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.

One-Quarter Mile at a Time: The 100 Miles of Nowhere Report

For those who prefer short rather than drawn out versions of stories, I will share just a brief summary here at the start of Sam's and my 100 Miles of Nowhere ride. If you are wondering whether or not we completed the 100 MoN ride the quick answer is no and yes (for the long answer, I apologize, you'll have to keep reading).

I have been told that donations have been dropped off and made online as well, and that was the important piece of the ride, so thank you to those who gave in whatever form you were able. I am so grateful to each of you for your generosity and I appreciate you supporting a community organization.

And now, for the longer version of our 100 MoN...

This all started off so innocently. We (Sam and I) read every year about Fat Cyclist's 100 Miles of Nowhere ride and fundraiser for Camp Kesem. We always talk briefly about signing up, but usually by the time we come to any sort of answer, the ride is sold out.

The beauty of the 100 MoN is that no one needs to travel away from home. Instead, we all get to set up our own race course and ultimately, if we are specific enough with our category, each individual will win his/her division. Really, it sounds like a race made for me because it is the only sort of race I will ever win on a bicycle.

This year, we were a little more on top of our registration, or I suppose I should say that others were not quite as quick with signing up, so it allowed us the opportunity to be a part of this event.

As I was signing the two of us up for the 100 MoN ride, I had an "aha" moment. Why not do our own fundraising ride for a local organization that can always use some assistance while we ride to support Camp Kesem? It made sense to me and to Sam, and so we came to the conclusion that we would ask for donations to be made to a local organization in support of this ride.

I was excited. Sam was excited. Local friends were... well, I think they thought we were a little nuts, but I'm pretty sure they've come to expect a bit of semi-bizarre behavior from the two of us and were, at least to our faces, supportive of the endeavor.

We knew we had to select a date because the "official" date of the ride is November 7 this year, and we are well aware that the combination of Colorado, decent weather, and the month of November is unpredictable at best. It may still be gorgeous and sunny and we'll be waiting for snow, or we could be presented with a foot of white stuff on the ground.

We also have an array of happenings between October and mid-November, making a weekend day very challenging to devote entirely to a 100 mile ride. The only date that was available was Sunday, October 11, and so that became the date we would ride our 100 MoN.

The physicality of the ride was also of great concern to me, though I was trying not to let it overwhelm me. While Sam has been busy year-long preparing for various endurance races and events, I have not. With multiple injuries at the beginning of the year my saddle time has been sub-par. Well, really it's been sub-sub-par, if I'm completely honest.

The last time I rode 100 miles in a day was over two years ago. The last time I rode over 50 miles was more than a year ago. My longest journey via bike this year was under 40 miles and even that had been several months. In fact, my total mileage in the saddle over this summer and early fall is less than I'd normally ride when we're still coming out of our snowy months in the spring.

With each passing day, I became more panicked. How was I supposed to ride 100 miles when my typical bike trip has been somewhere around 5 miles? It's like telling a person who's been running 1 mile a couple times a week that s/he is going to now run a 26.2 mile marathon tomorrow. The ridiculousness of it is staggering to me on this side of things. Why on earth would I ever think I could do this?

Sharing my doubts with others went without any sort of pity. Typical responses were, "Oh, you'll be fine," or "This is your thing...You'll enjoy it." Apparently, no one was feeling bad for me and the situation I'd put myself into - and I can't say I blame them.

In a typical riding year, it's true, this wouldn't have been a huge deal. Challenging, yes, but unattainable, no. However, when I haven't put the time in the saddle, it doesn't matter how easy or slow I pedal, it's pretty well impossible to get this sort of distance completed. In fact, going slower is part of the problem because it only extends the time on the bike.

Streets in red would be our "race course."

Streets in black had too much motorized traffic to be considered.

*Map from Google

We had (at the very last moment) finally decided which course we'd be riding. We selected the 1/4 mile stretch of 10 streets running parallel. I thought this would actually work out nicely because it would mean 10 miles on each of the 10 streets. The thought of riding one street repeatedly for 100 miles was more than I could handle, so this seemed to fulfill the "nowhere" requirement and it would hopefully keep us somewhat entertained.

Or so we thought.

It's amazing how each of these streets looks remarkably similar when ridden back and forth, up and down, for an hour or so a piece. It also turned out that our measurements were slightly off. I had thought that the streets were 0.2 miles in one direction and Sam thought they were 0.25 miles long. In reality, the distance was somewhere in the middle at about 0.22 with each run.

Rather than trying to count laps, we decided to simply reach the 10 mile goal on each street and move on to the next.

Riding did not get off to the best start... But, I should probably go back a bit in time to help fill in some gaps and to help further illustrate why I would be struggling just a few miles into our 100 mile adventure.

On Wednesday prior to the 100 MoN, I had missed my doctor's appointment/adjustment for my back. Well, I didn't miss it, but the doc was ill and unable to come to the office, so I figured it would be a good test to see how long I could go without an adjustment. I had already been experiencing some spasms and pain, but figured that at some point I'd have to stretch beyond my current level of comfort. I made an appointment for Monday (as I was assured he'd be back in the office by then), which I thought would be great as a follow up to our 100 MoN on Sunday.

