We were on the second day of The Core Team Fall Moab (Fiscal 2016), Twentieth Anniversary Edition, and I was splitting my time between complaining about the trail and suffering in silence, which is even worse than complaining.
Yeah. I was that guy.
How had this happened?
Well, that’s easy. We were on a trail that was way too technical for me (which I had known before we had embarked on this ride), so I was walking about 70% of this ride-in-sarcasm-quotes.
Sure, I had tried to solve the problem before it began. Indeed, I had, in the spirit of proactiveness, proposed a variation on the ride that is more suited to me. One with more climbing and conversational riding, and with fewer twenty-foot drops down the Cliff Walls of Death.
I had been summarily overruled: “Sure, ride whatever you want, but this is what we’re doing.”
I capitulated. And as a result, I had endo’d four times during the day, along with two other crashes.
But hey, at least I was with my friends — many of whom I’ve now been riding with for twenty years, more or less. And I had to admit (except when I was being grumpily petulant) that’s pretty awesome.
And since there was no possible way I was going to be doing these Monster Drops of Doom, I could at least be the guy who took pictures and the occasional video.
Which I did. Sometimes with good results (and sometimes with no results at all, which I’ll explain later).
I shall now show you some of those pictures and videos, along with appropriate commentary.
How It Started
If there’s a center to the core team, it’s Bobby G Bringhurst.
The day before the drive to Moab, I picked him up at the airport (he lives in Seattle), and we went to Racer’s, where he picked up his Gary Fisher Rig, a fully-rigid steel singlespeed.
“You should know,” I told him, “that in the past year or so, we’ve pretty much all independently flipped the switch: we’re riding SRAM one-by-eleven drivetrains. All of us have moved to front suspension, and many of us have moved to full suspension.”
If there’s ever been a certain sign of aging, that was definitely it.
Luckily for Bob, I have a couple bikes and am, more or less, the exact same height as he is. Which meant Bob would have the option of riding a fair number of geared bikes, all of which had front suspension, and one of which had full suspension.
We loaded several bikes onto the Bikemobile, picked Dug up, and headed to Moab.
Yes, the Bikemobile (now eight years old), as currently outfitted, can easily carry six bikes (without destroying any of them if I accidentally pull into a garage).
Dug brought a giant batch of chocolate chip cookies he had just made. True fact: Everyone who has ever tried them acknowledges that Dug makes the best chocolate chip cookies in the world.
I ate most of the cookies before we even got to Moab. It’s the off-season, after all, and I still have a ways to go before I’m forced to start wearing XXL jerseys.
Photos and Videos of Middle-Aged Men on Bikes
Here’s a question for you: when you have a largish group of people meeting up at a place several hours away for a ride, what are the odds that everyone will get there at more or less the same time, ready to ride?
Furthermore, what are the odds, during a three-day weekend of riding, that everyone will continue to show up on-time and be ready to roll when it’s time to roll?
Whatever the odds are, that’s what we did. Maybe it has to do with the fact that we’ve all been riding a long time and know what it’s like to have to wait at a trailhead…and to be the guy who is waited for at the trailhead.
In other words, we showed up, got our bikes out, and rode. For all three rides of the weekend. No drama, no fiddling.
Maybe that’s a small part of why everyone in the Core Team is still in the Core Team.
Bob, seeing which way the wind was blowing, borrowed a Cannondale Scalpel, which I have not yet returned to Cannondale (I’m currently working from the premise that if I don’t say anything to them for a while they’ll forget about me).
We headed out to ride near Amasa Back, going up the new Hymasa trail and down Cap’n Ahab. Wonderful trail, all around.
Bob put everything into popping a wheelie. This photo is at the apogee of said wheelie.
Brad observed, with scorn in his voice, “Never have I seen so much effort put into such a miserable little wheelie.”
This is Brad, looking scornful. And also: infuriatingly thin.
Brad, it should be noted, did not get the memo about carbon and gear shifts. He did, however, get the memo about front suspension, and that’s something.
Cori
Cori is the newest of the members of the Core Team. Here he is, drinking a beer in the middle of a ride…while reinforcing the point by wearing a jersey with a beer logo on it.
Cori is — I’m just being completely honest here and hope my fellow Core Team members will not be angry at me for saying so — the most entertaining person in the world to be around during a ride. He is fearless on a bike, and he whoops and hollers in unfeigned joy as he rides.
