Finished First Century! Trailnet Ride the Rivers (LONG)

[TrekTheKaty]

Thanks to everyone here who answered all my silly questions—is a century possible, training programs, what to eat, what shorts do you wear, etc.

To Lattae—Thanks for the last minute race report. Your detailed info calmed our fears of getting lost and that there would be plenty of food (we were still pack mules—I finished with more than I started with)! Anybody need any Clif Bars?

To Momentum Cycles in St. Peters--thanks for squeezing my bike in last week--my new Trek bike is still "clicking" but she hung together!

This is long, so here it is: 101.74 miles, total time 9:25 (5:33 avg pace), moving time 7:47 (4:35 avg pace), avg moving speed 13.1, elevation gain +6857/-6948, 76-82 degree temp with peak wind of 12 (I swear it was more than that!) My DH’s computer died at mile 60, but he finished 1 hour ahead of us.

Suprisingly, my husband agreed to head out early and we rolled into the Ameristar at 6:30 am. It was like a bike and jersey fashion show! As we stood talking, we realized the parking lot was emptying out—we didn’t know we could start when we were ready! We rolled out at 7:15 am, looking for our first pink dot. (Little did we know those little boogers would become a welcome friend!) We tried to lay back, but the other cyclists were very courteous and welcomed us into their group.

Someone described the course as rolling—C#$%.

My husband is a strong, rider—and the reason I agreed to do this ride. My brother-in-law pulled me aside one day and said “I want to do the century, but I don’t know if I can hang with your husband.” I went to the bike shop, bought my first road bike—to see if I could hang with him! It turns out our paced was perfectly matched. DH swore he was going to hang back with us for awhile, but he dropped us in 15 min—as he found a fast group to ride with (finally—go play with them—you’re killing us!) My brother-in-law and I rolled out at a brisk pace that I tried to reel in, but couldn’t! We were even shifting together.

We head into Creve Couer Park, our normal bike path and pass my sister out for her morning ride! BIL thinks something is rubbing on his bike, but we press on (I worry because he took his front wheel off to load into the car instead of driving the van).

They did the ride the opposite direction this year—a relief, because the end of the course I wasn’t familiar with, became the beginning—so there were plenty of riders to follow. It was much more rolling hills at the beginning than we warned BIL about, and at one point before the first rest stop, he said he didn’t want to see anymore hills—HA, HA. I decided to count whooly worms, he decided to count flat tires and hills. (He lost track of both.) We vow to slow to each others pace, remind each other to drink, stay one gear lower than we need, and stop every hour for a quick snack. We just wanted to finish.

The first rest stop at Mile 20 was at the Missouri History Museum in Forest Park, which was a welcome site—I was pretty sure I knew the way from here. Surprisingly, my DH rounded the corner. He had been waiting in the porta-a-potty line. We head out together again.

This route change also brought us through downtown towards the Arch before it got too busy. Because of all the stoplights, we hung with my DH for almost 30 min this time. Towards the Arch the group started running red lights—once right in front of a cop. We shrugged and figured he couldn’t stop us all. He hung behind us and gave us an unofficial police escort to edge of downtown.

We picked up the RiverFront Trail which is nice, but nothing to brag about. My BIL asks if I need a gel? Why? You got quiet (If you were there and wanted to know if you passed us, we were the ones on two Trek bikes with a running commentary!) We almost missed a turn here. I saw the dot as we went by and as we came to a stop, the two girls behind us asked if we were OK—they missed the turn too. This was the detour around the trail washout from flooding last month.

We rolled up to the Chain of Rocks Bridge. If you ever get a chance to visit—DO! I don’t know why I like it so much. It’s a part of Route 66 and is only open for bikes and pedestrians and is owned by TrailNet. At the stop here, I overheard a female rider having a troubling conversation on her cell. I asked if everything was OK—Yes, but two of here friends had someone stop in front of them and they both went over their handlebars. They were OK, but scraped up. We wished her the best as she gave us some encouragement.

We usually ride the MCT Confluence which is a part paved, part chip-and-seal trail along the levee—but surprisingly, we continued out to the road. We met another group here, who knew where they were going. I didn’t--I was convinced we would end up in Indiana. We saw some beautiful countryside and came out at the Lewis & Clark visitor center, to join up with the Confluence Trail. We knew lunch was ahead and finally rounded the corner at the Lock & Dam. Our friend from the Chain of Rocks rode up and said her friend’s helmets were cracked and by the time the medical help and tech van showed up they had bailed. Probably wise. Anything can happen out here. My phone rings. DH is probably looking for us at lunch, but we are still a few miles out. No time to answer.

As we sat at lunch (Mile 60), we again confirmed we weren’t the last one’s out there. The couple that parked next to us sits down at our table. I’d also ridden the next part of the course, the Valdabene Bike Path or the Great River Road—also something else you should check out.

It is an indistinguishable climb up to Grafton and then the Brussels ferry, but we were flying! I was hoping it wasn’t just a “high” from lunch. I tried to reel it in again, but I was in a low gear and spinning easy. BIL confirmed he wanted to keep our pace up and felt good. The flats are nice, but there is no coasting here.

