BikeFest Saturday........

Well, we thought it would be a good idea. Again this year.

Riding the century ride, that is.

We had promises of it being better than last year because the roads were NOT Alabama roads. And that was correct.

Still, 100 miles is 100 miles, and it was pretty miserable toward the end. Correction: It was pretty miserable toward the middle. From the middle to the end was a special form of hell all by itself. Correction: From the middle to 10 miles from the end was a special form of hell all by itself. The last 10 miles were heavenly. But I may be in the market for a butt transplant. (It isn't really the butt, but to discuss the actual anatomical location would be indelicate. To say the least.)

Our first 10 miles today were on a bike path that is shady and fairly flat, and naturally free of traffic, so those were pleasant miles. We knew we would also return by the same path, so as Rita kept saying, "We really only have to ride 90 miles, because those last 10 are like a gift." I finally told her that "90 miles" and "only" didn't belong in the same sentence.

There were times today when I thought I should make a point to hang out with Rita more. She's so positive, so upbeat, so cheerful. All. The. Damn. Time. At about mile 75, though, when she said in her best cheerleader-type voice, "Guys, we're three quarters of the way through, and it's the hardest three quarters!!!!!" I almost told her to put a sock in it. There's really only so much cheerfulness a person can stand, especially on a 100-mile bike ride.

Rita was kind enough to stay with us all day, however, even though I'm pretty sure she had to dial it back a few notches (most of her notches?) to ride at the pace Rozmo and I tend to keep. I thought it was because she's much fitter and about ten years younger than I am, then I found out she is the same age I am. I'm trying not to hate her guts. I didn't always stay right with them, but I was never far behind, and I always caught up.

Rita kept saying that at mile 55 we would be at the highest point of the day, and it was "all downhill after that." I didn't want to come off as a Negative Nancy (sorry to any of you named Nancy out there), so I didn't point out that just because we had passed the HIGHEST point of the day, that didn't mean we wouldn't still have to do some ups-and-downs. I didn't want to dampen her enthusiasm. Wait...yes I did. Only it's impossible to dampen Rita's enthusiasm.

There were some awesome fraternity boys manning a couple of the rest stops, and they were truly delightful. They were selling pink bracelets to raise money for breast cancer awareness, so naturally I bought one. Rozmo bought five. Overachiever. One of the fraternity boys also served as the designated driver for his friends last night, so he was operating on about 30 minutes of sleep. On the century day. And he was smiling the whole time. Gotta love him.

When we got back and went to get our precious, prized bandanas, I came out to find my water bottle on the ground. I didn't think much of it, until I realized the cage was broken. A gentleman (?) came over and apologized, saying he was the guilty party, he wasn't watching what he was doing and knocked my bike over. (That's almost akin to someone keying your car.) He saw me standing there with the pieces of my water bottle cage in my hand, but he didn't offer to pay for the damage. (I probably would have refused anyway, but still.) Only after I had the bike back at the RV did I realize that BOTH water bottle cages were broken, and it cost me $36 to replace them. I could have managed with one, but not with zero. I could also have had carbon cages for $100, but water bottle cages is not an area in which I'm inclined to splurge.

This is Ken, Janet, and Janet's daughter Courtney. Until Friday, Courtney had never been on a bike ride longer than 15 miles. She rode 50 on Friday and 100 today. I bow down to her.

Rita and Rozmo. This was at the rest stop at the end of the trail at mile 10. It was also the rest stop at mile 90, but I was pretty much over taking pictures by then. They were still smiling, however. Especially the ever-cheerful Rita.

This is Dragos, and I love his name. I love almost everything about him, except for the fact that he is an Auburn grad. I first met Dragos on the bike ride in Iowa (either 2004 or 2006, I can't remember which), and we've run into each other a couple of times a year since then. He is delightful, and a kick-ass rider. Ah, youth.

Me, Rita, and Rozmo with our bandanas. Right before I fond out about the idiot breaking my water bottle cages. I mean, the nice gentleman who confessed to knocking my bike over.

I hung my bandana up in the RV, and I can't bring myself to take it down. It may still be there next year when time for BRAG comes around in June.

This was my eighth century, and while the smart thing would be to say it will be my last, I'm not known for being smart or having a good memory. Like childbirth, the agony of riding the century will fade, and I'll pony up to do another one. Even with Rita. If I don't put a merciful end to her undying cheerfulness.

BikeFest Saturday - The Century Edition....

I didn't want to commit to the century ride today, especially after Rozmo said she wasn't going to ride it. The decision point between the 47-mile route and either 86 or 101 miles came very early in the day - at the 14.9-mile mark. I knew I wanted to ride more than 47 miles, so I soldiered on.

The next decision point was at 60 miles. I could ride 86 or 101. I told myself I would check my average riding speed at that point, and if it was anywhere near 14 mph, I would ride the century. I forgot to check my average, and I had already made the turn for the 101. When I DID check it, I had averaged 15.1 to that point. That's unheard of for me, no matter what the ride length.

