Last weekend I signed up for Randonneurs Ontario’s Railway City 100. It’s a Populaire (not a time limited Brevet) so the goal is to get the distance done. If I was attempting the longer 200 km route I would need to complete 100 km in under 6.5 hours.
2024
My first ride on this route was in 2024. I had had an amazing MS Bike tour a couple weeks before. I was confident I was ready to complete a 100 km after several years of much shorter distances.
The conditions started out promising but as I turned into the headwind my speed tanked. I had no depth to my strength and my speed dropped to 14 km/hr. For those doing math at home, that makes for a much longer day.
My rolling average ended up being 17.8 km/hr and 5:49 on the bike. Total time was 6:46. Too slow to even consider trying any longer distances.
I was so upset by my performance I didn’t even blog about it, save for a passing mention on how challenging that ride was for me.
2026 run up to 100 km
I had a spectacular MS Bike Tour this year with back to back PBs on 80 km while feeling strong and confident. So I had some expectations. Realistic, based on results, or so I thought.
The plan:
1 – keep breaks short
2 – maintain 20 km/hr
3 – finish around 5 hours and 30 minutes
That is a specific, measurable, achievable, realistic, and time bound goal (SMART goal!)
I bought a new saddle and installed it. I tested that it was secure and in the right position.
Pre-ride jitters
I’d had a call with a friend who was also doing the ride the Friday before. We talked candidly about hopes and fears.
I shared how it had taken a long time to reclaim fitness for myself and fitness for fun after being in the military.
Nothing saps joy out of a run when your job is on the line at your annual fitness test.
I thought that event anxiety was behind me. I usually have a taste of pre-ride jitters, some extra energy, lighter sleep and frequent pee breaks before the ride starts.
But. Wow. I had a full on gastrointestinal reaction before Michel and I hopped in the car to drive to the start. The jitters had tipped to panic and I do not know why. I’m usually pretty good at channeling that energy towards excitement. But not that day.
Beautiful start
The group was a mix of folks riding the 100 and 200. It was overcast, light winds and not too hot. An ideal day for a ride.
I got to chat with a few folks from out of town. Very Zippy Vincent shared his joy in using digital brevet cards. He’s a front of the ride kind of human that I only ever see at the start unless I’m supporting an event.
I got a hug from Maria, another hug from Gail and saw a few other folks from the Windsor area. We know each other from Strava and shared friends as well as my volunteering supporting club rides.
This club has brought a lot of lovely people into my life.
I had a chat with John, who was back from a cycling hiatus, as well as with Steve from LCC, who was looking to give the 200 a try for the first time (spoiler, he nailed it!).
The good company put my nerves at ease.
Michel and I locked eyes during Fred’s pre-ride safety brief and silently agreed to let everyone else roll out since I’m by far the slowest rider.
A squeaky start
A few minutes into the ride my saddle started squeaking. I had tried to give it one last tighten at the start only to discover that my bicycle multi-tool had only Allen keys that were too big or too small. I kicked myself for not torquing it at home and for not throwing the right Allen key in my bag before we left.
Michel’s multi-tool had gloriously exploded on the roadside the previous Tuesday when he and Fred did the 200 pre-ride. He DNF’d due to a spectacular tire failure. His rear tire split down the middle the entire way around. This happens when you wear out a tire. I hadn’t thought to pick him up a new tool when we collected his bike from the shop on Friday.
So with no way to alleviate the squeaks we carried on.
Passing Friends
A trio of cyclists from Windsor passed us as we climbed across a few roads. It was Călina and two folks I probably stalk on Strava. Michel has ridden with them before so we got big waves and smiles.
For a few kilometers I could see the flashing lights of the back of the pack. Then a surprise visit with Dave C. He had arrived in from the GTA a little late so had huffed to get a good start. He coasted alongside Michel in easy conversation for a couple kilometers. He then pedaled gently off to complete his ride. I hadn’t seen him for a couple years and it was really sweet of him to hang out with us for a bit.
Solid start
After the first hour my speed was averaging above 20 km/hr and I had come to accept my squeaky saddle. I stopped briefly to devour a banana. My hydration and nutrition were on track.
The second hour wrapped up with a Cliff bar and realizing the wind was picking up. It was a bit of a tailwind but offset to my right shoulder for mostly crosswind. I knew this would pick up as the day went on.
Midway
2 km before the control I looked at Michel.
“I need off the bike for a minute. How far to the control?”
Michel smiled.
“It’s 4 minutes away. Can you make it without stopping?”
I laughed. I was self conscious that Fred was waiting on me at the control as he was supporting the ride.
We arrived at 54 km 2:45 total time. I was satisfied with my speed and how I felt.
I asked Fred if he happened to have Allen keys with him. He did not and I agreed that was totally fair. This is a self-supported ride at its essence.
He shared that the first trio of riders had arrived 1:28 after the start. Wow. So fast!
I had expected to see the back of the pack riders as they rolled out but they were long gone. That hit hard.
