CENTURY RIDES

Century rides. It’s such a random concept. Why? What for? Are you sure? Is it really necessary? These are all questions one gets once it becomes public knowledge, your decision to ride your bicycle for 100+ miles in a day. But you know what? Those questions don’t matter. They don’t have to have answers. All you know is that there is this unrelenting need to push yourself. You have to know, can I do this? Am I capable? Will I like it? (100%). And so here lies our story of riding our first century ride. There were plenty of moments where it did feel impossible, unobtainable, too many obstacles. But there were also plenty of laughs, many giant WTFs, an absurd amount of road kill. It was epic, but more importantly: it was real.

The team consisted of me, Mead, 35 year old mom, CF coach and MAT extraordinaire (lol), Jose, 44 year old godfather, CF coach and personal trainer extraordinaire, Albaraa, also 35, not a CF coach but a CF athlete!, and Sergio, 38 years old, also not a CF coach but a CF athlete!, all beloved friends and hooligans. The crew consisted of Henry, 34 year old father, husband and troublemaker, Kylie, 21 year old child wrangler, Gaga and Papa, head chefs and bicycle wisdom whisperers (the OGs of conquering bicycle endurance events), and not to be forgotten, Lucy (5), Maxine (2.5) and Imogen (1), the ultimate adorable psychopaths.

Let’s roll this back a lil bit. In 2023, I was training with Sergio for the NYC Triathlon, taking place in October of that year. Part of my training involved one nefarious 50 miler with Jose and Al, which was cut short due to a flat tire on my bike, an empty CO2 cartridge and a very old tire tube that was rendered useless by all three of us. It was during this epic few months of training that an idea popped into my mind: wouldn’t it be fun to organize a century ride??? Uhh, duh Mead. Yes. Two weeks before the NYC triathlon I found out I was pregnant with Imogen, and all dreams of 100+ miles on my bike all but disappeared. Soon after Imogen was born we left NYC, another blow to that cycling dream. It took me a long time to figure out how to get back into a groove, and a huge motivator for me (on pretty much any postpartum journey I’ve experienced, but especially this one) was finding something to push myself towards. So. On January 12, I emailed the boys, asking them to gird their loins and pick a date for when we would do this blessed ride. After a few back and forths, we all landed on June 7, 2025. Boom.

Training for a century ride isn’t complicated. It involves riding your bike a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I bought a Wahoo stationary rider to hook my road bike up to, because January in Cincy is a lot like January in NYC. Wet and very cold. No thank you. Much to my dismay, I quickly realized that I really, truly loathe stationary riding. Who would have thought that a mom who feels trapped inside her house most of the time would hate riding a bicycle also trapped inside said house? I pushed through, trying to do two short rides a week and one long ride on the weekend, but man I hated riding in our office. I was very thankful when the weather got nice and I was able to start escaping outside on actual routes. I spent a lot of time riding back and forth from CFBA, and was also introduced to the incredible Little Miami State Park Trail, literally almost 80 miles in one direction of bike path!!! That trail saved (and trained) my booty. In the last three weeks leading up to the ride, I rode 30 miles one week, 50 miles the next week, and then waited patiently to get those 100 miles under my belt. 

The more complicated parts of organizing a century ride are A) finding the route (thank you, Al and bless you for all your efforts), B) making sure you have enough beds for three grown men to sleep on when they come to your house and C) making sure said grown men all get their bikes in one piece to Cincy. Hands down, no questions asked, part C was the most stressful. Sergio opted to borrow Henry’s road bike, bike #1 solved. Al and Jose both used a bike shipping service to have their bikes fly round trip from NYC to Cincy. Al’s showed up a few days early, patiently waiting for Al and Sergio to arrive and put her back together. Al and Sergio both flew out Friday morning, with our ride scheduled to start the next morning at 6 AM. They promptly ate good eats from Proud Hound, the girls all coerced Sergio into fun in the sun while Al napped, and come afternoon time, we were all watching Al and Sergio put Al’s bike together (her name is Baby Blue, btw). Bike #2 solved. 