Here are a few videos of Cori during the weekend. First, here’s Cori about to kill Ricky as Ricky takes a video of Cori (in other words, I did not take this video; Ricky did):
And here’s Cori hitting a big ol’ three foot drop at speed (again, video credit goes to Ricky):
Of course, Cori is not completely immune to sensible decisions. Here, he gets to the precipice and changes his mind.
Catching that in slow motion is probably the best thing I have ever done.
After that fall, however, Cori started reconsidering, and decided he would try again. Which forced Brad to be the voice of reason; Brad planted himself at the base of the rollout and refused to move, making it impossible for Cori to kill himself. Only when Cori gave up and came down another way did Brad stand up and move out of the way.
Cori owes you his life, Brad.
Kenny Jones 2: This Time It’s Personal
When you last heard from my friend Kenny, he was busted. But he’s not anymore. He’s riding again. But something’s different: he’s suddenly riding a big ol’ full-suspension bike (a Pivot Mach Something) with gears and 27.5” ENVE M60 Forty wheels.
And how is he riding? Just fine:
To show his confidence in Kenny’s recovery and squishy new bikehood, Ricky volunteered to lay at the base of this drop, for Kenny to (hopefully) shoot over:
To my disappointment, Ricky did not volunteer to continue lying there as I attempted the same trick.
Which just goes to show: Ricky’s not stupid.
Here’s more Kenny, this time in slow motion and going down something that’s freakishly technical in actuality but which doesn’t look all that impressive thanks to poor camera work:
Oh, here’s another (completely candid and not-posed) picture of Kenny, as he acts as guide to our group, pointing out important trail features on a convenient map:
The Bifurcation of the Core Team
I’m very very very sad to reveal to you at this point that apart from the videos I showed you already, I don’t have a lot of other cool trick move photos of Brad or Cori. And I have no cool trick move photos at all of Rick, Ryan, or Brad.
No, wait, that’s not perfectly true. I do have this cool video of Ryan, riding a wheelie on Kenny’s bike:
But most of the pictures of Rick, Ryan, and Brad that look like this:
And this one of Ryan:
And this one of Dug and Brad socially media-ing, while Bob does windsprints up the slickrock, for some reason:
Why is this the case? Bifurcation.
Yes, bifurcation.
See, pretty much the whole weekend, The Core Team would repeat the following process:
Start together.
Kenny, Brad, Rick, Ryan and Cori take off like there’s an emergency or they like going fast or something.
Bob, Dug and I ride at the back.
Kenny, Brad, Rick, Ryan and Cori get to some place where they imagine it might be interesting to try a couple of moves. They then do these moves, taking no photos.
Bob, Dug and I arrive about the time the other five have finished up, have eaten, rested, and are ready to go.
Dug quickly executes a move or two while Bob and I look on.
We continue.
Thus, I have numerous photos of Dug and Bob trying lots of moves, like this:
And this:
And this:
The photos I have of the others, on the other hand, mostly look like this:
Oh, and here’s me:
I may be slower and less capable than my friends, but I am still very heroic-looking.
I’m already excited for Fall Moab (Fiscal) 2017. I think I’ll bring my recumbent.
And my walker.
PS: Bob has posted his recollections from several conversations held during Fall Moab in his blog. Many but not all of these conversations are safe for work.
A Note from Fatty: I am such a big fan of Jill Homer. I love her writing. I love her photography. I love the way she approaches life. So it’s a huge honor to have had her ride the 100 Miles of Nowhere this year and write her story in her own blog, and allow me to cross-post it here.
Each year, Elden the Fat Cyclist — world-famous bike blogger and fundraiser extraordinaire — hosts a charity event called the 100 Miles of Nowhere. He first formulated the idea while riding a virtual 100 miles on his trainer, and now challenges cyclists from all over the world to donate to charity for the privilege of riding a “nowhere” century of their choosing. Creativity is encouraged, and pretty much any crazy century that one could imagine has been done — 100 miles on rollers, 3,000 rotations around a driveway, masochistic hill repeats, you name it.
Although I’ve been a regular reader of Fat Cyclist for a decade, support his causes, and enjoy pondering my own versions of a “nowhere” ride, I hadn’t participated before. This year the event announcement went out just as I was beginning to formulate a plan for winter training. It just clicked. “I’ve been talking about 100 Miles of Montebello Road for three years now. I’m finally going to do it.”
