06.10.2013 | 11:23 am
A Note from Fatty: For the next several days, I’ll be alternating posts from the 100 Miles of Nowhere with installments from the Rockwell Relay race I did over the weekend. Just to draw things out and mess with you a little bit.
I love bikes. I love bike races. I love the kind of people who do bike races. I love the people who spend their time and energy putting on bike races.
And above all, I love standing behind a grill, serving really good bratwurst (Colosimo’s) to racers and talking with them about all of the above, the night before a bike race.
Here I am, last Thursday afternoon, right before the crowds showed up.
Those two big ice chests behind me are holding 400 brats, which The Hammer had boiled in PBR and onions the day before, since I was kind of out of my head with work deadlines.
Which made the hours of 6pm ’til around 8:30pm — when The Hammer and I grilled and served around 300 of those 400 brats (the rest would be grilled and served at the finish line Saturday) to racers and their families (and to the occasional random park-goer who was drawn in by the incredible smell) of the Rockwell Relay: Moab to Saint George.
We told favorite stories. We shared race tactics (i.e., bring an ice chest completely full of ice to keep drinks cold), and we talked about what a strange and fun experience this race was every year, and the fact that every single team would come away with an amazing story to tell.
I also signed a couple books, which served my vanity very well.
Most importantly, we listened very carefully whenever someone else mentioned that they were part of a coed team, asking — very casually, mind you — whether they were there to race, or just to ride.
Hey, as two-time winners of the coed division of the Rockwell Relay, we had a dynasty to defend; we needed all the beta we could gather.
Then, around 8:00pm, The Hammer and I made our first critical strategic race move: we called Paradox Pizza in Moab, and ordered five 14″ pizzas (a Supremo, a Greek, a Caprese, a Hawaiian Italian, and a Margherita).
Once those arrived, we let them cool down, folded them so the crust side was facing out, and then put them in ziploc bags.
Our team’s primary race food source was taken care of.
The Race Begins
The Rockwell Relay starts at 8:00am, so Team Fatty got breakfast at Denny’s together to make final plans. We agreed that – for the first time — I would take the Racer 1 position. Kenny had raced it our previous two times, and we were both interested in trading to see what other legs were like. This meant Kenny would take leg 2, while The Hammer would take leg 3, and Heather would take leg 4 (as they both had the previous two times we’ve done this race).
During this breakfast, Heather — who has been plagued with flat tires this year — observed, “Finally, I’ve had three consecutive rides without a flat!”
I turned on her, with fury in my eyes.
“You’re using The Secret wrong,” I said. “You’re jinxing us for sure, and guaranteeing a flat.”
Heather apologized, but I knew we were now doomed to have at least one flat during the race, since the process for reversing misuse of The Secret is lengthy and complicated, and we had no time.
But this was no time to dwell on what could not be fixed. So we finished our respective Grand Slams, then grabbed a quick team photo:
Left to right: Fatty, The Hammer, Kenny, and Heather
And then I shouldered my way into the very front of the line.
Did I belong there? Probably not. But I have been riding hard. And I am — I’m pretty sure — the fastest I have ever been. Maybe by a lot. So I wanted at least a chance to hang with the fast guys.
The race began, at which point very strange things started happening.
First, three of us shot out front: me, a guy in blue, and a guy in red (that’s honestly all the detail I remember of them; they probably remember me as “guy in pink.”) We rode together for the first couple blocks, and then the guy in blue stood up and took off.
I looked over to my left at the guy in red. Was he going to chase? No. He was not. “Let’s just work together,” I said, and kicked it up half a notch so he could settle in behind me while I did the first pull.
Then the guy in blue — who was, by now, fifty feet ahead of us — suddenly pulled over to the side of the road, and stopped.
What?
I figured he must have flatted or had a chain drop, or something like that. Regardless, the fact that we had gone less than half a mile meant that the rest of his team (everyone on all the teams rides the first mile or so of the race, with three out of four of the racers just rolling along in parade mode) would see him in a minute and could help him out.
