Solo Century

Nearly every coaching book on earth preaches about training with focus, setting goals, and making each ride count. Don't just go out and ride your bike, those are junk miles. Most people, the first time they swing their leg over a bike, are not thinking 'Well...best not waste my precious time, I'll do a sweet spot interval at 88-93% of my Functional Threshold Power.' From all my years of wisdom I can safely say no kid who just ditched their training wheels has a power meter, so my personal rebellion to the de-funning of cycling involved doing a century yesterday by myself. Riding by yourself for five hours may not seem fun to most, and doesn't even sound fun to me. In fact I hadn't even considered doing a century as I was pedaling away from home.

The thought path that your mind follows during a 5 hour ride really starts off all neat and organized, but by the end your bibs have squeezed all blood into your legs depriving your brain of oxygen, actually making you stupider.

Mile 0: Alright, I've done some research on good un-charted roads to cruse, I have plenty of food, some money, and tools. Eighty miles should do the trick, it's not like I have to be back home anytime soon.

Mile 10: It's a beautiful day, nearly wind-less, and I feel pretty fresh...what the hell why not do a century.

Mile 15: Okay, starting to get into some uncharted territory, better pull out my map-a-roo. Hmm, not in my center pocket, left....oh shit. The map I had printed out, with it's neatly highlighted routes and penciled in rest stops was sitting on my desk back in West Lafayette. It's too late now, I'm fully committed to my quest for a century. Besides, I'm exploring new lands just like Lewis and Clarke, and they didn't have no stinking map or GPS. I guess they had Sacagawea to guide them, but I'm pretty sure she totally BS'ed them and really had no idea where the hell they were 'Oh yeah Clarke, the Northwest Passage is just over this, um, Mountain Range here.'

Mile 25: On to some dirt roads. Oh man that dog there is pretty big good thing there's a fence (just as dog squeezes through fence). Crap

Mile 25.5: I'm pretty sure that's the longest a dog has chased me. Just then I passed another house where maybe ten dogs in unison see me ride by and begin yapping and chasing the largest and most tantalizing chew toy they've seen, only stopped by thin chicken wire.

Mile 41: Time to stop and refuel. It's hard not to feel like you're sticking out with all the locals sipping their big gulps, gaping at your shaved legs and tight pants like you're retarded alien.

Mile 50: I don't care what Derek said, SR-263 sucks, it's flat, straight, and a headwind which is obviously his fault.

Mile 55: Time for another stop. I remount and pedal through Covington on my super high tech speed machine passing depressed houses and packs of kids running around yards without shoes on, one on a mini motocross bike races me down the street.

Mile 60: I just realized I took off and am over 50 miles from home, and no one knows where I am or how long I will be gone. I could end up like that "Between a Rock and a Hard Place" guy, or I could end up in Deliverance and no one would know. Ah, I'm pretty sure I'll be fine, Burt Reynolds didn't have a cell phone.

Mile 70: Man I'm cruising, at this speed I'll duck under the 5 hour mark. At this point I'm also singing "I'm on a Boat" out loud.

Mile 75: Back on to known roads, no more pushing through the unknown for me.

Mile 85; I have a great idea, with all this riding I should throw some sprints in to really get a work out. After about 10 seconds of sprinting I'm convinced by my intelligent legs that this is not a great idea.

Mile 90: Man my shoulders are starting to hurt. Ah, my sleeves are still rolled up, probably should have put on sunscreen past my tan lines.

Ah finally back home, I've completed a century by myself in way less than five hours, what a great accomplishment. Let's check the Garming....98.5 miles.

....

So after a 1.5 miles of cool down laps around the block I completed my first solo century.

Also, I found some sweet pictures from the weekend.

First of Greg leading it out Like A Boss:

Oh Hay There:

And finally, me coming up short twice to Mr. Carter:

If I could do a single caption for both pictures it'd probably be something like: "Son of a Bi***"

My lowly blog also found it's way onto the race reports for the Chicago Bike Racing website, along with quotes.