The overall ride was pretty tough, with lots of hills and lots of shake-n-bake pavement. Miles 72 to 95 were not much fun, but I was back by 4:00. Pictures tomorrow, if they are decent. Needless to say, I'm pooped. And there's a ballgame to watch.

Go Dawgs!

Some Days Are Like That Part 2.....

Katydid, Rozmo and I had already decided to ride the century today on BikeFest. For those of you who don't remember (and probably don't care in the first place), a century is 100 miles (or more) on a bicycle in a single day. I don't know whose idea it was to ride the century (again) this year, but I'd like to have a talk with her. Unless it was me, in which case I would like to sign up for some additional therapy sessions.

We were later leaving than we planned, because it's just so hard to get on that bicycle when it's cold. It's hard to dress for cycling at this time of year. It's uncomfortably cold in the morning, but you know very well that it's going to get quite warm by the afternoon. Or evening, if you happen to be out there that long. Personally, I'm too stubborn to layer very well. I figure I can suffer through a little while of being cold in the morning and not have to worry about removing layers (and where to put them) later in the day.

Where in the world was I going with this? Oh yeah....

So we were later leaving than we should have, considering we were planning to ride 100 miles. The last thing I did was put air in the tires, #1 because we needed it, and #2 because it was one more thing that would delay our actual riding.

Something went wrong with the valve stem, and we wound up with a flat tire.

We had extra tubes, but we decided to take it to the professionals instead of changing it ourselves, #1 because it was the back tire, and #2 because it was the back tire and it would have taken us roughly three and a half hours to change it.

The bike shop dude who changed the tire talks a lot more than he works. I accused him of charging by the word, and then I felt bad when he didn't charge us anything at all.

We finally left, only to discover after half a mile that we had no rear brakes. I didn't want to go back because #1 I don't like to go back EVER, and #2 we were already much later leaving than we wanted to be. I reasoned that we still had front brakes, and we don't use the brakes that often anyway. Never mind that I discovered the absence of brakes at a 4-way stop and we were extremely lucky that there weren't other cars at the intersection.

So back we went.

Willard worked on the brakes for another 15 minutes or so, talking the whole time. We finally left at 9:05 or something equally ridiculous.

Either of those incidents, the flat tire or the brake problem, would have been enough to make us change our plans for the route we were riding. We had by golly decided to ride the century, though, and none of us ever mentioned changing our plans.

Damn it.

So ride the century we did.

We didn't get into camp until 6:30 or so, but we still weren't last. CLOSE to last, but not last. The rest stops were closing (or closed) when we got to them late in the day, but the porta-potties were still there, and sometimes that's the most important thing. I was not in my happy place starting at about mile 75. I couldn't join Katydid in singing, and I couldn't even enjoy the music. After the UGA game ended (we listened to it on the radio on the bike), I didn't even have that distraction anymore. At mile 90 I knew we could make it (what other choice did we have?), but we still had to pedal those last 12 miles.

But hey, the reward for riding a century is large. We got a beautiful bandanna. It's all about the bandannas.

Good night.

The Century Ride Plus 9......

This is how far Katydid and I rode today on our tandem.


And this is the bandana we got for completing the century ride.


We weren't even last. There were a bunch of century riders who came in after us, which we find pretty amazing.

I wrote a post a few months ago about the mental aspect of cycling. Today was a prime example of this. Yesterday we rode 50 miles, the longest route choice. At 25 miles, I was kicking myself (well, not literally, since it's pretty hard to kick yourself while riding a bicycle) because if we had chosen the shorter option, we would have been finished. At 47 miles, I thought, "There's no way I can finish these last 3 miles." But of course we did, and it wasn't as bad as I thought.

Today we got to the 47 mile mark, and we had 60 miles left to go. I didn't feel bad at all. I didn't really start feeling bad until about the 70-mile mark. Of course, knowing we still had 37 miles to go (we thought) made it that much worse.

Another mental aspect of cycling concerns the all-important century ride. A century is a 100-mile bike ride in a single day. Why we feel compelled to do such a stupid thing is completely beyond me. But Katydid had never done one, so I agreed that this was our best chance. The terrain was SUPPOSED to be flat. And it was, relatively speaking, but toward the end, especially with the brutal headwinds, even the tiniest incline became a mountain.

I have heard cyclists complain when they got in from a century that the mileage was "only" 98 miles or some such. I wanted to say to them, "Well go ride around the parking lot a few times, you dorks." So this weekend's "century" ride was billed as 107 miles. On my computer (which I admit isn't accurate, because it doesn't agree with the GPS that we have on the back of the tandem), the mileage read 109.40. First of all, the extra 7 miles beyond the 100-mile mark were painful. But they had been in my head all day. I KNEW they were there. The other two almost made me sit down on the side of the road and suck my thumb.

It's sort of like childbirth. When you're in the middle of it, you think, "What in the hell was I thinking?"

Then when it's over, you think, "Well, that wasn't so bad."

The things we will do for a bandana.

100 Miles and 100 Degrees......

This picture is of the computer on my bicycle. In case you have a hard time reading it, it says 102.47 miles. In one day. On a bicycle.