Friday, I went to kickboxing. I don't normally go to classes on Fridays, but it was a special circumstance and while there, part of the workout was a set of chariot races. If you're unfamiliar with this exercise, a band (or in this case, our belts) is wrapped around a person's mid-section while another person holds the "reins" of the belt from behind. The front person then runs forward while the person holding the belt attempts to pull in the opposite direction, making it more challenging for the front person to move forward.

I love this exercise! It's exhausting and, if done properly, is a phenomenal workout. It's also how I triggered some severe pelvis/back issues earlier in the summer. It's important to note here that technically I had not been released by my doctor to do this particular exercise, but I've missed this particular workout so much that I just had to participate.

On Friday, I also discovered a painful saddle sore. As I was riding to kickboxing I thought that perhaps I was just sitting oddly on the saddle, but as it turns out I was very wrong. If you've never experienced these, count your lucky stars, and if you have, then you know the sort of thoughts that were running through my mind with a 100 mile ride looming on the horizon.

After Friday's chariot race session, I was feeling some pain, but nothing that I didn't think I'd overcome. However, on Saturday when Sam and I went for our normally-attended kickboxing class, we did chariot races again.

Now, I have to say, our instructors are great about working with injuries. I could very easily have opened my mouth and said I needed to sit this round out... but, I didn't.

Instead, I participated each round  - and there were many - (though I did ask my belt holder to take it easy on me) and at the end of class proclaimed to Sam, "I think I'm broken."

I wasn't exactly broken-broken, but I was definitely feeling the ramifications of my actions. Between the two days of pulling, I had managed to somehow mess up my heel/Achilles area on my right side as well. I limped my way through the day, and managed to sit through most of the wedding reception for friends we attended that same evening.

That night, the evening before our 100 MoN ride, our Labrador, who normally sleeps on her dog bed at the foot of our bed (or in the guest room, or on the living room sofa), decided that she wanted to sleep on top of me in our bed. Normally, she's a very restless sleeper and moves after only a few minutes, but on this night she had decided that I am the very best human pillow on the planet and she did not move all night long.

It was a long, long night.

When I woke, I was miserable. I don't think I'd slept much more than a couple of hours total and every part of my body felt mangled from the odd positions I'd laid in throughout the night.

I got up and Sam was already busy shuffling about the house. He's an early riser by nature, so he had been tuning bikes and preparing for the ride long before I was even considering leaving bed. I was cranky and not wanting to ride at all. "Are you sure you want to do this?" I questioned, half way hoping that he'd say we could skip it. But, I knew we were riding, whether I was up to it or not.

The start was crisp, an ideal autumn morning. The sun was shining bright, the bikes were ready to go, and I was trying to internally pump myself up to get through the next 10-12 hours.

I knew our pace would be slow. If we averaged 10 mph, I thought we should consider ourselves lucky. We were both on ill-suited bikes for speed, Sam on his single speed mountain bike and me on my touring bike weighing no less than 50 pounds (only a slight exaggeration - though I do love this bike, despite its weightiness).

Could we have selected different bikes? Yes. Should we have chosen different bikes? Probably. But, we were close to home, so if we wanted to exchange rides that would be pretty easy to accomplish.

We knew our course would be riding residential streets with a lot of motorized and pedestrian traffic running perpendicular to us. At each end, we'd have to remain observant for turning traffic. Had I the foresight to truly consider what this would entail, we may have selected another more suitable, less mentally taxing course.

As we started out, I could feel the strain in my heel while pedaling. I could also feel my lower back muscles pulling, which wasn't giving me great confidence. I knew I was going to have to work it out in order to make it to the end, so I tried to just put it out of my mind and enjoy the morning. I was also dealing with my saddle sore issue and trying to locate a comfortable spot to rest this tender spot, but that wasn't off to to the best start either.

Sam seemed to be struggling a bit as well. He was shaking out his hands, trying to work out apparent numbness. He also seemed unsettled on his position as he would wiggle about from time to time on the saddle.

It wasn't the ideal start, for either of us.

As we started at block 1 of our 10 block course, our pace was initially quite slow. I think we were both a bit tired and unsure of how much we should try to push our speed, but eventually we found a rhythm and traded out who was leading the way.

We marveled at how different this block of houses seemed from our own, despite the identical era, and discussed various front yard landscaping and how these ideas might work for our home as well. We took in the variety of Halloween decorations and wondered aloud whether we would see any Trick-or-Treaters this year in our new digs.

We chatted about current bikes, and potential future bikes, and spoke again about the possibility of selling off one of our vehicles.

By now, I was certain we were done with this block of our course.

Alas, we were approaching only the four mile mark, and I was positive there was no way I was making it to the end of our 100 MoN.

Just a half hour into the ride, we were pretty well out of things to say to each other. Instead, we hunkered down and plodded back and forth on our designated path, smiling at the people who watched us pacing in front of their yards. I have to be honest, I'm surprised not one word was said to us by anyone in the neighborhood regarding our pacing.

At 58 minutes in, we had reached the end of our first segment and I was happy to be moving on to see different sights and hear different sounds. I was actually feeling physically okay as well and was hopeful that I would see this ride to its completion.