Why Montebello Road? I think any cyclist who lives near hills has a go-to climb, and this is mine. Climbing on a bike is my favorite activity, so I ride here a lot. The name means “beautiful mountain” in Italian, and it’s appropriate. Starting 3.5 miles from my home, Montebello Road snakes up a scenic hillside beside a small creek, shaded by oak and cedar trees, with occasional steep drop-offs that open up big views of the South Bay and Mount Hamilton. It accesses a few homes and vineyards before the pavement ends 5.1 miles and 2,000 vertical feet above Stevens Creek Reservoir. I enjoy this climb and it doesn’t get old for me, even though I’ve ridden it well over 200 times since I moved here in 2011. Because I ride Montebello so much, I know every switchback and driveway. I know where the grade steepens and where it levels off. I know where the pavement becomes especially broken and I have to hang on for dear life. I notice when cracks widen and when new tarmac is laid down. I notice when chunks of the hillside and larger trees come down, even after the debris has been cleared away. I’ve had to slam on my brakes for deer, rabbits, rattlesnakes, coyotes, and even a bobcat. There aren’t many surprises left for me on that well-trodden road.
So why Montebello Road? Because even though I’ve ridden it so many times I know every pothole, it never gets easier. And no, I don’t get faster, because it takes a hearty helping of oomph to push the pace for a five-mile climb that scarcely lets off the resistance. My legs are usually quivering by the final steep pitch. The descent, with all of its hairpin turns, steep grades and broken pavement, hardly provides recovery. I think one Montebello is plenty difficult, and two Montebellos break into mental-game territory. So of course I started to wonder, what would happen after five repeats? How about ten?
A hundred miles of Montebello Road requires ten out-and-backs with more than 20,000 feet of climbing. One participant, Karl, commented that the elevation profile would look like a “sadistic comb,” which was an apt description. In all of my years of cycling, I’ve never climbed that much elevation in a day. Beyond the personal record, a century on one five-mile stretch of pavement requires a whole new set of challenges. There is, of course, the “boring” factor in the repetitions. It’s not only the same road ten times — it’s the same road I see all the time. On a road bike you don’t walk, ever, unless something has gone quite wrong. But the gearing is stiff enough that you always have to pedal hard just to stay upright. Even if your speed is dipping precariously close to three miles per hour, it’s always strenuous. I mentioned the hairy descents. Where would I find my motivation when things started to hurt? When I could only slow down so much? When bailing was always as easy as turning around and bombing downhill to my car? In other words, this would be a great mental training ride for the big, physically draining, often monotonous days on the Iditarod Trail.
When I posted my proposal online, I was surprised to see a lot of initial interest. There were nine “going” and nine “maybes” on my Facebook event page. A couple of ultrarunner friends who almost never ride bikes said they wanted to give it a go. Then Beat came down with pneumonia and Liehann was worried his three-week cough would deteriorate to something worse. One by one, all the others bailed. I can’t say I was surprised, as it wasn’t the most conventionally fun way to spend what turned out to be an absolutely perfect fall day in the Bay Area. I assumed I would be riding alone and failed to show up on time for my proposed 6:15 a.m. start. So I was embarrassed to pull up at 6:19 to find three cyclists who I’d never met geared up and ready to go. Karl, on the right, wanted to try to best his personal record on one lap, and Eric (middle), had time to try for five. Dave (left), said he was in it for the long haul. Great! Let’s get it started.
Karl and I rode together for the first lap, and then I stuck with Eric and Dave for the next four. It turned out to be a surprisingly social ride. Dave kept a strong pace and commented on the fourth lap that he was surprised it wasn’t getting much harder. It was then I knew both Dave and I were in this to the dark and chilly end, because neither of us was going to back down as long as the other was still plugging along. Such is the wonder of human sociality, and the reason why races are so much more fun than solo efforts, and why we were so content to grind out Montebellos on Nov. 7, riding in spirit with as many as 500 other “100 MoN” participants all around the world. We’re all striving together.
Around lap six, Beat came out on his mountain bike to join for a couple of rounds of what would be his first real venture outdoors in a month, besides bike commuting. We also saw friends and acquaintances who were out for their own Saturday rides. Jan, who was just finishing up a 17-mile trail ride, and who has been helpful with tips for dealing with my recent breathing problems, just shook his head. I was buzzing with endorphins and could only reply with a goofy grin, “I just love this stuff. I really do. I don’t know why.”
