What a weekend.
It all started on Friday, when I took off early from work and got home to pack up everything I would need. A few items of clothing, tent, sleeping bag, pads, bike, helmet, shoes … oh and I almost forgot (indeed I did have to turn around for this) my water bottles.
Once everything was stowed in the back of my hatchback, I hit the road to Columbia, Missouri. Having left work early I had plenty of time to make the seven pm team dinner. Or so I thought. Just as I hit the first major highway I hit traffic so bad, it would give downtown Los Angeles traffic-penis-envy, if such a thing existed. It took me over an hour to make it out of Saint Louis and my ride was no longer leisurely.
I arrived to the dinner only a little late, and luckily for me the waitresses were slacking worse than pot-smoking college freshmen. I had plenty of time to get introduced, take pictures before they even came to take our orders.
After the dinner I followed my team-captain’s vague directions to where the event would be held, it was time to set up a roof over my head. After setting up the tent I was not ready to go to bed yet, and I could hear the sounds of a band coming from the lower area where all the team tents were located. The band sound pretty bad and they were playing for a handful of people still left in front of the stage. After a few minutes I decided I had enough of that so I returned to my tent.
I went to sleep despite the heat which was generously provided my arctic sleeping bag — I did briefly consider sleeping on top of the sleeping bag but I knew from experience that I would wake up freezing cold at some point during the night so I decided against it. I woke up around five-thirty am, chuckling at the fact that the alarm was set for six. I quickly changed into my jersey and jumped out of the tent ready to tackle the day.
The grass outside my tent was dewy and I could feel the humidity mixed in the cold morning air. I did not mind it, it was a good morning. The pale orange sun was casting a few rays through the morning haze and onto our field of tents though it was still fairly dark. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of voices could be heard as people were starting to shuffle around. We were all dark figures moving about, everyone with a clear sense of purpose.
Now it was time for breakfast. The pasta dinner from the night before provided some good carb-loading, but everyone knows you can’t start the day without a good breakfast. I got in line at the food tent and got myself a burrito, hash browns, sausage and orange juice — the same thing everyone else got. I filled one bottle with water and the other with Gatorade — which as I soon found out was so thick, you could almost chew it — but it would do. It was now quarter to seven and I made my way up the hill to where we were supposed to meet for the team picture. This year there were thirty-three riders on the team. The most there’s ever been. I was among the new additions to the team.
After the photo I ran back to the car to lock up my camera (I wanted pictures of my own, to document this event — or as much of it as I could) and then back again to grab my bike and get to the start line. We hit the pedals at sven-fourty am and slowly made our way up the first few hills. There were riders of all skill levels, and many of them, on the first stretch of the road so the pace was pretty slow. I was just relaxing but some anxiety would creep in every so often — I had never done anything like this before. As we hit the fourty mile route cut-off, quite a few turned off and more experienced riders continued on. I tried to keep myself from looking at my odometer because I knew I still had very far to go. In fact, we were just getting started and I was nowhere yet.
We came by the first rest stop but we did not stop. There appears to be some unwritten rule that if you’re riding hard, you don’t stop at the first rest stop. We passed it and pressed on. Then, the moment of truth came. The green arrow was pointing to the left, the seventy-five mile route cut-off and the blue arrow was pointing straight. Straight ahead lay the century route. One hundred miles of road full of hills, valleys and pain. After only four actual weeks of riding, many said this wasn’t a good idea. I think that settled the decision long before I had to actually make it — I was doing the century today and nothing would stop me.
The cut-off was at the twenty-third mile and so far I had not taken a single rest. After a couple more miles I saw the next rest area and pulled in. I was greeted with cheers by volunteers and as I rode by a guy stretched out his hand to give me something. I grabbed it still moving on the bike and held it tightly in my hand until I stopped. It was the century patch. Again, it sank in some more – I’m going to ride one hundred miles today. Then I spotted my team captain and some team mates who were not as far ahead as I thought they would be. We took pictures holding up our century-patches and I was glad to see that it wasn’t just a big deal to me. It was a big deal to everyone.
