About a week ago, I started a list of people and companies I’m grateful to. At some point, the list became overwhelming. Twelve years (I’m rounding up by four months or so, but I don’t think anyone is really surprised to have me exaggerate) of people being unbelievably nice to you can make creating a “gratitude list” almost impossible.

So I’m setting aside the list and am instead going to thank the people I really owe thanks to: my readers. You.

I love writing, but I am not content to write for myself. I need to know people read and enjoy what I write. And for twelve years, you’ve been here for me. Whether you’ve commented or put me in your RSS feed or just come back to the site on a regular basis, you’ve been here for me.

But you’ve done more for me than just read.

When I was in the most difficult part of my life — when Susan was suffering from and, eventually, dying from cancer — you read and commented in unimaginable numbers. I used this blog to express and document pain and death, and you stuck with me and supported me.

Even more, you changed me and my worldview. Until this tragedy, I had never really gotten behind a cause. In response to some prodding from readers, I experimented with asking you to fundraise with me, and you did. And you still do. 

Together, you’ve raised well over three million dollars for charity. You’ve made me realize that people, when given a chance, want to do good. You’ve transformed me into a positive person.

Thank you for that, too.

The End…But Not The End

It’s pretty obvious, I expect, that this is my last post on FatCyclist.com. There are a number of reasons I’m ready to stop posting here. Most of them have to do with energy and priorities.

But here’s the thing: I am not done writing. I still have stories and jokes I want to tell. Races I want to report on. Charities I care about and want to help.

I’m going to keep doing all this. But I won’t be doing it on my own anymore. 

Starting now, I’m going to be posting over at Red Kite Prayer. What I want, when I want, and in the company of my Paceline podcast co-hosts Patrick Brady, Michael Hotten, and the rest of the RKP crew.

Also, my entire blog archive is being ported over to RKP. You’ll still be able to find it here (at least, until I forget to renew my domain), but it’s good to know that my favorite posts will live on.

I hope you’ll bookmark RKP and leave a comment over there. And check back often (and not just for my posts).

But Still, Of Course, The End  

Even so, of course, this is a big change. I will miss writing here sometimes, I’m sure of it. 

But mostly, I’m grateful. You have been wonderful readers for a dozen years, and I will always think of you as my friends. 

Thank you.

PS: Like with all my posts, the comments section here will be open for a few weeks, then close. Please know that I do (and have always) read all my comments. After comments close, you can get in touch with me at my email address: [email protected].  

If you’ve been on the fence about getting yourself (or someone you like) a new cycling kit, maybe it’s time to get off the fence. 

Why? Cuz right now the remainder of my FatCyclist gear — 2015 and 2016 styles included — are on sale below my cost. Obviously I don’t have every item at every size, but it’s worth checking out: if your size is there, you can get yourself a very nice kit — bibs (or shorts) and jersey — for around or under $100.  

Plus, we’re going to throw in a pair of socks (while they last): either the 2015 FatCyclist sock design or the 2015 100MoN design. I can’t guarantee which you’ll get and I can’t guarantee which size they’ll be, but they’re good socks. If they don’t fit you, give them to someone they do fit. You don’t have to tell them you got them for free.

I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned before how amazingly high-quality DNA gear is, so these prices are a little bit ridiculous. 

There aren’t many of any size or style, so I recommend not delaying. Click here to shop.

PS: Tomorrow I’ll be posting my annual Thanksgiving piece. It will be a little different than most of my traditional “gratitude” posts. In fact, it will be quite a bit different than anything I’ve ever posted.

A Note from Fatty About Today’s Post: I’ve never been so disappointed to not be able to attend someone else’s 100 Miles of Nowhere as Don’s. I mean, just the sheer scope and planning that went into it makes my head spin. So I’m extremely pleased to present his 100 Miles of Nowhere race report.

Or, as he calls it…

108 Miles of Nowhere
by Don B 

Friday 11:00 pm, my wife Ronna and I have just finished “Run to the Lights,” a 5k charity run at the amusement park, Silver Dollar City, in Branson, MO. It’s 1:30am by the time we make it back to Lebanon. A late night. Saturday I need to be at The Lebanon I-44 Speedway by 7:00am. Myself and 60+ friends are planning to ride 100 Miles of Nowhere on the track. A quick 267 laps will tick the 100 mile box. Sunday I’m racing Hannah’s Hope Cross, another charity event, and my first cross race.

At times I spread myself thin. I over commit. I have over-commitment issues.

I’ve entertained doing Fatty’s 100 Miles of Nowhere fundraiser in the past, but life always got in the way. This year I committed and searched for the right location, something interesting and crazy. A business associate is part owner of The Lebanon I-44 Speedway, Missouri’s only NASCAR sanctioned race track. I thought it might be cool to do my race there and inquired.

Yes!

With use of the track secured, I mentioned my intent to a few cycling friends. Their interest was piqued, and I invited them to join the cause. Then a few more friends showed interest in joining me, I set up a Facebook event to see if others would like to join.

They did.

So many kind and generous people contributed to this event. It renewed my solid belief that the world is filled with good people.

I was overwhelmed at the support and interest. I still am. The stars aligned well on Saturday, November 12th. While it was brisk (36°F), the sun was bright, the wind was light, and the forecast had a nice warming trend for the day. I planned this day for over a month and was filled with nervous excitement.

A few cars were sitting at the race track gate when I arrived a few minutes after 7:00am. I felt guilty for making them wait. We made haste to the pits and started setting up a couple of tables for waiver sign in and refuel stations. My friend Jonathan Graif was generous enough to provide a sound system and my wife Ronna would keep the motivational tunes coming.

