandem come by. We responded that we had and he informed us that this duo is part of RUSA and has ridden Paris-Brest-Paris, as well as winning several races.

“I guess I don’t feel so bad then,” I half-shrugged to Sam. “They were quite fast though! I guess we have a lot to work towards.”

Eventually, we made it to the top and to the second aid station. Now it was Sam’s turn to make use of the portable. Once again, there was a long line and only two available, so we spent another 20 minutes waiting for his turn. The worst part of the waiting is that our legs were having time to turn to jelly.

The second aid station stop – it really was a beautiful day!

As I stood waiting, our buddy, Len, was headed back on route. I nodded in his direction and told him that we’d likely cross paths again. He smiled and rode out. And then, our single-speed fellow appeared, suddenly, in front of me.

“Hey!” I said as he walked past. “Did you keep riding? Did you make it up the climb?”

“Sort of,” he said. “I had to get a ride up the last mile to mile and a half. I just couldn’t do it.”

“But, you’re still riding,” I said. “You can do this – just keep at it.”

He smiled and walked over to pick up some food. “I’m just looking forward to the downhill,” he stated as he walked back to his bike.

Sadly, this was the last interaction we would have with him. I do hope that he made it to the end.

Sam returned and we knew we had to get moving before we both lost use of our legs, so we continued on. For some reason, I thought that the aid station was the end of our major climbing, but, as we quickly realized, we still had a bit of climbing to do. At least it was more rolling mountains and not straight up like the path we’d been riding to that point. Another four miles of rolling up and we had made our way to the downhill section.

We were both ready for this and looking forward to getting some speed. Ten miles of fairly straight, steep, down hill coasting. Could anything feel better at this point? About half way down, we caught Len and went tearing past him. All we heard was the “WOO HOO!!!” he laughed in our direction as we flew by.

It was all so beautiful! So much greenery as we headed down in to Red Rocks in Morrison, Colorado. Red Rocks, known to most as an amazing outdoor amphitheater, is also a fantastic hiking destination, and, as Sam and I have experienced, an outdoor workout experience like none other. If you ever have the opportunity to go early on a spring/summer Saturday morning, you will be greeted by hundreds, if not thousands of individuals trying to get in a good workout using the amphitheater steps and all the surrounding natural goodness. It is definitely a challenging workout!

But, we were on a different mission this day. We had to continue our pedaling adventure. I looked down at the Garmin and realized we weren’t even half way through this route. It felt as though we’d seen and ridden so much, but we still had a long way to travel.

“I hadn’t realized how much of a climb that would be,” Sam said as we continued through rolling terrain. “I didn’t anticipate how long it would take to get to that point. Initially, I thought it would be good to have the steep and long climb toward the beginning, but now I’m not sure about that.”

I just smiled and laughed a bit to myself. It’s funny how we try to get ourselves through tough situations. We debate whether it’s better to climb all the way out and have down hill for the complete return, to have all rolling hills, or a late-in-the-route, steep climb that was preceded by easier terrain. I suppose no matter what we think, we’ll always wish for what isn’t in front of us. It seems to be the nature of humans.

Without much warning, we were in more populated areas among swift moving traffic. We had popped out onto a very busy highway that lacked any shoulder or bike space. Suddenly, we were back in city life and no longer with the quiet, natural surroundings.

We wound through many neighborhoods and across and as a part of major thoroughfares. There were a lot of neighborhoods, and a lot of roads that hardly seemed appropriate for this type of course with thousands of riders. We couldn’t quite determine why we were winding through so many random housing developments either. It just seemed an odd course to take.

At one point Sam commented that this was not a ride for the faint of heart or timid cyclists, and I have to agree with him. With an open course such as this that traveled on very busy, highly traveled roads that lack shoulders and/or bike lanes, one cannot be afraid to take his/her space in the lane. For the most part, vehicles were cooperative and allowed us space, but I personally felt that there were portions that could have been better routed. I can also state with near-certainty that neither of us would ever ride some of these roads if not involved in this event.

There was also a great deal of seemingly needless climbing. It was as though we were sent through neighborhoods with large, steep hills for no reason other than to force us to climb when there were perfectly good, flat roads that could’ve been utilized. Perhaps this was just perception and/or our tiredness by the time we were three-quarters of the way through the event.

Despite the haphazard nature of some of the route, it was interesting to get a bicycle-eye view of the city and surrounding communities. I did find myself wishing for more time in the urban center of Denver, rather than out in suburbia though. After taking a better look at the routes post-ride, I think the shorter routes actually have more of this than we experienced.

The weather held surprisingly well. We had sunshine for the majority of our time out, but as the day wore on, the typical summer afternoon clouds and threatening rain came rolling in. We pedaled on, hoping to make it back before rain fell.

As we rode, I was struck by how good I felt. I have done much shorter and/or easier events and felt far worse. I was almost afraid to utter those words aloud though for fear that something would change. Plus, Sam had mentioned that he wasn’t doing all that great and I didn’t want to make him feel worse. Even though I’d been dealing with knee and hip issues the week prior, my legs felt surprisingly capable. I did say at one point that my lower back was aching, but my legs felt like they could keep going.

After our initial 25 mile stretch, most of the ride found us relatively alone on the route. We’d occasionally pass other riders or they would pull past us, but our last 15 miles or so found us smack in the midst of a fairly sizable group of riders. It was as though they had arrived out of nowhere. It could well have been that the shorter routes were now coming back together and intersecting with the two longer distance routes, but it was actually nice timing to have more company on our return to the finish.

One to two miles from the finish, the rain began to fall. It was light, but the clouds were telling a story that this would likely change – and soon.

“Well, we almost made it,” I said.

“At least it’s not coming down too hard,” Sam responded.

Indeed. I didn’t mind getting a little wet. It felt refreshing and with such a short distance to travel, we knew we’d made it to the end. The announcer yelled out to us as we crossed and volunteers attempted to hand off beers to us. It was the last thing I was looking for at that moment though, so we passed them by and rolled to a stop.