Michel helped Fred pack up the snacks and supplies while I found a toilet. It struck me how very far behind everyone else I was.
I felt embarrassed. Which is wild because I was rolling at my goal speed.
Slowing
As we turned back towards St Thomas we were on a lovely multi-use path and Michel cautioned we would need to accept going quite slow.
There were lots of people enjoying the path so we carefully wove around them.
There is a bit of a bend and a climb as we left Tilsonburg and found the expected headwind.
Bonking
Maybe 10 km after the control the continuous effort of fighting the headwind asked more of my body than it was ready for. I had a lightening bolt of pain from my right groin to my ankle and a full leg cramp. I pulled over. I sobbed. I was so surprised that this was happening. And I knew what it was despite not feeling it in over a decade. I was bonking.
I put my bike down, stepped away from it and started eating and gulping electrolytes.
Michel talked me through it. The MS bike tour had replenishment stops every 15-20 km. I was not used to continuously riding. He reminded me I just needed food and hydration.
After a few minutes I stopped crying and cramping. But the shock of being in a state where I bonked shook me. I thought I was eating and drinking enough.
Back on the bike to bonk again
Another 10 km and the other leg seized up and more shooting pain. I cried out in surprise and pulled over. My face was encrusted with salt. I had a headache. The wind was helping me stay cool but I later learned the “feels like” was at 37C.
I started uncontrollably sobbing. I knew it was just food and hydration but I couldn’t stop the tears. I hadn’t had this kind of reaction since I had done some 100 km rides in 40C in 2016. Ten years since I have bonked. It felt like a stupid, rookie situation to be in and I was kicking myself. I AM BETTER THAN THIS!
Michel waited while I ate some candy and drank a ginger ale.
“Just 10 km to the MennoMex for a real break.”
I nodded and got back on my bike. The cramps never returned but the tears wouldn’t stop for another 8 hours.
Bountiful burritos
My favourite soda brand is Jarrito and it goes great with burritos.
I slowly and painfully pried myself off the bike while leaning on a post at the Mennomex . I was settling in to have another pity party cry when my friends Nancy & John rounded the corner to say ‘hi’ and give me a squeeze. They were picking up food for a dinner party.
So I zipped up my human suit and put on my best brave face. It helped to have a positive reputation to live up to.
We ate and all I wanted to do was lay down and quit.
“It’s less than 20 km to the finish. It will take us 90 minutes. By 3pm we will be in the car heading home.”
That was Michel’s very nice way to tell me that I was rolling at 15 km/hr. FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!
My body just didn’t have any umph left. I could pedal but I had no power in my legs and the wind was only blowing harder.
I stifled more sobs and got back on the bike. We had turned onto a very quiet road and Michel offered conversation or space as I needed it.
I felt a deep shame at not being able to keep it together. It was a 100 km ride and there was a time I could do that at the drop of a hat. Not that day.
The end
The food and drinks were literally all I needed and I slogged my way back to St Thomas. It was well past the time I expected to finish. I felt humiliated.
I need to be clear. No one else was giving me a hard time but I was kicking myself the whole way to the end.
At one point, I quit cycling altogether. At another, I was tempted to throw my bike in a ditch. I was so fed up at feeling miserable.
And on and on the ride went. There were a few short legs when we turned and the wind was at our backs. It was then when the heat became apparent. I thanked the wind for pushing me up to Ron McNally line. It was a slight incline so I needed the help but I also cussed the heat. There was no pleasing me.
At that point my watch and phone flipped to power saving mode. Of course they did because I had been on the road way longer than planned. FUCK!
I knew we were within 5 km of the end and that I would finish but it just stopped making any kind of sense.
We turned off the busy road south onto lovely residential streets and full face into the wind. Then it was raining without a nearby cloud. I wondered if I was hallucinating.
Then we turned right and I saw the finish. I was so tapped out I didn’t even feel relieved.
I rolled straight to the car. Pushed my check-in and submitted my results on digital brevet card. I hoped no one was around to see me and what time it was.
Reflecting on the facts
My average speed was 18.2 km/hr and moving time was 5:33. Total time 6:55. Ouch. My very first 100 km ride took 7 hours in 2015. The second attempt that year I came in at 5:50.
Possibly my best 100 km time was in 2016 at 5:15.
Reading back on these blog posts I was struck by how similar the stories were to this year. I’m so done with this sobbing, cramping misery, enough already.
Deciding what to change
I am riding more consistently this year than I have in a long while but it was a late start for my season. I didn’t spin indoors over the winter.
I have amped up my strength training, swimming, walking and utility cycling. I thought this general fitness would help support my riding. It’s not enough.
I’m really fucking done with being miserable on my bike. So I have some decisions to make.
Option 1:
Give up the stupidity of riding 100 km and greater. Just let it go.
Option 2:
Stop flirting with road cycling and actually commit to riding 2-3 times a week. When I do this I am faster and happier on the bike.
Option 3:
Stop riding events and just slow roll without observation, comparison or official results. I’m doing this cycling thing for my health.