In the bicycling world, that's called a century ride. Not sure why. Don't get me wrong ..... I'm not so dense that I don't get the whole 100 reference. But century refers to time. And 100 miles is distance. Never the twain shall meet. Unless it takes a century to ride a century, which I was always pretty sure it would.

I never considered myself in good enough shape to ride a century, and I silently envied and admired and hated those who did it every year. Many years on BRAG the century riders got a special pin. One year when I was working the merchandise truck, I stole one. Because I thought it was the only way I would ever get a century pin. [Sorry, BRAG, I guess I owe you $5.00.] I'm not sure why I stole it ..... it's not like I would ever wear a century pin if I hadn't actually ridden the century.

In 2003, however, I decided I would try it. We had started having layover days on BRAG on the same day as the century, so I didn't have to worry about getting into camp and setting up a tent.
I talked to a guy named Bob at the merchandise truck who was planning for a group to ride it together, and I figured with a support group I might be able to do it. We agreed to meet the next morning at 6:30.

I was torn. If I were going to ride alone, I would leave earlier than that, especially to ride 100 miles. But I might ride better and faster if I had the support of a group of other riders. I decided to meet them and hope we could make up the 30 minutes I considered lost at the beginning of the day.

I showed up at the appointed time and place the next morning, and so did Bob. And no one else. We were the group. Bob. And me. Wait, it gets worse.

Bob said, "I think we can do this in five hours."

Oh hell. Excuse me? Five hours? A 20-mile-per-hour average? Me? Including rest stops? My average was more like 12 mph on the bike; 10 mph if you factored in rest stops. I would be doing a good job to finish the ride on the same calendar day. Five hours my foot.

I told Bob he was way out of my league and that he could just go ahead. I wouldn't be out there alone, even on the century route, and I didn't want to have to kill myself trying to keep up. But he would have none of that. He insisted we ride together, and I was stuck.

We skipped the first rest stop, which was my pattern back then anyway. Rest stops were approximately 10-12 miles apart, and stopping at every one meant at least a 30-minute delay. If I could ride 20 miles without stopping, which is what I do at home anyway, I could save some of the time I would otherwise spend standing in line, eating and drinking, and socializing. Mostly socializing.

Then Bob wanted to stop at the home of one of his high school friends. The guy wasn't home, but his wife was. Talk about awkward. It was bad enough being in cycling clothes and being all sweaty, but I didn't even KNOW this person. I didn't even know BOB!!!!

I won't give you the play-by-play for all 100 miles, but I can tell you that we made it. In slightly over 5 hours. Like 9 hours. There were a couple of times that Bob rode beside me and put his hand on the small of my back to help me along. I was sort of humiliated. To make up for it, however, I did save his life. He was cruising through a stop sign that he only THOUGHT was a 4-way stop when I screamed, "CAR RIGHT!!!!!"

It started raining a couple of miles from the finish, and that was absolutely okay with me. I knew by then that I could make it. Bob was a kick-ass rider and a regular on BRAG. I've never seen him again. I'm guessing I traumatized him with my slowness.

The next year I rode the century again, this time just to see if I could do it without the help of a "coach." I don't remember anything really significant about that particular century ride, except for the fact that I lived to tell about it.

The picture above was taken after I did the century ride in 2005, and that one is indelibly imprinted in my mind. I had no intention of riding the century. I had done two of them, and I didn't feel like I had anything left to prove.

Except I couldn't convince my friend Rozmo of that. She had done a century before too, but she was intent on doing this one. And she's pretty insistent. Downright contrary. Mean if she has to be. [Not really, she doesn't have a mean bone in her body. And she reads this blog occasionally, so if she DID have a mean bone in her body, I would never allude to it here.]

That may have been the longest day of my life. We started out strong, but the heat became brutal. It was 100 degrees before we got finished. Literally. And some sagacious person scheduled the lunch stop for the century riders at approximately the 80-mile mark. Which turned out to be completely irrelevant, since they were all out of food by the time we got there. [It was the lunch stop for the shorter rides too, and they had breezed through HOURS earlier.] By the end of the ride, we were stopping at any establishment that looked like it had air conditioning. If I had seen a house for sale that included a pool, I would have bought it and moved in on the spot. When we finally made it back to camp and limped toward HQ for our coveted bandanas (they had stopped giving out pins and switched to bandanas, which are way more useful), we had to "excuse me, excuse me" through the DINNER line to get to the desk. After pretending not to have any more bandanas (not funny at all, by the way), the HQ folks sent us to the American Red Cross van. I'm not sure why, except we basically looked like hell. The Red Cross folks said thanks for dropping by, but we're closing up shop now. Good thing we didn't need a blood transfusion or something.

Rozmo thought it only appropriate that we take each other's pictures in front of the words "Disaster Services." Besides, that was as far as I could walk by then. Note, however, that I did manage to smile for the picture with my precious bandana. Or perhaps that's a grimace.

Now Rozmo wants Katydid and me to do a DOUBLE CENTURY over a weekend. That's a 100-mile bicycle ride, spend the night, turn around and ride 100 miles back.

I think I'm going to change my phone number. And my email. And my social security number. Rozmo can be downright insistent.