As we stood over the bike just over the finish line, we realized we were short 0.2 miles to complete the 100 mile distance.

“I didn’t come all this way to come up two-tenths of a mile short,” Sam said.

Agreed. While we had ridden a hundred miles, it just felt strange to end off with such a short amount of distance missing. So, after we pedaled through the finish, we did another lap to ensure we hit that 100-mile mark.

When I stepped off the bike, my legs instantly felt everything they had done for the last several hours. All of the pushing and climbing all came crashing into that moment. I could see that Sam was tired too. We loaded up our steed and went in search of sustenance.

At the end of it all, we both had similar thoughts on this ride. The best part of the route was the initial rambling through the city and the climbing, along with the long downhill into Red Rocks, all of which were over in the first 45 miles. We could’ve done without the portions that had us riding along side fast-moving vehicles and the seemingly never-ending trolling through suburban neighborhoods. We both also thought we weren’t sure we would do this ride again — not because it didn’t have beautiful points of interest or challenging aspects, but it just didn’t quite feel like what we’d expected.

I am slowly (very slowly) learning that my mindset is so much more important than I could ever really believe. Although it can be more challenging to travel long distances on the tandem, I prefer it. I like having the company and someone to talk to (even if Sam doesn’t always respond to my rambling). It’s fine to ride in silence as well, as we often do, but somehow knowing that someone is right there with me, on the same bike, experiencing the same moments, helps me keep a more positive outlook. I also know that I can’t give up because someone else is counting on me to get to the end and vice versa.

There was never a point during this ride in which I thought we wouldn’t make it to the finish. That in itself was a victory because the evening prior I wasn’t convinced I wanted to go to the ride at all. We didn’t average our fastest speeds by any stretch, but that wasn’t the point of this event. We completed our 100-mile climbing journey together, and who knows, maybe it won’t be the last of this year after all.

A Century Ride Attempt... Nearly Six Years Later

***I've debated for about a week whether or not I wanted to write about this, but ultimately decided to go ahead. In some ways, it feels unnecessary, but I think in the back of my mind, I want some sort of record of it and my brain seems to misremember details as time goes on. Unfortunately, I didn't take the time for photos during the ride, but here is the tale regardless.***

In 2013, I wrote about my first time riding a century. A few weeks after, Sam and I rode another one together (which was his first century). We both had big plans to do more of them as we rode into the future. For Sam, that was reality (he's ridden many more since then, all much more challenging than that first, and most on a mountain bike). I, however, haven't ridden that distance since then. When I think about it, it's difficult to believe that it's been so long since I've even attempted it -- especially because I really wanted to extend to do a 200k or maybe even a 300k.

Sometimes though, life has other plans. In my case, it started with a domino of bad bike decisions and then having to deal with more significant injuries and other things that seemed to keep popping up. Before I knew it, the only time I was riding was to get around town (not that there is anything wrong with that by any means) and I rarely if ever set out to do concentrated, longer-distance efforts. Over the last couple of years though, I've started to find somewhat of a groove again. It started out slowly, but with the addition of the tandems, I've found it easier to get out and ride like I used to do, even on my own. Though I beat myself up over speed sometimes, I try to remind myself that enjoying the ride is, in the end, more important.

Toward the end of 2018, Sam and I had talked about riding another century together but on the tandem rather than singles. I was somewhat reluctant. The idea seemed a bit much for me, but I also knew that part of having the tandem (for us) was to be able to do longer rides. While we've completed many 50-65 mile rides, I have felt that those distances were really my max for the time being. After all, I'm broken (at least that's what my mind continues to tell me), older, slower, and so on. Couldn't we just be happy with those distances together?

But, there was a part of me that did want to try to ride a 100-mile ride again. I tentatively agreed to do a century ride on the tandem, provided we could come up with a flat (or flat as possible) route. The thing is that living in Colorado it is quite difficult to come up with a route that is a hundred miles long and doesn't involve climbing. So, when we were chatting about possibilities, we came up with the idea of doing a loop-route. Basically, we would find a 20-25 mile route that was flat(ter) and then ride it 4-5 times consecutively.

It seemed brilliant. So, we planned to do the route before winter set in last year. The right time never presented itself, but when spring rolled in, we knew that we wanted to give it a try before all the events and other happenings in life begin to take over. The first weekend in April, we decided it was time.

The night before, I went through my usual couldn't-sleep routine, waking up more times than I could count. I don't know why I get so worked up over distances, especially because this wasn't an event, but rather the two of us simply going for a ride. Maybe it was the history of knowing that I'd been able to ride that distance before and the thought of not being able to do it today would be crushing. I really did wonder if I'd be able to complete the distance and I was concerned about how much discomfort and/or pain I'd have to endure. With the length of time and happenings that have transpired between the last century attempt and this one, it's not unrealistic to think I'd struggle with a long ride today.

The morning of our attempt, I couldn't eat (as is typical), but we had a plan for nutrition along the way. It is one area that I struggle with while doing longer distance rides... we have to eat - something - whether Gu or bananas or some sort of food, but I don't really want to eat actual food most of the time. However, I knew I'd have to have a time/distance plan to consume something in order to complete the ride.

My other struggle is always time. The longer we are out, the worse I feel (probably partially because I don't generally have a good refueling plan in place), so I knew that time was not going to be my friend. We needed to complete the ride as swiftly as we could, without it feeling like we were racing through an event. I had estimated that we'd likely end up around 8 hours of ride time, given that longer rides tend to be significantly slower for us; but I had mentioned to Sam that I would be thrilled if we could come in at around 7-ish hours. He agreed that somewhere around 7-7.5  hours would be fantastic. Obviously, we would not be averaging the speed of many tandem teams or single riders, but we were going to do our best to complete the ride.