The music proved to be key entertainment. Something to break up the monotony of nearly 270 laps of 3/8mi circles. Ronna would go on to lead the paceline in a stirring rendition of “Let it Go” from the “Frozen” soundtrack.

Trust me folks, that’s entertainment.

The starting line was pretty amazing. The awesome volunteers. A drone pilot/photographer, a professional photographer, a local newspaper reporter, and 60 riders. 

Some of the riders were on a mission. Their goal, ride the fastest 100 miles they’d ever ridden. Others, they were there to enjoy the fun and contribute to a great cause.

While I wanted my day to be challenging (hence the single speed drop bar mountain bike I was riding), I was more concerned about the other riders enjoying themselves and making sure the event was running smoothly. I delayed my start for 15-20 minutes just for this reason. Once under way, I had a couple of light bulb moments – “It’s really cold!” – and – “This is going to be harder than I thought!” I had to keep this to myself as no one wants hear whining.

More importantly, I had to finish my 100 miles.

How would it look – Don’s “42 Miles of Nowhere.” If I completed ANYTHING less than 100 miles, I would be the subject of quiet murmurs and finger pointing at every future endurance cycling event. Failure was not an option.

The infield feed zone had a killer support crew. That blonde in the middle hangs out at my house, ALL of the time.

SPOILER ALERT: I finished my 100 miles. I was not the first rider to complete 100 miles. Not even close.

However, I was not last.

Although I was much closer to last than first.

Ok, I was…second to last.

I did however take time to stop and pick up a water bottle or two. I visited with the riders, thanking each for attending. I found inspiration in the riders, and want to share some of that inspiration.

Scott Sifferman, aka “The Judge”

Scott’s nicknamed “The Judge” for good reason, (he’s an Associate Circuit Judge), and a “seasoned” cyclist. By seasoned, I mean he remembers when JFK was POTUS. By seasoned, I mean he regularly finds himself on a podium at state level Masters TT events.

He’s a tour de force.

Scott proved his mettle at 100 Miles of Nowhere, cranking out a phenomenal century, battling second place recumbent rider, Dennis Grelk.

I was, and am in awe. Scott’s finish time – 4:02:52

Nessa Johnson

In the final hour of my ride I watched the track slowly empty. The party was drawing to an end. It made me a little sad. I finished up, then stopped by the feed zone and thanked my friends for hanging around until I finished.

There were still (2) riders on the track. One of the riders was Nessa Johnson. I spoke with Nessa earlier, she said 30 miles was her longest ride to date, and wondered how long she could stay out on the track. I told her I would stay until dark if she wanted to try to complete the 100 miles.

I feel like that took a bit of pressure off.

I rode back to Nessa and asked how she was doing. She was tired, but really wanted to finish her new goal of 70 miles. She was close, and I continued riding in support. Nessa and her husband travelled from Topeka, KS to attend the event. Her perseverance lifted my mood.??She finished her new personal best of 70 miles. She doubled her previous best and then some.

Nessa, great job! You inspired me.

Charles Elmore

Charles, a Lebanon MO resident, was the other rider on the track as I finished up. Charles tells me he’s battled the 100 mile distance a few times in the past and come up short. I inform him this day is different. This is the day he completes his first 100 mile ride. Charles is still riding strong.

With (1) lap to go, my amazing finish line crew constructs a finish line tape of toilet paper. With his family looking on, Charles breaks the tape, finishing his first 100 mile bike ride.

If that fails to inspire you, check your pulse.

Charles, well done. You inspired me.

Next Year

Next year is already in the planning and I’m confident we can double this crowd of amazing cyclists.?

What amazes and inspires me is that some people take my silly fake event and turn it into an awesome real event. For example, did you know the 100 Miles to Nowhere (Dobson Ranch Edition) is a real event, and has been going for seven years now?

They raised nearly $10,000 for Cardon’s Pediatric Oncology Program this year. (Sure, that’s a different fundraiser than my intended charity for the 100MoN, but I am 100% in favor of people leveraging my ideas to do good in other ways.) Check out Jim’s race report here.

I have to say, though, that I’m extra double-excited to see that David Harman of Houston put together a 100MoN that sounds like…well, it sounds like a bike-themed county fair to be honest. I wish I could have been there. It sounds that cool.

Of course, that’s becoming a bit of a theme: practically everyone is putting on better 100MoN events than I ever could.

Which, to be clear, I am absolutely perfectly cool with.

100 Miles of Nowhere Race Report: Family Fun Edition 
by David Harman 

Saturday, November 12th, 2016 at Bear Creek Park on the west side of Houston dawned clear, calm, and full of… boy scouts? 

Wait, isn’t this a write up about a bike ride? Supposedly about FatCyclist’s 100 Miles of Nowhere, a ride without a place that raises funds for Camp Kesem? 

Nope.

Its a write up about families. Families that just happen to be riding bikes, watching people ride bikes, eating while riding bikes, eating while watching people ride bikes, launching rockets near bike riders, and chunking pumpkins after people finished riding bikes. 

At said park, a bunch of members of Northwest Cycling Club got together to ride in circles around the local crit loop, .75 of a mile with a whole 4 feet of elevation per lap. It was nothing short of a gruelingly difficult course. Especially considering the awful 70 degree, non humid and mostly sunny conditions.

This kind of challenge needed baked goods, lots of them, and spectators. The former was taken care of by my wife, Erica Harman who baked enough to qualify as a Keebler elf the day before the ride.

