After lunch, it was back the way I came -- it really is a great route. There are plenty of hills (and overall elevation gain), but the typical grades are manageable; best of all, there is hardly any other traffic on the backroads.

Of course, once you get to Wimberley and the Blanco River valley, you have to climb out of the valley to get back home -- the road can be seen off in the distance: it sustains 17-19% grades for far too long. (I also managed to aggravate some fire-ants for the picture, which added just a bit of extra discomfort for the already challenging climb). 

All told, it was a very satisfying day out on the bike. Unfortunately, the rain did make a mess of things, so I had some cleaning to do before I could hang up my hat.

Lunch wasn't much but the typical convenience store fare, but it satisfied all the same. Warm pizza was slightly better than my usual choices and felt good on the cool day. As we ate, a downdraft and a strong drizzle set in -- I got a chill, but was determined all the same. Besides, a little rain might keep the dust down.

We set off and, at first, the rain seemed to let up. The pavement just out of town was damp, but the tires weren't kicking up much spray. That, of course, didn't last. Within ten miles of lunch, the rain was starting to soak through clothes and shoes -- at least the temperature held strong above 50°F. Once we turned back onto the gravel though, conditions started to deteriorate. The rain became steady, but worse, the ground became soft and the sandy-gravel started to spray -- feet, derailleurs, and back. "I have muck on my shoulders!"

We dutifully followed the cues on our planned route: a turn down Oil Field Road and a search for an 'unnamed' road. Well, we found the road, and a gate. It said nothing about no trespassing, and it might have been passable (there are a lot of public roads behind gates around here), but we felt it better to head back the way we came. The cue sheet was useless now, as were the cell phones... no service deep in the fields.

It was a slog back up the road, where our tires had already dug half-inch deep ruts; now we were sure to be lost. Luckily, our fancy bike computers have a compass to keep us going towards home, at least generally; we picked a myriad of turns -- a left here, a right there -- anything to avoid the main highways (and, even despite the increasingly sloppy conditions, preferring the gravel roads). It was around mile 75 that we finally checked for cell service and a map; even the most direct route was likely well over 25 miles, and we were starting to run short of food and water: according to the original plan, we should have been in Lockhart around mile 70. I snapped a quick picture to text to the folks at home, to let them know I was running late.

A few more guesswork turns, and we finally reached Lockhart around mile 85. The station there was a welcome, nearly necessary relief. We knew where we were once again and could figure exactly how far it was home. Even better, the sun started to peak through clouds, the rain decided to pass over, and the wind stirred at our backs. I celebrated with ice cream.

All in all, we made it home under 110 miles (from a planned route at just 90 miles). The muck left brake pads and chains howling, but otherwise, it was a dashingly successful ride: we got lost, we bested the weather, and we scored a few bonus miles, too. Most of my centuries have ended flat at 101 or 102 miles -- thanks to the bravado of a buddy, I can say this ride was perhaps a bit more memorable. (I'll certainly be remembering all next week, as I slowly tear down, clean, and rebuild my bike!)

The morning in Scott City Kansas was cold, but there were a lot of miles to go and, supposedly, an early morning donut shop to help me out of town. I fold up a dewy tent and don long gloves and a jacket. Main Street is a half mile west - the wrong way; the donut shop was closed. Twenty-four miles to the next town.

On the way to Dighton, I pass a westbound cycle tourist. Aside the normal pleasantries, he warns that the coffee machines at the convenience store ahead are out of order -- he was right, but at least the cappuccino machine worked great. A bit of extra sugar couldn't hurt; it was thirty more miles to Ness City.

It was about noon, five hours riding, and I was due for lunch. It was decision time too. I could stop for the day, but it was early. I could camp in Rush Center, but even water might be difficult to find there, much less dinner. Otherwise, Great Bend was still another 60 miles ahead, but the city offered excellent amenities.

With a slice of pizza and a Coke put down and some gummy bears packed away, I set out from Ness City for the second half of a long day. If I could manage 15 miles at a stretch -- a little over an hour each stint -- I could be in the city in about five hours.

