Could she have picked a cooler day for the Winchester Century? Sure. This is my 4th time around this loop this year. The first two I did by myself. Cliff joined me for the third. The temperature never rose above 60 degrees. So how do you explain the six pack of riders who started this day at 6 am to “avoid the heat?” Simple. Cyclists are crazy.

That’s the thought in my mind as pockets of hot air become waves and then engulf me. Didn’t that article on sunscreen in Consumer Reports advise staying out of the sun between 10 and 3? Didn’t it say it didn’t matter how many reapplications of the product you made? No question, good sense should have made us all stay at home. The weatherman got it right. No surprises today—hot!

And yet at 5:40 I mounted up to ride to the boat launch. It had sounded like a good idea when Cliff said, “I might do a century on the 4th. But I’m starting early, like 6 am.” I suggested Winchester. Never fond of hills, I find it tough to do a century without climbing out of the valley. This is my favorite route. Tammany and CuldeSac are familiar. The climb itself isn’t bad if you take it slow. Winding and narrow, the road opens on vast vistas to the east and south as you criss-cross the face of this hill. The spring flowers were gone today but the fields were still green save for canola and rape bright yellow against surrounding greens. And pungeant. I’m not sure I liked the subtle smell that filled the air as we wheeled by yellow fields. I ran over a snake lying in the sun mistaken for a stick and a buck tried to run over me sharp hooves clicking on pavement. He was across the road in a flash but I had visions of a second deer toe-dancing on my helmet before I was convinced no more deer would threaten me.

So, yeah. If Cliff wants to do a century, I’m in. Winchester it is. But no one else will join us at 6. Steve has always complained about his late arising Lewiston companions. And yet Sean thinks he might join us. Mike checks in with Nicky. And Debbie confirms. I’m doubtful myself. Sunday’s Deary to Deary ride had hurt me though it was only 83 miles. The effort and the heat had brought me to a halt. Could I do a century today? Cliff had snuck in a century on Sunday and complained of his legs on Monday. Debbie was doing her first century of the year. It was already 70 degrees. What were we thinking? And then Bruce drove up. We like Bruce and enjoy his company but he has this annoying habit of riding easy when the rest of us are struggling. Well, he’ll just have to slow down or ride by himself, we muttered. None of us was going to be hurried today. And at 5:58 Mike arrives. “I’ve got bad news,” he says. “Nicky’s going to pick me up. I’m not doing highway 12.” Unlike Cliff who cheats and adds 20 miles, Mike cheats and cuts off 20 miles but at least he is up front about it.

Now we are five: Mike, Bruce, Cliff, Debbie and Corrie. We start off easily. It is Cliff who rides out with Bruce but on Tammany Mike replaces him. Sean, without his hydration pack, shows up on Tammany to join Bruce and Mike but turns back at Web Ridge.

Now Mike is having a good time. Bruce is on that ridiculously light Orbea. Mike takes advantage of the downhill. They pass me and soon so does Cliff. Debbie and I manage to get close to Cliff by Sweetwater and the five of us head up 95 to CuldeSac. I’m leading at a 15mph pace and no one wants to go faster.

At the Thunderbird I buy two bottles, one to drink and one to replace the Gatorade I’ve already consumed. I’m wearing my hydration pack filled with ice. I hate it. Makes me sweat, feels heavy and violates all that I love in cycling—the lightness, the airiness and freedom of cruising easily. Still I had figured the 40 miles between Winchester and the next water stop would be a bit much for just two bottles. The pack was on and I was using it. Only Bruce rides without a hydration pack today.

Cliff and Debbie and I agree to 6 or 7 mph. I dial in the 7 mph pace and watch as Mike spins off with Bruce. Mike is having a good time today. He and Bruce discuss heart rates and equipment. I just pedal as they pass.

In Winchester Cliff and I order breakfast. Everyone else has lunch. We refill bottles and packs and buy Gatorade. Mike calls Nicky for rescue at Spalding Park.

Cliff and his new cycling buddy at Hiland Inn in Winchester

The Southeast wind becomes a headwind as we ride to the Reuben’s cut off. Turning north, we enjoy a quartering wind that nevertheless keeps us at 20 mph. It is past midday and yet the air still has a coolness about that we will lose on Magpie. Soon Mike and Bruce are off again. We see them for a time on the next roller, and then the next. And then they are gone. Cliff and I had this experience with Bruce earlier this year. We let them go. Bruce later tells us he and Mike had traded off drafting and were running 25 mph. Bruce said he was plenty ready to slow down. This was Mike’s day.

Debbie, on her first century, is proving tenacious. She takes advantage of the wind and stays with us. When the rollers get long she drops back a bit. Cliff and I keep her in our mirrors but never have to wait long. She’s 50 miles into her century and riding strong. Of course Debbie likes this kind of abuse. Who else would sign up for a class called “boot camp?”

Debbie checks her equipment at Spalding. Only 25 miles to go.

At highway 12 the sun is blistering. We head for Arrow bridge but suddenly Bruce signals a turn and spins into a patch of shade on the other side of the road. He has a flat rear tire. Cliff and Debbie duck into the shade of the next bluff 60 ft ahead. Mike and I join Bruce who can find no cause for the flat and replaces the tube only to find it won’t take air. He’s broken the tube at the valve. I give him a spare and we are off.

At Spalding Park we do not take a nap, though I tell everyone that the proper Spalding Park rest stop includes one. Nicky and Buddy on a leash are there with cold water and ice. Mike shows no sense of guilt about missing those last 20 or so miles. “I can take two bikes,” he offers.

“Who do we shoot/” I ask noting that there are three of us remaining.

The stately trees provide an otherworldly shade for cyclists. A bit of breeze stirs the branches. It is dark. Have we entered Fangorn Forest? The trees seem friendly.

Mike doesn't feel guilty about abandoning us.

Cliff wants to know how far we are from the boat launch. “Is there a way to avoid climbing separator grade?” The Winchester Century, as we ride it from Suothway, is not a century. For that we always ride around Red Wolf and I like to stop at Baskin Robins in Clarkston. It is Tuesday after all. And Cliff never says no to ice cream. I’m a bit concerned that there will be a lobby for just returning to the boat launch. My trepidation about this day has passed. I’m feeling recovered and confident. I’ll get my century either way since I rode from home, but I’d hate to miss that ice cream. Linda calls me and offers to pick me up at Baskin Robins. “No, I’ll be fine.”

At the Rose Garden it is Cliff who turns up the grade first and then Debbie. No one is asking to cut it short. I’m pleased and impressed. Cliff I know can do the distance, but Debbie’s on her first century of the year and it is at least 99 degrees. I guess Boot Camp helps.

At Baskin Robins four fully loaded touring bikes rest against the glass. There is a fifth with this group headed toward Missoula. I ask if they plan to ride to Winchester. No. Just stay on the highway. I tell them the locals never ride highway 12 above Arrow Bridge (though we had just done 3.8 miles of it). I tell them the approved Adventure Cycling route is the Old Winchester Grade but advise them it is 8 miles of 6 percent grade. I don’t think I’ve convinced them.

They ask about a park where they might camp for the night. I suggest the Clarkston City Park. It is only later at home I remember the 4th of July fireworks across the street from that park. Oh, well. They are the craziest of the crazy, touring cyclists. At least they had sense enough to make today an ice cream ride.