We had decided to leave earlier than we normally would for an early spring ride to try to avoid the winds that were supposed to happen that day. The forecast had shown that up until around noon, the winds were supposed to be between 2-4mph, which would be very mild; however, after around noon, the speeds were supposed to increase to up to 16+mph (which means gusts would be much higher). While that's not the worst our winds can be, it's also not horribly fun for me to captain the tandem when it's extra windy, so we thought that if we could avoid the vast majority of the worst part of the wind for the day, that would be great.

As we set out on our first lap, the winds were pretty strong - much stronger than the 2-4mph predicted. We were also dealing with headwinds but figured when we turned around, we'd benefit from the tailwind. Sadly, that didn't happen. Instead, the wind (so famous for doing exactly this) shifted and became a headwind yet again when we turned to head back. It just didn't seem right, but what could we do about it?

This was the lap/loop we had planned for our ride... an out and back, with spots where we could stop, if needed. 

Our first lap went off pretty well, despite the wind trying to throw us off. Our speeds were lower than we had hoped, but I tend to warm up slowly, so I had kind of already figured that the first one wouldn't be our best, at least until closer to the end of it.

We were, however, having a lot of shifting issues. It seemed as though every gear we really wanted to be in was having difficulty, so I was spending a lot of time fussing with gears as we tried to plod along.

I think riding slower than we had wanted on the first lap kind of gave each of us a kick and we picked up the pace for the second lap, still being blasted by the wind which was only getting stronger.

One of the fun things about our route is that it's pretty much a mild climb out so we got a mild descent on the return (not perfectly up or down either direction, but as close as one could really expect). Although each lap only has a minimal amount of climbing, we did all of it during the first 12-13 miles and then got our break for the second half of each lap, which I personally found to be a good motivator. If we got through the mild climbing, then we could really push on the return.

At the end of our second lap, I was already concerned though. We were only about 51(ish) miles in and I was not feeling great. We had definitely traveled faster the second lap, but I was starting to think that I wouldn't be able to make it to the end.

I was pretty concerned about fatigue at the end of lap two. I was holding on to the bike and it just slipped out of my grasp and landed in this spot. Fortunately, I was able to hold it well enough that it didn't fall on any working parts or do any damage. It may be time to put that kickstand on it for just such occasions.

I shared my concern about potentially not being able to finish the ride with Sam but he didn't seem alarmed. On one hand, I appreciated his confidence in me, but on the other, I was a little miffed that he wasn't taking my words with any sort of seriousness.

"You'll be fine," he said.

As I've said, Sam is a man of few words. I hoped he was right and swallowed another Gu pack to try to get my head out of the foggy space it was entering.

One of the bad decisions with our lapping route is that each round we came back by our home. In some sense, it was great to come by the house every 25 miles. Since this wasn't a supported ride, if we needed something, it would be easy to stop and pick up (or drop off) whatever may be needed at home; but on the other hand, we hadn't considered how easy it would make it to give up before finishing. Each time we rounded the corner near our house, I tried to keep focused. If we didn't need to stop, there was no reason to do so.

We began lap three and I told Sam that I was going to try to tell myself that it was our last lap. I figured if I could somehow convince my brain that we were almost through, maybe I could make my body push a little harder. Perhaps it wasn't the wisest move given that I was already feeling lightheaded, but sometimes I just have to play games with myself to make things happen.

When we reached the end of our climbing for that third lap, I remarked to Sam, "Well, we've officially ridden the farthest we've ever ridden on a tandem!" It felt like an accomplishment, even if we still weren't through with the task at hand.

While we continued on, I realized that I actually felt better than I had at the end of the second lap. Weird, I thought, but I was happy that the fog had lifted and that my body was back to cooperating. If we kept up this pace, we would definitely be able to make our goal of 7-7.5 hours.

Our third lap wrapped up even faster than our second, much to our surprise. We've found in the past (at least during "real" events) that 4-lap routes tend to have a pattern... the second is usually faster than the first, the third is slower than the second, but faster than the first, and the fourth is just about getting through the pain and is always the slowest of the laps. It is, of course, what we expected for this unofficial ride too.

As we continued, my body was doing fine and my brain fog had lifted, but I was feeling quite queasy and couldn't figure out why. I had been eating as planned and drinking water, but I still had this weird lump in my throat and that uneasy feeling in my stomach that just wouldn't go away.  I tried drinking more water, but it didn't do much of anything.

We were on our last refuel stop and Sam made a comment about the caffeine in the Gu he was eating when all of a sudden it occurred to me that every Gu pack I'd consumed had caffeine in it. I have fairly high sensitivity to caffeine and try not to have much of it, so it suddenly became clear why I wasn't feeling all that great. Why it hadn't occurred to me prior to consuming half a dozen packets, I have no idea, but the nauseated feeling suddenly made sense (and the crash that happened afterward wasn't all the fun either).

Anyway, we were on our fourth and final lap and we joked briefly about continuing on for a fifth lap, but neither of us was quite ready to actually deal with that and instead just wanted to ensure we could get to the completion of the goal at hand. As we wrapped up our final mild climb and started back on the downhill portion, I realized that we were actually, truly going to be able to finish this ride.

I still felt better at this point than at the halfway point, which was shocking. In fact, we both felt pretty good. We were fatiguing, but neither of us was in pain or felt as though we couldn't carry on -- which was a far cry from the century we'd done a little less than six years ago. We stopped when/where we'd planned, but hadn't spent too much time stopped. We didn't make any unplanned stops either, which I considered a win because I was convinced I'd struggle to make it past the 3/4 point and would need to stop a lot more frequently. There was no whining or 'I can't possibly go on' type of sentiments being expressed (or felt for that matter). It was strange because I've not experienced a 100-mile ride that went this well.

As we closed in on the end of this ride, we realized that unlike what has been typical during lapping routes, we'd actually increased our pace every single lap. Why/how we're still not entirely certain, but the numbers don't lie and we got faster, even as we became more tired.

Sam has an app that tells him what percentages of a ride are headwinds, tailwinds or crosswinds after it's uploaded, and at the end of this 100-miler we learned that we never had a tailwind at any point -- something we knew even before the fancy application confirmed that we hadn't imagined the battle against the elements. Even though we had a pretty flat route, those winds sure made for some interesting moments.

