Two Wheel Blogs

Time: 6:49 ride time | 8 hours total
Miles: 100.1
Pace: 14.6 mph
Route: Edwardsville to Carlinville and back

Riding Tunes: Joe Stummer's BBC Radio Series, LONDON CALLING, all 14 episodes.

[Between August 1998 and July 2001, Joe Strummer hosted 14 half-hour shows on the BBC World Service, during which he would play some of his favorite music, mixing classic blues, reggae, and rock & roll with music from around the world, especially Africa, South America, and the Caribbean. Joe was into world music before record stores had a bin with that label. These shows are great to ride to. The mix of artists and styles is a delight, and many of the African grooves are positively hypnotic. And, clocking in around 6:48, the shows perfectly cover a 100 miles ridden at a 14.7 mph pace!]

Slow ride. Take it easy. -- Foghat, "Slow Ride"

Foghat? I'm quoting Foghat to open my blog entry titled "The Strummer Century"? Has it come to this?

Well, yes, it has. That kernel of wisdom was essentially my mantra for today's ride -- though I declined to hum it to myself as I rode. [Note: Just once before I die, I hope to attend a wedding reception where, for their first dance as husband and wife, the newlyweds choose to do so to Foghat's "Slow Ride." Ditto Bad Company's "Feel Like Makin' Love". I'd really like to see that.]

Actually, my opening quote for this entry was going to be the famous line from Robert Burns's "To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough":

The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

That would be appropriate except that, whether I be mouse or man (your call), my plans were not well laid. Indeed, they scarce qualified as "plans" at all.

Origin of a Solo Century

I've been meaning to do a solo century for some time now. On 5.29, I did a 6-hour ride on the Madison Country trail network, and came within 1.6 miles of an even 100. Since then, I did an 80-miler, but that's been my longest. Yesterday, the weather was beautiful, and it was killing me not to be out in it. At the office, I sat with my back to the window, telling myself "Don't turn around." The sight of all that sunshine going to waste was just too painful.

So I emailed Boz saying, "I'm taking tomorrow off. I'm thinking century." Boz wires back, "I'm in, but can we start at 3:00 a.m., so I can come into work after." That's one thing I love about Boz: he's so crazy that I appear aalmost sane by comparison. "Deal!" I reply, "Where do you want to meet?" Later, Boz wires back that he can't join me due to work committments. I have them, too, but his are on a different scale than mine.

Now it was just a matter of picking my route. I pulled up www.mapmyride.com, and I scouted some routes out of Edwardsville. One posted by Andy Gibbs of The Cyclery looked tempting: an 89-miler up to Carlinville. I figured I could find a way to tack on another 11 miles for an even century. Best of all, the route goes by some lakes in the Carlinville area. A native Minnesotan, I've got a thing for lakes, and as nice as Madison County is, it could do with a few more lakes. So I decided to try Andy's ride, which he had titled "Headwinds From Hell." In preparation, I wrote down the major roads I'd take and the directions I would turn on each. I also tried to commit the general direction of the route to memory. I did not print a map, something which -- as it turns out -- would have been very handy.

Then I stayed up too late watching the second season of DEXTER on DVD.

7:00 a.m. : Rollout

It was going to be a hot day. It was going to start out hot and get progressively hotter, with heat indices in the low hundreds. So I wanted to get on the road early. The more miles I got in before noon, I figured, the better. So I got up, got my bike ready, had a bite of breakfast, and set out, hitting the road at 7:00 a.m. I took my secret "Backdoor to the World" (Drda > Smith > Moreland > Moro). Fortunately, cloud cover helped to keep the temperatures down early.

I should have gone to bed earlier, or I should have slept longer. I had not ridden since Monday. Despite that, I felt tired. My legs felt heavy, lifeless. This is not the way you want to start out a 100-mile ride. I just couldn't push myself to get the early pace up to where it should be. "This does not bode well for the day," I told myself. "It's going to be a long, slow ride," which led me to the Foghat song. I told myself it was okay to take it easy early, as I had a long day of riding ahead. So I plugged along at an embarassingly slow pace. And I said a quick mental "thank you" that Boz was not riding with me. Crawling along as I was, he would have had no choice but to drop me after about ten miles, saying "Sorry, gramps, but when I said I'd ride a century, I meant I'd like to finish it today."

I had to stop where Moreland intersects with IL 143. When the light changed, I started to pedal. Just as I did, another rider -- out for a morning workout, no doubt -- zipped past me. In a moment, I realized he had probably been coming up from being me for the past few miles, watching me limp along like a wounded deer. I wanted to yell after him, "I'm doing a century!", but it would have done no good. Besides, by that point, he was out of earshot.

The Road of Many Names

A right turn on Renken pointed me east. (The more I ride Renken, the more I like it.) I still felt sluggish, tired. Finally, I turned north onto Dustman, a road that would undergo three name changes before I reached Carlinville. The turn north put the slight wind from the south at my back, and I immediately felt the benefits. Also, I felt like my body was waking up -- finally! Ninety minutes into the ride, and I finally feel like I'm riding. I was able to pick up the pace a little as Dustman became Dewhurst, then Dorchester, then finally Spanish Needle.

Following Andy's route, I turned north on Adkins, but I had failed to note a turn to the east that would have taken me to the first of the lakes around Carlinville. Instead, I stayed on Adkins, which delivered me to Stagecoach. I knew I was supposed to take Stagecoach on the descent, after I'd left Carlinville, but here I was. Not knowing where I'd missed the turn, I followed it into Carlinville.