So I kept on going, thinking, “How weird that I am currently the lead racer.”
After a couple minutes, I waggled my left elbow, signaling the racer in red to come up and take a turn pulling.
Nothing.
I waggled my right elbow.
Nothing.
I looked over my shoulder.
Nothing. And nobody.
Unintentionally, I had managed to launch a solo breakaway from the entire field, about half a mile from the beginning of the race, with 54 miles and 4100 feet of climbing to go.
“So,” I thought to myself, “Now what?”
All Alone
I considered my options. “I can either keep going and try to stay out front, seeing if I’m the rare breakaway that succeeds,” I thought, “Or I can drift back to the group.”
“Or,” I thought, “I can keep going hard, but knowing full well that I’ll eventually be caught, at which point I can try to just hang with the lead group, instead of getting dropped by them.”
That sounded like a pretty good idea, and I figured that I’d be swept up within a few miles. “I’ll go hard, but not so hard that when they catch me I can’t join them,” I told myself, over and over.
But then a few miles went by, and I was still in front, all alone.
And then it was five miles.
The photographer and videographer caught up with me, taking pictures and video of me, riding. Alone.
Seven miles. Still alone.
I began to fantasize. “What if they don’t catch me?” I thought to myself. “What if I somehow, during the night, magically became the fastest person here? Faster than the Cat 1 racers who are here? Faster than Brute Force, which has won this race every year?”
“Well, why not?” I thought, and went harder.
I looked down at my Garmin Edge 510. Ten miles into this race, and I was still leading.
And that’s when two people rocketed by me as if I were standing still.
“OK, I knew that would happen,” I said.
And then, seconds later, a group of twenty racers surged by me.
My solo moment of glory was over, and the race — the real race — was on.
Which is where I’ll pick up next time.
Comments (29)
06.6.2013 | 7:23 am
by Nancy S
There were several reasons that we chose to ride our 100 MoN in the dark, starting with wanting to do something that we hadn’t done before, something more ill advised than all the other rides we’ve done. Once my brother and I began talking about the concept, we got pretty excited about how we’d pull it off:
- The highly excellent system of paved (former RR) trails in Minnesota became the obvious choice for safe riding after dark. Specifically the Wobegon, Soo Line and Central Lakes Trails:
- When I started looking at night lighting products for bicycling, there was no doubt that we’d be lighting up the night in a colorful way. For a thrill, check out Monkey Lights on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLtbeU8FJW0
- We would have several 100MoN poachers, all in need of a commemorative T-shirt. Twin Six carried the perfect shirt for our ride, especially after I added this 100 MoN graphic to the sleeve (yes, it’s the 2012 graphic, which T6 kindly let me use):
t-shirt
Purloined graphic
We are the Borg
Soon our enthusiasm spread to several of our riding friends/family and we ended up with eight riders (including one from Taiwan!) plus four support people. It’s possible they all recognized the futility of resisting the tide created by our passion for a “really good idea.” It’s happened before. Resistance is futile.
Joining us was Isaac N., a friend through Fatty. Wet conditions had kept the local MTB trails closed, so he was forced to consider alternative plans for his 100MoN. The futility of resistance.
And They’re Off!
Friday, May 31, 8 pm. Early dusk: For the first hour, we were able to ride without using our headlights but, as darkness fell, the forest closed in around us forming a dark tunnel. We all agreed that we were riding in a cocoon of nothingness.
Things get mystical
Weather forecasts for the night were grim, with thunderstorms likely all night long. We were prepared to suffer immensely. OK, that was a lie. Is anyone ever prepared to suffer immensely? All I know is, extreme suffering did not become necessary on this ride. In fact, it may be safe to say that we were all awestruck with how the night turned out.
11:30 pm, already past our bedtimes: By the time we first crossed the Mississippi River, roaring through the Blanchard dam, the sky was a sea of stars, with nary a cloud in sight. We celebrated our first crossing under the stars by sharing a bit-o-whiskey with the river.