We were still smiling (and upright) at the end of 102 miles, so I guess it wasn't so bad after all. 

Perhaps what I found most memorable about this ride is that it wasn't a big deal. It really did feel as though we were just going out on a typical ride and pedaling through. I expected things to go much worse than they did, I anticipated that we would be pretty slow (because of me), and I really didn't think I'd be able to complete the distance, but it was, as simply as I can put it, uneventful. We ended up finishing with a just slightly over 6.5 hour time, besting what we thought possible... and for an early spring ride, we didn't think that was too bad a job for the two of us on one bike.

We have talked about potentially doing another 100-mile ride later in the year, but we'll see how things play out. Sam has plans for a variety of events, so it may not quite be realistic. Knocking this out early in the season made the most sense and perhaps it will motivate us to do a longer distance at some point as well. We know now that we can get through a hundred miles on the tandem... and that was really the only goal.

100 Miles of Nowhere: Some Clarification, and Your Help with Route Selection

Part of the reason I wanted to do our own version of giving within the confines of Fat Cyclist's 100 Miles of Nowhere is that the last few months have caused me to lose some faith in humanity. I've had days during which I have truly believed that there is no one to count on when things get rough. There have also been (at least what seems to me) a larger number of horrific acts taking place across the world and I can't help but feel entirely helpless. This simply seems like an opportunity to do some small bit to help somewhere in some small way.

With that, a couple of items have been pointed out to me by some of you that I wanted to clarify or modify regarding the upcoming 100 Miles of Nowhere, so here we go.

The first bit that has elicited a small amount of confusion is about the ride itself. Even though Fat Cyclist is doing an event that asks those who sign up to ride 100 miles of his/her own, that was not our intended purpose. We simply wanted to have an opportunity to not only aid an organization that is important to Fatty's family (by our household signing up for his ride), but to also give to one of our local organizations while riding this event.

In other words, we will be using Fatty's 100 MoN as an opportunity to give to our community as well. Those who choose to donate are in no way required to do their own 100 mile ride to nowhere.

That said, if you would like to complete your own ride (either on the date we'll be riding or on a day that works for you), please feel free to do so. In fact, we'd be thrilled to know that others are riding along side us in their own cities! If you do ride your own 100 MoN, please let us know. It would be great to hear other stories from those around the country (world?) that are doing a ride of their own as well.

The point of clarification: If you donate, you do not have to ride your own 100 mile ride.

The second point I'd like to adjust is the actual donation recipient. It has been pointed out that some would like to donate, but would in some cases prefer to give to their own local organizations. During this time of year, there are so many requests for funds that it makes it challenging to parcel out to everyone and each request. With that said, I would still love for readers to donate to the OUR Center, but I completely understand those who'd like to help out some other organization instead.

Our thought from the start was simply to have an opportunity to give, and while I really do want to get funds to the OUR Center, I also have the ability to work with local companies and people to help raise funds for this cause. If you would rather donate to an organization you hold dear, that is all perfectly acceptable in my book as well.

If you've already donated to the OUR Center, thank you! Please don't feel as though it was a waste as this organization can definitely use the assistance and I know your donation will be put to good use. We simply wanted to offer an alternative as a few people have made similar comments/requests via email.

Sometimes money itself is too much of a strain on finances this time of year as well, so I wanted to say that I think donation of goods (food, clothing, furniture, etc) or a donation of time helping an organization is just as acceptable - and sometimes needed even more. So, if that is how you are able to give, please do, and I'd still love for you to let me know.

The point of modification: Feel free to donate to any organization of your choosing (be it cash, goods, or service), but please still send an email to let me know as I'd love to keep a tally of what is being donated.

Whether you choose to do your own 100 Miles of Nowhere ride or not, I hope that you will donate. As pointed out prior, any small amount is beneficial, and whether you give to our local selection or your own organization of choice, small amounts do add up.

Okay, now that those issues have been addressed ( and, of course, if you have other thoughts that need clarification, please feel free to let me know), I will move on to the actual date of our ride and ask you for some assistance with route selection.

Our intention is to ride our 100 MoN on Sunday, October 11. It was pretty much the only weekend day we could work out to devote entirely to a 100 mile ride (and believe me, it will be an all day event for us - mostly because of my lack of training) that didn't take us into (potentially) snowy day territory. So, In just about two weeks, we will be riding our route of choice. If for some reason the weather is just too horrible, we'll pick an alternate date, but things thus far are looking fairly good.

Speaking of the route, Sam and I have debated what/where we would like to travel for the ride. Initially, Sam wanted to find a location to simply circle round and round until we reach 100 miles. My objection to this is that we'd have to turn and ride the opposite direction at some point as I think we'd grow weary (and our tires would wear unevenly) if we just circled in the same direction for a very short distance.

The real problem with this is that any place we'd choose has stop signs or signals involved which would mean that we couldn't ever get to a point of picking up speed and we'd be contending with motorized traffic at every turn.

I myself am trying to avoid any real climbing because I am already aware that riding 100 miles in my current state is going to be a challenge all its own without adding in the extra demands of climbing.

Ultimately, we've narrowed our choices down to two possibilities and we were hoping for some input from you. What would you do, why would you choose one over the other, etc?

The first option:

*Image from Google Maps

Our multi-use path has been torn up for a couple of years now since local flooding took place. The city has worked to rebuild, but it's still in a state of disrepair and has many disconnected spots. This seemed like a good option to choose because we could simply travel back and forth on the trail until we reach 100 miles. Unfortunately, the longest segment we can create continuously is about 4 miles long. Which means we'll be traveling back and forth a number of times in order to reach 100 miles (which, by definition, is sort of the point of 100 miles of nowhere, I suppose).

What we like about this option is that there are many resources along the way if we get thirsty, hungry, tired, need facilities, etc. The route has some very small rolling hill sections, but is fairly flat. In addition, we'd have almost no contact with motorized traffic, and we're guessing, due to the time of year, there won't be many people on the trail at all, making it up to us how fast we travel. We know it still won't be fast (again, because of me), but at least it provides an opportunity to stretch out a bit before turning around.

