I did finish today’s 100 miles of nowhere today and I think I locked up the “cul-de-sac” division. Precisely it was on two cul-de-sacs. Check out the GPS map. You can even see where I took off after my dog ran out the front door.
I get all my maps from www.bimactive.com, which uses the GPS in my phone so it’s not as nice as a Garmin. It tries to smooth it to the road and it doesn’t recognize the roundabout nature of a cul-de-sac. This image shows 15 miles but my odometer (I swear, I only used one magnet) showed 27.
I did about a mile and a half all in the one circle of the cul-de-sac. It finally got to be too much for me, but for the GPS smoothing algorithm (OK, sorry if that math-speak gives you tired-head) errr, the way the phone sees GPS, the circle was too small. It interpreted it all as noise. So I got one dot.
One solitary dot for all that work. Total ride to nowhere. Effort-but-no-achievement-goodness.
We also had a bake sale. The girls made apple bread muffins and sugar cookies. I think we made close to $50 and we still have some left.
I’ll also be riding another century next week with Will and his group out at the velodrome. I’ll be on a trainer since I’m not track certified. Maybe I’ll try out my son’s rollers. Riding a century to fight cancer is like good food. If it’s worth eating, it’s worth getting seconds. So maybe I’ve locked up the “involving cute girl-children to sell overpriced carbs” division and am on the fast track to ace everyone else out in the “so fat he needs to do two centuries” division.
I ended up taking about 8 hours and 18 minutes because you just can’t go fast when all you’re doing is turning. My max speed was about 15 and change.
Someone told me on FB that I’m an animal for doing this as my 1st century ever. I told them, of course, a barnyard animal. And I ride like one, dumb and strong. I also climb like a mother. Well, more like a grandmother.
Gotta sleep. I’m officiating some real races tomorrow and I have to be there, in the shadow of the velodrome, at 7:15 tomorrow.
Leroy: How I Dominated the Brooklyn 100 Miles of Nowhere
The course: The three and a third mile loop around Prospect Park in Brooklyn, New York.
The strategy: My one chance for victory was to break away at the outset and stay in front for the entire ride.
The secret weapon: I chose the starting time and told no one.
I arrived early to study the course:
Being first to the rest areas more than made up for leaving lesser cyclists to draft each other:
Next year, however, I will re-think my strategy of drinking all four bottles of Carbo-Rocket as a pre-race breakfast:
The feed zones along the course were well-stocked, even though valuable seconds were lost fumbling for correct change:
It takes serious bike handling skills to keep the mustard on a Brooklyn energy bar while maintaining a proper cadence:
After dominating the field, the reception at the podium was a little anti-climatic:
I‘m sure the crowd gathered by the time the rest of the riders arrived. But I had to leave to track down the barbecue I smelled on an earlier lap.
Philly Jen (Team Fatty Philly Co-Captain): 100 Miles of Junk Food
We rode in Dave’s living room, through the following scenery:
36th Chamber of Shaolin, a 1978 martial arts classic with some of the best training sequences ever committed to film.
I swapped out my saddle sometime after the first couple of hours, and spent a little time riding on Dave’s recumbent. Barcelona match + ‘bent + trainer = BarcaLounger.
I also wore my special argyle socks so I would match the new water bottles (go Slipstream!).
Doward H: Late Entry Division
I’ve been kicking myself for weeks that I missed signing up for the 100 Miles to Nowhere . . . and then I remembered that I almost never actually pre-register for any of the rides I do. As any chronic-registration-procrastinator knows: we just pay the fee and forego the schwag.
So I woke up this morning and decided that I would donate the 75-bucks to the Fatty Livestrong Challenge page and do the 100 Miles to Nowhere anyways. My chosen course was a 1/3 mile bike track located on the Rice University campus, but that track was closed, so I instead headed to the Braeswood Bayou trail, which is a roughly 28 mile loop and very flat except for a few ramps that descend/ascend to the upper/lower trails. My route, which was five feet wide, was shared by walkers, joggers, roller-bladers and the like. According the Italian media, a rider strike was organized by none other than Lance Armstrong over these crowded conditions (apparently one of those times he dropped back to get Levi water bottles, he dropped WAY back to Texas). The ride went on anyways.
