I look down the bike path to make sure it’s clear, clip my right shoe onto the pedal, crank it forward, clip the left in and ease into the bike lane. Taking a deep breath, I guide my bike past a water pipe cover while I move to the sweet spot on my saddle. My padded bike shorts help in seat comfort, but I need to keep my “seat bones” directly on the back of the saddle for the best results. The wrong angle can cause unintended consequences. Now, I adjust my grip on the handle bars, being careful to keep my elbows bent, and settle in for my first century ride.
We get hung up on round numbers, especially multiples of 4 and 5. If a bomb in a movie is set to go off, how much time does the hero have to stop it? It’s always 24 or 48 hours, never 13.8 hours. 24 hours means something because that’s how long it takes Earth to rotate once on its axis; it’s a day. If Earth turned more slowly, would movie characters have more time to prevent bombs from exploding? In cycling, the magic number is 100. In the U.S., the big goal is 100 miles, or a century. But, for those who want to reach 100 sooner, kilometers are the unit of measure to use. 100 kilometers is only 62 miles. In that case, cyclists will say they’ve done a metric century. We always aim for the round numbers, and there are lots of ways to reach those goals.
When I first started thinking about “doing a century” I imagined it to be one long bike ride far away from home. It was as if that century ride were something out in space somewhere, waiting for me to ride into it. As long as I imagined the ride “out there” I would never find it. After almost six months of improving my cycling skills and endurance, I realized I could look at this another way. Why did 100 miles have to cover one long distance? Why not ride a shorter distance multiple times? In answer to my own question, I realized right where I could go to do laps.
One of my favorite places to ride is at The Lakes in Las Vegas, Nevada. It is one of the first places in Las Vegas where people built a lake in the desert and put houses around it. Four roads curve and merge to circumscribe this little man-made piece of paradise: Lake North Drive, Lake East Drive, Lake South Drive and Crystal Water Way. Following this route as a circuit, I discovered it was slightly more than 1.6 miles around. If I could ride this path 62 times, I would reach 100 miles, the big century. But wouldn’t that be boring? As it turns out, it won’t be boring at all.
Although the idea is not original, it is reasonable to think of our lives as a circle. We start out helpless with someone taking care of us, and unless we crash too hard, many of us end up the same way, right back where we started, helpless with someone taking care of us. The seasons circle around, repeating their cycles as we go to school, grow up and start careers or get jobs. Many of us have children, and they do the same things, often with lots of broken spokes along the way. Time is not a straight line; it is a turning bicycle wheel, and life is what we experience as we ride. My little first century could be an allegory for my life.
My previous long rides all had been out and back or maybe looping back, but never short loops over and over. I had even done two metric centuries (actually 70 miles each) but I had not celebrated those as magic round numbers. I just saw them as my longest rides to-date, part of my training for a future century.
On Saturday October 8th, 2009, at 8:08 a.m., at age 44, I set out on my first Lake Drives loop with the purpose of riding 100 miles for the first time. This is also the location of a weekly criterion bike race that I had watched many times during the summer, and after which I had ridden with a group on weekly night rides to avoid the heat. Now, with fall finally here, I wonder why they stopped racing. This is the weather I had been waiting for during the hellish summer months: 64 degrees and no wind. What a beautiful morning!
I had parked my van in a parking lot next to a small park overlooking the lake. Inside the van: a cooler with my needed supplies along with ice packs. I had brought extra water, extra energy gel, electrolyte replacement powder and protein powder for continued performance. My plan is to carry one water bottle and one bottle with electrolyte mix. Whenever necessary, I can pull over and access my cooler. I will avoid solid food until I finish, and I have not eaten breakfast. This is my plan, based on my own research and numerous nutrition test-runs when I had tried eating differently before and during rides. Maybe I have made this ride more of a procedure than an adventure.
I take it easy with the first lap, just getting a feel for the road and warming up. Lots of people are out on the walking paths opposite the clearly-marked bike path which runs on the inside portion of the road with the lake at the hub, hidden behind buildings and fences. I head up Lake Drive South, going clockwise on my circuit, and come to a traffic circle, or round-about. I turn right onto Crystal Water Way, the lake to my right behind houses, and a 25-foot high embankment on my left, covered with a nicely manicured lawn and topped with more houses, obviously built to overlook the lake which is out of my view right now. Part-way up the embankment people jog and walk along the curvy path 10 feet above the road, many with dogs. Shadows reach across from the two-story houses on my right. I’m happy with my decision to ride here on this day; everything feels right.