To my dismay, the sights and sounds of block two were not at all dissimilar to block #1. There were some minor nuances that changed, but not enough to make for a new round of happy chatter between us for any length of time. Surprisingly though, there were different smells. While block one had filled the air with odors of frying sausage, block two wreaked of burning tires as though someone had set a pile of rubber ablaze and left it to burn for weeks. It was an odd and unexpected change in olfactory impressions.

By the end of segment #2, I was pretty beat up. My back was really hurting and my brain was not doing well with the monotony of our travels. We were 20 miles in and I knew I was desperately in need of relief from pain in all its forms.

I requested a brief break for a refill of water and a bathroom stop (I'd needed facilities from the time we started but decided to hope for "re-absorbtion" which didn't happen) after which we rode back out to start segment #3 of our course.

When we had initially discussed this course as a possibility, we failed to realize that not all of the street segments have the same elevation. The portion we'd tested was very slightly uphill one direction and a very slight descent in the other. However, several of the other streets are not the same. As it turned out, many of these start a fairly unexpected incline about half way up the path. It would have been of little consequence in every day riding, but when anticipating a reasonably flat course, it can be a bit of a shock as it's repeated over and over again.

After passing this several times, I had to take a photo. What exactly does "I Tomato Tommy" mean? Is this the answer here?

Each time we reached the climbing portion of the lap, my pace would slow. My lack of training was surely playing a part in all of this, despite my mental efforts to shuck off such a ridiculous idea.

Sam was shaking his hands more and more in attempt to find relief from the numbness, but he was doing well, as would've been expected.

I find that one of two things happens to me during repetitious events. I either tune everything out and go into a kind of meditative state until I reach the end, or I focus on everything that is hurting until I can no longer stand to press on.

Unfortunately for me, this particular ride found me facing the latter reality.

As I struggled to pedal back and forth on block #3, I asked Sam if we could take a 15-20 minute break and then head back out. He agreed and after finishing 30 miles, we headed home for what was intended to be a brief stop.

At home once again, we decided that switching bikes might be a good idea. Sam opted for his single speed road bike and I hopped on my heavier road bike that was still significantly lighter than the touring bike.

We made it all of 20 feet down the road when I realized I wasn't going to survive this. I pulled off to the side while Sam stared at me, wondering why I'd suddenly halted. "I'm not going to make it," I announced after standing for a few seconds. "My back is killing me, my heel can barely turn with my foot on the pedals anymore. I don't know what to do. If we keep going, I can guarantee the best I'm going to do is one more block today - and that's if my back doesn't completely give out because it's nearly there as it is."

We stood in silence for a couple of minutes. I don't think Sam really knew what to say, or how or if he should push me to continue on. After a few of these quiet minutes I came to the understanding that my body was not going to allow me to ride this distance in my current condition.

In truth, I was quite upset by this realization, despite the fact that I'd wanted to skip out on this ride all together. I felt like a failure. I knew that Sam would push on no matter what, but I hated the fact that my body, in its current state, was not having this.

We turned around and went home.

I sat on our couch and pondered all of this. The reality of failure stings, and despite my hard-headedness or determination when necessary, I was frustrated that injuries and my own lack of training through the season was creating this reality.

Also stirring in my head was the thought that I now had to explain this to others. How would I relay what had taken place to those who were expecting us to finish? I know most are understanding about injuries, but I had signed myself up for this and should be able to see it through.

For several hours I tried to talk it out. I relived my failures with bikes and physical aspirations over the last couple of years and beat myself up internally pretty badly. It's hard not to do so when just two short years ago this would not have seemed like such a monumental task. I went to bed that evening feeling defeated and as though I let others and myself down.

That could easily have been the end of our 100 MoN story, but it isn't.

The next morning I woke up with a thought. There had been no rule stating that the 100 MoN had to all be completed in a single day. In fact, there was no rule that stated the ride had to be 100 miles at all, but in the spirit of the race, I believe that many want to see the 100 miles completed in a single day. That wasn't happening for me, but maybe I could still make the 100 miles happen if I spread it out over several days.

I had made a commitment to complete this ride and even if I couldn't get it done in one day, I would finish what I'd started, one way or another.

Sam wouldn't be able to join me for this portion because of work, but it didn't mean I couldn't go on my own and complete this.

Start of day 2's ride

I decided to take it on the way that I would usually ride. Instead of getting all the long-ride bike gear on, I'd just wear what I would normally wear on a bike to get around town. I'd take along the iPod, and try to just enjoy my surroundings too, which would hopefully help the time pass a bit more easily.

On Monday, I took about an hour and went and rode one more street and 10 more miles of our 100 MoN.

My saddle sore was particularly painful this day and that 10 miles was all I could manage, but Tuesday I woke up feeling slightly more energized and in less pain, so I went to work completing 25 more miles and 2.5 more segments/streets.

Some of these roads are quite horrible to ride, I have to say. It came to be that on some of the streets it felt rougher than riding on some mountain trails. And if you don't believe me, you can watch the nauseatingly bouncy video below (the return trip is far rougher than the out trip) that I took of one of my up and back laps on one such street. Apologies in advance for the background noise of me sniffling/clearing my throat and the creaking of the bike that day.

Day four was set to be a busy day for me with quite a few things to get done. It didn't help that my back was acting up and my saddle sore seemed to be growing by the minute, so I planned to do as much as I could, but knew I wouldn't be out long.