Now, I realize that a 28 mile loop is a bit of a cheat, but rest assured I was punished. Around mile 70 it started raining (which was nice on a hot day), but around mile 80 the thunder and lightning began (which drove me to cover). I spent a couple of long rain delays hiding in bus booths . . .
The best part of the 100 Miles of Nowhere: lunch was at home where my wife fed me all my favorite foods and I got to use my own bathroom instead of a port-a-john or a gas station restroom.
This event was a brilliant idea. I’m glad I decided to take part even if I missed the actual “registration.” I rode today thinking of my grandmother who died a month ago after complication from metastasized cancer and for Dr. Bill Wilson, my friend and mentor, who passed away in January after a very short fight with pancreatic cancer. I also, of course, thought of Susan and your family, as well. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to spend quite some time on the bike thinking of them (6 hours 6 minutes in fact – we weren’t exactly pushing the pace!).
WIN SUSAN! and LiveStrong!
Lorie F: “Elvis is My Copilot” Division
Due to rain this morning in good old Missouri, my solo ride (with Elvis of course) was changed slightly as my husband joined me on the trainer to ride. I’m sure it was the lure of the Elvis movie (“Viva Las Vegas”!!) and not just that his ride was cancelled. We decided to do this ride as a team, each being sure to ride their 33.3333333 miles.
Elvis started out early this morning, getting his miles done first thing. Notice that he’s even color coordinated with my bike.
I then hopped on and rode throughout “Viva”, with Elvis on the handlebars/stem in aero position. I think he really just wanted a good view of the big screen tv and himself, of course, in all his glory. He also wanted to claim a metric because, well, he’s the King!
The ride was completed by my husband John who, after having some stomach issues (could it be the Elvis movie or the fact that he had some chocolate while on the bike??), finished strong.
All in all, I know that John and I rode each rode around 2 hours, not sure what Elvis did…….
Thanks for a great idea! It’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time and all for a great cause!
I have chosen to commission two well-known local artists to create the winners’ certificates for the 100 Miles of Nowhere, and am pleased to unveil the blank versions here:
Version 1:
Version 2:
To get your personalized winner’s certificate (I plan to pay my 13-year-old $0.25 for each certificate, letting him learn a little about Photoshop and earn some money at the same time), send me an e-mail with the name you want on the certificate, the division in which you won, and your finishing time (i.e., how long the race took, not what time you finished it).
I — or rather, my son, acting as a proxy for me — will email you back your certificate as a ready-to-print PDF. I recommend printing it on very, very expensive paper, triple-matting it, framing it at a custom frame shop, using their very most expensive materials and museum-quality glass, and then hanging it in a prominent place.
Like in your garage.
And now, here are your stories from the day.
Doug: Recumbent Exercise Bike in His Own House Division
I used an indoor, recumbent exercise bike that’s got a built in computer for “distance”, “speed”, heart rate, cadence and power. I didn’t bother to try and use my Garmin 305… I would have only been able to record the HR information anyway.
I started sometime after work and getting things set up a bit. I completed it all, just after 1 AM the next morning. Here’s some of the results reported:
Elapsed time riding: 375 minutes (6.25 hours) — does not include breaks
Miles: 100.0
Average speed: 16.1 mph
Average cadence (estimated): around 90
Calories: 2529 kcal
I didn’t put in too hard of an effort, as this machine really puts a lot of stress on my knees. Putting higher resistance levels, especially for long periods of time, feels like climbing a super steep hill in a big chain ring for me, and I wasn’t going to do that for 6+ hours. I had to take breaks every 30 minutes or so and get up and walk around for a minute or two. Every hour, I mixed up a new bottle of CarboRocket to keep hydrated, and for two of my hourly breaks sometime in the middle, I took a bit of a longer break to get some solid food.