12:30 am, June 1: Traveling southwest after our 2nd crossing of the Mississippi, we began to notice northern lights (aurora borealis) off to our right. When we stopped and turned off as many of our blinky-flashy things as possible, we were treated to the most spectacular natural light show most of us has (have?) ever seen. Keep in mind, we live “up north”, and we were still mightily impressed. Here’s the crazy, mystical thing about the light show: I had gathered several “door prizes” for our riders and the one shown below was the most special, the one I felt captured the sense of what we were doing, the one I planned to award to the rider most vexed with mechanicals. It’s a limited edition poster entitled “Flat” by Adam Turman, a Minneapolis artist who beautifully illustrates the bicycling life:
This made me a bit nervous about the skull themed gifts I’d prepared:
1 am: Shortly after our northern lights stop, we rolled through Holdingford, MN, where this guy sits along the trail and is ever willing to share his bench:
1:30am: Our second swing through Albany brought us to our stationary sag vehicle where we enjoyed sandwiches, Chicken & Stars soup (the jury is still out on the soup), other sundry snacks and world-class encouragement from our support, Laurie and Christine.
2 am: Now riding east toward our campsite, with ~27 miles to go, the half moon appeared on our horizon, dead ahead. Orange with a few wisps of clouds before it, the moon was our beacon for the remainder of the ride. As fatigue set in, we began to notice, profoundly, the washboard on each of the seemingly dozens of bridges we crossed. Soon we were all making that “ahhhhhhh” noise like little kids do when bobbling on Grandpa’s knee.
3 am: We’d advanced to sounding out chords as we hit the bridge decks. My brother, Del, determined that we’d struck the opening chord of the final movement of Beethoven’s 9th symphony which, he later explained, is noteworthy in that it is two completely incompatible chords blended together such that someone with normal ears would say, “What was THAT????” I thought we sounded good.
The moon, still with us, had risen higher in the sky and become inexplicably smaller. Explanations for this phenomenon do not work at this time of night. For me, they never work.
4 am on the dot: We arrived at our campsite, one hour later than originally projected:
With the rest of the campground fast asleep, and the police just down the road, we high-fived silently. In post race analysis, I now realize we were a generally geriatric bunch of riders. Only the three youngest of us still thought beer sounded good. At 55, I was pleased to be one of the three. It was a struggle, but I had a reputation to maintain.
And in the morning we had pie. Moon pie. Homemade.
Summary
- Not one mechanical issue, not one mishap, no bonks , no crying, and minimal whining (and only after 3 am), our 2013 Dark 100 Miles of Nowhere was a smashing success!
- I used the occasion of this ride to do some additional fund raising for Camp Kesem by registering as a non-rider in the Livestrong Davis event. With a few weeks remaining before the Davis ride, I’m confident my goal of $2K will be reached.
- Soon I’ll have video and more detail about the Dark 100 Miles of Nowhere on my blog: Nanabananabike.blogspot.com.
- Oh yeah. I won the women’s division.
Thank you!
Nancy in Minnesota
Comments (23)
06.5.2013 | 6:33 am
By Jessica F
It would be a bit hyperbolic to say that the only reason I wanted to participate in 100 Mile of Nowhere was to have a ridiculous course, but that’s pretty much it. I don’t remember if I knew about this park with a great view before I started scheming over 100 Miles of Nowhere or not.
Great view, eh? (Downtown SF, the Bay Bridge, and Treasure Island, for those of you not from around here.) I love infrastructure: bridges, railroads, transmission lines, ports. This has the additional historical footnote of being the westernmost point on the Union Pacific Railroad.
Plus, the water link from one end of the park to the other would be my hook to get my kayaking boyfriend to participate. First I thought we would both bike and kayak, but the number of transitions seemed overwhelming. So we agreed that he would kayak and I would bicycle. Flat water kayaking for a whitewater kayaker is basically like being on rollers in a basement for a mountain biker.
