Cycling - The Racing Post

Cycle Logic - The Lure of the Century

By Diana North

What makes cyclists shell out good money, load their bikes and gear into vehicles and drive places to sleep in strange beds and suffer willingly? Why, century rides, of course. For those who scratch their heads in wonder, here are the bennies and psychoses at work that may help explain the century phenomenon. For those who already understand the lure of the century, here is a chance to revisit the almost mystical, magical misery of an organized, 100-mile bicycle ride.

First of all, a century ride is something to plan for, look forward to, and spend money on. Often the money spent on entry fees goes for good causes and that is something century lovers dwell on for various reasons. For one, it justifies a lot. Like the new gear we need, the hotel room for our bike and the small fortune in gas to drive to desolate places like Wichita Falls. Second, a century is the perfect reason to train, to brag, to eat weird food and to ride our legs off. For some a century may just be an incentive to keep logging those miles. But whatever the motives, having a century to prepare for is the perfect excuse to let cycling take over our life.

It’s not as if cyclists need excuses to ride. But let’s face it, some of us associate with non-cyclists, and that makes relationship issues a little trickier. Maybe it’s a boss or spouse or friend that needs convincing. Maybe we just want to justify what others refer to as our “cycling addiction.” In these situations having a goal, no matter how insane it may sound, at least earns most of us some brownie points. Dropping the old “I’m riding 100 miles on my bike” into conversation almost always gets a reaction, even if it is just a look of sheer envy or quizzical worry. Perhaps it generates pointed questions about our state of mind. Either way, we consider it part of those personal bragging rights. And once we actually finish the ride, we can use the past tense of the same remark to get everything from pity, admiration and freedom from the honey-do list. Of course, it helps to repeat the words “one hundred” in reverent tones and with a slightly furrowed brow. And, yes, it entitles us to a nap.

Those of us who do centuries know that after any long distance bike ride, something wonderful happens after recovery. Those legs feel huge. Having pedaled over hill and dale we’re sure those legs could do anything and now we feel invincible. This may or may not be true, of course, but that’s irrelevant here. We may feel numb in the butt and brain, but those legs feel bigger and stronger than ever before. Copious amounts of fluid and a night or two of sleeping in our own bed have restored us to normalcy (or as close to it as it’s possible for a cyclist to get) and anyone is fair game. Including the very people who pulled our slumped and salt-encrusted body to the finish line just days before.

Non-cyclists are at a distinct disadvantage, poor things. There is simply no way for them to appreciate the finer things that make riding a century truly memorable. Like finding those crumpled numbers still safety pinned to our sweaty jersey. And all the little fripperies stuffed in our seat bag. Or the frenzied filling of the pre-ride goodie bags where we collect more water bottles than we’ll ever need along with strange new foods, usually rectangular, that come wrapped in plastic. Those cheap spaghetti dinners on plastic plates eaten at cafeteria tables the night before. The maps carefully saved just in case, and then later scraped out of our jersey pocket. The potions and powders that provide superhuman powers of hydration that ends up being part of the satisfying travel crust on our beloved bike. And then there’s the chafing, visible proof of mental toughness over physical limitations. Still, even a non-cyclist can understand the never-ending quest for beauty, adventure and freedom. Let’s explore the beauty quest first.

We look at them and we’re proud of our own; those pretty cycling legs. Worthy of the almost constant preening, strangely tanned and showcased in snug spandex, we know beautiful legs when we see them. If we’re honest, we know we like looking down and thinking, “wow.” Shaven or not, chiseled or massive and shapely, veined as a thoroughbred or knotted-looking; cycling legs should be declared national treasures. Treasures attached to people who long for adventure and freedom.

Freedom in the cycling world could be described as the feeling of total and complete justification for anything and everything we eat. Suddenly, drinking beer is carbo-loading. Beef jerky is stringy salt-wand candy. Pickle juice, once the stuff we poured down the drain after the dill spears were gone, is suddenly in demand, and drinking it surely qualifies as an adventure. Bananas are potassium in a peel and emptied Gu packets are the updated version of Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumb trail home.

Adventures on the road abound; those gorgeous bikes, those weird bikes, the crashes, and all those interesting people. The scenery and colors and constant movement of it all, like a slow stampede of exotic creatures on wheels.

The snippets of conversation mingle with the humming of wheels and the clacking of gears to make music to pedal by. Until, toward the end, there is only the humming wheels and the wind. But the biggest adventure of all is the trip going on inside of each rider. There is nothing quite like it. In the course of one century ride a cyclist can experience joy, pain, hope mixed with small bursts of frustration, fatigue, inner peace, fear, camaraderie and connection with everything around them. Then, of course, there’s the exhilaration that cancels out the fatigue and everything else at the finish line.

In our fast-paced lives where rewards seem like some distant speck on the horizon, it’s nice to feel that thrill of accomplishment at the end of a challenging day. Whether we’ve logged the miles, beat our best time, met some new friends or discovered just how amazing we really are, riding a century is a test of what we’re made of. It tells the world we’re capable of pushing our physical and mental limits. It means we probably take cycling fairly seriously. Or maybe we just like the magic and misery.