What I hadn't anticipated was the fact that the three streets I would be riding actually have a stop sign in the middle of each lap. I don't know why this hadn't occurred to me prior to the ride, but once crossing over to the other side of the route, the street layout changes slightly and the cross traffic becomes the through traffic while the up and down traffic has the stop sign.

I wasn't entirely sure how to deal with this. Stopping every lap would be a huge time disadvantage, but I also couldn't run through the sign - for many reasons. There was a fair amount of cross traffic coming through and I could quickly see that I would be stopping completely each time I came through. Yes, it is a stop sign and I should be stopping anyway (and for the record, I do stop at stop signs), but I was trying to figure out a way to follow the law and not have an inconvenience repeated over and over again.

As I tried to figure this out, I decided I would do a lap in the park that is right next to the street I'd started riding. It's a small park, but there is a path running through it, so I thought perhaps I could substitute this route for the road.

I quickly learned otherwise. There were far too many tight turns that would require me to stop and dismount. Additionally, there were several small children playing in the park (and that is its purpose, so I had no issue with this) making for an inconvenient short lap. I decided to go back to the road I'd been riding and ride half laps and then I'd cross over and do the other side of the street.

My path that was 0.22 miles was now 0.10 miles. It grew dizzying very quickly.

To make matters worse, an unmarked police car had set up shop on the street I was riding and he was keeping a very close eye on me. I knew I wasn't doing anything wrong, but I have to admit it must've appeared terribly suspicious to see this person riding her bike in circles on half a block, round and round, back and forth.

Eventually, my nervousness got the better of me and I opted to head home. After only 10 miles, I called it quits and figured I'd also likely need another plan to finish out the 100 MoN ride because these last few streets would be the death of me if I had to stop every 0.10 miles.

Twenty-five more miles to finish this ride up. Where would I ride? I figured I could go back through the streets I'd already been down, but some of them were so rough that I wasn't sure I wanted to do that again. It's one thing to ride them not knowing what's coming, but quite another to know what I was in store for before I even arrived.

I also pondered the idea of using our alternate route selection as the finishing route. With a four mile one way trip, those 25 miles would go much faster than they would on these short street segments.

There was also the possibility of selecting an entirely different place to finish up the 100 MoN, but where and what?

Ever wonder what it looks like on a GPS report to go round and round in the same spot? This is it! :)

When I woke on Day 5, I had made a decision: I was going to re-ride the streets we'd already been riding. It was the simplest choice and while there would be rough spots, at least there was an element of familiarity.

On this day, I was not at all excited about riding. In fact, I considered not riding at all, but the other part of me wanted to end this - to know that I had completed the 100 miles, even if it wasn't being done in the manner I'd anticipated.

Something strange happened though as I started riding. Actually, it wasn't at all strange when I think about it because once on a bike, I find that my mood generally does improve. As I started riding, I felt happy. I was hurting from all the aforementioned issues, but I was content.

I went back to the starting street of our 100 MoN ride and went to work. I had made a mental plan knowing that there were now 7 possible streets for me to ride without meeting up with a stop sign in the middle. I had 25 miles to travel which meant I could travel 6 of the streets for four miles and the last one for a mile.

As I started riding the first street though, something interesting took place. You'll recall I mentioned that one of two things happens to me during repetitive events? Well, this time I found myself in a trance-like state, focusing more on ideas and less aware of physical pain. I truly lost myself in thought.

Before I knew it, I had surpassed the four mile mark and was at about mile 6. The decision was made at that point to change the distribution a bit and ride 10 miles on the first street and then split the remaining 15 miles into 3 mile segments on 5 of the remaining 6 streets.

However, once again I experienced this meditative sort of mindset and missed the 10 mile mark. I then decided 15 miles would be the point of departure and I'd split the remaining 10 miles into two-mile rounds on 5 remaining streets.

This time, I tried to remain aware of mileage so that I didn't miss the end, but I have to admit it was sad to leave this first block and move on. This short distance had felt happy and I had found a rhythm. I probably should've just completed the ride there, but I'd set up this plan to hit all the remaining streets and so I moved on.

As expected, the remaining mileage passed pretty quickly - at least mentally. Riding only 2 miles each block seemed like nothing after doing repeats for longer distances.

It was a strange feeling at the end of all of this. It was really rather uneventful on the whole, but it almost felt as though I was saying goodbye to a friend. I'd grown used to many of the sights, sounds and smells on each of the streets and there was something rather comforting in the familiarity I'd come to know.

Sure, I had favorites along the way and some that I'd rather not ride again - at least in repetitious loops - but they each had their own sort of personality, despite being constructed by the same builder multiple decades ago. Time has given each block its own individuality and I was just beginning to appreciate each for these qualities.

The end left me with some amount of contentment, knowing that while I hadn't pedaled in the manner I'd anticipated, I had at least completed the mileage I'd committed to riding. In total, 101.1 miles was covered and it took five days to complete the course. I likely had and will have the most drawn out 100 MoN course and probably the slowest speeds, but that just means I surely clinched my category for a top podium spot, right?

Sam still has plans to complete the 100 MoN as well. Finding the time to do so is a bit more challenging, but he'll get it done. I may even end up riding it with him too.