Because kayaking is much slower than bicycling, we decided it would be a parallel relay event. (This is probably a concept I’ve invented. Which hopefully means we’ve placed first in our division: Coed Simultaneous Bike and Kayak Relay, Oakland CA.) The bicycle leg was 80 miles, and the kayaking leg was 20 miles, back and forth across the narrow section of the park horseshoe.
I’ve included the Strava screen for the ride. Started from the house, a bunch of times around the park, and a deviation for a sausage at Rosamunde’s before heading home to realize an extra loop around the block was needed to hit 80 miles.
The day was great: sunny, not too hot or windy, lots of birds (pelicans, blue herons, white egrets, avocets, gulls by the dozens and Canada geese by the hundreds). My boyfriend, T, got the best view of a pelican diving for a fish just ten feet off his kayak. Next time we do this, I’ll be getting a kayak leg, too. Getting hissed at by Canada geese multiple times just doesn’t have the same cachet.
However, if you are familiar with Arrested Development, you’ll understand why I was concerned for his well-being after seeing a harbor seal early on in the day, but it kept its distance. Sand sharks and bat rays were also hanging around.
I have done one other 100 Miles Of Nowhere, a few years ago with a friend doing loops of Golden Gate Park. One of the interesting things about spending all day in a park is seeing the ebb and flow of various parts of the community interacting (and operating completely separately in different areas), and generally all having a good time.
The Middle Harbor Shoreline park also has the benefit of being along the shipping channel. One of the bike legs looked out at multiple sailboats heading out the morning, a huge container ship coming into port later that day, and at the end, a large Coast Guard ship, probably heading up out of the Gate and up the coast. I can’t describe the effect of seeing these different sized vessels gliding by, apparently crossing my path at the end of the bike path.
We ended up taking about 8 hours to do the ride/paddle, and Strava shows me with 6 hours and 40 minutes of rolling time.
PS: FYI, Fatty, you’ve created another Strava user. I was wondering if I needed to bring out my long unused GPS device to track the ride, and of course thought about iPhone apps. When I saw Strava on the list of bike tracking apps, I immediately chose it. And ended up with a couple of trophies by the end of the day for the competitive Oakland Middle Harbor area. Also, I was impressed that Strava didn’t destroy my battery. I managed to get through all 8 hours with battery left over. As good or better than my purpose-built GPS device. Of course, most of the time, the screen was off. I’m just disappointed I didn’t know how excellent (and easy-to-use) Strava was for my first real mountain bike ride last weekend in Pennsylvania.
Comments (11)
06.4.2013 | 3:17 pm
By Doug Bolling
I have “raced” the 100 MoN for the past 3 years. In fact, my first century ride ever was my first 100 MoN ride. Things are a little different for me this year. I am training for a “little” mtb race in Colorado in August [That would be the Leadville 100 - FC] and have a tune-up race next week. So I was trying to figure out how to fit the 100 MoN into my training schedule.
Looking at my training calendar I saw that I had a 5 hour ride on tap Sunday June 2. Perfect, except how to get 100 miles in 5 hours AND accomplish my training goals?
So I thought, and thought, and thought some more.
Then it struck…..a timed crit…..on my mountain bike……riding the dirt road short lap around my block! It’s a 2.7 mile loop that takes about 11 minutes. There are three “hills” (maybe 30 ft elevation gain each). One is an attention-getter (12% grade) the other two are a little more mellow. And let’s just do six hours instead of 5. With the course and time set, my division? The Potsdam, Training for a Big Race, Mountain Bike, Timed Criterium.
The weather was calling for scattered thunderstorms, and I started the ride in a downpour. The dirt roads were muddy and soft. But the rain only lasted about 2 laps, then it stopped. And gradually the roads dried a little bit, and got a little firmer.
I settled back into the ride: crank/sprint up the kicker hill, “recover” down the backside, temp the rest of the way around.