10:00 a.m. : Carlinville

Hitting town, I stopped at the Casey's General Store for a bar and a sports drink. I was thinking I'd just turn around and ride back out the way I came in, since that was the return route. But I could see downtown Carlinville just a few blocks ahead. I've never really been to Carlinville before, so it seemed silly to ride all that way to get there only to turn around without seeing what it had to offer. So I set off down the red brick streets toward the center of town.

Carlinville is a lovely little town, with a gazebo in the middle of its town square. Actually, it's more of a town circle, as the roads circling the gazebo act as a roundabout. Several beautiful two-story buildings from the 1880-90s dot the downtown. Seeing that one of them houses the Salsa Grill & Coffeehouse (All You Can Eat Ribeyes, Thu-Fri, 5-8), I decided to stop. I like to support local coffeehouses. Besides, I figured the caffeine would do me good. Enjoying a cup of dark roast and a peanut butter bar with M&Ms, I watched Carlinville roll by. After that, I rode by the impressive Macoupin County Courthouse, with its massive columns. See picture.

Circling the sqaure on my way out of town, I saw a sign saying "Beaver Dam State Park." "I'd like to see Beaver Dam State Park," I told myself, and set out to find it. As it turns out, I was riding out of town by the route I should have taken into town, Brushy Mound Road. Not knowing which road I'd missed on the way up, I didn't recognize it when I missed it again on the way back. The next thing I knew, I was face to face with a coal mine, Monterey Mine No. 1. Monterey Road wanted to take me to the east, away from home, so I took the first road going west: Wheeler. I figured it would have to intersect with Spanish Needle (or whatever name the road was going by), and I was right. This got me pointed south, back towards home, and of course, into the wind.

At the 4-hour mark, I allowed myself to check my mileage, figuring if I was lucky, I'd have covered 60 miles at a 15 mph pace. The odometer showed 58. Not 60, but I'll take it. I knew The Road of Four Names would take me all the way to Renken and home, if I wanted to follow it. But I didn't want to just retrace the same route. When I came to Prairie Dell, I jumped on it and headed west. Within two miles, it turned into a gravel road. Da**! I turned around and headed back. As I headed south on Dorchester, I saw a water tower in the distance. As it was now nearing the 5-hour mark, and two hours since my last stop, I decided to ride to whatever town it was.

12:30 p.m. : Bunker Hill

It was Bunker Hill, another town I've never really been to. As you enter Bunker Hill from the east, the first thing you come upon is a really large cemetery on your left. I don't know how many people live in Bunker Hill, but apparently a lot of people have died there.

Not sure where to go from Bunker Hill, I stopped to ask directions. The attendant told me the road in front of the station was 159. Edwardsville was less than 20 miles away. But I wasn't ready to head home yet. And besides, 159 is too big and too busy to ride on for long. But I took it out of town, looking to take the first county road east that I came to. It turned out to be Rust Road, and I was glad to get on it and leave 159 behind. I had a vague notion of where I was, but I had long since diverted from Andy's route. I rode by the sun. Rounding a corner, three large dogs ran after me, barking deep, throaty barks. Fortunately, all they did was bark, but I picked up my pace until I was well clear of them.

Not knowing exactly where I was, I kept heading south and east at every turn, until I saw a familiar sign: Snake Road. In a second, I was singing to myself (to the melody of "The Sound of Silence")...

Hello, Snake Road, my old friend.
I've come to ride on you again...

It was good to be back on familiar terrain and to have an idea of how far from home I was. I had a nice run on Snake, which delivered me to Loop Road, which returned me to Old Moro. I followed Old Moro back into Bethalto, arriving at the intersection with 143 right at the 6-hour mark. I checked my mileage: 86. "One more hour of riding at 14 mph will get me my 100," I calculated. It was good to know my higher math skills had not been diminished by the now oppressive heat. The morning's ride up to Carlinville had not been too bad. But each successive hour of the return trip was worse than its predecssor. It was hot, I was tired, and I was ready to stop riding.

2:00 p.m. : The Road Home

Up until this point, I'd spent most of the day riding on unfamiliar roads -- and looking for the right road to ride on. Now I was back in my own backyard. So I picked up the pace as I headed up Moreland to the South Roxanna trailhead, then got on the Watershed Trail. Before I had been riding by the clock. Now I clicked over to the odomoter to see how many miles I needed. I was now at 90, only 10 from goal. As I road down the Watershed, I calculated where I should go to hit my 100.

Last night, I dropped my car off at LRE Automotive for an oil change. "If I ride to LRE to pick up my car," I reasoned, "that should be just far enough." The Watershed Trail took me into the heart of Edwardsville, where I took the city streets towards LRE. I turned right and headed down Vadalabene Pass, watching the odometer click off each tenth of a mile. It was 99.6 as I passed LRE. I rode on, then turned around, and within a few pedal strokes, I was rewarded with the sight I'd been chasing for 6 hours and 49 minutes: 100.0.

I pulled into the LRE lot, went to the service counter and, drenched in sweat, said "I'm ready to trade up." I paid for my car, racked my bike, and headed for home -- and a shower!

Even with getting lost and losing the route, it was a good day's ride. No, the pace was not as fast as I would have liked, but today's mantra was "Slow ride. Take it easy." My only regret is that I didn't see the lakes near Carlinville -- especially because, having missed them, it means I'm going to have to ride up there again to see them!