My BIL’s longest ride was 44 miles and I’d wisely let that milestone pass unannounced. However, my longest (because of illness) was 57. We were past that, into unknown territory. I start announcing mileage: 62, 64, 66. My BIL asks me to tell him when we’re to 70—if he can do 70--he has decided, he will finish. OK. 67, 68, 69, 70! We got this.

About mile 75 comes the unavoidable question—who’s idea was this? Neither one of us would claim it. I think it was my husband’s but he’s nowhere to be found.

We almost missed the stop in Grafton at mile 76?—we doubled back. A relief-- I didn’t get both water bottles full at lunch. It was also a much needed “butter” stop! Vanity and social appropriateness is out the window as my BIL reminds to “rebutter” as I head into the bathroom. (My DH missed this one, as did many others. “We were waiting for you at the rest stop.” “What rest stop?”). It was here a girl I saw at lunch, had to be loaded into the SAG wagon. Her legs had cramped up and she couldn’t walk. Another perfectly healthy looking man was also bailing—maybe it was just a training ride. I vow to drink more and suck down another gel.

We both still felt strong. Of course, taking the road to the ferry would be too easy—we pick up the bike trail and climb up OVER the ferry. It is here that again, we stopped and let an “official” looking group with matching jerseys go by. BIG MISTAKE. They were a moving road hazard. The people in the back stopping without notice, and some riders weaving in the middle of the group, that could only lead to a wreck. We both back off and let them go, but catch them on a hill as half of them slow to a crawl. Again, the cyclists on the ride were amazing—just as I tried to pass on the hill, someone came up behind me yelling on your left—but acquiesced and said “sorry,” when he realized I was gaining ground. We coasted back to the ferry.

I was curious how long we would have to wait. There were a lot of bicycles here and a huge line of cars. Maybe they would load the cars and let the bicycles fill the empty spots? Nope, they wave us on first! (Thanks the people on the ferry—this was the free one and they were very generous—even though our large group was probably equivalent to two cars). The group wisely walked onto the ferry (apparently, in my husband’s group, they tried to ride on and three bikes wrecked. Everyone wisely walked off). At this point we vow to drink, snack and I try to reapply some sunblock to my face. I’m sure you all know, this results in some kind of weird salt scrub facial—but made me feel better and my BIL laugh. This was a short ferry ride, so I call DH to leave him a message (as it turns out, he was loading the second ferry!)

When we unload, BIL and I get separated. I pull off to the side and yell ahead to him to wait for the cars. All the bikes came to a stop and pulled over—and a chorus of, “Yeah, wait for the cars to pass.” (whoops—did I yell that?!) I tried to wave the riders behind me by, but they all said, “We’re right behind you.” Another vote of confidence from complete strangers. We cruise along, still feeling good with a large group. I try to count the cars in line for the ferry—it had to be several miles long. They were puzzled by our presence, and some seemed to feel it must be somehow our fault they were waiting in line. I smile and wave. BIL has a charlie horse in his calf. I worry. He drinks a little extra.

This is known as Calhoun County—famous for it’s hills. My DH came over here once on a training ride, but the second ferry was closed for flooding—so we rode to the “top” and hadn’t explored the other side. The change of direction would eliminate a big hill right off the ferry, but who knew what the climb would be like on the other side. We make a left turn. BIL is convinced this is the “flat” route a friend told him about (remind me find him and beat him up later). We get excited--we should come over here all the time—this is fun! We come to a marina and I’m convinced the ferry must be just up ahead. I had noticed the mileage on my GPS seems to be suddenly crawling but I hadn’t noted that we had quite a ways to go. And there it was—a hill. C@#$%. I make it up, but I’m panting—not good. Then another hill. Then another. I thought that third one was the end of me. I made it, but I can’t imagine I have much left. Then something kicked in—the jelly beans from the ferry? My BIL suddenly strong up ahead of me, dangling like a carrot? Passing my “green” jersey friend who had hung ahead of me all day? ANGER!? (Who’s idea is it to put the serious cyclist’s hill workout into a century?) I don’t know, but I had a second wind. And we climbed, and climbed, one rolling hill after another. A cyclist was sittting on the grass at the top of a hill—I wanted to yell, “You’re almost there”—but everyone hates that. And I didn’t know if we were! So I yell, "Are you alright?" Yeah, just tired.) Suddenly, an intersection I recognized! “This is it! This is the top! I’ve been here!” Nope, a few more rollers before the monster hill that we get to COAST down, since they changed the course direction. On a training ride, I reached my max speed of 35 on this hill, but I scrub a little speed and I head down—don’t want to blow it here! The ferry! An oasis! We were enjoying the group mentality of passing cars, so we bypass the line and roll to the front. A soda machine. I bought change for that soda machine. But someone is banging on it—is it out? A lot of biker’s have been through here. Is the ferry coming or going? “Going.” Hold my bike. I dig for change. DARN IT! There’s two ferries and it is pulling up. My BIL says , “I’m sticking to gatorade and water.” Darn. I shove the change back into my bag and head for the ferry. I pass up the nectar of the gods, but probably a wise choice. However, the Cytomax in my bottle is starting to taste like crap. Not a good sign. MILE 90. This is a longer ferry ride and a much needed brake. We’ve passed the hills of Calhoun and it should be flat from here. And then someone says, “Just the hill into St. Charles, 2 miles, 9 % grade.” I didn’t need to know that.

