52,839 SLC Century
The start of the Salt Lake Century. 2,000+ cyclists, at all skill levels, riding 37, 67, or 107 miles.
It’s been a while since I’ve ridden in a big pack, as I train mostly by myself. But the feel for the peloton I gained in a decade of being “racerhead bike trash” came back naturally. Like riding a bike, one never forgets.
A massive pack of cyclists is like a school of exotic swarming fish. It’s never static, never quiet. Carbon fiber & aluminum scales flash past; chattering & rhythmic legs swimming in a hiss of tires-whirr of gears-thunk-thunk of gears shifting, bright jerseys finlike & sunglassed eyes focused on ripples of motion through the road & vibrant arrowing school.
Dancing on the pedals through cool morning air, it’s great to be a fish! This was not a race, but people were moving well & riding smoothly. Eric Kraan & I rode together, that’s him in the yellow. There were cyclists as far ahead & behind us as our eyes could see.
Due to the flat terrain, huge packs of “like-minded souls” quickly formed. Eric & I ended up with not just any fish, but hammerheads, barracuda, marlin, mako, & tarpon of the friendliest, fastest kind.
As the morning heats up, this pack ate up the miles at an astonishing pace. (note: we were far from the first groups, all great whites & orcas).
We are flying across the gorgeous antelope island causeway here, spinning the big ring at 27mph. Snow in the mountains visible over our shoulders.
Does this photo of make my butt look big? I have a maximus gluteus no matter the camera angle. I am “keeping it old school” here on a VERY old Bianchi full of “passione celeste” that my brother gave me.
Among the carbon fiber, aluminum & titanium fish so common in current top level bikes, I think my brother’s old bike left a swirl of rust in the air as I rode along. But I could almost hear it singing in Italian to me, or was that just the early warning signs of dehydration?
Packs, packs, huge numbers of people. I could never dream of riding this far, this fast, on my own.
About 65 miles in, both Eric & I started cramping hard, going from Hammerhead to guppy in a matter of a mile.
Full quad spasms sting.
We dropped away from the school ‘O fish. Even through stop signs, urban riding, crosswinds & the winding hills through Antelope Island, we had been averaging close to 23mph.
We took a decent break at a rest stop. Partook of the generous refreshments, and felt much better.
I sent Jessica this text message, letting her know I was ok.
71 so far
am cramping
headwind is bad
I AM AT PEACE
Re-hyrdated & energized, during the final 40 miles Eric & I began to merge with other riders doing the shorter routes.
After swimming in schools of hammerheads, I was reminded how wonderfully democratic cycling is. How accessible, how there are so many ways to enjoy the sport.
And that there are many people whose courage & effort to ride the 37 mile shortest route was far greater than what I needed to ride 107.
I take my helmet off to them.
Near the end Eric & I ended up with many triathletes riding on their tribars, pulling steady by themselves in the wind, dreaming of the swim-bike-run Kona Ironman.
A few moments after I took this shot, this guy took an incredible, endless pull into a headwind, 25 people in his draft, thankful for every pedalstroke.
Due to some spark of intensity innate to who I am, in the final miles I started driving as hard as I could.
How appropriate is it to the theme of this post that a rider astride a custom LandShark joined me, and we took turns team time trialing through the final few miles at 25-27mph (really, this is him, you can see the logo on this downtube).
We were not racing, there is no reward unless you count the yummy ice cream bars they had at the finish. There was no completion certificate, but who cares.
It’s the joy of riding, and the pride of accomplishment & being a fortunate fish.
Why did I title this post 52,839 ??
My father rode many centuries when I was a kid, I clearly remember him and his green Raleigh International riding the BikeCentennial in 1976.
In 1976 he was a year younger than I am now, he can’t ride anymore due to heart trouble.
My heart beat roughly 52,839 times over the 5 hours & 9 minutes it took me to do this 107 mile ride (average hr of 171, final average speed of 20.78).
…and I am grateful for every beat I have, every joyous pedalstroke that I can take, because someday I might not be able to.
Dad, although a lot of people might read this post, I really wrote this thinking of you; as I thought of you often during the ride.
Filed under: from the coffee shop
Andrew, that is a beautiful post with your wonderful writing and great pictures. It’s a perfect story about the feel of the pack, finding groups and individual riders, and seeing everything around you. In the over 7 hours it would have taken me to do the same ride, even with a lower average heart rate, I would have ended up with more beats for the ride (but not as many pictures)… If you didn’t guess it from my previous comment(s), I rely on exercise to try to escape from my family’s high cholesterol. And I remember to appreciate the distance athlete genes that came from my family, too.
Andrew did not take to cycling at a young age much to our dismay. While his father and I did the Princeton Century Ride in 1976 he stayed home with the babysitter who was a total “trekie.”
In 1978 we gave Andrew a very rare and very tiny 6 speed Motobecane bicyle called the Nomad. While his father did a century ride around Cayuga Lake in upstate New York, I coaxed him to ride a three mile loop-quite hilly-near Cornell University while I pulled his 3 year old brother in a “bugger” the first low tech baby trailer that attached to a bicycle and seated two. Took us several hours with lots of stops. That seemed to end Andrew’s cycling career.
Anrew really didn’t start cycling seriously until 1989 despite all our best efforts to lure him onto a bike. (I will admit that every road that led from our house either went one mile straight up or one mile straight down.
So parents don’t despair if your child doesn’t like your favorite sport. It may happen later!!!!