One of the things I like about this event is that it is meditative. You can settle into it and through repetition lose yourself. Yeah, OK that’s definitely the half full metaphysical version. 32 laps around my block was definitely tedious. :)
Coreen and the kids came out periodically and cheered me on. They got me bottle refills, and 3 hours in, brought me a coke (Yumm, best mid ride drink ever!).
The weather held pretty good until about 4 hours into the ride (2 hours to go) when it rained hard again for about 20 minutes. All that nice firming up of the dirt road, gone. It became soft and muddy again.
After 6 hours the GPS said I did 86 miles, with a 14.4 mph average and a 4400 ft elevation gain. Oh, and I won my division (go figure).
My most memorable moment of the day: hitting a big snapping turtle. It’s turtle-mating season here and they are all over the place. They like to lay eggs next to the roads. The incident occurred during the initial downpour. I had a face full of spray — was cleaning it out — and when I looked up, there she was: directly in my path. I swerved and clipped her. She was fine (me too!), but it could have been very ugly.
Cars? Only was passed by one the entire six hours. I love living on a dirt country road.
Comments (20)
06.4.2013 | 10:11 am
100 Miles of Nowhere 2013
Having read @fatcyclist’s description of previous rides, I knew I could do something that proved I was a crazy bike-a-holic. Riding 100 miles on rollers or on a trainer was out of the question. Besides that’s been done. A favorite haunt of mine is Bear Creek Park in Houston. During the weekend it’s crowded, but weekdays I have the place to myself. Sullins Way is a .7 mile loop around a couple picnic shelters and a restroom.
Perfect, only 144 laps. I checked in at the office and they said, “Sure, knock yourself out.”
I took the bike out of the car, fired up the GoPro and without fanfare, set off. After the first lap I set the camera to take one picture every 10 seconds. After a couple hours the battery was done. During a later break I changed the battery. I have more than 1500 pictures of the ride.
Around miles 18 and 19 I saw a frog sunning on the roadside. It was there for three laps. On the fourth there was a large black bird carrying the frog away. A second bird was in hot pursuit.
A few laps later a four-foot dark brown snake slithered across the road.
A cycling friend, doing his regular morning training, caught me and pointed out my squeaking chain. (That’s all he noticed? ) He left and I continued circling.
At mile 25 I stopped for a banana and found a bottle of oil in my car. The sample of Purple Extreme was swag from a now forgotten ride. A couple hundred miles later the chain is still running silent.
Another diversion came when the Eagle Trace Walking Team arrived. At first they covered the entire road but soon spread out according to speed and alliances. Two leaders, a single chaser, two walking on the left, two on the right and three in the rear defining the term ‘sauntering along.’ At the end of their first lap the chaser caught the leaders and she stayed with them to the end. The group did two laps to my eight or so, then returned to their cars and left in a grand procession.
I returned to the solitary rounds.
Somewhere around mile 50, I ate this ride’s swag Honey Stinger. I considered the CR333 but trying something new on a long ride has caused me problems in the past. I’ll try it later.
Two riders joined for a lap and some chat. I mentioned the laps done and the laps yet to do. As we parted I said I would continue counter-clockwise screwing myself in the ground. They said I should reverse direction as I was upsetting the earth’s balance.
The next diversion was the trustees who regularly come to the park and do trimming and trash pickup.
Around mile 80 a guy started photographing a Ferrari. He’s been here previously with a Maserati. During my multiple laps he was shooting the car’s front, back, and side. He turned the car around and took more photos. A brief rain forced him to dry the car before taking more photos. At my mile 90 he left and I continued the circuitous route.
Round and round, the day was heating up and the wind made going south challenging.
Finally my RFLKT and Cyclemeter said the madness could stop. I did a solitary fist pump, put on my new 100 Miles of Nowhere tee shirt, packed up the bike, and drove to Starbucks for a vanilla latte. 100 miles, 6.5 hours, done and done.
Thanks @fatcyclist…I think
Frank @mondonico_rider
Comments (16)
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