At the first access gate to the lake, I notice a bald man opening a large box. I keep riding to the first stop sign, which I pass without stopping because it is a three-way stop, and the bike path does not cross the main traffic lane. The road keeps going uphill, as it does three quarters of the way on this loop. Here I get my second view of the lake. There are only four clear views of the lake on this path. I come to another stop sign. Now, I have to turn right as the road heads downhill past another lake view, a couple small restaurants, and a little neighborhood market. I drop faster to the last stop sign, and I don’t stop here, either, because the bike path bypasses the stop sign. Quickly, the road goes uphill again, curving back to my departure point. This is the steepest uphill portion of the loop, and I strive to stay faster than 14 miles per hour here, although I won’t always succeed today.
Shortly after taking up cycling six months before this, I went exploring on my 1987 Univega, 12-speed road bike, the same one I’m using for my first century. I had wormed my way west of home, turned on Starboard Drive, and slipped onto the shady bike path of Lake Drive East, thinking hey, this is perfect. I cranked along as the path grew steeper, and suddenly I got swallowed by a swishing cluster of cyclists going more than twice my speed. Without knowing in advance, I was in the middle of a race. It was a surreal feeling, but I decided to put my head down and stay on the path. The other cyclists, maybe thirty of them, disappeared around the curve, and I kept cranking. At the top of the hill, spectators glared at me, as I was obviously out of place. Nothing new; I’m always out of place.
Now, I complete my first lap right where I had received glares the first time I rode on this path. This time, no one is there to take notice. I hit the red button on my bike computer to mark the lap. I’m really focused on the numbers. This ride will be a test of technique, nutritional balance, mental determination, and physical performance. One of the best ways to measure this is with my Polar bike computer. Through a wireless band I wear on my chest, the computer measures my heart rate. Through other wireless nodes and sensors on the computer, the Polar computer measures cadence (turning of the pedals), speed, distance, altitude (thus the profile of my path) and temperature. I want to mark all my laps so I can compare them later. Will I improve through the ride or will I wear down?
The irony of this ride is that I hate repetition. Not much is worse to me than hearing a group of people sing the beginning of 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall, and knowing I’ll have to hear all those numbers as they sing down to one bottle remaining, then start over. I hate experiencing pointless repetition that produces empty results. With that song, I know 79 will be followed by 78, so I don’t need (or want) to hear it. But in the case of these repeating bicycle laps, I immediately discover they are not tedious because they are not the same. As I think about my laps and all the numbers I’m tracking, I also realize there is a lot going on around me. It reminds me of one of the most profound lyrics I’ve ever heard. It was written by George Harrison: “Life goes on within you and without you.”
I look straight up and see the third quarter moon against the deep blue sky. No clouds. Along this high end of the loop I see a woman wearing a tight white shirt and short green skirt on the walking path above the road. She’s far enough away that I can not see details. I think, this kind of view could keep me occupied all day. She’s walking a dog, but I don’t notice anything about the dog. The bald man with a box has now pulled out plastic pumpkins. I turn down onto the downhill and see the “homeless” woman who makes her home around here somewhere. I had seen her before, and was wondering where she was earlier. She is rearranging her personal affects. She stores everything on a shopping cart, and right now, she’s doing something with a blue plastic kiddie pool. Coming around again, I see that the woman with the green skirt is down in the bike path. I have to move into the road to pass her, and I realize my imagination had been better than reality. I’d rather look at her dog, which I see now is a small, black terrier.
On Crystal Water Way, with this gradual incline, I have my opportunity to make adjustments to my riding position. I stand and pedal for a bit, just to stretch my legs and relieve the seat pressure for a short time. I also need to keep changing my grip on the handle bars to keep my hands from getting numb. It happens quickly. I shake them out and try a slightly different grip along the curve of the bars. I remind myself to relax my shoulders, too. Without these little adjustments along the way, I could get very uncomfortable and find myself unable to relieve the tension or numbness easily. I use only four gears over this whole loop: fourth and fifth on the steeper uphill portion; sixth on the gentler inclines, and twelfth on the downhill. I shift into these gears in approximately the same places each time.
As a cyclist pointed out to me on one of my first rides, I have “knee knockers.” That means my gear shift levers are on the angled tube just about where my knees move up and down. Newer bikes incorporate the shifting levers into the brake levers on the handle bars. I don’t know that luxury. My bike is also older than most I see on the rides, and it is also relatively heavy. Along Crystal Water Way, I push to go faster, shifting the right knee knocker up into sixth gear until I turn downhill. As I gain speed, I shift to the big ring, into twelfth gear, until the road curves up again. On this steeper incline, I shift back down into fifth or fourth until I pass the parking lot and mark my lap.