I filled up my water bottles and ate some bananas (a damn good source of potassium). A few words of advice stuck with me from the night before. “Eat before you get hungry, drink before you get thirsty and rest before you start feeling really tired, and you should be okay.” I got back on the road and tried to keep a solid pace but one that would not exhaust me. I had no competition here today except the road that was between me and the finish line. I was feeling pretty good so far but who could know what would happen at mile seventy or mile eighty? I pressed on and kept my own pace, though occasionally I would draft people for a little while. Approaching the fifty mile mark I could definitely feel my neck. The muscles were tense and stiff from trying to hold my head up in this unnatural position so I would twist it left and right and move it around every few minutes. The rest stop at mile fifty was a real let-down. They were out of food and Gatorade. In fact, all they had left were tootsie rolls. Then one of the volunteers went in the back and brought out some sandwiches that were actually meant as lunch for the volunteers – but they figured we needed it more than they did. Hats off to them.
It would be hard for me to describe most of the ride but it was definitely a time of reflection, as I got to spend most of it by myself. The countryside we passed through was beautiful and it never got dull. Occasionally I would find myself riding alongside someone and we would exchange a joke or two, sometimes even talk a little if the stretch was not too tough. Man is definitely a pack-animal. As much as solitude and time for reflection are enjoyable so can be the company of a complete stranger. Sometimes, a team of riders would pass me and I was latch on the back and draft them not because I needed to rest but simply because I liked riding behind someone, and riding at someone else’s pace for a while.
I’m not entirely sure when it happende — I didn’t track all this by mileage, it just so happens that I remember much of it that way — but I noticed that my right foot was feeling loose as I pulled up on the upstroke. I tried to ignore this the best I could and decided to investigate it at the next rest stop. As it turned out, my right shoe was coming apart. The sole was three-qurters of the way off and flapping around. I asked around for some duct tape and luckily they had it. I duct taped my foot and shoe and cut holes for the clips. Only a few miles into it a realized I had put the tape on way too tight, but there was no way I would stop now. This wasn’t such a good idea because by the time I got the next rest area I couldn’t even feel my right foot. I jumped off the bike and removed the tape. I let my foot recover and then put the duct tape back on — much more carefully this time.
The hundred-mile route was basically an extension added to the seventy-five mile route, so at one point they merged back together. There I came up on some of my team mates who did the seventy-five mile route. I rode with them and at the next rest stop we hung out for a bit. I found out that it was easier for me if I didn’t make long stops, so while they still sat around chatting I got on my bike and started counting down. I only had about twelve more miles to go though much of it was hilly.
Shortly after this stop I hit a few hills that made me want cry out in pain but I would be damned before I got off that bike. There was no way I would walk a single mile, or even ten feet.
I pushed on and then I came to a stretch of road I recognized. The marker wasn’t pretty — a big dead possum on the side of the road — but I knew now that I only had few more miles to go. A long but not too steep hill lay ahead and out of nowhere a burst of energy came. I picked up speed and kept it at about eighteen miles an hour the entire way up the hill and then kicked it up twenty-two to twenty-four once I hit the downhill part. I was cruising, I was there!
When I got to the finish line I realized I was just shy of exactly one hundred miles (since the routes don’t add up perfectly). I rode straight past the finish line and right up the next hill. There I turned onto the road that goes up a very large hill and back up to the tent area. This additional little loop got me my hundred miles and then I was happy. After eight hours and fourty minutes, I was off that bike and sprawled out on the ground.
I was definitely hurting, and the sight of the bud light truck made my heart jump. I ate and then I drank. I drank a lot, probably a lot more than I should have considering I had to do another fifty miles tomorrow, but it made those aching legs feel not so achy, so the simple old formula (more is better) was applied and thoroughly followed.
I am not going to state what time I finally made it to bed, but it was late. Very late for someone who had just done a hundred miles on a bike and had to do fifty more in the morning.
I crawled inside my sleeping bag and before I knew, it was lights out.
