Guest poster Don Blount dons his poet’s chapeau, to bring to our readers his tale of woe.

Because I'm Always Learning Something New
by Ray Niekamp // 2 Comments
by Ray Niekamp // 15 Comments
The century I rode over the weekend was well planned and well supported. But compared to two years ago when I first rode it, some of the roads had deteriorated — mostly on the back half of the course.

Suddenly, the little county road we were on changed from pocked-up asphalt to gravel.
Now, I have some friends who like gravel. They ride mountain bikes with wide tires, and can take advantage of the more remote countryside they get to travel on those less-improved roads. But those are mountain bikers.
Even some road bikes with wider tires can probably do well on gravel. Some like a Surly Long Haul Trucker with 28 or 32 mm tires should be able to handle gravel with no trouble.
But that’s not necessarily true of a road bike with skinny tires. I run 25 mm tires on my Specialized Allez, and I was all over the road, trying to find the more tamped-down sections. I can imagine that people riding 23s had a rougher go of it than I did.
After the gravel ended, I stopped to attend to a hot spot on my shoe. Bikers who were behind us passed by, and every one of them made a remark about the gravel.
As it turned out, I had good reason to be concerned with the rough surface. I discovered low pressure in my front tire at the next rest stop. I pumped it up with the mini-pump I carry, but ten miles farther down the road, at another rest stop, the tire was soft again. A sag vehicle was at the stop, waiting to haul a hapless rider back to the start, and he had a big floor pump. I pumped up the tire again.
At the final rest stop, it was soft again. I was getting ready to pull out the mini-pump when a Bicycle Sports Shop van pulled up. The bike mechanic pumped the tire up for me. I finished the century without any other mechanical problem.
When I got home from work today, I pushed the bike out of the garage to get ready for a short ride. The front tire was completely flat. Once I took off the tire and carefully inspected it, I found a small gouge like a sharp-edged pebble would make. I had to pump up the tube and submerge it in the kitchen sink to find the slow leak. I found no debris inside the tire, so I put in a replacement tube and took a one-hour ride.
Gravel roads and road bikes — they just don’t mix very well. Or is it just me? Do you ride gravel on skinny tires?
by Ray Niekamp // 10 Comments
I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen it — cyclists complaining that they would have had a great ride, but they set too fast a pace during the opening miles, which wore them out for the finish. Taking my cue from those experiences, I went into Saturday’s Outlaw Trail 100 in Round Rock, Texas, planning to take the first third of the ride easy, pick up the pace in the middle third, and have plenty of fuel in reserve for the last third of the ride. The best-laid plans…
I always get a kick out of meeting riding friends at or near the start of these rides. John T, who is new to biking this year and rides with me from time to time, was there. He was planning to start with the 100-milers, but do the 63-mile route. I ran into a couple of folks I’ve met on rides once before, and at the starting line I rendezvoused with Rick, my riding buddy from my bike club, and Torsten, a Twitter buddy whom I’ve met before but never ridden with.


The police car siren sounded at precisely 8 a.m. and we were off. I settled in next to Torsten, who is 6’7″ and probably the biggest guy I’ve seen on a road bike. (By the way, his new blog, “Giant On My Bike,” is worth a visit.) I knew he was a strong rider, but the pace was easy at the start, and he and I fell into a general conversation.
Rick was with us, too — unfortunately, I think we left John T. behind pretty early. I sensed that I was riding at a faster than usual pace, but I felt good, and kept up with Rick and Torsten.
In the crossroads town of Weir, the two of them got a jump on me at a stop sign. This time I couldn’t catch them, and although I continued my faster pace, they disappeared off in the distance. I caught them several miles later, when they stopped to wait for me at the second rest stop, which I skipped.
For the next 25 miles or so, I could tell that I was pushing it. They’d get out ahead of me, and I’d get down in the drops to get more power to my pedals. I’d catch them, and then they’d pull away again.
The Granger Dam marks the halfway point of the 100-mile route. I had stopped to take some pictures of the lake, but could feel the complete lack of zip when I started up again. There’s a rest stop at the far end of the lake, and I took advantage of the opportunity to unwind.

We got going again, and again I had trouble keeping up with Torsten and Rick. At about 60 miles, Torsten said, “Guys, I’m taking off. Nice riding with you.” We said our goodbyes, and in minutes, he was out of sight ahead on the road.
At the next rest stop, about 69 miles into the ride, I was spent. I seriously considered grabbing a ride in with one of the many Round Rock Park Dept. pickups that were serving as sag on this ride. But Rick said, “I”ll ride ahead of you to block the wind. If you fall behind, yell ‘I’m off!’ and I’ll slow down for you.”
Now began the slog. The 16+ mph pace we had kept up for the first half of the ride slowed perceptibly. Rick could have ridden at a much faster speed, but he stuck with me. At the 78-mile rest stop, I felt almost rejuvenated — a relative term, but at least I could keep up.

I was uncomfortable, though, because I had two hot spots on the balls of both feet. They made pedaling very uncomfortable. By now, the temperature was in the upper 80s (30ºC) and I started to slow again.
Rick suggested I put Chamois Butt’r on my feet. A small packet of the stuff came in our goody bags, and I had stuck it in one of my jersey pockets. At the last rest stop, I shed my shoes and applied the soothing lotion.
It sort of worked, but by now, it didn’t matter. The finish was in our sights, and I struggled to keep up with Rick as we passed other bikers on the way in. The wind from the south was quite brisk now, and I could feel my skin burning under the hot sun. I couldn’t figure out how Rick managed to wear his arm warmers right up until the last rest stop. We crossed the line, and met Rick’s wife, Penny, who was waiting for us after doing the 40-mile ride.
I was disappointed in my total time: 7 hours and 41 minutes. I had done this ride in 7:15 two years ago. But my computer showed the on-the-bike time to be 6:39 — only six minutes slower than in 2008. Average speed was 15.2 mph — higher than I thought it would have been, given the trouble I had over the last 30 miles.
So — what do I take away from this experience? Obviously, it’s to make a plan and stick to it. I had a plan, but instead of telling Torsten early on that it was nice to ride with him, but I’m going to take it easy, I let hubris take over. After all, I had gotten in better shape, added many more miles to my yearly riding totals, and had done more long rides to prep for the century. And now, I could hang with this big guy. If I’d stuck to my plan, I should have easily bettered my last time, especially in light of the nearly perfect riding conditions.
The other takeaway is the importance of a good riding partner. Without Rick, I wouldn’t have finished the ride at all — I would have sagged out at 70 miles. His patience let me complete my third century. Rick never spoke about his own riding plan (“I’m just looking to finish the course,” he said), but I’m sure I wrecked any thoughts he had of finishing in a respectable time. Thanks, pardner.