100 Miles of Nowhere Race Report: Winner of the Mostly-True Division

11.16.2016 | 9:43 am

A Note from Fatty: I love Nick’s race report, and applaud his use of profanity as a metric for distance. I swear, my readers have completely outstripped me, creativity-wise.

A Mostly True Race Report
by Nick Charles

I’m not a cyclist. I’m a bike rider. I’m not even an athlete. My idea of “getting serious” about doing 3 marathons in 7 weeks was to switch from light cigarettes to vaping and to go from beer to fentanyl patches. But I know when November comes around, it’s time to do the 100 Miles to Nowhere.

There’s just one problem: I’m tired. And lazy. I’ve run a lot and the idea of riding 100 miles the weekend after the New York City Marathon when all I want to do is sleep and drink Wild Turkey 101 is just too daunting. So I asked if I could write a race report about the New York Marathon instead because I didn’t think I had it in me.

Fatty said “Sure! But make it funny… or else.”

So I ran the marathon in… well, who cares. I finished, got my medal, had my post race beers, and got back to the hotel. I sat down, poured myself 3 fingers of Blanton’s and started to write.

The words flowed from my fingers and eventually, I wrote 4500 words, discussing the expo, my amazing outfit, musings on Robert Moses’ vision of the city after I’ve explored his urban planning experiments on foot to why the human body is only able to eat so much energy gel before it goes on strike and funny race signs. After all, if you have a guy holding a big sign that says “I’m having an affair and want a divorce” you’re practically daring me to run up to you and scream “No! Don’t leave me! I can change!”

So I felt the afterglow of a chapter well written, hit send, and crawled into bed feeling smug at the talent of my writing. A few hours later, I was rudely awakened by a text message. My booze addled brain grabbed my phone and looked at the unknown number from the 801 area code.

“This is Fatty. What the H is this???”

I could tell he was really mad.

“Is this your idea of a race report? Why is it 70,000 words less than my race reports? How come you didn’t take photos of runners and give them nicknames? Why are there no graphs or schematics? How come it’s not in 10 parts? Why are there no selfies?”

I had to think of something, quick. I thought back to the good ol’ days of the 100MoN when Fatty did it on trainers while watching the HBO show Deadwood. At least I thought it was Fatty. Or Deadwood. So I suggested I do a Deadwood-related 100MoN. “Great idea. Even better save. Make it funny.”

While we were chatting, I decided to ask – “Hey, you’re a slender guy – why do you call yourself the Fat Cyclist anyway? I mean, I’m way fatter than you are (but equally handsome.)”

“u even irony bro?”

—

For those who don’t know, Deadwood was a show on HBO about a small businessman named Al who had to deal unwanted government intervention in the free marketplace in 1870s South Dakota and the hijinks that ensued.

The show also had the occasional line of salty language.

So on my flight home from the Big Apple, I had to come up with something. 100 miles is far, but I’m lazy. So I had this great plan: I would ride 100 miles, with the caveat that every time a profanity was used in the show, it was worth half a mile.

Which meant that two hundred workplace-inappropriate words would get get me my 100 miles. I figured that since watching TV on my road bike while on the actual road might lead to an accident on the road, I should do it indoors.

And since I wanted to ride while I eat a donut or 4, I’d better pick my gym’s indoor bike.

So I loaded up a few episodes and went to work. The recumbent bike allowed me to work as little as possible while I started riding with my notepad in hand, ready to tick away the miles. 90 or so minutes (and around 22 “indoor bike miles”) into the ride, I decided to stop and have a beer and see my progress.

Look at that: 50.5 miles* covered. I stopped to admire myself in the mirror because I was so fast. And handsome. After blowing myself some kisses, I hopped back on the bike.

After two episodes and around 110ish minutes, I was at 61.5 miles*. That’s 30 something miles* an hour. I’m amazed at how fast I am. Is this the sort of joy that Tour de France riders feel when they go downhill at lightning speed? Endorphins? I have them.

Damn I’m amazing.

Two hours into a ride is where the attention starts to go. Sure, my feet can pedal, but I start to drift. And even though I’m watching a great show, I’d rather be doing something else. I make for a lousy endurance athlete*. But I’m determined to finish this 100 miles*. For Al and Seth and Trixie and Mr. Wu and….

I mean for Fatty.

But I figured one more episode to go, and then I can go reward myself. But my buttocks aren’t meant to sit on a chair for more than 2 hours, and my wise idea to wear running shoes was making my arches cranky. So I kept on powering through and finished the third episode and was thinking I totally crushed my 100 Miles of Nowhere age group. I pulled out my notepad and looked: 99.5 miles*.

I WAS SHORT! AAAAH!!!!

Did I miscount? Can I even count? So so frustrated.

I needed a break. I also needed a cigarette. Man, that first taste of nicotine hits your lips and it feels amazing. Wait. I was supposed to finish my 100 miles*! And where did my pants go?

I went back to my apartment, loaded up another episode of Deadwood, and went back upstairs to the gym. Someone else had taken my* bike, so I had to use one of those fancy bikes that people use for spinning class. It intimidated me. It didn’t even have a martini glass holder. I felt like a caveman kicking a luxury automobile. This was all foreign to me.

I strapped my feet in and fast forwarded through the credits — don’t got no time for titles! Give me profanity so I can finish! And less than a minute after episode 4’s credits, I got my 200th profanity. I DID IT! I got 100 miles*! Now it’s time to celebrate.

Total riding time? 170 minutes and 28-ish bike miles. But 100 Deadwood miles. But I was missing something. Something that would complete a proper Fat Cyclist Race Report(tm). I’m no Tolstoy like Elden, but I had an idea:

A pie chart.

See you in 2017.