There isn't a whole lot of down side to this option, except that one direction is pretty much a very, very slight descent while the other direction will be a very, very slight climb. Another potential downfall is that much of this route is open to the elements, and it often gets windy through the straightest portions of this route, so we could very well end up dealing with some unwanted challenges.

The second option:

*Image from Google maps w/modification

For our second choice, we thought about how ridiculous a route we could really make if we set our minds to it. Our neighborhood is set up in such a way that there are two blocks we can travel without meeting a stop sign (and a bunch of motorized traffic) with 10 separate streets set up with this same two block section (the street that isn't blued out has some pretty heavy traffic, so we'd avoid this one).

Initially, we considered simply riding up and down the same block until we reached 100 miles, but then decided that we'd likely prefer a little bit of a change. With this option, we would travel an up and back route on each of these two block sections that run approximately 0.2 miles. If we rode each of the 10 blocks 10 miles, we'd end up at our 100 mile goal. Of course, that ten miles is going to add up to somewhere around 50 trips up and down each block.

What we like about this option is that it's pretty well out our front door and it's about as flat as any route could possibly be. It also makes it super easy to get home if we need a break, food, hydration, and so on. We like that it seems entirely ridiculous and if our neighbors don't already think we're insane, they will after this. I, personally, also like the fact that it would be really easy to switch out bikes if I become too uncomfortable and need a position change with a different bike. Knowing that I'm not trained for it, this seems like a good option.

One down side of this route is monotony. If we thought the 4 mile route would get dull, this will be the epitome of boring and routine.  Another potential challenge is dealing with local traffic. While these are side streets, some of them have a decent amount of traffic to contend with and traveling back and forth looking for cars and kids playing outside may not be ideal.  But, on the alternate side of things, these very short segments seem ideal for a 100 Miles of Nowhere challenge.

Which route would you choose for a 100 Miles of Nowhere ride?

A) Option 1: Short multi-use trail path

B) Option 2: Short, repetitive segments

Poll Maker

If you were choosing between these two option, which one would you select? Why? Feel free to leave additional comments or if you're short on time, make your selection in the poll. We'll let you know the decision soon, or we may just go with popular opinion. And, of course, please don't forget to donate to the OUR Center, or to your organization of choice, and then let me know about it.

Sam's First Century

I mentioned in a recent post that my second century is now under my belt, but what I didn't share is that the reason for the second so quickly after the first was that Sam was really wanting to attempt his own first 100-mile ride. Rather than spending another post detailing out my thoughts on doing it a second time, I thought it might be more fun to see it through the eyes of another person's first round. I was also supposed to be going after my third this upcoming weekend with Venus de Miles, however, mother nature had other plans. Since much of our area is recovering (and will be for some time) from the damage to roads and bridges, all organized rides have been canceled for at least 30 days... which means, I won't get to do my first organized century this year. Although I am bummed that I won't get to compare the differences right now, I have no doubt there will be opportunities in the future.

I asked Sam if he'd be willing to write something up to share with others because he comes from a different place as far as cycling and other athletic events are concerned. He is really the antithesis of what I am in many respects (especially in regard to athleticism), and I think it's nice to see another perspective. So without further delay, here it is, in Sam's words (with a few interjections by me - because I can't help myself)...

My first century.

Wow, I thought, what a great idea?  Let's do Sam's first century on G.E.'s birthday, since she's already a century vet!

Some background:
I bike quite a bit - fast, far, climbing, mountain, road, casual, etc.  To that point my longest road ride had been 67 miles a couple of months ago, and it wasn't bad.

For the past couple of years, I would lament at the end of summer how I wanted to do my first century, but winter always crept up, there was not time, and many, many other lame excuses.

Enter this year:
G.E. had already randomly done her first century, nonchalantly, on a hot Friday.  A few weeks later, I was clamoring to do it myself, and we conveniently had a long weekend for her birthday, and our anniversary.  We had not planned anything big to celebrate, and it was a bit late to do so.  My thought was, why not ride a century for that "big thing."  Two birds with one stone, right?

She planned and had a route in mind, so it was set.

Ride day:

Riding is the best!

It was a Sunday, a bit cloudy, and not too hot.  We had feared it would rain.  I was sore from some other ride, workout, run... or something, as usual. {G.E.'s note: Since most do not know Sam personally, I should share here that he is a "crazy" person who completes many ridiculous athletic endeavors on a daily basis, including running half marathons "for fun" during the week at 4a before work (and he does this pretty much every week), or taking on long mountain bike rides on a whim (even if he hasn't been on a mountain bike in weeks or months). This past weekend he climbed a 14,000 foot mountain on his bike because someone gave him the grand idea that he should try it. In short, some of us have nicknamed him "Superman," and in quick summary, I suppose I assumed that riding 100 miles would be a relatively easy task for him to undertake by comparison, and he'd be dragging me along with him to the finish.}

We rolled out pretty early, just to make sure we would have time to finish if it took longer than anticipated.

G.E. was injured and I was sore, but I think we started with a good attitude.

I noticed when we planned and actually rode at an easier pace, I was aware of so much more about our surroundings, and in that sense it has changed my attitude since.  Houses, farms, animals, and landmarks were suddenly noticeable on a familiar route, when I wasn't trying to average 20+ mph.

These donkey's (and horse) were so freakin' adorable!

So, things were looking good, we were cruising, I was riding with the old pro {G.E.'s note: If I'm not mistaken, Sam is calling me "old" now. [sigh]}, and the world had suddenly become more focused.

Miles 25-40 pass.  We get closer to 50, and it's starting to grind on me.  Is it because most of my "long" rides, are around 50-60 miles?  I'm not sure, but right about then I think my body had decided to be done. Thankfully, we had a small break for lunch somewhere near 60 miles {G.E.'s note: It was mile 57, to be precise :O)}.  It was needed, and I had thought it would make all the difference.