Circling around and then back up the hill, I find that the few people who were here on the last lap have become dozens of slow-moving zombies scattered along both sides of the road, wearing shorts, tee shirts, sandals, running shoes, ball caps, floppy hats, sweats, and other casual or sloppy attire. Some appear to be wearing pajamas. For a moment, they all seem to have no purpose and no direction, and I’m heading into this bunch of zombies right out of a movie. I know they won’t catch me at their slow, stupid pace, but they may present a danger anyway. As I get closer, they become individuals, and the zombie illusion disappears.
Two women walk in the middle of the bike path, and their little dog limps along behind them. I tell them their dog is limping and they say they know. I reach the lap point again and realize I have not been hitting the lap button every time. I have nothing else to do but pedal and hit that button, but I forgot, anyway. I’ll have to go into the software when I’m done and mark the laps I forgot to mark. After one more lap, I stop at my van to clear the numbness in my feet, hands and other inappropriate places. I’ve pedaled for an hour, done nine laps, and I feel good. The temperature is up to 73 degrees. Two Asian women get out of their car next to my van. One looks at me and says, “Nice day for a ride.” I reply, “Yes, it’s beautiful,” as I slide back onto my seat.
On the path, I see that the bald man has pulled out more Halloween decorations and has been joined by a couple more guys. Down the hill, the cart woman has apparently put the kiddie pool onto the cart and covered the whole vehicle with two brown and yellow bed spreads. She’s setting up a lawn chair facing west with a view of the big lakeside homes, and the purple and red mountains of the Spring Mountain range. She has blonde hair, maybe a wig?
I keep at it this way, lap after lap, passing yellow desert flowers, fences, gates, pine trees, tennis courts, and lots of people out walking. Vehicle traffic is light. I see an average of four or five cars in the road every lap. I pass the lake at my high point, maybe eight feet above the water level, and at the low point possibly fifteen feet below the lake. Sometimes I smell the musty, wet odor of the lake water, and sometimes it’s the wet rotten egg stench of sewer that invades my nose. I come to expect certain areas with the sewer odor, and I exhale just before I pass the sewer grates. Round and round. The Cart Lady has moved to face the road. Is her hair gray? She is wearing big, 70s-style sunglasses and is writing on a little notepad. Is it the next great American novel or gibberish?
I think about milestones. First 25 miles. I’ve made it to Twenty-five. Good. Just do that three more times. I’m squirting energy gel in my mouth at least twice an hour. I keep it in the pocket at the back of my jersey. During my second stop at two hours, I had filled my electrolyte bottle with a different formula that included some protein. At 19 minutes past three hours in the saddle, I reach 50 miles exactly, right by my van, so I take my third break. I’m not tired or longing for breaks, but strategically I know I need to stop so I can stretch and re-fill my gel and energy drink. I want to maintain a steady pace. I’m still averaging 15 miles per hour, and more importantly, I’m keeping my heart rate below 150 beats per minute. I do not want to push too hard (178 beats per minute), and I don’t want to take it too easy, either (135 beats per minute). I am happy with my progress. The next milestone I’m working toward is 70 miles. Everything after that will be my longest ride ever.
I pass the same left-over clumps of cut grass spilled out of a lawn maintenance truck. They are so small they wouldn’t be noticed by anyone other than a guy on a bike passing them dozens of times. Now it seems Cart Lady is writing on a napkin and her hair is blonde with black stripes. I know where all the sewer and water covers are in the road so I can avoid them. A man wearing a floppy brown hat walks a beautiful long-haired dog that has the shape and size of a Saint Bernard. I ask what type of dog it is, and he says something I can’t understand, so I say, “what kind?” and the man replies, “Yes.”
Now Cart Lady appears to be drawing something, not writing, and she’s holding a piece of plastic, not a notebook or napkin. She is wearing a sweater with wide, horizontal tan and black stripes, and she’s either very fat or has things tucked under the sweater. How many times do you have to look at someone before you really see that person?
An elderly man carrying a tote bag in each hand struggles up the walking path. I keep pushing. Cart Lady still hides behind her glasses. I ask her, “What’s your name,” as I pass. She only smiles, but seems not to see me. Has she noticed a guy in a yellow shirt riding a turquoise bicycle past her every 6 or 7 minutes for the last few hours? The elderly man with the tote bags is now in the bike path. I swing around him. The Halloween decorations are becoming elaborate at that first gate. Four or five men have installed pumpkins across the lawn, ghosts in the trees, spider webs all over the gate, and I can hear haunted house noises coming from the guard shack.
