The ride was scheduled to start at about 7:15, and this event was serious about being on time. Even at 6:30, there was a huge number of people heading towards the start. We took up at least six city blocks on a four-lane (maybe five-lane) road. The number of people there was just astounding. I’m disappointed that none of my crowd pictures turned out well. Standing there on the edge of the road, I could easily see 10,000 cyclists lined up to start the ride.
My friend and fellow Marine Military Academy alumnus Frank Colunga had come up for the ride from College Station. We started the ride together, but separated early on. I didn’t take any other pictures during the ride, but Marathon Foto was there, and I got a bunch of shots from them. You can view them on my Facebook photo album.
After a few announcements and the traditional singing of the National Anthem–it was amazing how the chatter stopped with the first notes of the Anthem–a flight of four fighters (I think they were F-15s, but I could be mistaken) from Sheppard Air Force Base did a low fly-by, and as they passed the cannon fired to signal the start of the ride.
It’s hard to explain to somebody who hasn’t experienced it just what the start of a large bike ride is like. We’re all packed together far too tightly to just get on our bikes and start riding. They line us up by expected finishing time, with the faster riders in the front. Those of us further back end up walking a hundred yards or more, slowly pushing our bikes along until we get to the start line, where the road widens and the space in front of us opens up enough that we can get on the saddle and start pedaling. Then, we slowly increase speed, always being mindful of the people in front and the speed demons coming up to pass from behind. The key here is to keep your eyes on what’s happening ahead of you, keep riding in as straight a line as possible, and always look carefully behind before making any lateral changes. You have to pay attention to hand signals from riders you’re approaching, keep your ears open for shouts of “hole” or “bottle” or “glass” from riders warning of hazards ahead of you, and “on your left” from people coming up from behind. I’m surprised at how many riders were wearing ear buds and listening to music at this point. I can maybe understand listening to music once you get out on the road and away from the crowds, but at the start of a big ride like this, you really shouldn’t have anything interfering with your awareness of the situation.
I’ve done quite a few of these organized rides, and I’m fairly accustomed to the things that happen at the beginning. But it seemed to me that there were a whole lot more lost water bottles–especially at the beginning of the ride–than I’d ever seen previously. The first five miles was a veritable obstacle course of bottles rolling around on the road. It’s a good thing we had a four-lane road all to ourselves for the first 10 miles or so.
I felt good. The temperature at the start was about 70 degrees, and the forecast was for a high in the low 90s and a south wind at about 7 MPH. The route is roughly a rectangle that’s approximately 35 miles east-west and 15 miles north-south, with the start point about 10 miles west of the southeast corner. The ride proceeds clockwise, so we headed west, then north, a very long stretch across the “top” as we head back east, and finally a meandering south and southwest grind into the wind back to Wichita Falls.
Frank seemed to like being left alone to zone out, so I left him behind shortly after the 10 mile mark and set to the business of riding. I couldn’t get over the number of people out there. At one point–near the 15 mile mark–I topped a little rise (the flatlanders called it a hill) and could see two or three miles in front of me. As far as I could see, the road (two lanes by this time, but with decent shoulders) was packed with cyclists. I’d never seen that many people still together 15 miles into a ride. It thinned out over time, of course, but in the entire 100 miles there never was a point that I couldn’t see several dozen riders sharing the road with me.
I do most of my training alone, so I’m still a bit uncomfortable joining a paceline, in part because I’m afraid I’ll do something wrong and cause a wreck, and in part because I have a difficult time trusting that the people in front or behind me won’t cause me to wreck. On the plus side, cooperating in a paceline can save you a lot of energy and increase your overall speed because you get the benefit of drafting off the others and–especially in a big group–only have to hammer it out up front very rarely. I joined a few pacelines along the way, pitching in to help when it was my turn, and had a few impromptu lines form behind me from time to time when I’d pass a group of riders. I stayed with one group for a good 10 miles or so until they pulled off at a rest stop while I kept going. I just couldn’t find a group that was maintaining a speed that I found comfortable.