I was so wrong!  We rolled back out after lunch, and it was okay, but around 70-75 miles, my brain hit an absolute wall, which made my body hurt and nearly give up {G.E.'s note: I had warned Sam that this time would come, but I think he doubted it - likely based on all the feats he undertakes and succeeds at on a regular basis}.  I would say in the 75-85 mile range, G.E. was in tears (she would show later that this is just her time for that) {G.E.'s note: I wasn't just in tears, I was literally sobbing like a ridiculous fool for 10-15 miles, whining that no one should have to be tortured on her birthday like this}, and I had mentally shut down - my legs were merely moving. There was a mental wall I had hit, and hit hard. Superman had not only been exposed to Kryptonite, but it had been rammed down his throat.

At 85ish miles, G.E. wakes up. She's no longer crying, and it's suddenly "easy" again {G.E.'s note: I had about 10-15 miles of feeling sorry for myself and then suddenly realized that Sam was counting on me to get him through. I knew I had to toughen up and help him see it to the end... which somehow snapped me out of my stupor}.  Me, I'm face-planted against the wall, and still moving a carbon bicycle through space with a set of legs holding up a tiny, tiny man.  At this point, I'm getting the encouragement from my better half.  "We are almost there," and "Only 'X' more miles," and so on she'd yell back to me.

This is about the point when mental fatigue was setting in

I'm hard, no question. I can do anything faster, better, longer than someone else can.  You suck, I'm better than you, and it's impossible for you to fight this. With the exception of a 100 mile ride (I'm going to have to find a way to fix this). {G.E.'s note: I think this was a good lesson for Sam... there is always someone better than oneself, or a task that seems insurmountable, even if one has Superman-like qualities.} Five miles seems like twenty, ten seem like fifty. Now we are at 90 miles, only 10 more and we are home.

Ten more miles is easy!  Man, it's not easy, and I really don't care anymore.  Superstar is dragging me along what seems to be the hardest 10 miles of my life, with zig-zagging through our neighborhood to finish, and complete the 100. {G.E.'s note: I seemed to be off just a bit in my planning, so we had about a half mile at the end to make up, which probably felt like more at the time... sorry, Sam.}

Just as my last paragraph was anti-climactic, so was the finish of the 100 miles.  No party, no finish line. {G.E.'s note: Hey, we had cake afterward, so that's sort of a party.} My deepest thought at that point was that I have no reason or desire to do this again. Why would I?

However, as predicted, after I was removed from it for only 2 days and felt better, I started thinking. I could do it again, and maybe better this time : ).

Will I do it again?  Probably.  Would I go more than 100 miles in one shot?  Doubtful.

Do I feel accomplished?  Yes, absolutely, 100%. {G.E.'s note: And, you should! It was tough and you had to listen to me have a tantrum for like an hour.}

What does the future hold?  Maybe an organized century, or something like that.  Support, rest stops.

I don't think my first one could have been better though.  Spending it with my significant other, on her birthday, and our anniversary weekend.  Not many people do things like this, or anywhere close to the things we do. {G.E.'s note: I don't know about all of that, but it was fun... if your idea of fun is torturing yourself and completing something outside socially acceptable celebratory day behavior. :O)}

100 miles, please...  The real question is, how fast can I do 100 miles?  Can I do it on a single speed?  Off road?

It was one of the hardest things I have ever done, and in less than 8 hours.

A thank you to Sam for taking the time to share his thoughts on riding his first century. 

When we were training to run a marathon several years ago, I recall other runners telling me that I would be addicted to running marathons after my first. I had no such feelings at the end, or even days and weeks after. I can, however, liken that sentiment to riding my first (and second) century because after the event is over, I can't help but think... "Yeah, totally. I can do it again." It's amusing how those thoughts of "Why am I doing this?" turn into "I want to do it again, only better!" after just a few hours or days. Perhaps it's just proof that while I am definitely not a runner, maybe there's hope of turning me into a cyclist yet. :O)

Sam did amazing on his first attempt and held it together a lot better than I did. I'm glad he was able to get this completed after so many years of wanting to see what it was all about! Congratulations!!

Musings from My First Century Ride

Typically, writing posts comes fairly easy for me. This post is a bit different. I cannot begin to express how many times I've imagined what I would say in a post after completing my first century. The problem has been that I've struggled in the aftermath determining what it is I want to share, and perhaps even more so, what someone would want to read. I had a lot of self-reflection time during my many hours in the saddle, and it's almost as though I worked through things that I cannot describe in words. I cried (more than once), I laughed at things that seemed amusing, I buckled down and focused when needed, and actually enjoyed most of the ride. 

To some cyclists, perhaps a century ride has become of little significance, and to those people I can understand not wanting to read some random individuals' report on her first century. I can also appreciate that there are those who are waiting for the blow by blow recounting of what took place. I am quite certain I will be unable to please either side of the aisle, so I have decided to just go with what feels right. If you are up for reading through it, please feel free to do so, but I am writing this post for no one other than myself... mostly as a future reminder to self that I (spoiler alert for those continuing) was able to accomplish something I never truly thought I would or could do...

It was a beautifully clear, blue morning. Not a single cloud in the sky. On any other day I would have been rejoicing to see such a gorgeous summer morning, but this was one day I was hoping for cloud cover. I was already starting out an hour and some change later than originally planned, and the heat was making itself known. Not quite the hottest of summer days, but still warmer than I'd prefer (especially being somewhat heat sensitive).

The night prior, I had told myself the morning would bring the start of my first century ride. I didn't tell a soul. It's easier not to feel so bad if I couldn't actually complete the goal if no one knew about the plan at all. I told Sam and a couple of others that I was planning a "long training ride" the following day, but I knew I was gunning for the "big" goal. Perhaps it was a bit early in the training process. After all, the longest ride I'd been on to that point was just over 60 miles. Was it asking too much to jump to 100 so quickly? I was simply ready to get it "over with" and wanted to make it happen. In truth, I needed it to happen because it was causing undo stress to have this seemingly huge goal looming over me.  It's funny. When I say I'm going to do something, people seem to expect that I am going to complete it. It almost felt as though if I couldn't finish this I would be a complete failure in the eyes of all who were aware of the goal. In truth, I have no doubt everyone would be accepting of whatever reality came about, but I don't enjoy disappointing others (nor myself), so I began to feel manufactured stress from the situation. Finishing the 100-mile ride was no longer optional.