BTW in our day when we did club-level century rides, the macho young men who hammered out at the beginning of the century were known as “gorillas”and they were often passed near the end of the ride by the “butterflies” (thin women who appeared not to have a muscle on them) who floated effortlessly up the hills at the end without any apparent fatigue and not a sign of the bonks!
Andrew- What a great ride it was! I received a road bike for Christmas and have definitely been bitten by the bug. My goal was to ride about 50 miles since I am a beginner and my longest distance previously was 30 miles. Once I started however I was determined to complete the 67 mile route, which actually was 73 miles! What a great feeling to accomplish that, next year I’m in for the full century.
Thanks for sharing your perspective with us all.
I also had a Raleigh . Before that it was an Iver-Johnson,which every kid had to have.
It was to be my first two-wheeler. My Dad had a bargain bike shipped from a discount dealer in NYC to Jamestown. I was so upset that it went back the next day and I got my Iver
I don’t remember despairing about our kids. We spent most of our time coping with Andrew’s Mom and her younger brother who had to do everything she did.
Congratulations Larissa!!!!
it’s a truly wonderful feeling to go beyond what you thought was possible…
More than doubling your former longest ride is fantastic! You rock!!
what I said in the post, I will say again, my hat/helmet is off to you!
This post is a classic!
Great post Andrew. Makes me feel like i was there. And your butt does not look big in the picture.
Thank you, Andrew. I am moved by your post.
Cycling was a wonderful part of my life. I remember one group ride in the Spring when we all struggled up a long, steep hill, and then were rewarded with a downhill coast through blossoms falling from trees on both sides of the road.
Centuries (100 miles in 8 hours was the minimum; I usually could do it in around 6) were great social occasions back then, when hundreds of people might turn out. You could ride along with someone you had never met and talk, or you could fall into a pace line and go fast for a while. You could have a gut-wrenching uphill or headwind struggle, and then fly. A tailwind on the way back was especially wonderful. I remember one where the bicycle moved by itself on level ground–so fast that there was no point in pedaling.
I also remember the ride your Mother discusses in her post above. We went around Cayuga Lake, in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York. I started out, feeling great, and fell in with a group of racers in a pace line. We were just flying for about 60 miles. I couldn’t pull, just hang on, but I did it and had a great time.
But then came the moment of truth. The racers finally dropped me, and I rode by myself for about 20 miles. Then suddenly I hit the wall, out in the middle of nowhere. Within a mile or two, I was so weak I couldn’t ride any more. I got off and walked my bike–but then, right there in the woods, was a cafe.
I went up to the counter. What would you have eaten to save yourself? My answer was a monster Coke (sugar and all) and a couple of doughnuts. After a few minutes of sitting I was off and made the 20 miles to the end. You–age 7 or so, and David, age 3, and your mother were waiting at the end. I can see you all today.
Centuries were our equivalent of a runner’s marathon. Certainly you had to take a day or two to get over the stiffness and soreness–it was like nothing else.
I’ll save the story of the century where I had 3 flats for another time!
Do I miss it? Sure. Unfortunately, one part of life is doors closing behind you as you move through it, and cycling’s door closed for me (although I stil have the Raleigh in the basement!). But some other doors open, because you know and understand more.
Thanks again, and may you all have great riding!
Much Love, Dad
I can’t be the only member of the family who hasn’t commented. I also really liked this post. I have done a century as well, although it wasn’t an organized one. I did the Cayuga lake ride with my bike group in High School. There were no rest stops, so we just stopped halfway at a little pizza place. I’m just going to say a huge Calzone was a bad call on my part. Dragging myself, my bike, and three pounds of cheese up the three huge hills in the last 20 miles was pretty rough. I also remember that we finished in downtown Ithaca. I called mom and dad to come pick me up, as I figured I had ridden enough that day. But no one answered, so I had to ride home up Hector street. That was also rough.
Thank you Love family for these great stories. I have 4 children and the main reason why I am still very active is to be able to give my kids the kind of experience that Mom and Dad Love gave to to the the little Loves!
Sounds like a lot of Love going on around the place on cycles.
Love is in the air — exquisite. I would love to hear some more about how the skates came to be Loved.
Thanks all you Loves
Holy moly. There really was a shark.
It’s whole different experience when the little ones get involved, but still so very cool. This weekend we took both mini-Schaiblys (4 and 5.5 years old) on a hike to Horsetooth Falls, and Evan has been seen around town pulling a trail-a-bike with a trailer behind it. We’ll be the long, long, long bike soon when we hook up the trail-a-bike and the trailer up to the tandem.
p.s. Andrew — Evan’s been rockin those Smokes. Got another pair?
What goes around comes around. It is quite a thrill to share the responsibility of producing a guy that is held in such high esteem
Save your “LOVE” stamps. No more are to be made
Look for “SNOW” stamps. It is our only chance
A latecomer to Andrew, via Jessica, (I’m her mother), it was so beautiful reading the comments from mother, father, brother and grandfather. So many individuals, each showing her/himself so clearly. Really enjoyed learning what they did, 20+/- years ago. Terrific! I also enjoyed the touch of philosophy from Charlie. About cycling, all I have to offer is a three-week tourist stint with a friend around les Caves de Lascaux and Cahors (fantastic wine! before Jessica was born. Spokes kept breaking on my Atala, what with all the stuff we carried. But her father did race. He even won one race, age 19, 100 KM in the mountains of Eritrea.