Did you or will you ride your own 100 MoN course - whatever distance you selected? Always interested to hear how others will do or did pedal on their own course. Please do share. And again, thank you to those who donated and are continuing to give. I cannot detail my gratitude enough to each of you for your kindness.

Being Sick and Cycling

Illness and I are not the best of friends. When I find myself feeling under the weather, I can definitely turn into a mess very quickly. The biggest issue for me is not the fact that I don't feel well, but more that I really dislike being stuck indoors, or worse yet, confined to bed. Not every round of being sick is confining, but when the long ones do occur, it really stinks and I find myself trying to keep up with all that would normally be happening instead of taking the time to rest. I gather up tissues, take some vitamin C, and attempt to keep up a pretense that everything is fine and it's just a "little sniffle."

*Image found here

This is hitting close to home for me at the moment, and I have to say that spending time sitting around is definitely not my favorite use of time -- especially during the summer. Warm months are a commodity and one that I prefer to use to its fullest before it disappears and I'm left with cold and snowy days. To add to the current dissatisfaction with being ill, I have an annual ride coming up this weekend and I'm concerned that I both haven't had enough training time in the saddle and that I won't be well in time to participate.

It all started on Sunday and has become progressively worse with each passing day. Initially, I shrugged it off as allergies and didn't think much of it, but by Monday, it was definitely feeling more flu-like than something brought on by allergies. Tuesday I woke up and told myself that I had no choice but to get in a longer ride because I would need to back off during the few days prior to the ride, but I really was feeling horrible. Miraculously, I somehow completed the 50+ miles that I needed to get done, but I paid for it the rest of the day.

*Image found here

Whether the ride I went on made things worse or not, I don't think that's something I can really know. From research I've done in the past, the professionals claim that if it's just a head cold (sniffles, etc), it's perfectly acceptable to continue exercising, as long as one listens to his/her body; however, if the person is running a fever or the illness is in the chest (like a cough), bed rest is the answer. I may have broken that rule (don't tell anyone), but I actually felt better riding my bike than I did sitting around. There's something about being stuck in a room that makes me feel worse and being able to be in some fresh air was amazing. I may have overdone things mileage-wise, but I survived... and so, I just have to hope I didn't do more damage than good and prepare as though Saturday is still "on."

Now, I'm sucking down Emergen-C and taking other various items in an attempt to get this to move on quicker. It's amazing how many home remedies are out there, and how many products companies attempt to sell us that will supposedly help us heal quicker. I can't help but wonder if any of it really works. Of course, there are those who insist that Zinc, Vitamin C and/or Airborne are the trick to getting over an illness faster. They may be right, but I've generally not had a lot of luck with anything actually working other than rest and letting the cold or flu run its course. I have realized that we really (as a whole) don't want to rest and instead try to fight our way through sickness, believing that we are somehow capable of continuing on when our bodies are telling us a different story.

*Image found here

Not only do I seem to crave the most horribly awful foods when I have a cold or flu, but I always seem to want large quantities of them. In more specific terms, I find myself desperately wanting simple carbs drenched in fat - like french toast with butter and syrup or fried cheese quesadillas. While I realize that more balanced meals provide the nutrients our bodies need to recover, I never cease to be amazed at the cravings that come on with being sick.

What have your experiences been with illness and continuing an exercise plan, or specifically in regard to cycling? Do you opt for bed rest, or do you try to fight your way through it? Do you have any specific food cravings or items that seem to help you recover quicker?

The Kindness of Others: An MTB Tale

I started this post with the intention of detailing out a race that Sam competed in over the weekend, but I think it has more relevance at the present time to speak to the power and importance of the kindness of others. I know there will be time to provide details of the race later, so instead - here we go.

This past Saturday, Sam raced in the Alpine Odyssey 100k in Crested Butte, Colorado. He was competing in this ride to hopefully qualify for the Leadville 100 in the summer of 2013. His decision to ride was made just about 6 weeks prior to the ride, and I worried (probably more than I should have) about how he would fare during an intense ride that he had little preparation to complete. I was even more concerned because I knew that I would be unable to be there to offer moral support. Due to obligations made last summer, one of us needed to be here this weekend, and despite my best efforts to find a replacement so that I could be with Sam, it just wasn't in the cards.

As luck would have it, Chris of From the Pavement's Edge contacted me a few days prior to the race and asked if we'd like to meet up. Our families live fairly close to each other (not close by Bostonian standards, but close by non-city-people standards), but have never met in person, and I thought it was wonderful that he wanted to try to connect. I shared that I would be unable to make it to Crested Butte, but I knew Sam would love to have the opportunity to have someone to share "war stories" with before or after the race.

City of Crested Butte - looks like a lovely place!
*Photo by Sam

Throughout the day of the Alpine Odyssey, I checked the finishers page, trying my best to keep tabs on Sam and his progress. I knew he wasn't carrying his cell phone (he believed he wouldn't have coverage so it was needless weight), and I had no way to keep in touch until he arrived at the end of the ride. The only update that was available through the day was on the website at the split point. At that time, Chris was about 20ish minutes ahead of Sam. I was happy that they were relatively close together and figured that meant all was going well. As the day wore on though, I found myself concerned that perhaps Sam wouldn't be able to finish in the 8 hour cut off time. Eventually, I saw that Chris had finished. "Yay!" I thought. "That's awesome, and hopefully Sam is close behind." About 30 minutes (or so) later, Chris sent a note stating that the last time he'd seen Sam he was looking good, and that he was waiting at the finish line for him. I felt so relieved that someone was there to greet Sam when he arrived at the end. This was a pretty amazing ride to complete, and the fact that I knew there'd be no one there to congratulate him made me entirely sad, and only added to my feelings of guilt with not being present at the race.