I did pretty good for a couple of hours, watching some DVDs and switching to the Universal Sports broadcast of the Giro. Toward the end, I kept questioning “why am I doing this”, but kept on going. It was pretty anti-climatic when the miles went from “99.9″ to “0.0″. I was kind of hoping for a kill screen or something like that. But, that has been my longest ride ever (indoors and out), by far. My knees and quads were killing by the end, but were fine the next day.
But, yeah, I did 100 miles, and I went nowhere.
Chris and Andy: Manchester or Possibly all of New Hampshire Division
Chris and Andy went head-to-head in their garage, using no resistence, massive gearing, and watching Revenge of the Nerds.
This was my first century attempt of my life. I’ve only been riding since November and only consistently since February. My wife and I live in Qatar where we teach elementary school. When I heard of this event, I had no choice but to sign up. My mother-in-law was diagnosed with lung cancer a couple of months ago and it’s been tough being half way around the world.
I decided to do my ride outside as I don’t have a trainer or rollers here. I picked a stretch of road that we ride often at the Losail International Circuit where they hold Moto GP races. The track has some access roads around it that are well lit and very low traffic so a lot of area cyclists frequent it there and have group rides to do laps after dark. I took one stretch of it and rode it roundabout to roundabout, 50 times.
Alarm went off at 1:45 AM and I popped up and made some oatmeal. Grabbed the breakfast burrito my wife had whipped up the night before (what a great domestique!), filled the cooler with ice and headed out the door. Got to the course at about 2:45 and wanted to be on the bike by 3:00.
There was the normal jitters before an event. Am I ready for this? Will I embarrass myself? Will I get smoked by a guy on a knobby tired singlespeed? Will someone be wearing the same jersey as me? As luck would have it, I was the fittest, best looking rider with the best bike at the race, but not too nice a bike that I seemed silly to be on it and be so fat. It was all right in the sweetspot.
I put the iPod on, fired up my favorite podcasts and hit the road. First pedal stroke at 2:58 AM, right on schedule. I rode as long as my first bottle held out and stopped at the car to refill. Checked the computer, 42 km (26 miles) in and feeling really good. Light was starting to crack over the horizon and my pace was higher than I expected.
Got back on the bike and rode another 20 km when my wife and a couple of friends on the way to the airport in Doha stopped by to say hi at 5:30. My wife, LIndsay, stayed around for the rest of the ride handling all the domestique duties. She was awesome and I couldn’t have done so well without her. Got a few rolling bottle exchanges, cleaning the sunglasses, keeping the food coming.
Rolled on to the 100 km mark and took a break for some food and hydration. The quads were definitely getting a little sluggish at this point. If I stood too long I’d get some cramping. Tried to drink more water and calm them down, but what are you going to do?
The sun was still coming up and making the day quite a bit hotter. It was getting into the 38 C (100 F) area and I was trying to get done as fast as I could. Another cyclist showed up, a triathlete and he got in and rode a few laps after we offered him some water from the cooler and explained what the hell we were doing out there. 135 km down.
25 km to go and I was feeling good that I was going to finish and quicker than I had originally thought. I was counting down the laps and my rear was getting more and more sore (longest time I’ve been in the saddle and my DZ Nuts didn’t get to me obviously before the race). The last few laps I definitely was thinking about the people this event would help, my mother-in-law, my uncle, my grandfather I never met, my wife and her sisters who have a genetic condition predisposing them to colon cancer, Susan. The thought of everyone else riding this ridiculous and pointless event for such purpose pushed me on and I raised my fist as my odometer rolled over 100 miles. I limped in to where my wife and two friends were waiting, cheering me in.
We headed home as the mercury climbed to 42 C (108 F) and fired up the grill for some celebratory burgers and dogs.
Finishing time: 9:30 AM
Final Distance: 161.97 km (100.64 miles)
Saddle time: 5:39:51
Average Speed: 28.5 kmh (17.7 mph)
Max Speed: 41.7 kmh (25.9 mph)
Joe R: Freewheel Rumble on Ridgewood
Just finished the Freewheel Rumble on Ridgewood against former TdF namesake Neil Stephens. On the line was the “Liege Jaune” (Yellow Cork), which would decorate the Champion’s handlebar for the next few months.