Once Baby Blue was ready for action, the three of us decided to do a warm up ride, wanting to ensure that Baby Blue really was actually ready, Sergio felt comfortable with Henry’s bike, and the boys got a feel for riding in Cincy. Off we go, happy as can be, when we find out that Jose’s flight has been repeatedly delayed, potentially on the cancellation list!!!! A N X I E T Y Y A L L. I quickly jump on the phone with Jose, asking how we can help, should we put his bike together, all of the panicked questions one might think of before a major event is put in jeopardy. I remember all of us having a good laugh because Jose was traveling with half of the gear we would need in order to put his bike together. Mr. Gamero finally arrived a few hours later, we all inhaled dinner, thankful that the group was back together and our ride was seemingly on again. HA HA HA HA cry cry cry. You have forgotten that Jose needs to put his bike together. He opens the box, starts pulling out all the parts for his precious ride, only to find that during transit she was hurt, bad. There would be no century ride for Jose’s bike. At least not this weekend. Ultimately the rear hub was cracked right down the middle, and his right brake was busted and leaking fluid. Perfecto. Thank God for shipping insurance. At 1 AM Saturday morning, we all decide that we will wait for Jose to take his bike to a local shop (shout out Jim’s Bicycle), to assess the damage and hopefully be able to ride later that morning OR on Sunday. When Jose wheeled his bike into Jim’s Bicycle Shop, all hope was lost. They would not be able to fix her anytime soon. The defeat felt heavy and smothering, all of us feeling sad and a bit out of sorts. Again I say, shout out to Jim of Jim’s Bicycle, because he let Jose borrow a road bike right out of his shop, transferred Jose’s pedals and saddle to the borrowed bike, kept Jose’s bike as collateral, and said: onward, century ride!!! Bike #3 solved. WE WERE GOING TO GET THE JOB DONE! 

There’s just one tiny problem. It’s now almost noon, and ain’t nobody trying to start an epic physical feat peak heat of the day. Our next pivot was to drive to Indy, eat the feast my folks had prepared for us (a supposed celebration feast now being eaten the night before the ride), and ride from Indy to Cincy. What the boys didn’t realize until all the plans were concrete was this now meant all of the hills of southern Indiana and Cincinnati were now at the end of our 100 miles, instead of at the front. Woof.

I woke up Sunday morning around 5 AM to make coffee for everyone. Much to my disgruntlement, Jose thought he’d get a great start to the day and scare the daylights out of me while making said coffee. Thank you SO MUCH, Jose, nothing but love (imeanhatredandmurderousthoughts) in my heart for you. Have no fear, I punched him as hard as I could while he laughed maniacally. Ass. Al and Sergio trotted down shortly after, ready for coffee, ready to load up all the gear and set off into the countryside, sun rising as we checked tire pressures, filled up water bottles, checked camera batteries, all the good and annoying important stuff that truly does have to wait till the last minute. (In case y’all were wondering, no Henry was not awake for any of this part of the trip 😂). My parents were both up and patiently watching/assisting as we needed, and made sure to wave us off into the distance as we rode off of their driveway and onto the back country roads of Greenwood, IN. It had begun. The ride was on.

We quickly settled into a chain of command: Al out in front, since he had the map, me in second, Sergio in third and Jose bringing up the rear (with age comes wisdom, amiright, Jose? 💓). I’d like to be able to tell you that from here on out, it was smooth sailing, not a single hiccup, but what kind of adventure would that be? There was bloodshed, there were wrong turns, flat tires, dastardly hills to climb… There were plenty of hiccups, which only made the day that much better. We were approximately 10-12 miles into the ride when the boys pulled over for a potty break (how convenient for men, to just casually whip their wieners out whenever and wherever to urinate 🙄), when Jose announced that a tiny cut he had gotten that morning during preparation mode was actually bleeding profusely, and had been for the last few miles. We rode an overpass to get to the large gas station in Fairland, found some electrical tape and gauze, and got that bad boy plugged up. While Jose and Sergio were inside playing doctor, Al and I were outside wiping off copious amounts of blood off this poor road bike that wasn’t even supposed to be on this journey. Honest to goodness, I’m thankful that the last five years of momhood have frayed my nerves so much that nothing bothers me anymore, because I’m telling y’all, it was A LOT of blood. We had originally told Henry to meet us at approx 8:30/9AM at the Waffle House in Shelbyville, IN, but we beat him by over 30 min, and let’s be real, that guy probably wasn’t even out of bed yet. We enjoyed a quick breakfast at the infamous diner, where every waitress stopped by our table, making us tell them exactly what we were doing and why (the gasps and eye rolls at the idea of a century ride were comedy gold). It was a great opening act for the rest of the day. 