Approximately 10-15 minutes later, I received another message from Chris stating that Sam had made it to the finish and he was in one piece. I was so relieved and happy to know that Sam had made it, and I was entirely grateful that Chris was kind enough to keep me up to date on the happenings. Certainly, it wasn't necessary for him to do so, but it provided a great deal of peace for me knowing that he was okay and had survived the ride.

Sam riding with with others at the Alpine Odyssey (Sam's on the lower left side of the photo)
*Photo credit to Mandy

After a quick phone call from Sam, he headed off to the awards ceremony where they would give entries to those who had won a spot in Leadville. Sam knew he hadn't finished quick enough to qualify, but there was still a possibility with the lottery system for those who finish in the sub-8 hour time frame, but hadn't qualified by finishing early in the pack. When Sam called in after the awards ceremony, he stated that Chris had won a lottery slot. "That's awesome!!" I proclaimed, and then he said, "I didn't get a spot." While we knew that it was a probability that Sam wouldn't qualify based on finishing time, I know how disappointing it must've been to go through the hard work and not make it. My heart dropped.

Sam continued on to say that Mandy (Chris' wife) who was assisting during the ride, spoke to a coordinator and was able to put in a good word for him.  I was truly touched (and I know Sam was as well). These people... people we don't really know other than getting glimpses into each others' lives via blogs, Twitter, etc... they're so willing to provide information to me so many miles away, and try to help Sam with the process of obtaining a spot in Leadville. The whole day was filled with selfless acts in many forms. While there is no way really to repay Chris and Mandy, or the others who offered encouragement throughout the day, I think this was such a great opportunity to practice paying it forward. I think it also just goes to show that there are good people in the world who do indeed perform selfless acts.

Although it is still quite possible that Sam won't make it into Leadville, I think we were both in awe of these individuals who were so giving, kind, and generous, and while it may appear on the surface that this has little to do with the typical posts here, I think it's an excellent lesson that there are always ways we can help others (big or small, seemingly insignificant or major life-changing necessities), and it was a perfect reminder to live with the spirit of giving - especially in regard to those we don't necessarily know as well. Both Sam and I do our best to be kind to others, and offer help when it appears to be needed, but I know there are also times when it feels as though there are so many more people who are unwilling to offer assistance. The reality is, however, that there is always an opportunity for kindness... even, and perhaps especially, in those unreciprocated moments.

The Venus de Miles Curse and Ride Results

"What curse of Venus de Miles?" you may (or may not) be asking yourself.  Every year, at the eleventh hour, something inevitably goes wrong with the bicycle I intend to ride (that bike generally being my trusty steed, the Hillborne), and I end up riding a bike that is both fairly new to me, and that I am not entirely comfortable riding as of the day of the ride. This year, was no different, and while I was completely prepared and ready to ride the Hillborne, I would have had to ride without a seatpost or saddle, and let's face it, that just wasn't going to happen. Instead, I ended up taking the Homer (a bit lighter, certainly, but it currently has the randonneur handlebars on it, and as many are aware, any drop bar and I just don't get along). I'll spare you all the details of how the disaster all went down, but suffice it to say that I was definitely worried about embarking on a long ride on a bicycle I am not yet comfortable riding - and with drop bars nonetheless.

Just before the ride started at around 7:15am
*Photo credit to Sam

Saturday night, I got about 2 hours of sleep. I was nervous (goodness only knows why - though I'm sure a great deal of it had to do with riding a bike I haven't ridden much at all). On Sunday morning, I couldn't eat anything more than a couple bites of oatmeal before I left, but still arrived feeling ready to take on the ride. I honestly wasn't sure that I would make it to the end, but I was going to give it all I could until I couldn't go anymore. Sam had rode with me to the start of the ride (it's an all women's ride, so he wasn't allowed to play), and planned on meeting up at a convenient spot at some point later in the ride with another friend (which we did).  I waited in line for the waves to actually get going, listened to the pre-ride music blasting through the speakers surrounding us, and prayed that I would at least make it to the first stopping point.

Waiting with the ladies to get going with Venus de Miles 2012

The first leg of the ride was pretty much all up hill, with a short exception of about 2 miles, and I arrived at the first rest stop to replenish water in decent time (for me). My hands weren't hurting and I still had lots of energy, so I didn't take long to get back on the road again.

First rest stop... still feeling great!
*Photo credit to Sam

As a quick side note, I would like to say thank you to all who chimed in regarding the chamois pad. I was a bit nervous to ride wearing this without having a lot of time with it prior to this event, but it worked out extremely well, and while my posterior is still sore, I was able to make it through without the normal pain that starts about 20-30 miles into a ride - so, officially, thank you to all.

Such creative "drag" outfits!