After the first stretch I arrive in Alexander and a very modern highway rest area. Pavilions there offered shelter from an incoming drizzle; the forecast called for full sun!

Fifteen more miles -- about 85 for the day -- and I reached Rush Center. The public park is just aside the highway and held grass taller than the picnic tables. I was thankful I had already psyched up for the thirty miles left to go.

Around mile 92, the sky north and east turned ominous. I tried to stay optimistic: grey skies don't always mean rain, maybe I could sneak through before any real rain. My optimism ended when the rain began.

The River Valley Trail offers a peaceful ride along the Mississippi, offering consistent views across the water (and across state lines). Although the trail is a bit rough in spots, and includes some odd twists and turns, the penalty to the pace is easily forgiven. I have ridden the trail (and other riverside roads) for years, so I often have to stop to remind myself just how impressive the Mississippi really is.

The wetlands mark the trail's arrival -- and terminus -- in Savanna Illinois. Most traffic continues north on the graded highway, Illinois 84 (also known as the Great River Road Route), but I preferred to find lesser traveled routes; my choice also implied a few big hills, climbing the valley walls of the Ol' Miss' tributaries. The worst hills were also gravel, but they did afford some expansive views.

I arrived just in time to pitch camp before dinner, and afterwards, was thankful for the shower house just a short walk away. I had intended to stay awake for the Friday night campfire, but with sunset approaching nine at night, I simply could not -- I fell asleep soon after climbing in my tent. The next morning was still and quiet, and just a little foggy. I packed up quickly and quietly, and left without a word. After yesterday's slow arrival, I intended to beat the hills back to the river trail before the sun rose too high. I passed through downtown Galena briefly considering a quick coffee, but no one stirred.

Somehow, the morning's hills were worse than those of the previous evening. Never underestimate the hills in parts of the midwest -- as the sign outside of Chestnut Mountain Resort warns, gradients can reach 15%. 

After conquering the hills and rolling down into Savanna once again, I stopped for an oversized Saturday breakfast at the Sunshine Cafe. The outside might be intimidating to some, but the inside was as homely as ever -- the waitstaff appeared to know the names of most customers, of which there was no shortage. After eggs, toast, hashbrowns, and plenty of coffee, it was back on to the River Valley Trail. Now, I had intended to follow the trail straight home, but even despite my experience with the route I managed to get myself off track. As luck would have it, my mistake led me to intersect with the organized Tour of the Mississippi River Valley, or TOMRV for short. I happily followed the roadies on their way back towards Davenport.

Getting home would require crossing the Mississippi. The Arsenal Bridge is the most common route for cyclists in the Davenport and Quad Cities area, however, the bridge has to open for river barge traffic. Although waiting is usually a bit frustrating, the actual time is usually short; the forced break granted one of my favorite personal pictures of the Davenport skyline. 

After long enough in the hills, 3-4% inclines feel normal, but getting to the top, the hills usually kick up a bit more. 

I usually try more landscape photography, but it's not for a lack of culture.

A disheartening sight at mile 108. Not very long, but a sustained 15+% gradient got the body temp climbing.

Not long after, a few other bicyclist's joined the route from a side street. Though their pace was well above mine, I couldn't help but enjoy the draft for a bit. Before long, however, they turned and I continued straight. My route started taking shape, including a pass through Canyon Lake and a side trip to the top of the dam (a pleasant 8% grade to gain a few hundred feet).

From the lake, the logical route is to follow the dam's outlet, down to the popular River Road -- a regular favorite of mine. This weekend there was some added bicycle traffic from a Bike for MS event. I upped the pace a bit to blend in with the crowd, but I never really found a steady wheel; instead, there were a lot of 'good mornings' and 'how's the ride going' as I passed by some, and was passed by others.

Once in Gruene, the charity ride turned right into New Braunfels; I went left. Home was only 15 miles away, but I was only at about mile 55. I made good on my resolution, and turned back up the Balcones Escarpment. After a few hundred feet of climbing, an interpretive road sign declared I was joining the official "Hill Country Trail" (an auto-tour route). It was about time for an ice cream!