There were, of course, some issues throughout the day. It started with getting approximately three hours of sleep the night before. I woke feeling extremely sleep-deprived and my body was not doing well. My hip was aching from a kickboxing class a couple of days prior, my knee was throbbing, and I honestly wasn't feeling up to the ride. I continued to get things underway, however, and prepped what I'd need for the day. Wow! The day. Yes, this was going to take the day to complete.

Early on, I passed by the kickboxing studio - just as class was about to start. I considered not riding at all and instead stopping for class. I longingly looked at the window of the building, mentally waved to everyone, but kept pedaling. There are plenty of days to do kickboxing... this day was about accomplishing another goal.

Fairly flat for this portion (though that didn't last long)

If you read my early summer post about the plan to ride a century before the end of August, you may recall that I wanted to do a flat route. Living at the base of the Rocky Mountains, this is about the least likely scenario one can possibly imagine. Anywhere I ride, there would be climbing involved, but I hoped to keep it to a minimum. Not planning the route didn't exactly help this goal though. I am surprisingly adept (often without even trying) at figuring ways to keep climbs to a minimum, but today I told myself I was just going to go and deal with what arrived in front of me.

As I began to warm up, I felt a little better, but somewhere around mile 18, I began to second guess my decision to not stop at the kickboxing class. I was preparing to climb a small hill when all of a sudden my knee cap felt as though it might fall out (I realize this is highly unlikely - but it's the best way I can describe it). Unbelievable pain went shooting through my body. "Great," I actually spoke aloud. "Just what I need." I shifted to a super-spinning gear and made it up the brief climb. I was convinced I wouldn't make it to mile 25 at this point. The knee continued to ache for several miles, but I was going to keep going. I continued to repeat to myself on every climb, "Take it easy on the knee," meaning that I had to spin, whether I liked it or not.

Probably one of my worst decisions about this ride was that I had absolutely no idea where I was heading. I hadn't pre-mapped a route, so I figured I would just ride until I hit 100 miles. It seemed somewhat reasonable when I started, but as I continued, I realized how bad an idea this really was. I rarely know where I'm going when cycling alone, but I think on a ride of this length, it would've been a good idea to have an idea of some sort of direction. Ah, well... que sera sera.

Mentally dealing with the idea of the 100 miles seemed the biggest challenge. As I started out I was attempting to figure out how to break the ride down so I wouldn't be thinking the entire time, "I still have fill-in-the-blank miles left to go." I had decided I had two different break-downs: 10 mile increments and 25 mile increments. I also reminded myself that I could stop when I needed to and that there was no prize for finishing without stops. This would cause its own sort of battle toward the end of the ride, but it worked fairly well to keep me motivated.

My goal was to complete the ride in 10 hours. Ten hours seemed reasonable with climbs, and I knew I wouldn't be able to maintain any sort of speed, so the goal was simply to finish - even if it took longer than 10 hours. When I stopped at the 40-mile stop, I couldn't help but think another 7 hours on the bike might kill me. I had to remind myself that I was 2/5 of the way completed, and almost to the half way point, so there was no reason to get discouraged.

I continued to hold out hope for cloud cover. The weather forecasters had promised clouds and showers, but they never came. Early in the afternoon I started seeing big, white, cumulus clouds coming over the mountains, but somehow they never quite managed to cover the sun. As long as I kept moving though, the heat didn't really seem to be too much of a bother.

There was nothing horribly eventful to report until I hit just over 75 miles. I had done as large a distance as I could think of and was re-entering town. Now what? I still needed to complete nearly 25 miles. Should I just go to the local multi-use path and trudge back and forth until I had done the miles? I was starting to feel the tiredness sneaking in at this point, and I knew I needed to avoid severe climbs, but the idea of going back and forth on a trail system with people walking dogs, skating, running, and so on didn't appeal to me. Instead, I chose to take a loop route that I ride frequently. I knew it was only about 8-10 miles, but I thought I could probably complete it twice and be close to done. The ride home from the end would still be about 5 miles, so it was worth a go.

Fatigue was definitely setting in at this point. I found myself needing to stop more and more frequently. They weren't long stops, but they were becoming closer together which concerned me. Thinking back on it now, I believe it was more of a head game than an actual, physical tiredness taking place. Yes, I was tired, but I knew I had more in me.

Just as I came around the corner of a small climb, I had to stop. It just so happened to be directly in front of a small church. I couldn't help but say a silent prayer. All I wanted was to finish. My pace had slowed (I could feel it), and I knew my hands and feet were simply done, but I believed that there was nothing stopping me but my own mind. Truly, I was almost done anyway. I repeated that I could complete a 15 mile ride in my sleep, got back on the bike, and continued on.

I will admit, I cried for a brief moment when I saw the GPS turn to 100.00. I was almost home, but the emotion of realizing I had actually completed a goal that seemed so monumental was exciting and overwhelming. I had actually done it, crazy as it seemed just a few weeks prior. Even stranger still, I had done a century ride on an aluminum bicycle - again, something I never thought I would ever, ever be able to do.

I wish I could say this ride felt epic, or at least that it was so painful I would never want to do it again (I in fact uttered very similar words at one point toward the end of the ride, stating that I could not understand why anyone would do this more than once in their life). The reality is that the entire day felt pretty normal, and in the end, very anti-climactic. I left for the ride quietly, saying just a few words to our dogs who were lounging around the house. I returned to a quiet home and a very much appreciated cold bottle of water and a smile from Sam. It was as though I had gone to work for the day and returned home as normal and expected.

