Rocky Mountain Cycling Club
The Club for People Who Love to Ride!

Fall Century
By Mike Prendergast 

While many of us like to ride 12 months a year, there is always some demarcation from one cycling season to the next. For a group of six riders, a recent Sunday's ride may have been that mark. The ride was a good mix of in-season fitness and long, winter group rides. We did a non-stop 100-mile ride. Luckily we had two wonderful volunteers, Kelly Prendergast and Karen McConnell, who drove in a support car for us. They were behind us for the entire ride and had drinks, food, wheels, and clothes in the car. All we had to do was move to the back of the group, wave our arm, and up came the car. We could drop off or pickup nearly anything we needed. Natural breaks, as the English call them, were easy as well. We could stop by the road, letting the others go along at a steady pace, then motor pace back up behind the car, and rejoin the group without putting out much extra effort. Riding with this type of support really changes the ride.

I was very impressed with how everyone rode. My hope was to do a non-stop group 100-mile ride in the best time that we could do. I set a goal of 4 hours 30 minutes for the 100 miles.

We set off from Erie on a loop that goes nearly to Greeley and back. There were six riders: Tim Kalisch, Mike Prendergast, Brand LeMaitre , Sargent McDonald, Val Phelps, and Dale McConnell.
Given we had six riders, it was going to be hard to maintain a 22 mph average to meet the 4:30 time. But we set out at a reasonable pace and quickly formed a double pace line and took one- to two-minute pulls. I was pleasantly surprised that the group worked well together since most of the folks had not ridden together before. We moved along heading north and east, and covered the first 60 plus miles with an average speed of 21 mph.

Having the support car behind us, we could be nearly unconcerned about flats, getting food, or having the right clothing. All we had to do was ride. Everything else was taken care of by our support team. What a pleasure the ride was. We rode in a double line most of the day. With the steady tempo it was easy to carry on a conversation, and since many of us have not ridden all that much together, we found lots of interesting topics to discuss. 

We had quite a diverse group. One rider is a pro 1/2 racer, while another had never done a century before. The rest of us fit somewhere between these experience and skill levels. With the exception of the rookie in our group, we all finished feeling pretty good. We were tired, some more than others. Our rookie team member put in a tremendous effort. He definitely struggled to finish, but we all rode in together and finished in 4:57. As we sat around after the ride having a great pasta dinner, the conversation turned to planning more of these rides with a larger group. With the exception of two disbelieving eyes, we all agreed that we should do this again. The sooner the better.

In hindsight, it was a mistake to have someone try a ride like this as a first century. For the next ride, each rider should have done rides of this length before and have group riding skills.

If you would like to join us, drop me a note at mwprendergast@raytheon.com

A View From The Back
By  Dale McConnell 

What? You’re doing a century? Sounds fun! What? You’re going for time? Even better! Me and my big mouth! Yes, it did sound like an interesting proposition. I have not been riding a road bike for very long (about three months), but I had done as many as 67 miles in a single ride without unreasonable duress, so I’m thinking another 33 miles on top of that would be tough but doable. Besides, this would include support, not carrying more than one bottle but still having all I wanted to drink. I’d likely get a flat somewhere along the line, so there’s a built in rest break right there. I can do this!

It turns out I could, but the key point I was missing was that going-for-time bit. I had been on a fast 30-mile ride and only got dropped after an overly enthusiastic launch from a stop light, so I knew the key would be to stay within my limits, and let others push the pace when necessary. There were others in the group who would take care of going fast enough. I just had to hang on and take a few pulls at the front to keep up appearances.

It all started well enough. We maintained a steady pace through the first 40 miles or so, and although I was hanging in pretty well, I was starting to wonder about my ability to do 60 more. Then somewhere around 45 miles things started to take a noticeable turn for the worse. In reviewing the topology data provided by Mike’s heart rate monitor afterward, it was clear that the turn was simply a very slight turn in the uphill direction. Now there aren’t exactly any big hills out around Gilchrist, but while trying to maintain 20 plus mph, I tend to notice even the small 200 foot ones. After the first  200 foot incline, which is only distinguishable from flat in that I’m starting to fade more quickly, I come to the realization that I can’t keep up. We’re either going to have to seriously rethink this whole “Fast 100” concept, or I’m destined for the sag wagon. I decide that I don’t want to put the kibosh on the concept, so I’ll just stay with as long as I can hold out, and when I’m done I’ll get to ride out the rest in comfort. The second 200 foot incline commences soon thereafter. About half way up and viewing the pack from 20 to 30 yards back, I finally concede that I don’t have it in me today, and I’ll take my defeat like a man, being consoled for two hours in the sag wagon.  Then it got weird…

As some of you may have experienced, your brain tends to not work so well when you’re near the limit of endurance. For this reason I’m not sure my recollection will be accurate as not all of the conversation was verbal and some was with the voices in my head. These are always there, but I hear them more clearly when I’m wiped out.

