100 Miles of Solitude (Not True)

This morning, I took part in the Haleiwa Metric Century ride (that's 100 kilometers, or around 62 miles for those not into the metric thing). But that is only a small part of the story. I decided to make a weekend out of it, seizing on the opportunity for some  additional training rides.

Haleiwa (pronounce hall-ey-eeva) is on the north shore of Oahu, where all the fabled big wave surfing beaches are. By April, the winter waves have died down, so it's a perfect time of year for a big bike ride up there. From my house, it's a 64 mile drive, about as far as you can drive in any one direction on Oahu. 64 miles is two miles beyond a metric century (do the math), so I decided to ride up to Haleiwa and stay the night with my friends Derek and Yvonne so that I could get to the starting line without having to get up at some ridiculous time.

The start of the Haleiwa Metric Century, from the HBL.org website

Derek Bickerton is a linguist, novelist, prolific writer (mostly in the field of linguistics), and raconteur. His wife Yvonne is an avid dancer, and on the night in question, she was hosting an advanced group of Scottish dancers. I've got Scottish ancestry, so I was willing to give the Scottish dancing a go if I was needed, but this group were far too advanced for me. So I enjoyed the music, watched the dancing, had a potluck dinner with them, and watched the sunset on the beach. Then early in the morning, I had a quick bite of breakfast, slipped out the door, and rode the three miles to the starting line for the bike ride. I'm grateful for the hospitality, and very glad that I didn't have to get up at 4:00 am.

Somehow, from among the 1000 registered riders, Hawaii bicyclist extraordinaire, Frank Smith found me. Two days earlier, we had been sitting side by side answering telephones at a Hawaii Public Radio fundraiser, and had promised to try to hook up for a few training rides. He had recently sold the bike shop that he had owned and run for years, and was now training for a return to RAGBRAI, The Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa. For the most part, I found I could keep up with Frank, but there were times when he pulled ahead and disappeared down the road, and I had to wait for chance to bring us back together at the watering stations along the way. 

Frank's years around bicycles had given him a trained eye ... in fact, he probably recognized the bike I was riding on, since he was the one who had sold it to me several years earlier. Anyway, at one point, he pulled up beside me and said, "You realize your rear wheel is not true." Meaning, of course, that the wheel was getting a wobble to it. I ignored that for awhile, and finished the ride at a good pace, catching Frank one last time right at the finish line. Not true? There was a wheel there, it still worked, and in another few weeks, I would be picking up a new bike to ride across America. I wanted to ignore him, but when I got home, I looked at the wheel. It is basically unrideable, at least until I get it trued, probably at the same bike shop that Frank used to run. Gives new meaning to "What goes around, comes around."

Anyway, I had ridden a metric century two days in a row. But our Bike Trip America route includes a couple of 100 mile days, so I wanted a real century under my belt. I purposely did not reset my bike computer, nor the Strava tracker on my cell phone. Instead, I lay against a tree and propped my legs up to get rid of some of the lactic acid, then I had a good snack, refilled my water bottles, put my overnight handlebar bag back onto the bike, and set off solo along the same route we had just ridden ... Frank and I, and thousand of our best friends. Ten miles down the road, I ran into heavy rain, and pulled out my rain jacket...or more aptly, a water repellent jacket that breathes, meaning that it lets enough of the rain in that I got thoroughly soaked. But I was determined to do a century. I kept riding, untrue wheel, poor visibility, soaking shoes, heavy wet socks, gritty legs, waterlogged hands, fogged eye glasses. I rode until the rain stopped for awhile. I called my wife and asked her to meet me where I estimated I would reach 100 miles. And I rode on.

My estimate was pretty good. I was half a mile short when I reached my estimated century mark, so I rode around the block, then headed for Windward Mall, our agreed-upon meeting place. I got the Garmin over 100, then looked at my Strava tracker. 102 miles! Don't know why two computers come up with slightly different mileage for the same route, but either way, I'd made it. And then the heavens really opened, showing the wisdom of not riding all the way home. 

Tomorrow, I was scheduled to go for a Monday morning stretch your legs sort of ride. Instead, I will be heading down to Island Triathlon and Bike shop. A "not true" rear wheel is bit too Zen for me, and I don't want to find myself riding a unicycle across America, the way my friend Hinton did several years ago. But that's another story.