The latter was held down by a large group of boy scouts who were unexpectedly camped in the middle of our loop! There’s our first non traditional family of the day, 100 or so well behaved scouts who might look at us a bit oddly as the day went on.

Ron Breitwieser II and Gail Scruggs were there early, along with Christina and they all helped us set up a pop up tent, table, food, coolers, tape lines for start and finish lines, and finally, our own bikes.

Rich Faulkner showed up in the middle of the process, the first of our awesome photographers for the day. His skepticism was high for the quality of the ride, but we would soon prove to him that the supremely difficult route was a worthy challenge. 

More riders showed up as we approached our 8 am start time. Andrew Rubin, Greg Smith, Kerilyn Scoville, Leigh Willis Moorman, James Monroig, Geoff Donnelly, our second awesome photographer Jeff Rohling.

One brave soul even came out to run with us, thanks Janet Vrasic! Her significant other Sandro came out and rode his old school 30+ lb 80s hardtail MTB for quite a few laps too!

Later in the day, Leigh’s hubby and kids came along, as did Kerilyn’s. They all rode laps too (Dan Scoville promptly blowing away everyone on the course, and Danielle Scoville dropping some seriously speedy laps for a 10 year old, proving to her parents that she’s a sandbagger for sure!)

Throughout the day, the same theme repeated, as James’ wife came out, Kerilyn’s mom and dad showed (and rode!) Brent’s wife and recently introduced to the world future champion cyclist child River came. Jeff and Christina worked together in the past. Janet and I had as well. Family, of all kinds. Blood, friends, colleagues, all united by the intensity and insane difficulty of riding a tremendously difficult challenge. United in insanity.

United with 5150 race plates. 

To spice up the 133 lap mental challenge, we dropped a few challenges in throughout the day. We had the following races during the race:

Flying 200 meter sprint (ok, more like 150 meters or so):

• 1st – Dan Scoville – 9.79 seconds
• 2nd – David Harman (yes, me) 9.81 seconds. 2 hundredths off. ARG!
• 3rd – Ron Breitweiser 10.34 seconds

Bunch sprint crit style lap

• 1st – Brent Neal
• 2nd – Geoff Donnelly
• 3rd – Ron Breitweiser

POSKOM
Ok, this one needs some explanation. We did a lap each on a very heavy, single speed cruiser with coaster brakes. Basically the hardest thing to go fast on. It was highly amusing, and MUCH harder than expected!

• 1st – Brent Neal 2.19
• 2nd – Dan Scoville 2.24
• 3rd – Ron Breitweiser 2.26

Slow ITT
Who can ride about 50 feet the slowest without putting a foot down or crashing?

• 1st – Ron Breitweiser
• 2nd – Brent Neal
• 3rd – Gail Scruggs

Fastest lap of the day

• 1st – Dan Scoville 1.52
• 2nd – Brent Neal 1.55
• 3rd (Tie) – Ron Breitweiser and Kerilyn Scoville 2.06
• 4th – Greg Smith 2.08

Around and around we went, alone, forming small groups, duos, trios, stopping for banana bread, cookies, brownies, pie, cake, and ok, some water. We chatted, We rode hard, we rode easy, we rode with people we always ride with, we rode with people we were just getting to know better. And we gradually became our own kind of family. Supportive, different in style and approach, a little crazy, and a whole lot of fun. 

People packed it in when they felt like it. Some rode only a few miles. Quite a few rode 50 or more. Janet ran more than six miles. The boy scouts started launching rockets around noon.

For a 133 lap slog, it never got boring! There was Rich’s and my near death experience setting up for my flying sprint attempt (brakes were hit during the 3 man lead out wind up, my rear wheel locked and went sideways at 22+ inches from the next wheel, and Rich was behind me filming the whole thing. If we go down, we all go down hard. But I managed to right the ship, nobody laid it down, and we nailed the sprint the next lap through!) 

The wind picked up making the finishing straight tougher as the day went on. More folks showed up, Teresa Foshee Cardamone did a couple laps on the POS bike and rode with us on our final lap, Daniel Sanchez and his wife came out for the last hour or so to cheer us on. 

Four brave folks finished the full 100. Greg Smith finished first in a blistering 5:40 or so actual time. He got the big medal for his category, Fastest Crazy.

Then Kerilyn Scoville finished about an hour later, getting the award in her category, Fastest Person with a Metal Rod in her Leg.

Then James Monroig, in the category Fastest Person who Tossed his Cookies in the Morning Pre Ride.

I rode with them all on their last laps. Finally, I closed the course down in about 7:20 actual time (lots of stoppage time though.) On my last lap, all the brave souls still at the park came out and we rode a victory lap. I won my category, Fastest Actual Fat Cyclist. 

Other category winners:

• Ron Breitweiser – Fastest Insurance Adjuster
• Gail Scruggs – Fastest 57 year old 
• Geoff Donnelly – Fastest Jet Lagged Brit
• Jeff Rohling – Fastest Former Super Cop
• Rich Faulkner – Fastest Former Skeptic 
• Dan Scoville – Fastest Really Actually Fast Person
• Brent Neal – Fastest On The Least Sleep
• River Neal – Soon To Be Fastest Neal
• Danielle Scoville – Soon To Be Fastest Female Rider In NWCC
• Andrew Rubin – Fastest Person Getting or Getting Over a Cold
• Christina – Fastest Person With A Cup Holder On Her Bars
• Erica Harman – Fastest Baker

Medals were summarily awarded to all cat champions. I’m forgetting some, so please call me out in the comments!