So remember now, I’ve failed my five companions and can no longer continue. The last thing I want to do is to make a big deal out of it and delay them further. The best thing is to simply make the decision, stop, put the bike into the back of the car, hop in, and continue on with as little delay as possible to the car and thus to the group as a whole. I motion to the car that I am stopping, which is somewhat difficult for them to understand as that’s hardly the point to this outing. The second support member, my wife, is occupying the passenger side of the back seat, and there would be no room for me there. My bike won’t fit in the front seat, so I come up to the driver’s side of the car thinking that’s where I would ride. Kelly asks me what I need and I say, “I’m stopping”. She doesn’t seem to understand. “Yes, but what do you need? Water? Goo? A Power bar?”. “No, I’m stopping.” "Where can I put my bike", I’m thinking. Aren’t I allowed to stop? I’m done! “You’re doing great”, she says. "WHAT", I think to myself. Correction, I did okay, now I’m done. “What do you need”, she repeats, not yet seeming to understand. 

Now I’m frustrated. Who knew stopping would take so much energy. I decide to try to placate her by asking for water, which she produces instantly. “You could ride with us for awhile”, she offers. “There’s plenty of room.” I was now beginning to wonder if there really was enough room for me and my bike in the car with all those bottles. After all, the stabbing pain in my legs has started to subside a bit, and I’m tired of arguing. “You’re really looking great out there”, she offers in what is now perceived as a hint that she really doesn’t want to help load the bike into her car. 

Okay, fine. At this point getting back on and riding 50 more miles sounds easier than convincing these two that I really do want a ride. Maybe if I can exhaust myself to the point that I don’t look quite so great, it will be easier to get a lift? Sounds perfectly logical to me at the time, so I shed my windbreaker, which has clearly been slowing me down, take my water, and head down the road with what is something close to determination. At least I’m far enough behind now that I’ll get a draft from the car to help me catch up. ”Bye,” they say as they drive by, “we’ll go check in with the others and be back to check on you.” No drafting the car today. I find out later that they did offer, but either not hearing or not understanding, I seemed to respond that I did not want to.

So, all alone in Kansas, I’m pedaling along feeling blue, when over the crest of the hill and around the corner, horror of horrors, I see ahead that they’ve all stopped. All because of me. Great, all I did was try to stop so I wouldn’t be slowing them down, and I’ve failed on both counts. They haven’t started back up by the time I reach them, and I’m still frustrated. So here’s my logic: I’ve already had my break, and if I stop and rest some more I risk cramping up more and in any case, I will be immediately put into the position of working hard to keep up. If I just keep going, I can relax a bit, keep spinning, hopefully recover a little more, and they can be the ones catching up for once.

Surprisingly, this logic actually worked pretty well. By the time they caught up (not long), I had recovered from my fit of frustration and was starting to feel a little better. I let Mike know that I would probably not be able to stay with the whole “Fast 100” concept today and that I was okay with riding in the car. He informed me that the other five had decided to try to finish the ride with six and would do what they could to keep me going. That was pretty much all it took. No sag wagon for me today. 

The rest of the day, quite a bit of which was gradual incline, was very difficult and very painful. It was also one of the better experiences I’ve had for a long time. I don’t think I stressed out about my day job a single time. I only had one more “moment” the rest of the day and that was near the top of the last steep hill of the day at about mile 94 (by the water tower) when I only just started to black out a little. Then I was at the top, and it was almost all downhill from there. At the very end of the ride, we added a short loop in the neighborhood to make it an official 100, and others arrived back at the house with flat tires. My puncture was slight enough that I didn’t notice it until I unloaded my bike a few hours later. I never did get that rest break.

Thanks again to the other five riders. I could never have done it without them. Not many can claim a first century in  five hours. Thanks also to Karen and Kelly for the unwitting, but very insistent, encouragement at my 48-mile moment of crisis. Let’s do it again.

Dale McConnell

The rookie no longer