The setup was 2 stationary trainers, without resistance, in my garage, while watching Hell on Wheels and Breaking Away. To add some difficulty to the event, I placed a box fan up front to create a bit of a headwind.
Unfortunately, I was not up to the challenge and was beaten to the finish by nearly 30 minutes! My first thought was, “he must be on something” but I didn’t have any evidence.
After having a short conversation with my opponent I was shocked to discover that he had not paid to participate in the event. He was, in fact, a bandit. I don’t know about you, but from where I come from, they hang people for less.
After consulting with a course official (my beagle, Rocky), Neil was disqualified and I was declared the Champion! I’ve never been prouder of myself or my ability to use the “rules” to my advantage. I can’t wait to defend my title next year!
Mikeonhisbike and Jenny-Jenny: Marysville, WA Division
Here’s a picture of Mikeonhisbike and Jenny-Jenny at the start of our ride this morning. 24 is in the background on the TV.
We’ve never seen 24 before so we borrowed the first season from a neighbor. I agree with you, it made for some great trainer TV watching. Thanks for putting this event together, although it was tortuous at times it was a lot of fun and a heck of a challenge. By the way, Mike won the Marysville WA division of the race.
More Race Reports Soon…
My copy-and-paste fingers are getting tired. I’ll post more race reports later today.
Noodle just sent in a video of her 100 Miles of Nowhere, which definitively answers the question, “What would happen if someone who knows what she’s doing with video documented her 100 Miles of Nowhere?”
I demand you watch this, right now:
That was so awesome. Noodle, thanks for taking the time to make that. Obviously, that took some work.
Almost from the beginning of Kenny’s 2009 Ride Around White Rim in One Day (RAWROD), I knew I’d be riding by myself a lot. After all, people rode away from me like they were trying to get away from me.
Except I knew they weren’t trying to get away from me (at least, I think not). I just couldn’t hang with their slowest acceptable pace. Nothing personal. I’ve been on that side of this coin.
And you know, there are worse things than riding alone on the White Rim: the biggest-feeling, most crazily sculpted place I’ve ever been.
I shall enumerate some of those things shortly.
Heading Out Loading up the truck for a weekend riding with friends shouldn’t be a big deal. But for me, it was. My sister Kellene was in town to take care of my family, and so when Dug, Rick Sunderlage (not his real name) and Brad pulled up to my house to start loading their bikes and gear into the bikemobile, I briefly swooned.
I was on a roadtrip with my friends — a perfectly normal thing a couple years ago, but right now, a really big deal.
The adventure was beginning.
Oh, and also, I just love the fact that my bikemobile holds four people, our bikes and camping gear for a weekend of riding, comfortably and easily. It makes me feel all smug about my purchase decision.
Driving toward Moab, I had the weird, nonsensical reaction I always do when heading toward a big event like RAWROD or Leadville: every time I passed (or was passed by) another vehicle with mountain bikes, I’d wonder if they were headed toward the same destination. I’d look at the bikes, searching for clues. A heavy downhill rig? Probably not riding the White Rim. A 29″ hardtail singlespeed? I’d bet money they were headed to the White Rim, and furthermore riding with our group.
Essential Traditions
Anytime we head out to Moab, we stop at the Chevron gas station in Wellington, Utah. For me, there’s an important reason why: this is where I buy my food for the long ride.
You see, there’s a Subway sandwich place in the gas station, and I always buy a footlong coldcut combo on white with swiss cheese there. No veggies, no dressings. Just meat and cheese, and then I throw a handful of mayo and mustard packets into the bag.
And I am always so happy to have that sandwich the following day on the ride.
That tradition, of course, is trivial. The tradition that is not trivial, however, is grilling brats the night before the ride.
I believe that Kenny and I could do this competitively and come out pretty well. He brings the bread and grill, I brought the brats, onions, pot, gas stove, and Worcestershire sauce. We scavenge for beer.
I boil the brats in my beer, onion and worcestershire stew, then Kenny grills them over the glowing coals of a wood fire. Then he serves them up with spicy brown mustard on his justifiably famous homemade bread.