Somehow, I kept climbing fairly low considering the terrain in this area - I ended at just under 2,000 ft climbed

Frankly, I'm not sure what I expected. Balloons? A banner and giant megaphone announcing my success? A confetti-filled parade? I suppose I hadn't really thought that far ahead, but it really did feel like any other day. In the end, I can say my body wasn't really hurting - at least not in the ways I anticipated. I expected my backside would be in dire straits and that my legs would be completely worthless, but both areas were actually fine. I was experiencing fatigue and some numbness in my hands, as well as soreness in my feet (it was only the second time I had worn new cycling shoes - Note to self: BAD IDEA!), but overall, I didn't feel miserable. I definitely didn't want to be on the bike anymore that day, but I certainly didn't hate cycling at the completion.

True, it was not the prettiest, the best, or the fastest century ever, and I had many thoughts throughout during which I believed I should have pushed myself to go a bit faster or harder, but for a first round attempt, I do think it was respectable. I had the opportunity to see what I am capable of accomplishing and to have yet another realization that I actually am stronger and more capable than I often believe. Perhaps it could have been more enjoyable to ride with another person or group of people, but I think this was the perfect way for me to experience my first 100-mile ride.

Mind Over Matter

The last several weeks have had me far more stressed out about my upcoming 100-mile ride than I should be. I wish I could be calm and collected and just "know" that I can do it, but the more riding I do, the less capable I feel, which can be quite disconcerting to someone who just keeps telling people she is going to do this ride - and before the end of summer. I want to feel confident, but the more 30-40 mile rides I complete, I realize just how far 100 miles is going to be, and searching out flatter routes in this area is challenging and adding to my fears.

This week, I made a promise to myself that I would break through the 40-mile barrier just to prove that I am capable of increasing my mileage, even if it is in small chunks. What spurred this action? I suppose it was a number of things. But one of the big ones was finding out that a friend of ours had passed away. He was just starting a new job after several years of unemployment, and was on a plane coming home when he had an aneurysm. It was sudden, unexpected, and as his wife has shared, no one could have predicted or stopped it. He was nowhere near an age that he should be gone, or even thinking about leaving his wife and daughter behind.

The death of someone close is always thought-provoking for me. I wasn't particularly close to this friend, but Sam basically grew into adulthood with him - meeting in the army and forging a friendship that would last... well... through his lifetime. They had their times of being close and distant, but they always remained in contact. The passing of someone known reiterates to me that I can never take life for granted. We don't know when our last moment may be on this earth, and our time here is very precious and fleeting.

What does the passing of a friend have to do with riding? Not much, but I can say that riding is always a good time for me to ponder all that is going on in my own life. It allows me the freedom to work through things that otherwise might take up time with those I love. The reality is, the "road" of life is unpredictable, and sometimes riding the physical roads is great therapy.

The day I decided to attempt my "longer" training ride it was hot. Much more than I would prefer (though it is typical for this time of year). I packed up water and a snack, headed out to see where the road would take me, and how far I could get in the time I had to spare. I knew it wouldn't be a fast ride, but I wasn't concerned about any of that: miles were all that mattered. Most of the ride was lonely, and I had a lot of time to think. Sometimes that's a good thing, but on this particular day I would have preferred some company. It didn't take long before I started questioning the "why" of the century ride. Who am I trying to impress and what am I trying to prove? Is there a reason for any of this? What does 100 miles prove exactly? Doesn't regular riding seem more important than some arbitrary number?

I was comfortable on the bike, but it was a very slow ride. Every mile seemed to take an eternity, and I had little climbing to accomplish so I couldn't even claim fatigue from the stress of hills. I started to question my body and its capabilities. I began to wonder if I shouldn't just head home and live to ride another day. I just wanted to cross the 40-mile marker and couldn't seem to get there. "This fat body just won't let me do it!" I started telling myself. "Why would I think I am capable of anything more?" The tears started falling when I realized that I was allowing myself to fail; that I was offering excuses in an attempt to permit myself to give up. At 34 miles, I was done. Mentally and physically, I'd had all I could handle. The glaring sun and heat had beat me down, my water was gone, and although I wasn't actually hungry, my body was telling me that it wanted food... real food. My brain was telling me to stop and try again another day, so I headed home.

Yes, I gave in to all of the garbage I was feeding myself, but some little flicker of hope (or maybe insanity) sparkled deep down, and as I rode the few miles home I told myself that I would get a little bit of food, refill my water, and head back out... and I did.

As I got back on the bike, my body was displeased. Again, I was perfectly comfortable, but I was tired and the mid-90-degree temperatures (even with the rare cloud cover) were not helping. I was riding slower than I had been even before I stopped to refill, but I was determined to get beyond the threshold of that 40-mile mark. Why was every pedal stroke such an effort? I simply couldn't understand why my body was so fatigued after such a relatively short distance. Then, just as I was feeling hopeless, I looked down and saw this:

I had surpassed the 40-mile mark... finally!  Ultimately, I ended up riding just over 53 miles - far exceeding what I thought I could, or would do that day.

The mind is a powerful thing. I am convinced that I can talk myself into or out of almost anything. Sometimes the mind is willing and the body refuses to cooperate; other times the flesh is ready, but the head is weak. Finding the times when the two necessary parts overlap into a state of cooperation seems to be challenging, particularly when riding distances alone. But, knowing the way I felt on this ride, and seeing that I was capable of going beyond what I'd hoped to do that day despite the obstacles, helps me understand that I really can accomplish this ride. It may not be fast, and all of the stars may not align to have a perfect day, but it is doable... and I will finish what I have started.

Why will I ride 100 miles? I will do it because I want to prove to myself that I can...Not because someone is making me, or because I think it will impress anyone (far better people have done far more, certainly). I will do it because I don't know when my last day could be on this earth. I will do it to prove to every person who ever said, "You can't (or shouldn't) do that," that they were wrong. I will do it because I am strong, and capable, and willing to put in the time and effort to accomplish this goal. In the end, that's all the reason I need.