Photo by Dave Thompson. I’m wearing my circa-2007 “original” Fat Cyclist jersey and riding Beat’s wonderful 2011 Specialized S-Works Roubaix. Yes, those are flat pedals. Stiff-soled, fitted shoes pinch my toes and hurt like hell after a few hours. I can’t even wear running shoes that actually fit — these are 1.5 sizes too large. I know this is terribly uncool. I do not care. If you ever experience frostbite nerve damage and put your feet through 12+ hour rides, you can give me a recommendation for clipless pedals. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear it. :P
On lap seven, I hit my wall. All the others had gone home and it was just me and Dave, and the mid-afternoon sunlight dipping low on the horizon. After a summer mostly out of the saddle my “iron butt” had gone soft and chaffing was developing beneath my cheeks. My hands and arms were sore from the descents, and I had to hold one arm behind my back whenever I could to relieve a knot in my shoulder. My quad muscles quivered on the steeper segments. I was certain cramps were coming on, which could only be followed by walks of shame, which could only be followed by bailing altogether. But I’d look ahead toward Dave and kept grinding, because this clearly was not as bad as the simmering anxieties would have me believe.
Dave remained ever stoic. Occasionally, when I could keep up with him, I learned more about his background — he’d lost a lot of weight, and designed and built a special tandem bicycle so he could ride with his adult son who is recovering from a brain injury. At the top, only slightly glazed eyes and flushed cheeks betrayed the appearance that this ride was far too easy for him. We’d stuff down some food — I ate string cheese, squeezable packets of applesauce, Rice Crispy treats, and sandwiches cut into quarters, and realized my diet now completely resembled that of a toddler whose Mom carried just enough snacks to shut her up in public. We’d wipe the sweat from our faces and put on jackets and gloves, because it was always cold on the way down. And then we were off, screaming toward the glistening sprawl of San Jose.
We strapped on lights before lap nine because we’d finally burned all the daylight. The sun set at 5:11 p.m. Climbing the initial steep segments, I thought, “Only two more Montebellos!” which ignited a grumpy backlash because two Montebellos is still a lot. So I looked inward, to a stark white landscape of somewhere in Alaska, perhaps the Yukon River, beneath an unobstructed sky pulsing with emerald light and stars upon stars. Then the wind was howling, and I was hunched over my bike in a whiteout — broken, humbled, and awestruck by the power of it all, by this expansive nothingness on the edge of nowhere. All in my imagination — and perhaps in my future.
We descended in fading light and climbed into the tunnel of our headlights. Dave’s light dimmed to almost nothing, but instead of quitting, he shadowed closely behind me as we ascended the quiet corridor. I was hurting all over. It seemed every muscle had to work for this final climb, and my breathing had become raspy and shallow. In part, I believe shallow breathing has become a habit after months of fighting real obstructions and constriction in my airways. So I consciously focused on taking deeper breaths, thinking about all of my quivering muscles and the reality that they just needed more oxygen. “Breathe, just breathe,” I chanted quietly, and thought that this was probably going to become my new personal mantra.
“We did it!” I proclaimed at the top. Dave smiled quietly; his lips were quivering. It was 45 degrees and a cold wind whisked along the ridge, heralding an oncoming storm. We both sucked down the last of our water — even in the cold darkness, one bottle was no longer enough. I descended behind Dave with my high-beam on, but he seemed to manage just fine with his flickering commuter light. We rolled back to the cars after 105 miles in 13 hours and 5 minutes, including breaks, and about 11:45 of moving time. You can say that’s a long damn time for a century, but I think it’s pretty good for ten Montebellos, which are actually nothing like a century.
As I drove away, I realized that while the 20,000 feet of climbing was quite hard, I barely noticed the repetition. Each climb and descent was its own journey, with different light, different conversations, different thoughts, different challenges.
Still, a repetitive ride does provide beneficial numbers for comparisons. These are the times recorded for each 5.1-mile climb up Montebello Road. It’s interesting to see the consistency when I was feeling good, and also how it started to break down on the later laps. My “personal best” on Montebello is 39:08, but I generally ride in the 45- to 50-minute range.