Even as I type this, my sense of longing grows.
Every time we prepare brats, some people are at first wary, wondering why we would be making such a fuss over “hot dogs.” These people, of course, have no idea what they are talking about. And once they’ve had a brat, everyone seems to see the light.
Those bottles are seriously my favorite bottles, ever. Easy to drink from, easy to clean, and they don’t leak or dribble.
It was a perfect night for eating and relaxing around a campfire with a bunch of friends: so warm that I didn’t even need to get out a jacket.
Oh, and it was Mark’s birthday, so he brought cake. I ate a third of it. Not sure how the other 70+ people split the other 2/3 of it. Someone suggested we sing happy birthday, which we all happily failed to do.
Then it was off to bed with an ambien giving me a better-than-fighting chance of sleep. For some reason, I do not recall what I said after taking that ambien, but I do recall that it was all very witty and smart.
The Beginning And here we are, finally, at the beginning of the ride. I am so long-winded.
Anyway, as I mentioned a long time ago, at the beginning of this story, right from the beginning everyone was riding away from me. You can look at the video I posted yesterday to see what I mean. There we are, all together at the beginning, then a quick jump cut, and there everyone is at a distant point near the horizon.
And then, of course, are all the shots you’ll see in the video of people passing me, with virtually no shots of me passing them back. There are reasons for that, including:
I am fat
I am out of shape
I was still fighting a cold
Anyway, even if I was a fat, sick slob, I was at least comfortable, due in part to the very mild weather.
And due in another part to my subcutaneous layer of blubber.
Regardless, I was warm enough that I started the ride wearing shorts and short sleeves. And why not? Everyone knows that White Rim becomes searingly hot by 10am this time of year.
So naturally I didn’t put my long sleeve jersey, arm warmers, vest, or jacket in my sag wagon bag.
Why would I?
Shaferand Beyond As people passed me for the first 20 miles or so, I began to wonder: at what point would people stop passing me? It turns out, they’d stop passing me about the time I ran out of people to be passed by.
Which makes sense, when you think about it.
So I dropped down Shafer, an intense descent switching back over and over alongside the face of a cliff. Every time I ride down this, I wonder: how did people build a road into this cliff? It just doesn’t seem possible.
After a forever-long descent — taking the corners ever so carefully — I reached the bottom, where people would continue to catch me, ask how Susan is doing, and then ride away.
Once you make that initial descent, you’re in what amounts to the bottom of a giant basin for most of the day. Sure, there are climbs, but there are also giant sections that are so long and flat and straight that you can see the jeep road come to a point on the horizon. Combine that with the outlandish landscape of cliffs and spires and arches and you can’t help but feel like this must be the place where they film the Roadrunner cartoons.
I rode along, happy with the niceness of the day — windy to be sure, but no big deal — and the chance to be alone with my thoughts. My thoughts, by the way, were usually along the lines of: “I wonder why chocolate is so delicious?”
You must admit, it’s an intriguing question.
I got to Musselman Arch feeling good. I — for the first time ever — walked across the arch, and then, as I turned and watched — Kenny did a handstand on it.
I knew right then that would be my closing shot in my RAWROD video.
On to Whitecrack Figuring I had enough video for a while, I swapped out my helmetcam rig and put on a lighter helmet.
Ahhhhh.
Dug — who, like everyone else, had pulled away from me at the beginning of the ride and was waiting for me at Musselman Arch — said he’d ride with me for a while.
Yes, Dug had made a decision to slow down enough to let me ride with him. I am not going to eat again until I have lost thirty pounds.
As we rode, the wind started picking up: a headwind, naturally. Which is not unusual on White Rim. It’s a big big area and is almost always windy in one direction or another.
What’s weird about gusty wind in the desert is that you can see when you’re about to get a blast, because you can see the wall of sand approaching. It usually gives you just enough time to duck your head so it doesn’t hit you full in the face.
As if that’s going to change anything.
Lisa R — a former neighbor and longtime friend — caught up with us and she and I started talking about our kids.