We crisscrossed our way over IN-421, hugging the side of the road whenever any trucks came by, dipping and diving through an absurd amount of road kill. We all took turns wearing the GoPro camera (fun video soon to come, ya know, with all my insane amounts of free time). I think one of my favorite parts of the ride was watching all the different ways the boys tried to stretch while riding. We had a brief pitstop to meet with Henry, fill waters and grab more snacks somewhere between Shelbyville and Greensburg. Our longest stop was in Batesville, the halfway point. Gonna give myself a nice big kudos for the lunch goodies I packed - one cooler full of cold cuts and condiments, another cooler full of pickles and seltzers and brownies (which got ruined later that night from the same damn cooler, I’m not bitter or anything 🙄). Anywho, our final stop in Batesville was for espresso, naturally, and we were off and riding again. And that’s when it happened. My sweet babygirlhoneybunny got a flat tire. As I mentioned earlier in this blog post, in the summer of 2023, I was also the one to get a flat tire while on a 50 miler. On that fateful day, Jose and Al continued on the ride, leaving me to wait for an Uber back to the train station. So as much as a flat tire is a pain in the ass, it was a great moment of sweet, sweet revenge to watch Jose change my flat tire on this day, rather than leaving me behind 😈. Once we got through our halfway point and the dreaded tire change, we decided to push hard. We all knew we had a lot of hills to climb, and the day was only getting warmer. Another fun moment for me throughout the day was to notice when someone heard a song they really liked, there’s nothing better than watching a bunch of dudes shaking their tail feathers or head banging their way through 100 miles. Ha! 

I’ve mentioned the hills more than once. Cincinnati is not in a mountain range, so maybe I sound a little dramatic. But I was genuinely concerned for the boys. I’ve been riding around Cincy for at least 8 weeks, grinding through all of the literal ups and downs. I knew the hills we were going to hit would be doozy’s, and I hate to say it, but I was right. Every one of those boys pushed as hard as they could, but do you know where they pushed even harder? On the downhills. I think Al and I both topped out at 38+ mph on the largest downhill. All three of my riding teammates knew the downhills were my least favorite part (hello, I’m not in the mood to crash my bike and die from going over the handlebars at tip top speeds, I’ve got daughters to raise and a husband to feed, I mean love!), so they all chuckled loud and long as they tucked themselves in and quite literally flew past me. It didn’t bother me one bit, I would be the one to find them and call 9-1-1 if they needed me to. 

Honestly, folks, we’re close to the end of my story. I think all four of us would agree that the long country roads were much nicer to ride on than the city streets of Cincy, but! There was nothing better than that moment of turning down my block and hearing my girls scream from the front porch. We all pulled our bikes into the backyard, closed the gate and lay down on the driveway, with Lucy, Maxine and Imogen dog-piling us with squeals of delight and excitement. Isn’t that what life is really about? Instilling in the young the drive and desire to try hard things? I say, mission accomplished. 

That night, as we all gathered around an incredible meal cooked for us by Al, we couldn’t help but say a prayer of thanks. There is nothing more incredible than going on an adventure with some of your best mates, and we were all basking in the light of that glory. My girls were upstairs, sound asleep, my husband was right beside me, grinning with such pride and amusement, and my friends were surrounding my dinner table. It was a weekend to last a lifetime. Thank you, Jose, Al and Sergio, for joining me on what I hope is the first of many century rides. Thank you, Henry, for being our pitstop crew and keeping us safe all day long. Thanks Mom and Dad, for all of your wisdom and guidance, plus the delicious send off dinner. Thank you, Kylie, for making sure our little ladies were happy campers while Mom and Dad were out playing for the day. And also a big thank you to my girls, my Lucy, my Maxine and my Imogen. Without you, there would be no reason to push harder. And finally, thank you, dear reader, for making it through this absurdly long blog post. 

Fin.