Lap 1: 59:18 Lap 2: 52:05 Lap 3: 50:51 Lap 4: 50:21 Lap 5: 50:24 Lap 6: 50:19 Lap 7: 56:01 Lap 8: 54:43 Lap 9: 58:53 Lap 10: 57:26
Maybe it really doesn’t get that much harder as you go. I just have to get out of my head once in a while. And remember to breathe.
When the twins and I went to Michigan for the Camp Kesem Leadership Summit, it was for more than riding the 100 Miles of Nowhere. We were also invited in order to talk during the summit itself, the day after the 100 Miles of Nowhere.
First, the twins and I — along with several other kids who’ve been to camp and their parents — were in a panel where we were asked questions about camps and counselors. I mostly got to sit back and enjoy this part; I wish I’d have thought to have someone video it. The kids’ responses were fantastic, and it really underscored how much value kids get from these camps.
A little later in the afternoon, Doug from Movember and I took turns presenting on fundraising tips and techniques. This time, I did think to give my phone to one of the twins and ask her to video me. She did a good job and I even sorta kinda made sense through most of it (stuttered a lot at the beginning but finally settled down and got rolling).
And so, I hereby present my…presentation. On fundraising.
And since I manage to stand in front of my slides for the entirety of the presentation, here are copies of my slides.
You didn’t know my last name ’til now, did you?
Please, let’s not get political. PLEASE.
Learned this point really recently. I can be taught!
Based on this, I should really do an eating contest for a fundraiser.
Hey, sorry about that Obama slide earlier.
But why does the “why” matter?
Captain Obvious would like to remind you that people like things that are easy and fun more than they like things that are difficult and miserable.
By this reasoning, I should be infinitely awesome by now.
More often than not, my bike rides blend into each other. I have a certain window of time and so head out on a ride that winds up being pretty much the same as most every other time I have ridden that course.
(That’s not a criticism of my regular everyday cycling, by the way. I see it as a virtue. I enjoy the routine.)
Yesterday, for example, The Hammer and I rode in Corner Canyon. Up the Hog, down Rush, up Canyon Hollow, down Ghost, up Canyon Hollow, down the Hog and home. The only thing that might stand out in my memory of this ride is that I crashed while going down Rush. And since it wasn’t a terribly bad crash (skinned up right shoulder, forearm and knee, bruised left hand, bump on the head), I probably won’t even remember it.
Indoor rides — on the rollers or on the trainer — are usually even more like this. What’s to remember, after all?
Well, in the case of the 100 Miles of Nowhere, 2015 Camp Kesem Leadership Summit Edition, the stuff that was going on all around me was remarkably memorable. And inspiring.
In fact, I’m going to come right out and claim that it was one of my all-time favorite rides in my entire life.
The Day Before
You need to know that at Camp Kesem, nobody goes by their given name. Instead, everyone has a camp name. Which means that since I brought the twins, I was traveling to Fenton, Michigan with Couch and Car.
We rented a car, which Couch noted, “Oh good, this car will be awesome in case we need to fold cats!”
What a bizarre sense of humor that kid has. I wonder where she got it.
We visited the lodge at Camp Copneconic, which had already prepared for our arrival by setting up a stage for us, with posters giving leaders some basic instructions on what to do:
Yes, that’s right: they were going to put us on a stage to ride the 100 Miles of Nowhere, as leaders and counselors for the 2015 Camp Kesem Leadership Summit arrived in waves on buses from the airport, checking in for a weekend that would be a combination of education and inspiration for them.
And it’d be all that plus perspiration for us.
With mats and silly hats laid out, we were all set for the next day. We’d be starting at 12:30 — lunchtime for the leaders that were already there — with the plan to end…well, to end 100 miles later.
Meet Team Fatty
Coming to Michigan to do the 100 Miles of Nowhere had been a little bit of a leap of faith for me. I didn’t really have a good picture of where I’d be riding, and I’d never met — in person — any of the people I’d be riding with.
All I had, really, was a vague idea that we’d be riding to entertain and support the Camp Kesem Leaders, and that Bill Hart-Davidson — of 100 Miles of Circular Driveway Fame — would take care of bringing friends along to ride, a bike for me, trainers, fans, and everything else.
I was just a little bit concerned. Would they show up? Would they show up on time? Would they be nice / friendly / cool with the idea of riding 100 miles on trainers on a stage?