I keep tabbing through the menus on my bike computer, checking speed and mileage, and doing my math to figure out how many more laps I have remaining. I’m careful to watch the Polar as I near 70 miles. I want to know when it happens. I had done 30 to 40 miles many times, 50 miles a few times, and 70 miles twice. All of this together brings me close to 1,500 miles cycling, but going past 70 miles on one ride would be new. When it finally rolls over, nothing special happens. I just keep going.
Just as I assign myself two more laps before my next rest break, I see my daughter leaning out the window of our burgundy Camry, taking a picture of me. My wife Colleen has brought my daughter Athena, her friend Monet and Monet’s mother Mackie to check on me. They stop at the park, and I go for one more lap before stopping, too. It is 86 degrees now, and I’ve gone 78.4 miles in 4 hours and 47 minutes. It is good to see them and know they are sharing in my progress. They tell me they are going to get my mom and her two dogs and come back to the park. I head out again, knowing it’s not far now.
My shoulders are tight, but everything else is fine. My legs are not tired because I am not hammering through this. My hands are not numb because I keep them loose. My feet are okay except for some numbness in my toes, but I’m used to my toes being numb on most rides. This is not one of the more strenuous things I’ve done, as I expected it might be. My planning and training has made a difference. I keep squirting the gel and periodically drinking the electrolyte/protein mix. These things are keeping my energy up. I am looking forward to having a real meal, though.
Coming up along the embankment I hear the unmistakable sounds of someone vomiting. I look up to see a shirtless guy with tattoos on his arms leaning over the fence of one of the houses above the embankment. He wipes his mouth. I imagine he got drunk last night, and I think how I’m the one who might deserve to throw up except that I feel great. My shoulders are tight, and I’m numb in some places, but I’m comfortable for a guy who has been riding a bike for more than five hours. Cart Lady has moved again, and she’s facing the traffic entering the loop. She waves at each car as if to direct traffic. Lap after lap, I keep going, shifting in my seat to keep from getting too sore, and changing my grips on the handle bars from up to down to sideways to the brake covers. Very few people are out this late in the afternoon. I am mostly alone, except for Cart Lady and a few cars.
I start thinking of one last break, but I don’t need anything, and I just want to finish now. Colleen and the others arrive with my mom and her dogs. They set out for a walk. Colleen takes pictures of me as I pass. For the benefit of my daughter’s education, I yell, “Seven more miles to go; one point six miles per lap; how many more laps?” On the next pass, I hear “Three.” I respond, “No, four.”
With two laps to go, everyone is back at the park. I hold up two fingers and keep going. Back around again, Cart Lady is at the bottom of the hill next to the stop sign. I have to ride out into the traffic lane to pass her. She’s just sitting in her chair looking up the road. I’m still not sure she’s noticed me. A chubby guy in a white shirt coasts down the hill on his bike, coming from the opposite direction. He flips around in front of me and hammers up the hill. Does he think we’re racing? I wonder. He has no idea what I’ve just done. I reach the top of the hill as he turns again and coasts back down.
I hold up one finger for the benefit of my crew as I pass the park. I’m just counting now. Past the traffic circle, the guys are admiring their Halloween decorations. Once more past Cart Lady and up the hill. Cart lady is now pushing the cart up the hill, too. I think of racers as they sprint to the finish and hold up their hands. I approach my finish line. I don’t sprint, but I hold up my hands and yell, “100 miles.” My support team cheers. I keep going and complete one more lap before I stop. 101.9 miles in 7 hours 40 minutes, with 6 hours 51 minutes of that time spent on the bike. I averaged 14.9 miles per hour and did 63 laps. I even kept my heart rate below 150 and managed to average a lower rate toward the end than I did at the start. I methodically wash my face, fill a bottle with protein powder, put my bike in the van, and sit down on the grass with the women in my life. My mom’s dogs rush over to smell me, something Colleen and Athena wisely do not do.
In very un-dramatic fashion I have accomplished something I would have thought impossible a year before. But who wants drama all the time? I also have my round number, except it is not really round because I went farther and finished with 1.9 extra miles. What do I do with them? This is not the end of anything, either. I will do more laps, and year after year I will gather more centuries. I am better than I was six months ago, and I have a widening comfort zone of cycling endurance and speed. This was only one part of a bigger loop that I have yet to conceive, I tell myself. Yea, but that was my first century!