All in all, it was a truly memorable day with our families, blood and otherwise. Great fun was had by all, anyone who was skeptical about how good a ride around a circle 133 times could be was convinced otherwise.

And to top it all off, while we rested at the end, beer or cake in hand, the boy scouts set up a trebuchet (yes, really) and tossed a couple pumpkins for our entertainment. You can’t script this stuff. 

Next year, even sillier, even bigger, and even more fun. See you all then!

That’s what weekends are for, right? 

Enjoy!

100 [mumbles] of Nowhere Race Report
by Jeff Dieffenbach and Carlos Perea

 
Buffalo and Bruiser midway through the pizza run

It all comes back to the power of bicycles. Through Fatty, the power of bicycles is powering the wonderful Camp Kesem. The Power of Bicycles is certainly World Bicycle Relief (ride report co-author Carlos Perea is a WBR Ambassador). Sometimes, though, the power of bicycles is made apparent a lot closer to home. But that’s getting ahead of things a bit.

Jeff and Carlos have separately ridden the Fat Cyclist’s 100 Miles of Nowhere several times each. This year, we decided to ride it together. We wanted to do something different this year, so rather than necessarily build our ride around all of the miles, we built it around all of our bikes.

As such, here’s the back of Jeff’s sport utility van. If you’re keeping score at home, that’s (from back to front) a hardtail 29er, a Bruiser beach cruiser, and a Buffalo.

We know what you’re thinking. “Jeff, that’s not very many bikes. Not very many bikes at all.” And you would be right in thinking that … unless you decided to look *inside* Jeff’s SUV. From left to right: fBIKE folding bike, CX bike, fat bike, road bike, and another fBIKE.

Jeff drove from his undisclosed location to Carlos’ undisclosed location. After a bit of setup and other bicycle futzing, we set off on the first of our segments: the fat bike.

At the end of the loop, we had tallied 7.5 of what would eventually be the full [mumbles] miles.

Next up: MTBs.

In the first picture below, you can see Carlos’ kit change–spreadin’ the wealth! In the second picture below, you can see friend David W at left. If you could see David’s face, you would see a look of inexplicability. You see, David has just watched Carlos plunge inexplicably off the trail for no apparent reason whatsoever. Fear not, neither Carlos nor Carlos’ bike suffered any lasting ill effects.

At the end of the MTB loop, we’d added another 8.4 miles. Grand total: 15.9.

Calling that something of a midway point, we decided that it would be irresponsible not to go get lunch. As any cyclist worth his or her salt knows, however, lunch does not transport all that well on a fat bike. Or an MTB. It was time to put the Buffalo (and it’s 250 lb capacity rear rack) to good use.

Carlos took the Buffalo, Jeff took the Bruiser, and 1.1 miles later, we were at the pizza place pictured in the photo that leads off this ride report.

A careful eye might detect one small problem in this photo. The Bruiser has gone flat! We quickly formed a plan. Carlos would continue back to his house with the 250 lbs of pizza strapped to the back of the Buffalo. Jeff would start pushing the Bruiser. Carlos would then return with a car to pick up Jeff and the Bruiser.

Score: Buffalo 1, Bruiser 0. As Carlos pedaled away on the Bruiser, Jeff was left not just to contemplate but also to experience firsthand the power of bicycles (and of the lack thereof).

Back at Carlos’ house, we consumed 125 lbs of pizza each while doing the math: 18.1 miles (choosing to ignore Jeff’s failure to cover the 1.1 mile return trip).

Sure 18.1 miles was only a small fraction of the full [mumbles] miles that we would cover. But we weren’t worried. We had more bikes to go.

The shortest loop of our plan was via folding bike. We set off, and by the time we were back at base, had added a whopping 0.7 miles to the score sheet.

18.8 for those of you keeping score at home, but on the folding bike lane, we came across a great omen: Century Street.

Segment 4 was via road bike. By this time, we had remembered to affix our race plates. And Jeff added his 2015 100MoN tool container as a good luck totem.

With road bikes under butt, we quickly added to our mileage in the way that only road bikes can. This time, the kit change was Jeff’s.

Another 10 miles brought the count to 28.8.

We were clearly on pace to hit our target of [mumbles] miles. That is, as long as we had enough bikes.

Bonus Velominati-styled quiz question: how many bikes is enough bikes?

Next up: cyclocross. This choice afforded us a chance to get back onto the trails that had served us so well on the fat bike and MTB segments.

A wonderful (see photos and videos above) 8.3 miles later, we had reached pretty much the end of daylight. And of our pile of bikes.

We cleared our desks, sharpened our pencils, and added up the numbers. Hmm, 37.1 miles (Strava).

So, did we reach our objective of 100 [mumbles] of Nowhere?

Well, there was one more factor to take into account. That, of course, is the well-established dirt multiplier of 3.0:1. So, 37.1 x 3.0 = 111.3.

What a relief: over 11 miles to spare.

100 KoN Race Report: First-time Viking edition
by Erin B  

I signed up for the 100MoN this year after binge-reading race reports from previous years. One would think that this extensive research would lead me to prepare properly for the event, but never fear: there was a significant time lag before the actual race, and I jumped in with a minimum of training and planning.