Dug got bored and shot off the front.
Then after a while, Lisa couldn’t hold my pace anymore…and she shot off the front, too.
A pattern was beginning to emerge.
I pulled into Whitecrack, the next regrouping spot for everyone. It was getting windier and windier, with gusts so strong they would almost stall me out.
“You’re looking strong, Nelson!” someone shouted, encouragingly. Which made me think, right then and there, that it is never a good idea to say “You’re looking strong” to anyone. Those who are strong know they are strong. Those of us who are weak and pitiful know it too. So the “Looking strong” schtick serves either as unnecessary confirmation or (in my case) cruel mockery.
[Note to person who said "Looking strong, Nelson:" Sorry I slashed your tires.]
And then it began to rain. Just a little. Then a lot. Then it would stop. Then it would start again.
Standing in my damp shorts and short-sleeved shirt, I began to see how it might have been wise to pack some extra clothes.
At which point Dug loaned me a spare short-sleeve jersey and his knee warmers — which worked just fine as arm warmers, thanks. So now I’m conflicted: should I hate Dug for being faster than I, or be grateful to him for saving me from hypothermia?
What a tough ethical dilemma.
Luckily, I would have plenty of time while riding by myself for hours in hard gusting headwinds without anyone to take a turn in front and possibly give me a break to consider it.
Murphy’s Hogback After a while, the White Rim starts to blend together for me. Did I see this crazy sandstone spire before or after one particular eternal stretch of sandy road? I can’t remember.
But I never forget Murphy’s Hogback. It’s a devil of a climb.
And, I’m quite pleased to say, I climbed a surprising amount of it. Because I have a little secret: while I am as fat as a walrus right now, my legs are actually really strong, and I have the power to blunt-force row my way up a steep pitch.
And then, on Murphy’s, we regrouped for the traditional group photo shot.
No, wait a second. That’s what we were planning on doing, before the torrential rain convinced everyone that what they’d really like to be doing is getting back on their bikes to warm up and finish this blasted ride through rain, cold, and sandblasting wind.
As I rode in these conditions, I confess: I was not having much fun.
With the weather so bad, I didn’t really want to film, and for a while, I didn’t. But then it occurred to me: this is exactly the time I should be filming. So when the sag wagon truck came by, I grabbed my helmet cam and switched it on, leaving it on for pretty much the rest of the day (an 8gb card will hold about 6 hours of film, waaaaaay more than any sane person will want to collect on a given day).
Besides, the non-ventilated helmet was warmer.
Let’s Finish This The more time you spend in the saddle, the more images blur together.
There was a lot of squinting into dust storms. There was Hardscrabble Hill: an agonizing push that I simply did not have even close to enough power to climb without some walking. And then some coasting. There was fishtailing in deep sand as Kenny took pity on me and rode for several miles with me.
And then, finally, there’s Horsethief Trail.
It does not blur together with anything.
I both dread and love Horsethief Trail. I know that it’s going to hurt. And this particular time, I didn’t even know if I was too weak and fat to do the climb without resting.
But on the other hand, this climb is majestic. You climb a cliff. On your bike.
Oh, and I love the pain of this climb. It’s a quiet, persistent rumbling pain, and while you’re doing this climb, there’s nothing else in the world. And really, how often do you get to have that kind of solitude and feel that kind of determination, while you are climbing a cliff on your bike?
Mark and I rode it together, trading turns being in front (but he finished ahead of me, which is what counts). He’s a good guy to do a hard climb with.
And after that, you’re done. You’ve just ridden a hundred miles over impossibly grand country, and you’re somehow back where you started. I’m sure people with a sense of direction see how that’s possible, but I don’t have a head for maps and am always boggled at how this huge long straight ride turned out to actually be a loop.
“What?” I want to ask. “Did we ride all the way around the world or something?”
Last weekend, I put on my helmetcam and taped hours and hours and hours of video as 70 or so of my close personal friends and I rode around in the desert.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell the story in words.
Today, though, I’d like to present one of the hardest days of riding I’ve ever had, in the form of a 9:24 video.