Still processing
It’s four days later and I’m still crying about my results. I’m so frustrated.
I hoped writing this would help me feel better but I’m still so damn angry and embarrassed.
Stay tuned for what I decide. Notice no options include me throwing my bike in a dumpster. Are there options I haven’t considered? I’m open to feedback!
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Hey, nothing at all to be embarrassed about. Sometimes I think that hanging with Michel and the Randonneurs, lovely though they are, gets your perspective all skewed. You just rode 80 km two days in a row, followed by a 100 km soon after. That’s a lot! But I know what you’re feeling. I’ve been feeling the same way. I think 50 km is my longest ride this summer. I have a blog post drafted in my head called, “Is 50 km Sam’s new 100 km?” I still want to ride 200 km–I’ve never done it before–but it won’t be this summer. The years I’ve found distance easy are the years of multiple week long cycling vacations, two week night rides of 30-40 km, and a long ride on the weekend. After doing that for a few years, I have 100 km in the bank–like ready to go at any time–but I don’t now. It’s not age. I’m just riding a lot less. I’ve signed up for a half bike rally next year–Kingston to Montreal–with the plan of doing the full distance the year after. But I know that will take a lot of riding and for me that means finding people to ride with. I’m resisting the urge to think of that as a post Dean plan! Anyway, I think we all go through versions of this self doubt and angst. Thanks for expressing it so well and for sharing.
I’ve been thinking of the Bike Rally too. 2027 I’ll be in France but 2028? Who knows? I may do the whole dang week.
I would like to have an actual conversation about this with you about this… first of all, I think you’re fucking amazing for taking this on at all, and for finishing. And the shame really strikes me — I think you have a somewhat skewed understanding of what is “normal” because you have a partner who is an off the charts ultra-rider, and the people around that community are just kind of super human. The *vast* majority of the people I know couldn’t even ride 40km. Riding with others who provide a kind of “am I keeping up” barometer isn’t good for my soul either — that inherent comparison is a losing proposition, because it lets us lose track of our own bodies and what’s possible.
I’ve thought a lot recently about the difference between “what I should be able to do” and what is actually true in this particular 2026 body for me, at the age of 61, less active than I have been in the past, and increasingly intolerant to heat. There have been three particular moments in my solo bike trips in the past few years where my retrospective analysis is that what I did was bloody stupid and I literally could have died in the heat. Most notably, in Montenegro a couple of years ago, the temp was about 36 and the day was about 80km; should have been doable, but I had a flat out of the gate, ground my way through a hilly day and then the last three km were a steady climb that would have been tolerable on a morning or cooler weather but I had… nothing. And I was alone and there was no back up, so I literally was able to walk my bike about 100 m at a time before I had to stop and rest. For about 2 km. And of course, when I finally got to the place I was staying for the night, I was practically in medical distress and they were trying to be all “let me show you to your room.” I kind of wildly asked for water and a coke and a plate of fries and a salt shaker and had to sit quietly before I could even think of showering or dealing with my shit.
There’s something really important to recognize that heat isn’t just a thing to use your grit against, like wind or hills. Heat does things we can’t control, regardless of your nutrition and hydration.
I wish you could see yourself for the incredibly powerful creature you are, in your own body and own way and own ferocity and care for the world and the people lucky enough to know you.
The heat is a real challenge that puts a true limit on all of us. I often think about Lael Wilcox’s moment in France when she needed to stop. It was simply too hot to proceed.
Not a lack of training or willpower, it’s physics.
(Sam was writing hers at the same time I was and we both said exactly the same thing in different words :-)).
I was really only any good at cycling in the years where I was bike commuting – the discipline of that really was helpful.
I’m on the Ottawa-Cornwall MS Bike this weekend, but driving the luggage truck
Event volunteering is such an important part of cycling. It literally couldn’t happen without you. Thank you for schlepping the bags!!
Oh, yeah. I can’t say I’ve had the same experience, but I can say I got the dumb idea that the Death Ride (Alpine County, California, 5 passes, 125 miles) might be a good thing to try. In my third attempt, I did finish – technically, got all 5 stickers, but was not allowed to ride to the finish. It was getting dark & the road conditions were crummy. And my friend had walked with me on the last climb, even pushing my bike and hers for a bit. And an ambulance tried to persuade me to hop in. I fell asleep standing up while waiting for a ride. Too tired even to be sad.
A guy who ran a training event launched it by telling us: if you’re last to arrive, if you don’t even get to the finish, don’t forget you are doing more than 90% of the population can even consider.
What you do is pretty amazing. Set goals and standards that make sense for YOU & enjoy them. We’re all on a fitness spectrum; only one person at a time holds world records. But hardly anyone can do what you did. Give yourself credit; be proud!!!
The more I learn about you the more I wished we lived closer together. What a wild experience that was!!
And yes, attempting and persevering are the big things to keep in mind. When are you writing a blog post? I love hearing about your adventures ❤️
Oh, thank you! Wouldn’t it be great to be able to meet & chat? I think Sam will post something from me in the next week or two.