I should admit now that I am a stronger swimmer than cyclist (most of my riding falls in the “commuting” category), and that the weather in Trondheim in November is quite unpredictable. I had a route in mind: an out-and-back route from my apartment to the ski jump at Granåsen. It’s the flattest route I could think of, has a separated multi-use path, and would allow my support crew to be at home writing his thesis for most of the day. The big question when I signed up was: which bike and which tires would I use?

A few inches of snow made the decision pretty easy: my mountain bike in winter form (studded tires) would be the only safe option. They also made the distance pretty clear: 100 km on soft snow and ice, with the extra resistance of studded tires, is about all this fish out of water would be able to manage.

The only other planned aspect was that I would have to carry out the race in a few stages, since last-minute plans involved a visit from friends at 10am. In an effort to make the most of the day, I headed out on the ice and snow at 8 am, in generally nice conditions (0 degrees C and overcast).

The starting line…

The first lap was mostly a reconnaissance mission: my extensive planning didn’t include figuring out the length of the course, and I needed to get an overview of the snow and ice conditions on my path. No regrets on the choice of tires: it was going to be a slow slog through softening snow and a few ice patches.

The course started with a short uphill, followed by a small descent, then a long gradual climb, all of which was reversed on the way back. The round-trip turned out to be almost exactly 8 km, and the first lap took about 26 minutes. This was promising: I could get 4 laps in before the visit, and my legs felt pretty good. The second lap brought a bit more daylight, but my feet were already starting to freeze.

The importance of a route near home was never more obvious: a short pit stop was all that was needed to get a few extra layers. I knocked out two more laps as planned, and managed to put on some dry clothes before taking a cozy 4-hour break to catch up with our visitors from Oslo.

I was feeling pretty confident when I set out on the next stage: I was already almost 1/3 done; this would be easy, right?

The temperatures were hovering above freezing, though, which effectively just increased the resistance in the softening snow. There were also a lot of pedestrians out on their traditional Sunday walk during the second stage. None of them did more than stare when I somewhat randomly did a u-turn at the ski jump and headed back in the other direction. I wonder if the reactions would be equally nonchalant elsewhere…

Since my route required 12.5 laps, I decided that it would be good to crank out 5 of them in stage 2, so that the last stage would be a bit more manageable. I enlisted my boyfriend to join for a lap to take a few photos before the sun went down, and tried to pretend that all was still going great. The truth was that my feet were freezing and the second third of the race seemed to be going way slower than the first.

Nearing the ski jump (visible on the left) in the fading light.

The multi-use path isn’t plowed, but they do compact the snow a bit. It’s better for the bike than all the salt on the road, anyhow!

Time to turn around again. The snow from last winter is used for the cross-country ski trails in case we don’t get enough early snow.

I struggled through the end of stage 2 as darkness fell, dreaming about some warm food and extra pairs of socks. (Note to self: learn how to eat before you start hallucinating about food.)

A few plum gnocchi and 30 minutes curled up in a wool blanket sufficed to get me more or less warmed up, but they certainly didn’t make it appealing to head out the door into the dark (and colder) evening. I had a back-up plan which involved completing this project with some swimming, but I decided to try to tough it out. After all, riding to the pool and back would require almost half of what I had left anyhow.

Once I finally got myself bundled up and out the door, lap 10 wasn’t too bad. I had a promise of company for lap 12, which was just enough motivation to get through lap 11 on my own.

Photographic proof that I got back out the door for the last stage (with extra clothes).

My main concern during the last trip out to the ski jump was where the turnaround point would need to be for the half-lap. My GPS watched seemed to be a bit unsure: the laps were somehow getting shorter, and I was almost a half km behind where I thought I should be. Moving the turning point meant I might need to go up an extra hill, and I was less than enthusiastic about that.

In the end, I squeaked by without the extra work, and finally came back into the warmth for good after 5 hours and 45 minutes of riding.

In total, the distance was 100.5 km, with 988 m of climbing (if we trust my watch). Interestingly, it also claims that the elevation of the ride as a whole decreased over the course of the day.

But I’m going to stick with that estimate anyhow.

A Mostly True Race Report
by Nick Charles

I’m not a cyclist. I’m a bike rider. I’m not even an athlete. My idea of “getting serious” about doing 3 marathons in 7 weeks was to switch from light cigarettes to vaping and to go from beer to fentanyl patches. But I know when November comes around, it’s time to do the 100 Miles to Nowhere.

There’s just one problem: I’m tired. And lazy. I’ve run a lot and the idea of riding 100 miles the weekend after the New York City Marathon when all I want to do is sleep and drink Wild Turkey 101 is just too daunting. So I asked if I could write a race report about the New York Marathon instead because I didn’t think I had it in me.

Fatty said “Sure! But make it funny… or else.”

So I ran the marathon in… well, who cares. I finished, got my medal, had my post race beers, and got back to the hotel. I sat down, poured myself 3 fingers of Blanton’s and started to write.

The words flowed from my fingers and eventually, I wrote 4500 words, discussing the expo, my amazing outfit, musings on Robert Moses’ vision of the city after I’ve explored his urban planning experiments on foot to why the human body is only able to eat so much energy gel before it goes on strike and funny race signs. After all, if you have a guy holding a big sign that says “I’m having an affair and want a divorce” you’re practically daring me to run up to you and scream “No! Don’t leave me! I can change!”

So I felt the afterglow of a chapter well written, hit send, and crawled into bed feeling smug at the talent of my writing. A few hours later, I was rudely awakened by a text message. My booze addled brain grabbed my phone and looked at the unknown number from the 801 area code.

“This is Fatty. What the H is this???”

I could tell he was really mad.