This guy was fabulous! He was missing his wig here (I caught him off guard at a re-fill station)

Rather than going through every detail of the ride, I will say that there were a few things I was very grateful to see. The first, was ice at every rest stop. It was a very warm day, and having ice to cool down the water was amazingly wonderful! The second was the men in drag. These guys are so awesome. With all the heat, they still came out and hammed it up, wearing dresses, make up, wigs, and so on. The gentleman pointed out in the picture above with a purple arrow was close to me most of the ride and he always took the time to say hello, check on me each time he passed, or offer words of encouragement as I struggled up a tough hill. The last thing that really impressed me this year was (thankfully) that everyone seemed to be incredibly polite, friendly and excited to ride. I was so grateful to be surrounded by women who were enjoying themselves and encouraging each other.

A good chunk of this ride is up hill (as I've pointed out). I would say 60-70% if I were going to take a rough guess, and as most know from reading here, I am not a hill climber by any stretch. While not all of the ride was pretty to see, there were some beautiful pieces in the higher climbs. Honestly, I didn't take enough photos because when I was going up I didn't want to stop for fear I wouldn't get re-started, and when descending I was so thrilled to be going faster than 5 mph, I didn't want to pull off either.  I am happy to report that I was able to climb every hill without getting off the bike... I was travelling very slowly on some of them, but I managed to make it through. My goal for this ride was to finish in under 8 hours (not a very lofty goal for most, I am aware), and I finished it in just over 4 hours of ride time. It wasn't lightening fast, but I didn't expect that I would be... however, I will say that I finished the 51 miles (even with all the climbing) faster than I normally ride the 33 mile leg of this ride that lacks the number of hills. In total, I rode just over 58 miles (including the ride to and from the race), and managed to still be able to walk at the end (sort of).


With the limited amount of preparation time I had before the ride, I think all went pretty well. There are so many people who need to be thanked and I couldn't possibly mention them all here. It was so nice to have little messages of encouragement throughout the day from my kickboxing pals cheering me on.  It definitely made me smile and kept me moving forward. Having Sam (and Will) meet up with me in a couple of spots during the ride was a welcomed sight, and as Melanie recently pointed out to me, Sam really is very much the one to encourage me, just like the commercial above. To the ladies of Inspire Salon, my God, it was nice to have smiling faces, the hand massage, and a cold towel at the end of the ride, and to everyone who donated to the fundraising efforts, I am so very, very thankful! Now, it's time to rest (and hopefully sleep) - at least for a few hours.

The Helmet Debate (No, Not That One)

Today, we debate not the importance (or lack thereof) of helmets, but rather to ask for some opinions on which helmet to wear.  If you have thoughts that are beneficial, I would love to hear 'em.  During the upcoming ride I'm participating in, it is required that all cyclists wear a helmet. The question has become which helmet to wear. I don't really want to go out and purchase yet another, so I've narrowed it down to two choices I have here at home, and thought I would lay it out to see what makes the most sense.

Option #1: Lazer helmet

The Pros -
It's cuter than the other option
Since I will be riding a non-typical "race" bike, this helmet might fit with the bike better

The Cons -
It's heavier than the alternative (enough to notice)
It doesn't have many air vents (potentially making it hotter - though there are more vents than shown here)
I look like I have a mushroom head

Option #2: Bell helmet

The Pros -
It has more vent holes throughout, likely making it cooler for the ride
It's lighter weight than the alternative

The Cons -
I look like a space freak (with a visor, no less - though this is removable)
It looks more like a helmet for a "real" road bike (perhaps it doesn't fit with what I'll be riding)
It's not particularly attractive

I'm certain there are other things that I could take in to consideration, but I'm wondering what you would do - or rather, which one you would wear if given the choice? Putting aside the idiotic looks on my face in the photos, and instead focusing on what makes the most sense, do you have a favorite based on the functionality of the two? Thoughts and opinions are welcomed!

It's That Time Again: Venus de Miles 2012

As long time readers already know, this is the time of year I generally start blabbing about doing the Venus de Miles ride. While I should be deep in to training at this point (considering it is exactly one month away), I am debating what to do and whether or not to participate at all this year. This would be year number three for me, and while I thoroughly enjoyed the first year of the ride, last year was not horribly pleasant and I pretty much proclaimed that I would not do it again, despite my desire to support Greenhouse Scholars. While you are free to read the posts for each year, I can summarize the first year by stating that it was like meeting a bunch of new friends and just enjoying a ride, contrasted with last year which was mostly like being berated by total strangers for no apparent reason (I wish I was exaggerating).

*Image from Venus de Miles

Enter the current year. I said I wasn't going to do the ride, and I've pretty well stuck to my guns thus far, but as I feel it getting closer, I find myself saying things like, "Well, it could be fun like the first year," or "Maybe the group will be less irritable this time?" Perhaps the biggest reason I'm considering doing the ride again is that I have been attempting to do some longer rides over the past couple of weeks, and it gives me a goal to shoot for. While the ride isn't a race necessarily, and there aren't "winners," I seem to do better with forcing myself to ride when I know there is a goal that is quickly approaching.

There are reasons not to participate, such as the glaring sun and heat that will undoubtedly be a part of that day (I swear, we get the hottest day of summer during the VdM ride), and I have to actually prep myself pretty quickly to do the ride (I have choices though as there is a 33, 51, 67, or 100 mile ride - heads up y'all - I will not be doing the 100 mile, regardless).

