How does it feel to ride 200 miles on a bicycle?
At mile one you're nervous. Your belly shakes and growls at you. You try to remember why you agreed to sit on something the size of a soda can for the next 12 to 15 hours. Then they fire the gun, the crowd cheers and you press down on the pedals.
By mile 15 you're cruising. Everything feels good and you've found a friend to ride with. You exchange pleasantries and the normal “where do you work, do you have kids” business. Eventually you fall back in line, destined to stare at his butt for the next 80 miles. Nothing is too sore yet.
At mile 30 a pack of barking dogs begins a chase. You ride fast and they run faster. You shout and curse and swerve. Your friend losses his sunglasses, but as you go back to retrieve them you find the dogs to be harmless - just dogs being dogs. “It's the ones that don't bark you need to worry about,” your friend says.
Mile 50 is lunch. You've biked through three counties and small towns like Pokemoke. Sandwiches are served in Virginia. The previous ten miles were spent working with your friend and a man named Tony who is clearly a better cyclist than you are. You try to keep up after lunch, but the gap grows larger during each uphill. At the next rest stop, you tell Tony you can't do it any longer. He smiles and goes alone. You and your friend attach yourselves to a group of six riding for someone named “Micah.”
By mile 75 every hill grips your thighs like your dad used to when he was trying to make a point . You find yourself in the lowest gear more than your used to. Working with a group of eight helps some. This is the “grin and bear it” portion of the day and you oblige.
The last ten miles are spent alone. The group has split up at different rest stops. Your friend flatted and had to take a car to the finish. Alone you fight the wind, sun, and fatigue that a century curses you with. The final hill is the day's biggest. You trudge up, trying to remind yourself the end is near.
At mile 98 you're on top of the hill, and at mile 100 you're done. You see the end, and remember it's another 100 miles tomorrow morning. You beg for water, sleep, and spaghetti. A wife at the finish line is the most beautiful thing in the world and you make a point to tell her thank you as best as you can. She says “I'm proud of you” as you fall asleep thinking about the people you met and the stories they told without saying a word.
At mile one you're nervous. Your belly shakes and growls at you. You try to remember why you agreed to sit on something the size of a soda can for the next 12 to 15 hours. Then they fire the gun, the crowd cheers and you press down on the pedals.
By mile 15 you're cruising. Everything feels good and you've found a friend to ride with. You exchange pleasantries and the normal “where do you work, do you have kids” business. Eventually you fall back in line, destined to stare at his butt for the next 80 miles. Nothing is too sore yet.
At mile 30 a pack of barking dogs begins a chase. You ride fast and they run faster. You shout and curse and swerve. Your friend losses his sunglasses, but as you go back to retrieve them you find the dogs to be harmless - just dogs being dogs. “It's the ones that don't bark you need to worry about,” your friend says. Mile 50 is lunch. You've biked through three counties and small towns like Pokemoke. Sandwiches are served in Virginia. The previous ten miles were spent working with your friend and a man named Tony who is clearly a better cyclist than you are. You try to keep up after lunch, but the gap grows larger during each uphill. At the next rest stop, you tell Tony you can't do it any longer. He smiles and goes alone. You and your friend attach yourselves to a group of six riding for someone named “Micah.”
By mile 75 every hill grips your thighs like your dad used to when he was trying to make a point . You find yourself in the lowest gear more than your used to. Working with a group of eight helps some. This is the “grin and bear it” portion of the day and you oblige.
The last ten miles are spent alone. The group has split up at different rest stops. Your friend flatted and had to take a car to the finish. Alone you fight the wind, sun, and fatigue that a century curses you with. The final hill is the day's biggest. You trudge up, trying to remind yourself the end is near.
At mile 98 you're on top of the hill, and at mile 100 you're done. You see the end, and remember it's another 100 miles tomorrow morning. You beg for water, sleep, and spaghetti. A wife at the finish line is the most beautiful thing in the world and you make a point to tell her thank you as best as you can. She says “I'm proud of you” as you fall asleep thinking about the people you met and the stories they told without saying a word.
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