Riding alone has its benefits. I can share short conversations with people and then fall back or speed up, wishing them a good ride and going back to enjoying the sights and the antics of the riders and spectators. And there were lots of spectators. Every little town we rode through had groups of people sitting along the road cheering us on. And, of course, there’s the mild amusement of rural Texas. The little town of Electra, Texas, for example, boasts “The Pumpjack Capital of Texas!” They even have a Pumpjack Festival. There were a few others I laughed at as I passed, but I don’t recall them now. And although I had my camera in my jersey pocket, the road was too crowded at first and I was too exhausted later to even think about fiddling with a camera while I was riding.
The town of Electra is at the 30 mile mark. I had originally planned to stop there for water, but with the cool weather and the light tailwind for the previous 10 miles I hadn’t had to drink as much as I expected. I elected to push on to the 40 mile mark before stopping. I was moving along at a good clip, too. At the 30 mile point, I was averaging almost 21 MPH–much faster than I expected, even on this flat course.

Skipping the 30 mile water stop was a sound decision. I really did have enough water and food to take me to the 40 mile point without trouble. At about 37 miles, I made the turn from north to east and began the 40 mile trek across the “top” of the course. I picked up another paceline and burned a little too much energy staying with them before I realized that I couldn’t maintain that heart rate. I was letting the excitement of the ride and my surprising speed overrule my judgement, and as the 40 mile stop approached I decided that I could make it to the 50 mile stop. That was a very poor decision. I had less than half a bottle of water left and no food except some peanuts, and I’d already determined that I didn’t like peanuts quite that much for riding food. Two miles later I realized that I’d done a stupid thing, but there was no way I was going back.
One thing non-cyclists don’t realize is how rough these country roads can be. A road that feels just a little rough when you’re driving over it in a car can be torture on a bicycle. In a car, you’re riding on tires that are at least six inches wide and sitting on a soft seat insulated from the road by springs and shock absorbers. You don’t even notice small shallow dents in the road. A road bicycle tire, on the other hand, is about an inch wide and there is no suspension. The fork and frame absorb some of the bumps on the road, but you feel a two inch wide hole that’s only 1/4 inch deep. Maintenance on these country roads consists of chip sealing, which results in less-than-smooth (to be kind) riding surface. After the first 30 miles or so, it seemed like the entire ride was on chip sealed roads. A few miles of chip seal is a minor annoyance. 10 miles or more is just punishing. Since the bike doesn’t absorb the shock, you have to: in your hands, wrists, shoulders, back, and butt. There’s no doubt that rough roads wear you down.
The “50 mile” stop was actually at 54 miles, and I was out of water. I stopped at the rest area, refilled my water bottles, drank as much as I could comfortably hold, ate some fruit and cookies, and lounged around for a few minutes. They had a band called, I think, Red Dirt Surf, playing surf guitar music. I like surf guitar in small doses, and it really seemed to fit here. I also chatted for a few minutes with the ham radio operators who had a tent there at the stop before climbing on my bike and heading out again. I had been off the bike for about 12 minutes.
I finished the first 54 miles of the ride without stopping, with an average speed of 19.8 MPH, which I’m pretty sure is the fastest 50 miles I’ve ever ridden on a bike. But when I pulled away from that stop, I realized two things. One, the wind had picked up a bit. It was still from the south, but it had become strong enough to be a nuisance as I headed east. The other thing I realized was that I wasn’t going to finish the second half of the ride nearly as fast as I did the first half. I was mildly dehydrated, and I had burned a little bit more energy than I should have. I made a conscious decision to slow down a bit, drink more, and try to rebuild some energy.
It’s funny how one’s memory of things changes once the pain sets in. After leaving that rest area, I stopped looking at the sights and concentrated more on my riding: picking the smoothest possible line (in the right tire track, usually), maintaining a good posture, pedaling as smoothly as possible, keeping an eye on my heart rate monitor, and remembering to drink regularly. My stomach was a little upset (I think it was the peanuts), so I had a tough time getting myself to eat very much. At least I put Gatorade mix in two of my three water bottles and forced myself to drink it even though by now I’d become pretty sick of the taste. About the only things I remember between mile 54 and mile 69 where I stopped again were the town of Burkburnett (the biggest town we passed through, other than Wichita Falls), and the little party going on at Hell’s Gate–the cutoff point that riders have to make before 12:30 if they’re going to do the entire 100 miles. I had no trouble there; I passed Hell’s Gate well before 11:00.