And so, my friends (and those who just read here, but certainly have no desire to be my friend), I am once again looking for advice. What would you do? Do you think it makes sense to just do the ride and see how it goes? After all, I did have fun at one point doing the ride... or, would you sit it out and look for something else to challenge you on the bike, and avoid the chaos and possibility of cranky folks on two wheels? Thoughts, ideas, opinions are all certainly welcomed.

Venus de Miles 2011 Completed

**Update: I should always speak to my better half before posting anything. I forgot that he was out with his camera phone and actually snapped a few shots of the ride, so I've added those in. Yay for photos!


As fair warning to anyone looking for photos, I have no visuals to support this years' Venus de Miles ride, but I definitely have commentary. But, before I get into that, I should go back to mid-evening Saturday night when we decided to do a last minute check up on the Hillborne to make sure all was functional and working appropriately. I had mentioned that perhaps the saddle should be tipped down a bit (I kept feeling as though every time I rode, it was slowly dipping in the back), so we took it out front to make the adjustment. As I rode down the street, all of a sudden the saddle collapsed from beneath me. I couldn't help but let out a little scream as it startled me to suddenly lose my seat. I pedaled back and we fixed the saddle again. I started down the street again, and - same results (without the scream this time). We removed the seat post and discovered that at some point it had loosened slightly and had stripped itself, no longer allowing the saddle to be held in place. Bummer. Fortunately, we had another seat post to use, so we took that one off, put the other one on, and then realized that because of the clamp on it and the railing on the Brooks saddle, it just wouldn't hold it in place. It was fairly late in the evening by this juncture, and all the bike shops were closed, so it was time to move on to plan B.

**Image from Venus de Miles

Plan B turned out to be riding a bicycle that I've only ridden a total of about 35 miles. Plan B scared the bejesus out of me because of my hand/wrist issues and not having established the comfort that I have on the Hillborne. I was a bit hesitant, but, since I knew my friend Cara and I would only be doing the shortest ride, I figured it was better than not showing up at all. We adjusted the saddle, changed out bar tape to provide more cushioning on the drop bars, and hoped for the best.

Start line of Venus de Miles 2011 9am group

Of course, Saturday night I didn't sleep well, finally dozing off somewhere around 1am Sunday morning, and then waking a little after 3a because I'd consumed so much water before bed that I had to get up. I fell back asleep some time after 4a, and then rose again at about 6:45a. Not the best nights sleep, to say the least. Regardless, I awoke, ready to get the ride under way, and anxious to meet up with my pal. When I arrived on scene, we had a bit of trouble locating each other, but actually connected very soon after our wave of the ride began.

A group of ladies about 8 miles into the ride... Love the tutu's!

We talked a bit about how the summer was going, and how I have entirely too much to get done to be spending this time riding, but was happy to be out in the fresh air. She shared that she never decided on a bike and opted to rent the one she was riding, and wasn't entirely comfortable on it. As we climbed our way out of the neighborhood where the ride begins, we chatted along, but I could see Cara was struggling. She encouraged me to ride on ahead, but I told her we were doing this together and "no man would be left behind." I pedaled along in front of her, and after a few minutes turned around to realize she was nowhere within visual range. I stopped mid way up the climb, thinking she would be approaching any moment, but she didn't arrive. I started asking those passing by if they'd noticed anyone stopped on the side of the road. Each person said they hadn't, so I continued to wait. A few minutes later, a car pulled over and asked if I needed assistance. I replied that I was actually doing great, but was just waiting for a friend who seemed to have fallen back. They said they noticed a woman on the side of the road just back a bit, so I turned around and headed back, thinking that she'd been cursed with a flat.

A small group of ladies crossing Hwy 119 at Niwot Road, Niwot, Colorado

As I spotted her not too far from my previous point, I waved and asked if everything was okay. Apparently, as she was shifting coming up the hill, she heard her ankle crack. While I'm no expert, that just didn't sound good to me. She didn't seem to be able to put pressure on her foot, so we waited for a ride to come and get her. Sadly, we were only a couple of miles into the ride at this point, so as I waved goodbye and took off to finish on my own, I realized that I was at it alone once again.

I reassured myself that it would be fine. I've trained for this (albeit on a completely different bike) alone so I'm used to amusing myself, and last year I met up with some really great women who I tagged along with, so, I assumed this year would be the same... I was wrong. It was quite disheartening to see an event that I remember fondly from last year become a ride that was not something I would recommend to others. While there was the occasional polite and/or cheery rider, many participants seemed out of sorts and completely non-communicative. Few were announcing that they were passing, I watched cyclists on an open-to-car-traffic road riding more than 3 abreast, and many seemed to be just generally cantankerous. Needless to say, it made for a less than thrilling ride.

Headed toward the mountains!

While I'm still waiting on reports of my friends' injury, and repairs to the Hillborne are underway, I'm trying to figure out what went awry with today's ride. I know I was excited to get underway this morning, and I tried to chat with people as I passed, but something just felt off with a lot of riders. Maybe next time I need to try a longer distance, or perhaps not focus on having fun? I thought it was sort of the point of this fundraiser-ride, however, so I'm left feeling a bit empty and confused. Though it wasn't the best ride ever for me, I do hope that others enjoyed and, most importantly, that lots of money was raised for Greenhouse Scholars.