As it turns out, I didn’t need to worry. At all. Bill and his friends were the most relaxed, energetic, friendly group of riders I could have ever hoped for or wanted to ride with.
Here’s the crew, in our pre-ride photo:
Back row, left to right: Bump Halbritter, Bill Hart-Davidson, Derek Dykstra, Couch, Fatty, Car, Mike Clark, Mike Rstitch, Kaat Tahy. Front row: Jane Saccaro (“Pocket,” CEO of Camp Kesem), Jim HIgley (“Pops,” CMO of Camp Kesem)
By about 11:30 — more than an hour before we were scheduled to start rolling — Bill and his friends appeared with all their gear, including a nice setup for me.
It wasn’t long ’til we had all the bikes lined up and ready to roll.
We were going to have an on-time start. How often does a group ride work out like that?
Make Some Noise
Before we began, Jane “Pocket” Saccaro spent a couple of minutes introducing us to the crew of around 150 Camp Kesem leaders who were already there. I took a moment at the mic myself to thank them for the amazing work they do: providing a safe, fun, silly, wonderful week to kids who have been affected by a parent’s cancer.
I told them a little bit about how my own daughters have been to Camp Kesem for each of the past four years, and that it is is simply the centerpiece of their summer vacation. They love the camp and everything about it, and so I of course can’t help but love the camp as well.
And then we began the 100 Miles of Nowhere…to an outrageously loud standing, stomping, shouting and cheering ovation.
I tell you, that kind of beginning does a pretty fine job of removing the tedium from a long session on the rollers.
Beads, Songs, and a Tandem
The Michiganians had had a brilliant idea: bring along a tandem to put on a trainer, so any leaders who wanted could join in for a mile or two of the 100 Miles of Nowhere with us. Couch and Car jumped on:
And as the day went on, dozens (if not hundreds) of leaders did, too…almost always first taking the time to don a combination of wigs, tutus, and silly hats:
The twins had lots of 100 Miles of Nowhere swag — socks and musette bags — I had brought along, and would surprise people with a little gift after they had put in a ride.
And also, Car got a chance to see how I would look with hair:
Even more awesome, Camp Kesem had bought hundreds of bead necklaces, which they gave to leaders as they arrived and registered, instructing them to come up and put a necklace on one of us and introduce themselves.
A leader putting a bead necklace on Bill.
As a result, we each got to meet and talk to dozens of these incredibly motivated, positive camp leaders. I tell you: when you’re having conversations with good people who are actively out there making the world a better place, the time (and miles) just fly by.
Within a couple of hours, we all noticed that our necks were growing noticeably heavy from all the bead necklaces.
Bump, with lotsa beads.
My single favorite thing of the day, however, was the way that from time to time, one of the Camp Kesem kids (and by “kids” I mean anyone from counselor to leader: they’re all of college age) would get up and bring a huge surge of energy by leading everyone in a camp song / shout / dance.
Here. You gotta see / hear what I mean.
Doing Good
When you’re on a stage for hour upon hour, you have time to look around. And what I saw were some pretty amazing people.
Mike, riding no-handed on rollers. I cannot do this.
Kaat has done at least one century ride every month for the past 78 months.
Derek didn’t have a way to measure his progress. He just kept on going until everyone else had gone at least 100 miles.
Mike had a smile on his face the whole ride. Literally. Unless that’s his grimace, in which case he had a grimace the whole ride.
And looking out into the crowd, I was incredibly impressed with the people out there. The energy and kindness were just remarkable.
For example: my twins are not super outspoken. Plus they’re quite a bit younger than anyone else was there, so it was pretty easy for them to just hang out on their own during the day, drawing and reading. But — and I saw this an untold number of times during the day — these camp counselors and leaders would wander over and talk with them, easy and natural as can be.
And I loved how many times I saw the twins laughing and talking with these kids. It was just fantastic. I tell you: Camp Kesem has got some seriously magical magic.
And In The End
I’m going to let you in on a little secret: Bill’s Michigan Team Fatty crew did somethig extra super-nice for me: they gave me the trainer with the least resistance. This enabled me to go to a big ol’ gear and spin away miles at a ridiculous rate, turning in 100 miles in just about five hours, even with lots and lots of breaks to take pictures and talk with people and stuff.
And when I got to the final mile, everyone crowded around, shouting and cheering and counting down and otherwise making me feel like I was a full-bore pro.