At 7:00 in the morning, a few hundred cyclists had gathered at Zilker Park in the shade of the MoPac expressway in downtown Austin. Most folks had brought their best (and lightest) bicycle for the ride. While my aluminum cross bike isn't exactly the lightest around, I did ditch my usual tail bag and support, opting to streamline as much as possible. For navigation, I went with tradition, taping a paper cue-sheet to my top tube (with a spare sheet stashed in my zip-lock 'wallet', for redundancy).

The ride was set to start at 7:15, but it's not a race, is entirely unofficial, and people were impatient: I started recording at 7:12, and I wasn't alone. The route started with a stretch on the Capital of Texas Highway (better known as the 360 Loop); though the grades are moderate, we maintained over 100 feet per mile, setting the expectation for the day. Before long, the route turned back into the hills above the Colorado River (the Texas one), climbing on High Road and

Terrace Mountain. The steep pitches forced a few riders to dismount and walk, and caused mechanical troubles for others. I did my best to hold back to a slow pace.

Next up was a loop around Cuernavaca and River Hills Drive, which are among my favorites, as the grades are steep but manageable. Afterwards, however, the route ventures towards Lost Creek, crossing Barton Creek twice in the process. Barton Creek is one of the more well developed stream valleys in the area, and with it, comes some major inclines. Even so, it is one of the more relaxing sections of the ride, as it wraps around a well maintained country club with very patient traffic. Eventually, the route looped back to 360 and the next few miles were a relaxing roll back to Zilker Park; thus far, my GPS showed about 4,000 feet gained in just under 40 miles.

After the "first loop" on the route, many of the riders drop-out; some folks had it planned as such, while some others did not. I share a few high fives while I make a Rice Krispie treat disappear; I dare not linger too long, as time is precious. At this point, I am forced to give much more of my attention to the cue sheet, as the roads are often empty both ahead and behind.

The second loop starts by crossing to the north side of the river in search of more hills. The first climb is Mount Bonnell, followed quickly by Cat Mountain, both of which go by smoothly enough; next, however, was Smokey Valley, where my GPS spiked to about a 24% gradient. By comparison, the next slopes around the Great Hills Golf Club were a sigh of relief. The day was half over.

Of course, the most infamous of west Austin hills are in the second half! Beauford appears around mile 60, with Courtyard just after. A couple of sports photographers were setup on the Courtyard climb, which has an excellent view of the city skyline as a backdrop -- hopefully I'll be able to track those photos down! Not too much further along, and the route hits its peak around Sun Tree Cove (at a paltry 1200 feet above sea level); an unofficial aid station was organized, with an assortment of fruits, candies, and most importantly, hydration! I take one cookie and refill just one bottle, then quickly get back underway; there's still over 40 miles to go.

The next 20 miles loop around Lake Travis, including the Oasis, and a trip to the bottom of Mansfield Dam (and then right back up). The long-time locals say traffic on this part of the route used to be much calmer, but RM620 has grown a bit uncomfortable over the last couple decades; while the scenery is splendid, the traffic is unnerving. I focus on my pace, putting in just a bit of effort, and before long, I'm huffing back towards Sun Tree Cove: the aid station has vanished.

Oh well -- it is an unsupported ride after all, and there are only two notable climbs remaining. The first is Big View, which is among the most demoralizing for many: the route drops from its peak right down to the river and an anti-climatic dead end; any view of the river is blocked by multi-million dollar homes, and all you can do is turn around and climb back out. The final hill of the day is much more popular; it's named Jester, but it's no joke -- it appears right around mile 100, and brings the total climbing for the day to well over 10,000 feet. Even though there's still another 10 miles to go, the top of Jester feels like an accomplishment.

There is some elevation gained on the way back to Zilker Park (the same 100 feet per mile on Loop 360 that started the day), but it doesn't feel too bad after a day of Austin's worst grades. I roll back to the starting point and stop my GPS, satisfied -- there's still daylight remaining and I've bested my previous two times for the course. It was a good day.