“Is this your idea of a race report? Why is it 70,000 words less than my race reports? How come you didn’t take photos of runners and give them nicknames? Why are there no graphs or schematics? How come it’s not in 10 parts? Why are there no selfies?”

I had to think of something, quick. I thought back to the good ol’ days of the 100MoN when Fatty did it on trainers while watching the HBO show Deadwood. At least I thought it was Fatty. Or Deadwood. So I suggested I do a Deadwood-related 100MoN. “Great idea. Even better save. Make it funny.”

While we were chatting, I decided to ask – “Hey, you’re a slender guy – why do you call yourself the Fat Cyclist anyway? I mean, I’m way fatter than you are (but equally handsome.)”

“u even irony bro?”

—

For those who don’t know, Deadwood was a show on HBO about a small businessman named Al who had to deal unwanted government intervention in the free marketplace in 1870s South Dakota and the hijinks that ensued.

The show also had the occasional line of salty language.

So on my flight home from the Big Apple, I had to come up with something. 100 miles is far, but I’m lazy. So I had this great plan: I would ride 100 miles, with the caveat that every time a profanity was used in the show, it was worth half a mile.

Which meant that two hundred workplace-inappropriate words would get get me my 100 miles. I figured that since watching TV on my road bike while on the actual road might lead to an accident on the road, I should do it indoors.

And since I wanted to ride while I eat a donut or 4, I’d better pick my gym’s indoor bike.

So I loaded up a few episodes and went to work. The recumbent bike allowed me to work as little as possible while I started riding with my notepad in hand, ready to tick away the miles. 90 or so minutes (and around 22 “indoor bike miles”) into the ride, I decided to stop and have a beer and see my progress.

Look at that: 50.5 miles* covered. I stopped to admire myself in the mirror because I was so fast. And handsome. After blowing myself some kisses, I hopped back on the bike.

After two episodes and around 110ish minutes, I was at 61.5 miles*. That’s 30 something miles* an hour. I’m amazed at how fast I am. Is this the sort of joy that Tour de France riders feel when they go downhill at lightning speed? Endorphins? I have them.

Damn I’m amazing.

Two hours into a ride is where the attention starts to go. Sure, my feet can pedal, but I start to drift. And even though I’m watching a great show, I’d rather be doing something else. I make for a lousy endurance athlete*. But I’m determined to finish this 100 miles*. For Al and Seth and Trixie and Mr. Wu and….

I mean for Fatty.

But I figured one more episode to go, and then I can go reward myself. But my buttocks aren’t meant to sit on a chair for more than 2 hours, and my wise idea to wear running shoes was making my arches cranky. So I kept on powering through and finished the third episode and was thinking I totally crushed my 100 Miles of Nowhere age group. I pulled out my notepad and looked: 99.5 miles*.

I WAS SHORT! AAAAH!!!!

Did I miscount? Can I even count? So so frustrated.

I needed a break. I also needed a cigarette. Man, that first taste of nicotine hits your lips and it feels amazing. Wait. I was supposed to finish my 100 miles*! And where did my pants go?

I went back to my apartment, loaded up another episode of Deadwood, and went back upstairs to the gym. Someone else had taken my* bike, so I had to use one of those fancy bikes that people use for spinning class. It intimidated me. It didn’t even have a martini glass holder. I felt like a caveman kicking a luxury automobile. This was all foreign to me.

I strapped my feet in and fast forwarded through the credits — don’t got no time for titles! Give me profanity so I can finish! And less than a minute after episode 4’s credits, I got my 200th profanity. I DID IT! I got 100 miles*! Now it’s time to celebrate.

Total riding time? 170 minutes and 28-ish bike miles. But 100 Deadwood miles. But I was missing something. Something that would complete a proper Fat Cyclist Race Report(tm). I’m no Tolstoy like Elden, but I had an idea:

A pie chart.

See you in 2017.

A Note from Fatty: I love all the 100MoN race reports that come my way, but there are certain people I always especially look forward to hearing from, based on their previous 100MoN efforts. Martin Bunge is at the top of that list. He brings an inspired nuttiness to his efforts, whether he’s riding a square mile of gravel road in rural Iowa over and over in the dead of night, or riding 111 repeats of a riverside bike path…in a Mr. Incredible costume.

This dude is my hero.

And this year, his 100 Miles of Nowhere effort…well, my jaw figuratively dropped when I understood what he set out to do — both because of his perfect and beautiful interpretation of “nowhere” and because I immediately grasped how difficult it would be (something he did not realize, apparently).

Folks, Martin is a 100MoN mad genius. I hope you enjoy and appreciate his story. 

The Bean King
by Martin Bunge 

I hadn’t given much thought about what I might do for this year’s 100 Miles of Nowhere. 

Two years ago I rode 25 laps around a one-square mile section of dirt and gravel roads—at night.

I hallucinated seeing a hyena on the road. Quite memorable.

Last year I rode 112 laps along the Iowa River in Iowa City—while wearing a Mr. Incredible costume.

As far as cries for attention go, the costume was very successful. And it didn’t chafe.

So what to do this year? Obviously I don’t want to go backwards by doing something lame, but there are limits to how far I can escalate the zany factor of my 100 MoN rides.

What to do?

I was pondering this as I drove through rural Iowa on a sunny October afternoon. In August I’d bought a new Salsa Bucksaw, a full suspension fat bike, and had just finished riding our local mountain bike trails and was heading home. 

I was thinking about how those big tires rolled over just about anything they came across and how scary-good the traction was on the leaf-covered trails when I drove by a freshly-harvested soybean field. 