And then they did it all again, just as loud and big and amazing for the second group that was finishing a little later, due to the fact that their trainers actually had some resistance.
This 100 Miles of Nowhere was something special: to do the ride at the leadership summit for the cause the whole event is supporting in the first place. And to discover, at the end of it, that you are an even bigger fan of the cause than you were at the beginning of it.
I’ve enjoyed each of my 100 Miles of Nowhere, but this…well, this exceeded my expectations at so many levels.
Thank you Team Fatty Michigan and Camp Kesem. It was more than worth it to travel so far…just to go nowhere.
PS: Please be certain to read Bill’s Race Report, which is considerably better than mine.
Before we get started with today’s 100 Miles of Nowhere Race Report, there are a few things I want to make note of.
1. Ride the 100 Miles of Nowhere With TrainerRoad
TrainerRoad is a top sponsor for the 100 Miles of Nowhere, providing a free month to all registered racers (look for the card in your packet!).
But they’ve gone above and beyond their sponsorship responsibilities and have created a 100 Miles of Nowhere workout!
Yep, it’s a five-hour-long trainer workout, designed to replicate riding a tough century, but not so tough that you can’t do it.
The Hammer and I are definitely gonna do this one when I get back, and you should too.
This is an awesome thing for TrainerRoad to have done, and a terrific reason for you racers to open up that free month you get with the program and get started. Check out TrainerRoad’s blog about the workout, and then go do the 100MoN workout!
2. Get Inspired to Ride
If you’re registered for the 100 Miles of Nowhere, you should be getting an email today from Inspired to Ride, with everything you need for you to start watching this incredible documentary — one that I think suits “100 Miles to Nowhere” to a T. Inspired to Ride follows a handful of cyclists from around the world as they race unsupported in the inaugural year of The Trans Am Bike Race. It’s the antithesis to events like Tour de France and Race Across America. There are no teams, no support vehicles, no special jerseys and not a dime in prize money.
Just a thought: It would be pretty awesome to do the 100 Miles of Nowhere workout while watching Inspired to Ride.
3. Team Fatty and Camp Kesem: Meeting in Michigan
First, the twins and I now are in Michigan for the Camp Kesem Leadership summit. I’ll go into the details of the trip in another post. For now, just a couple of pictures:
I fly often enough that I have forgotten how amazing it is. The twins reminded me, laughing at the amazing feeling / sound / visual of taking off, and then staring out the window for about an hour. I am going to start requesting a window seat again.
When we got to Michigan, we went to the lodge where Camp Kesem leaders and counselors will be meeting this weekend, and were treated to this poster:
And this one, on the stage where we’ll actually be riding:
Yep, they’re putting us on a stage to ride the 100 Miles of Nowhere, as hundreds of camp leaders and counselors arrive today to register for the big summit tomorrow.
We kick off the ride at 12:30ET, and it would probably be a good day to follow me on Twitter, since I’ll be posting pictures and stuff as we prepare for and do this thing.
Okay, that’s a lot of pre-story stuff, but all pretty relevant to the topic-at-hand. Now…on to this week’s 100 Miles of Nowhere race report!
OK, it’s not exactly a race report. It’s more of a recovery report. But it’s awesome
Corrine’s Video Race Report
This year marks Corrine’s fourth 100 Miles of Nowhere. Or it should. Her knee, sadly, had other plans for her.
But that didn’t stop her from making an awesome video telling her story and encouraging the rest of you to get out there and get it done:
Pretty fantastic, eh? A little bit more about Corrine, in her own words:
I’m 56 and I love to ride my bike. I met you and Lisa at the 2013 Leadville which I managed to finish in under 13 hours but not 12!
This summer, prior to my bilateral knee surgery, I did the Tour of Fairbanks (a 4 day,5 race series), my best 200 mile time trial race yet in the Fireweed making my stretch goal of under 12 hours, and I finished the Smoke ’N’ Fire, a 440 mile bikepacking mountain bike race in Idaho in 4 days and 8 hours, just 3 weeks before my surgery — and I didn’t come in last!!
I may not be fast but I’m persistent and I wanted to really wear out my knees before I replaced them!
Be sure to wish Corrine speedy continued recovery, so we can hold her to her commitment of winning the “57yo, recently recovered from bilateral knee surgery” division next year.