I do recall that, as I approached the rest stop at 69 miles, it dawned on me that this was the furthest I’d ridden this season. My longest training ride was only 65 miles, and I felt a whole lot worse on that ride than I was feeling at the moment. That gave me a little lift. I stopped again at 69 miles, refilled my water bottles, ate a bit more, and sat down under the tent for a few minutes with a cold towel on the back of my neck. I drank a bit, got to feeling better, and headed out again after less than 10 minutes.
The next 10 miles weren’t too bad. We were working our way towards the northeast corner of the course. There was one jog north that felt good with the wind at my back, but I knew I’d have to pay for it later when we turned to head back into the wind. That happened at about 78 miles. Mine wasn’t the only groan when we made a hard right turn and felt that wind directly in our faces.
I stopped again at 84 miles to fill the water bottles and sit down again. I wasn’t eating enough, but I feared that if I did it’d just come right back up. Cold towels on the back of the neck worked wonders to help me cool down, and I even managed to soak my bandana in ice water before taking off. With hair as short and thin as mine, I have to wear a head covering under my helmet or I end up with a rather painful sunburn.
Pulling away from the 84 mile stop, I fully planned to ride it in from there. Even as tired as I was, I couldn’t imagine not being able to ride the last 18 miles (yes, the course is actually 102 miles). I even got a good chuckle a few miles down the road when I spied the First Baptist Church of Dean (one of four buildings in the big town of Dean, TX) and thought of taking picture to send to my friend Dean. But that would have taken effort. There was a rest area at one of the other three buildings there, and I decided I’d take another break. My average speed was already way down from the nearly 20 MPH I’d established in the first half of the ride, and I had given up on the idea of finishing the course in under six hours. Plus, there was a nice big shady spot on the grass.
The stop was at 92 miles. I had only 10 miles to go, but I was ready to be done. I refilled the water bottles, took off my helmet, and laid on the grass in the shade for 20 minutes. I might even have nodded off for a few minutes. I helped a guy pump up his tire (he had a slow leak and didn’t want to take the time to replace the tube), then grudgingly climbed on the bike again for the last 10 miles.
Perhaps not surprisingly, I started feeling real good almost immediately after I got back on the road. Maybe it was the rest, and maybe it was the prospect of being finished. We were close to the big city again, meaning the roads had improved and there were people on the road cheering us on. The other cyclists around me were feeling good too, it seemed, and we were sharing some laughs and dark humor about the state of the roads we’d so recently covered.
There’s an “outlaw” rest stop–apparently not officially part of the ride–somewhere along there, maybe three miles from the finish. I think it’s a bar. They had a heck of a party going on, and were offering free beer to riders. It was sorely tempting, but I knew that if I stopped there, I’d never complete the ride. I let my better sense prevail and rode the last few miles to the finish.
Maybe a mile from the finish, the route climbs an overpass that isn’t much of a hill, but at 100+ miles any hill seems like a mountain. Plus, it was into the wind and on a fairly rough shoulder. But getting to the top was well worth it. From there, I could see the home stretch: just down an exit ramp, a few turns through the flat and smooth city streets, and a four-block straight run to the finish line. A couple of people passed me on that straight, pushing to “finish strong.” I just rode it in at my normal pace, figuring that saving a few seconds wasn’t going to make much of a difference in my time.

I completed the ride in six hours and 55 minutes, with an average overall speed of about 14.8 MPH and an average moving speed of 16.8 MPH. I spent 6:05 pedaling and 50 minutes at rest areas. Time off the bike is what kills your time in a long ride.
My major mistake in this ride was passing up the 40 mile stop. Had I stopped there to rest, refill my water bottles, and eat something, I would not have become dehydrated. I was smart enough to realize my mistake and try to recover (a good thing), but I probably should have taken it a bit easier between 54 and 69, and eaten more even though the thought of doing so turned my stomach. It sneaks up on you, and by the time you realize you’re dehydrated, it’s too late to recover without seriously slowing down.
Still, 6:55 is close to the fastest I’ve ever covered 100 miles, and I’m reasonably happy with my performance considering my abbreviated training period this year. I’m disappointed that I made the mistake of pushing on past the 40 mile mark without stopping to refuel, but glad that I realized my mistake and took steps to minimize the damage. Next time I’ll know better. Right?
Everything considered, it was a great time. I’m looking forward to next year, tent camping and all.