Soybean fields look pretty smooth from the road.

A plan was hatched: Why not ride my fantastic, full-suspension Bucksaw on one of those bean fields? I could find a relatively flat field and have a ton of fun just riding randomly all over the field until I hit 100 miles. What says 100MoN better than riding nowhere in particular?

Nothing!

My plan was complete.

Maybe I should have researched this plan a little more thoroughly before I started shooting off my mouth about riding 100 miles in a bean field. This is a lesson I should have learned years ago but haven’t. Just goes to show you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. (Right, Leroy?)

I found a really flat field, 90 acres, owned by some good friends who agreed to let me “borrow” it for a day. I had to schedule my ride for Sunday, November 6th because they’d be doing field work the following weekend—the official 100MoN weekend. 

I had an overnight commitment on the 5th so I was going to have to rush to get to the site early if I was going to take advantage of what little sunlight there is at this time of year. 

November 5th was also the end of Daylight Savings Time which was a problem because the sun would be rising an hour sooner and I wouldn’t be able to start at sunrise as I’d planned.

My Bucksaw and I are ready to roll.

Play the hand you’re dealt, right? So I made it to the field by 8 am, unloaded the bike (33 lbs. of awesome sauce), and proceeded to pedal across the field.

What the heck? 

Bean fields are not smooth. In fact, they’re downright rough. Those big combines leave HUGE tire marks—it was like riding washboards on steroids.

Hey! Who drove on my dirt!

And soybean stubble could easily be used stop speeding vehicles at security checkpoints.

After about 20 minutes—1.5 miles—I gave up on the random riding thing and started riding between the rows, hoping the ground between the stubble would be smoother. Between the trash (that’s farmer talk for the plant material combines spit out after they collect the soybeans) and grooves left by the combine, my progress was even slower.

Disillusioned. Bean fields aren’t smooth.

This was no longer fun. 

Trying to find something that resembled “smooth” was completely futile. As I searched for a useable line, I noticed tire tracks running perpendicular to the direction the crops had been planted. It turns out they were made by a large sprayer earlier in the summer.

These tracks were narrow, maybe six inches wide, but they were much smoother than anything I had been riding up to this point, so I decided to ride from one sprayer track to the next, zig-zagging my way through the field.

Sprayer tracks. Much better, relatively speaking.

I figured that by the time I rode all the tracks, down to the end of the field and back to my support vehicle, where an ice-cold Pepsi was waiting for me. It’s good to have something to work toward.

I’d head down one track, listening to the bean stubble crunch under my tires, and struggling to stay in the groove left by the sprayer. Suffice it to say I didn’t hold my line very well. But what I lack in technical skills I made up for in perseverance. 

Three miles under my belt. Still smiling.

The plan worked fairly well for the first 20 or so sets of tracks but eventually the sprayer’s grooves were obliterated by combine’s tracks. I was back to getting beat up by the washboards and crunchy crops—and riding really, really slow.

A hardy bean stalk survived the combine.

By now I’d ridden 20 miles and it was time for my reward: a peanut butter sandwich and Pepsi. It took me over three hours to ride those 20 miles. It was time to come up with Plan C. 

As I massaged the pain from my palms and burning quads, it occurred to me that I was burning a lot of matches blazing trails through the crop stubble and rough terrain. If I was to have any chance to finish this, I needed to abandon my plan to ride willy-nilly over the field and stick to a trail I could ride for 80 more miles.

Over the next ten miles I did just that, riding over the same track, wearing down the bumps and vegetation. This was when the ride went from “kind of fun” to a test of my determination.

I completed mile 40 sometime after 2:30 pm. It was pretty obvious I wasn’t going to be able to finish 100 miles before the sun set. BUT I might be able to complete a metric century, but even that wasn’t a sure thing.

Back and forth I rode. Each lap was approximately a mile. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how many miles equal 100 kilometers. In my younger days I ran 10K races almost every weekend. My recollection was they were 6.6 miles in length. My new goal was to ride 67 miles.

My route. Began the day riding an aimless route, then switched to riding the sprayer tracks (the horizontal lines) before giving up and riding up and down the left side of the field for 40+ miles.

The miles started to add up and around 5 pm I had completed 60 miles. Only seven to go. I don’t know what possessed me, but I decided to check my phone to see just how many miles equal 100 kilometers. Turns out it’s 62 miles and change. Wow! I only had two more laps to go! 

Sadly, this was the high point of the day.

My final two laps went by quickly. I struggled to dismount the Bucksaw and chug another Pepsi. I’ve never felt so glad to finish a ride.

I’m smiling as the sun sets on my 2016 100MoN adventure.

Even though my day had just 728 feet of climbing elevation, I was spent. I felt stronger after completing a 150-mile gravel ride in August. 

Lots of climbing and speed.

Some things I learned: 

1. No matter what it looks like from the road, farm fields are NOT smooth. 
2. Even with a fat bike, dirt makes a terrible riding surface. 
3. A 33-pound fat bike doesn’t roll nearly as easily as a road bike.
4. Nine hours on a fat bike will wear you down
5. You might consider training a little bit before you tackle something like this.

90 acres. No crops. No trails. No roads. No traffic. No plan. 100 miles? No way. No time.

In so many ways, that bean field beat me, but I also managed to come out on top, as the winner of the 100 Kilometers of Nowhere – Nowhere Division. 

A metric century!