I glance down at my GPS—we’re not going to make our 8-hour goal. They greet us at the ferry with the news that they are waiting for water, but have Gatorade and snacks. Berry flavored. I only fill half my bottle, leaving some for others. My BIL asks what it tastes like—“Gatorade.” My BIL calls my sister to chat. I call my DH and he answers this time—“I’m rolling into town. But that last nine miles, what a b@#$%.” I don’t want to hear it! I hang up. He was still whining. I give my BIL the wind-up signal—“you can talk when we finish these 10 miles” and we head out.

We are quickly left by the group, but I don’t care. BIL asks if I feel like a rock in the middle of a running creek. I don’t care. 10 miles—I can walk from here. BIL discourages that and tells me to hold my line—I’m blocking his wind. That’s fair. Gives me something to concentrate on. We have a strong headwind as we make the turn into the flats, but I know it won’t be far until we turn again. However, now we have a decent crosswind (huh, that’s new. Effort to stay upright and track straight.) We still see bicycles so we’re OK. BIL is convinced we are the last ones out here. And finally, I agree—surely we left a lot of them back on the hills. I was almost one of them. Someone passes us. OK, now we are the last ones. We turn into an industrial park—yeah! Wide rode, no traffic and the buildings are blocking the wind. And then, there it was. “It doesn’t look so bad.” Hill.

Another flat tire—a girl I had talked to on the ferry. What a bummer. So close--and at the base of this hill.

We start climbing at 98 miles. The bikes ahead of us are suddenly visible and bunching up. Not a good sign. This is cruel, but we can coast into town from the top. It turns out to be a roller, which at least gives us time to recover.

I see the overpass and start whooping as we crest the final hill. A rider on an expensive tri-bike smiles and asks if we are almost there as he passes. We coast over the overpass. BIL is still pedaling, apparently anxious to get to the car. I attempt to click up a few gears and give up. I’m coasting. My phone rings. I know it’s DH, but he can wait! I’m not stopping to answer. I ask BIL if he’s seen any pink arrows lately. Nope. Main Street St. Charles is a huge tourist area on Sundays, so they are keeping us above it, but I know my car is down there somewhere! And there he was. My DH! Apparently he’d had a nice ride , had a few beers and decided to ride some more! Clark Streets turns out to be part of our normal route. We coast down the hill into the parking lot.

Marathons are full of fan fare—banners, announcers, a finish line, medals and goody bags. Nothing here. But it was a peaceful celebration. A quiet accomplishment. We snap a few pics and I ask BIL not to call to early tomorrow morning. And invite him for a metric century the next weekend!

My DH made an interesting observation that many here will appreciate—appearances are deceiving. “Much like your marathons, the skinny-fit--looking ones aren’t necessarily the fastest! I had a heavy set gentleman passed me four times—apparently he had four flats!”

He also points out that there were still a LOT of cars in the parking lot--so we weren't the last ones out there (I actually came up to an aid station in a marathon where they were dumping the water table over!)

“Green jersey” rolls into the parking lot. Yeah! I want to run over and say congratulations but I got distracted.

Luckily, we had carb loaded the day before on some healthy, homemade pizza for lunch and meatloaf w/ mashed potatoes for dinner. So leftovers were waiting for us. I felt surprisingly good after shower and stretching. I went to bed, but didn’t sleep good—classic sign of overtraining!

Food count: scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, smoothie and Starbucks Doubleshot for breakfast. 4 gels, 8 bottles of Cytomax, ½ bottle gatorade, 1 pb&j, banana, a few crackers with PB, several ginger snap cookies, and a bag of cherry jelly bellys.

Finishing a century is really luck. A flat, a fall, rolling into a rest stop with no water for my cytomax, forgetting a gel or missing a turn could have been the thing that stopped our momentum. We were very lucky and were reminded every time we passed someone on the side of the road. So thank you to the cycling gods.

:

I'll do a second post with more pics..........

[jobob]

Congratulations! and a great report.

And wow, what a challenging ride for your first century! But now that you've done it, you now know what you're capable of. Give yourself a big pat on the back.

[SouthernBelle]

Congrats. Excellent report.

[uforgot]

I rode the Mississippi trail on Saturday. So THAT'S what the pink markings were for. I knew they were fresh and just thought there had been a ride recently. Congratulations! I'd love to see more pics.

[arielmoon]

Congratulations!! You did it!!

[madscot13]

sounds like that was a fantastic ride. I love the pictures too.