The First Century

Last weekend I completed my first century. Sure, I've done three 100-mile mountain bike races, but until now I've never ridden that far on the roads. The Harvest Century raises money for Community Vision. The sponsor of my cycling team, Showers Pass, is the presenting sponsor of the event and asks that we volunteer.

Two years ago I froze my ass off at an aid station after getting lost in the Bermuda Triangle otherwise known as Washington County. Last year I stood in the pouring rain policing the entrance to the beer tent. This year I registered early and scored a position as a course marshal which meant I would actually ride the course. Along the way I was expected to ensure turns were adequately marked and provide directional guidance if there was confusion.

As soon as it was light enough, we were released to ride the course. I left in front to get to the first intersection I was supposed to marshal, then waved riders through the turn until the pack turned to a widely spaced trickle.

I generally consider myself to to be fairly well connected in the Portland cycling community. I rarely attend an event, drop by the shop, shred a trail, or even ride around town without running into people I know. But I began to notice that I knew no one here! The century crowd is different. More casual. More recreational. Sure, there are guys out there who want to finish first or within a certain time, but this isn't a race. There are no prizes. It's a cycling tour with lots of rest stops. At the second rest stop, I finally saw a couple I knew--Mike and Betsy were riding as an on-course mechanic and medic.

Riders pedaled through rural Washington and Yamhill counties, Portland's bread and wine basket, on everything on two wheels from $8,000 carbon road bikes to big box store commuters, recumbants to mountain tandems. They wore everything from team kits to soccer shorts, RAGBRAI and RAMROD (knowing what those stand for is part of becoming a cyclist ;-) )jerseys to cotton t-shirts.

Unlike the past two years, it was a fine day for a bike ride. The day started cool with low clouds and a bit of fog, but it warmed up to the mid-60s and the sun came out sporadically. Well-stocked rest stops (salted red potatoes, donuts, oranges and bananas, candy, sandwiches, chocolate milk, Nutella and graham crackers) were roughly 15 miles apart. The pastoral scenery included orchards and vineyards, organic farms, acres of dahlias in bloom, llamas and alpacas, goats, stables and kennels. We crossed the Willamette on the Canby Ferry just before entering the Wilsonville Rollers--a series of steep ups and downs that are just long enough to be taxing after 75 miles, but short enough to prevent the legs from finding a groove.

Compared to the mountain centuries I've done, this wasn't especially hard--just 35 miles longer than what would have been a comfortable ride. The frequent rest stops and casual pace made it easy to keep going. And the following day's cyclocross race a little more challenging!

Solitude and Singletrack

I woke up stiff and sore, feeling every day of my almost 42 years. But when I unzipped the tent at 6:30 am, the sun was already high and the sky clear blue. I made coffee, walked the dog, had a light breakfast, read for a while and cleaned up camp. Too cold to sit around. I slowly filled my Camelback and changed into riding gear. With no other tasks to aid procrastination, I threw a leg over my aging Stumpjumper and slowly pedaled toward the trail, a mere 20 yards from my campsite.

My legs protested at the effort of the first 100 uphill yards. Then they settled into an easy granny gear spin as we started up the switchbacks toward the fire lookout. Only 50 degrees, despite the warmth of the sun, and the only sounds were the wind whispering in the pines and my heavy breathing. I startled a deer as I crossed the forest road onto the main trail.

Having company might have lent more enthusiasm to the ride, but it wasn't long before I was enjoying the solitude of the quiet forest and the comfort of my own leisurely pace.

Not quite 30 minutes uphill to the lookout where the sun was warm but the wind cold, so I didn't linger. A short but fun downhill led to another road crossing where I startled another deer before starting a short, steep climb followed by more mellow climbing. Then another short down, a right turn, short climb to the beginning of a 3-mile descent, twisting alongside a clearcut and dropping over roots, fast and furious.

The last time I rode this trail, I was with a group and on my Niner single speed. Today I was grateful for the gears, legs tired from a week that included two races and a quad-busting hike, plus a road ride and a trail run. Only two months away from a 100-mile mountain bike race I entered months ago and this is supposed to be a training ride. Instead, it's just a pleasant solo spin on my favorite trail system, finally clear of snow but not yet eroded from too many treads rolling over it.
My shoulders are relaxed and still, hands firmly (but not too firmly) wrapped around the bar ends, chest forward, legs pumping a steady cadence as I deftly steer Stumpy up and around and around and up. Still breathing hard, but my heart rate has settled into a sustainable rhythm.

Finally, I crest the high point of the ride and start down a series of wide switchbacks. They would be so fun if the trail weren't paved in pea-size gravel, inviting the tires to slide out and dump me in the brush. Til now, I haven't seen a soul, save five deer along the way. But I roll through the main trailhead and see two cars and riders getting ready to roll. Then my favorite part: the sweetest three miles of single track I've ever ridden, smooth and fast and flowing, requiring only the occasional brake check until the switchback down to the creek crossing, then mostly downhill back to the campsite...where I was disappointed the ride was over.

But I felt a bit smug as I enjoyed my post-ride beer in the sun as others rode past to begin the climb...