The cycling equivalent of my “Runs I’ve Done” series, these posts will be recaps of slightly faster-moving journeys that I’ve taken on two wheels. You probably could have figured that out without me writing any of this. But I’m a professional.
I hate round numbers. It’s the contrarian in me. Sure, our math and currency systems are all set in Base 10, but do we really need to click the gas pump handle until we hit exactly $36? Is there anything to be gained (perpetuated neuroticism withstanding) by moving the TV volume to 20 instead of 19? I used to add random cent values onto my credit card tips to prove to myself that I wasn’t a sheep.
There was no inherent value, as far as I could see, to a “century ride,” the common term for cycling 100 miles or further in a single day. It honestly wasn’t something I really even thought about. I knew that my individual high for a day was somewhere around 70 miles, and I would like to best that sometime in the near future, but 100 didn’t mean shit.
But…
One concept that does mean quite a bit to me is physical insanity, chasing lofty goals for the hell of it and trying not to go nuts in the process. When I stumbled across the 100 Miles of Nowhere Acewood Amble, I didn’t really have a choice.
Ride a ~1.2-mile loop on the east side of Madison in a clockwise direction, over and over, until you reach 100 miles. Pay what you want to enter. The money goes to local trans rights organizations. You might get some free snacks. That’s it.
It was a wonderfully arbitrary and mildly punk idea. Barely structured. Bring your own fanfare. Push yourself for a good cause but also the best cause, yourself.
So while I had no burning desire to ride exactly 100 miles, I definitely had one to do something so pointlessly invaluable. Let’s see where going nowhere could take me.
The event was pitched as 84 laps. With the one large hill, 6 minutes felt like a conservative estimate per lap. That equates to 504 minutes of riding, or just about 8.5 hours. The “cutoff” was 10 hours, though none of the 12 participants were going to stop you. It was going to be intensely personal. Share some treats and idle conversation but get acquainted with yourself. How many times can you see the same tree before wondering just what in the hell you’re actually doing?
The weather looked encouraging. Knock on wood, I may have turned a corner with my precipitation curse. Moderate mid-September temps with cloud cover to prevent scorching exposure. Just a touch of breeze. It was actually worth waking up at 6am for - the highest of compliments.
Accompanying me - Nikayla would be doing the 50-mile option, also a high-water mark for her. So the real loneliness wouldn’t set in until the second half, right about when the legs want to give up and the brain craves something (ANYTHING) else.
After some bleary-eyed pleasantries, we all set off, and the elevation had no time to waste, presenting itself almost immediately. The near flatness of the entire rest of the course combined with a little long division, tells me “that hill” was about 30 feet tall. That doesn’t sound like much. In truth, it isn’t. But in about a tenth of a mile, it’s no joke, particularly the 70th time in a row.
Hell, I can just share the stats right here. Really blew it with that one deviation I took for the sake of variation…
…the start/finish line was on the right side of the loop, where the park meets the road. “That hill” was the dead vertical block encountered after two turns going in a clockwise direction.
Within ten laps, it was the bane of our existence. It came up often while passing or being passed. As in “boy, that hill is no joke” and “I’m gonna get sick of that hill fast.” It bonded us, a burning hatred of “that hill.” It also got us through by being the world’s slowest metronome.
Lap progress was measured by being pre-hill or post-hill. Any given moment was simply some amount of distance or time away from “that hill.” One-third of the way through, I wasn’t counting down laps remaining but rather “how many more times I have to go up that fucking hill.”
As life tends to deliver, the 25 or so grueling seconds of climbing “that hill” were rewarded with the most enjoyable five of speeding down the other side that led immediately to a SHARP right turn, killing most of the momentum and unbridled joy we had earned. My goal became harnessing that joy.
The turn also involved a transition from road to bike path, complete with an uneven concrete seam, of course. My first instinct was to take it as close to full speed as possible. This jarred the frame of both my bike and me, quickly necessitating a new strategy. I needed to refine my line.
Naturally, there was no backtracking. Every six minutes or so, after grinding my way up “that hill” and exalting in the downward relief, I had to focus all my energy on hitting what appeared to be the smoothest sliver. After zeroing that in, it became a challenge of how far I could coast without pedaling through the next stretch, using only my momentum. This entertained me for most of the day.
Nikayla took a few more breaks than I did. Thus, I was a few laps past halfway when she finished and departed for a time. The heat was starting to hit, but the clouds thankfully remained.
This was the most difficult stretch of the day. Alone and beginning to feel the dehydration, I made more frequent stops, inhaling whatever calories were around. I tried some community Skratch nutrition powder, and it seemed to do its job - something to note to myself. My body was largely holding up.
Though 84 laps was pitched, the event was 100 miles, and by passing much of the time with mental math, I realized fairly early on that it wouldn’t be quite 84 laps. I began estimating 82 without much precision, as each lap was clocking in closer to 1.25 miles. Another silly game arose.
At the end of all this, regardless of where I was when I hit 100, I was to meet my ride at the start/finish. I had to work at 5:00. By the time I hit 80 miles, I was not interested in riding any extra. I wanted to finish at the finish. More mental math, and soon I was swerving back and forth across the street as I rode in order to tack on the hundredths of miles necessary for me to hit the necessary mark at or near where I wanted to.
It didn’t really work, but in retrospect it was precisely what I needed to keep my focus locked in on the task at hand. The 1.2 miles in pleasant surroundings with zero traffic was just about a perfect setting for this type of endeavor. Much more tolerable than the 0.2 miles the organizer once rode 500 times in a row, years prior. At no point did my brain start struggling like I thought it might. I think this was thanks in part to my mini-games.
At the end, there was no crowd cheering, just one partner and two confused dogs with Gatorade and snacks, the way I prefer. I was the day’s second 100-mile finisher.
I surreptitiously clamed a trophy and hit the road while my fellow riders continued their madness. Work waits for no one.
Nothing went wrong. I did what I set out to do. Within a few hours of feeling remarkably good, my mind had turned to what more I had in me. That was too easy. There really is no winning.
Nothing inside of me wanted to bike exactly 100 miles, and I’m so glad I did. This year we’ll see what’s next.
Weekly Choss
Pablo Torre also ran a recent podcast episode on this topic, but pick-up basketball is such a sacred place. Here’s an amazing video about a special group of friends who have been doing it for a few years…
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the effects that technology is having on my brain/life and what I need to do to curb the negatives. This is a short piece written in 2010 that has only gotten more prescient since. If you’re too busy to read the entire thing, here’s my favorite excerpt “Already someone trying to live well would seem eccentrically abstemious in most of the US. That phenomenon is only going to become more pronounced. You can probably take it as a rule of thumb from now on that if people don't think you're weird, you're living badly.”
I’ve been angrily confronted by strangers about trivial nonsense more times in the past year than the rest of my life in total. I’m not sure if all of our social skills are decimated from COVID, the internet has made us more volatile, or what it is exactly. But I was cleaning out my email inbox the other day and came across this piece that I saved from Brendan at Semi-Rad, and I really think it sums up so well the attitude I want to have. Even if somebody is doing something that you don’t agree with, there’s a way to communicate that with kindness. AND it encourages people to listen better. Idk when we all forgot that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
Snow sports aren’t really even my thing, but there’s something magic about the energy that these ladies bring to the mountains. And the cinematography ain’t half bad either…
Carve your own lines, people.