What will I do next year? If there IS a next year…

As a reminder, please email me ([email protected]) your stories with “100 Miles of Nowhere” or “100MoN” somewhere in the subject line, so I don’t lose it among all the other email that piles up on a daily basis.If you are going to have a video as part of (or entirely) your race report, you just need to upload it to Youtube or Vimeo and let me know what the URL is; I’ll take care of embedding it. 

Let’s get started!

100 Miles of Nowhere: Polar Bear Edition
by Corrine L. 

I’m excited to present Corrine L’s really terrific 100 Miles of Nowhere report, which is both an extraordinary riding effort and a terrific (and inspiring!) story, told in video.

Enjoy!

But I wanted to write a little something today anyway, so you’d know I’m alive and stuff.

Plus, I have a story to tell.

Last Sunday

The Monster moved out into an apartment of her own a few weeks ago; the hour-long-each-way commute to school every day was wearing her down.

The practical result has been that we now see her when she needs groceries or laundry done or a bike repair. Or when she misses Duke (everyone instantly falls in love with Duke, buckets of slobber notwithstanding). 

And, importantly, we see her once in a while when she decides to ride with us instead of with some of the boys in her fan club.

That’s what happened last Sunday.

The Beginning of the Ride

But here’s the thing. when I talk about The Monster’s “fan club,” what I really mean is that she’s been riding with guys from the U of U Cycling Team. Which is to say, The Monster has gotten a lot faster very quickly, as she’s been riding with skinny, fit, young men.

So it should be no surprise that, just like when we did our 100 Miles of Nowhere, The Monster shot off the front right from the beginning, with The Hammer and me deep into the red zone.

Zone 9, to be precise.

I looked over at The Hammer with a big smile and said, “So is this how it’s gonna be today?”

The Hammer didn’t respond. She was focused on not losing The Monster’s wheel.

I laughed again, getting a good sense of how this day was going to unfold. Three family members, three competitors, a beautiful Sunday morning on perfect singletrack close to home.

Awesome.

Bomber to the Bottom

By the time we got about halfway up the Mercer Hollow climb — a mile of fun new singletrack just about two miles from home — things had settled down and the three of us rode together to the Peak View parking lot.

At which point, without further discussion, The Hammer and I yielded to The Monster. Because we were about to go down Rush, and there is no question whatsoever who is fastest on descents.

She was waiting at the bottom of Rush, both feet on the ground, looking well-rested when I arrived.

“It’s nice to take it slow sometimes,” she said, off-handedly.

“Yeah, I know,” I replied, “though I’m a little bit disappointed that I had to stop halfway down and swap out my rear derailleur.”

The Hammer Strikes Back

The Hammer arrived ten seconds later and — without stopping — made the turn toward Potato Hill and began riding at what I’d like to call “95% of race pace.” You know: that speed you go when you want to hurt people, but also want plausible deniability when they accuse you of trying to hurt them.

I couldn’t help myself: I started laughing. We had gone at this pace on this climb exactly one day earlier, after we had caught some strong kid on a bike…who had pulled off the trail to yield until he saw it was a woman about to pass, after which he had pretty much killed himself to never let us by.

I would have laughed at how much alike The Hammer and Monster are, but I had to reserve all my breath for holding The Hammer’s wheel.

The Monster, doggedly, held onto mine.

Stranger Danger

And then, an unusual thing happened: a guy caught up to us. Now, I’m not saying that’s just nuts or anything — once in a while, someone will catch up to us and want by. 

But usually the guys who catch us are skinny college-age kids on high-zoot hardtails.

This guy, from what I could see, was about my age (in his fifties I’m guessing), and about my build (not huge, but not gutless). 

And he was, from what I could tell with my quick backward glances, riding a big ol’ full-suspension bike.

“This aggression will not stand, man,” The Hammer did not say, because she’s not a fan of The Big Lebowski. That’s OK, though, because I thought it for her.

The Hammer went into full-on attack mode, in the way that made me fall in love with her in the first place (not kidding here: her riding and running intensity are incredibly attractive). I stayed with her, but it was a near thing.

The Monster — and this stranger on a bike — couldn’t quite hold us and fell back as we rode Ann’s trail to the Maple Hollow climb.

“Where’s Melisa?” The Hammer asked — all innocence — when we got to the Maple Hollow trailhead. 

“Well, you dropped her when you attacked that badass grandpa on the full-suspension rig,” I said. 

The Monster arrived — evidently, she had finally dropped the fast guy — and said some sharp words to her mom about how you don’t have to treat every ride like a race, and we began our mile-long climb to the Maple Hollow summit.

This time, I got out in front and picked a nice, reasonable pace that would keep us all riding together. By which I mean, of course, I went just below my barf threshold.

We rolled up to the top of the steep mile-long climb completely smoked: our Sunday/funday ride had turned into a slugfest, somehow. I was loving it.

The Punchline

And then, one second later, this guy rolls up on his full-suspension bike. “You guys are strong,” he said, taking off his helmet. 

He didn’t look particularly worn out.

He continued, “It’s really rare that I don’t just catch and pass every rider on the trail. I’m impressed that you held me off.”

“In fact,” he concluded, “you guys were going so fast that I very nearly had to switch out of econo-mode.”

PS: Yes, this is a true story. And after he said this, we talked some more. His name’s Eric, he loves mountain biking, and he had heart surgery a year ago. His Specialized Turbo Levo makes it so it’s possible for him to be back on the trail. I think it’s awesome that e-bikes exist and make it possible for people to do stuff they love. And also, Eric let me borrow his bike and try riding it up a trail. It was…surreal.