I skipped the stops in Urbana hoping to make it to La Porte City at around the halfway mark; I hadn't gone through much water and had taken on plenty of calories the night before.  It was finally getting a bit warmer -- 46°F according to my Garmin -- but yet my toes disagreed.  It was still early, just around 10am, so I didn't worry much; there were still around 6 hours of daylight, and I held out a hope that maybe I could push the pace just a bit more towards the end of the ride: I really hadn't started "trying" and was content instead to find some measure of enjoyment in the (mildly) adverse conditions.   It was another hour further on to Brandon, and it would be a few miles more to cross the Cedar River and make for La Porte.  

--- 

In 2021, I resolved to finish another year with a century ridden every month.  The road centuries were already becoming a bit routine, and so in that year, I ventured out to ride a gravel century, a loaded-touring century, a double-metric (200k, ~125 miles), and the infamous Das Hugel (featuring 10,000 feet of elevation gain in Austin, Texas).  It was a noteworthy year, and in part thanks to my commitment to the endurance riding.  There were some similar highlights again in 2022, including a century along the Mickelson Trail, along the Mississippi River Valley Trail, Le'Etape in San Antonio, and another go 'round on the Hugel; there were 24 centuries that year alone.  The riding was becoming easier with each iteration, but aside from those few highlights, the stories were becoming increasingly harder to write.

Long rides don't always go according to plan; I never made it to La Porte City, and I never crossed the Cedar River.  At mile 45, I was forced to turn back; Urbana was 20 miles ahead and would have to serve as my primary resupply point.  I had plenty of water, and having kept the pace low and slow, I wasn't really that hungry either; I let my mind drift towards a Bavarian cream long john and a steaming hot cappuccino from the convenience store (full sugar, of course).  The wind was picking up: it didn't really slow me down, but instead, helped push my heart rate up a bit higher than it had been, finally a bringing about a full-body feeling of warmth.

---

It must have been in 2023 when I finally started to recognizing that the pursuit of 'big miles' had meant shying away from other challenges: elevation, gravel, and single-track.  Even so, I was still enjoying the chase -- I finished another 23 centuries in just 12 months, including a self-supported double-century in the mountains of Arkansas, and another loaded-touring century on RAGBRAI.  But in between, I found myself spending more time looking back than forward: for several of my rides, there was a new feeling coming on: "been there, done that".  I was proud, perhaps, to be finishing those same routes faster, with fewer stops, but it was slowly becoming less satisfying as time went on.

The cappuccino paired well with the donut, and even sitting still on the cool concrete, the noon sun was finally living up to the expectations I had set for the day.  My only complaint then, was the wind, which had finally risen to a roar, slowing my pace even as I stubbornly increased my intensity.  I was just about 40 miles from my goal, but I was still allowing myself nearly 3 hours (maybe even 4) to finish the ride; my planned route was also about 10 miles short (having been turned back early at the river).  I was indecisive about what turns would help push my mileage back up to over 100, so stuck with the Nature Trail all the same, heading straight into the heart of downtown before worrying about making any decisions.  It was a nice afternoon all considered, and there were a fair number of people out sharing the trail -- their eyes helped me hold on to a steady pace, too proud to be seen letting up, even a little.

---

2024 came, and with it, more of the same.  I even went 'all in', adding an Emonda to the stable, in the hopes of going "still further, still faster" -- and I did: with a double-Imperial (200-mile ride) averaging just under 20 miles-per-hour.  (Would I do that again? I'd try... at least.)  Culminating in December, with this very ride on the Cedar Valley NatureTrail, I will have ridden 27 centuries this year, but few of them will have been truly noteworthy.  Instead, and more importantly, I rode the Great Allegheny Passage at a touring pace: I actually enjoyed my stops on that ride.  And then in June, I rode the Arkansas Graveler, and while all 6 days of that ride were torture on my legs, none of them were actually over 100 miles (I enjoyed some of the stops on that ride, the others, well, I survived).  It was an awakening, if you will; an affirmation that chasing centuries, while an enjoyable pursuit unto itself, had come at the expense of some my other cycling goals.  I didn't regret the long rides, but I was ready for something different, all the same.

I hit downtown Cedar Rapids by 2:00, and turned down routes I had never before seen: around the Cedar Lakes Trail (and the popular Sag Wagon bar and grill), past the landmark Quaker Oats facilities, right on down and past "1st and 1st", then on through the New Bohemia district.  I was venturing towards my weekday commute, which, based on some quick calculations, would help to put me just over 100 miles for the day, as long as I stuck to the "long way" home.  It also meant about 7 miles on the Sac and Fox gravel trail and a relaxing ride along the Cedar River.  Despite riding the trail nearly 5 days a week, I didn't mind another go -- it's just that pleasant to ride in the woods, free of traffic. 

---

I've journaled a bit already about my move back from Texas, 'home again' to Iowa.  But it's not that simple: I've never lived in Cedar Rapids before, and all the roads and routes are new to me.  And, as I've written, the riding is more varied, which has encouraged me to reach for more than just a road bike.  You can easily spend 6 hours on a full-suspension bike at Sugar Bottom, but you might only get 50 miles for the trouble.  Or you could try a gravel bike on the 'B' roads, but a century might push you over 8 hours (as I've found firsthand this fall).  And in the winter, when the temperatures drop, there's a whole 'nother culture of "fat bikes" and snow biking (which I am really looking forward to).  The variety here offers new challenges, new scenery, and brings about an opportunity to rethink my goals, which I've only just begun to plan for.  Do I miss 80°F in December? Of course!  But pedaling in still air at 10°F with ice on the river is surreal in its own right.  Will I miss 110°F in July? Absolutely not!

By comparison, the gravel bike I was riding was stiff, the handlebars narrow (and my shoulders tight), and based on my pace, I still had nearly 6 hours to go!  I kept churning, past three hours, then 4.  I still hadn't made it to mile 50.  At last, I decided to abandon the route, cut the last loop short, and turn back towards home -- at minimum, I'd still get nearly 90 miles, and it the tailwinds paid off, maybe I'd still get the 100.  I stopped atop the Wapsipinicon for a quick lunch and one picture for the ride.

Turning back, away from the tailwind did help, but I was still grinding on the gravel -- I didn't have any 'extra' strength to push the pedals, and could tell I was only falling further behind.  While I had some time to spare, I was really hoping to get home in time for dinner.  I made another change of plan, and just after mile 50, turned on to a paved country road.  Suddenly the speedometer felt lighter, and I started to regain some of my lost ground.  I kept with the tailwind and the pavement for nearly 30 miles on a direct route back towards home, but I hadn't resigned on the century yet.  As I crossed back into the city, I turned towards the Cedar River and the Sac and Fox Trails -- I passed home, and kept on going, until the odometer turned 90 (right around the Prairie Creek Fishery): I knew I was just about exactly 10 miles from home, because Fishery was one of my favorite after-work commutes. 

While the gravel bike is comfortable enough on the Sac and Fox Trail, it has only been on the crushed-limestone, multiuser trail a few time.  By far, I have ridden the trail (and my commute), most often with my "commuter" -- I've even ridden a century on the 'rig' (along with a few tours, now),  and while the frame is new this year, the rigid-MTB configuration dates at least 4 or 5 years.  

It was a full 25 miles into the ride when I made a full stop at the St. Wenceslaus Cemetry: it was mowed and shaded, and I ate a PB&J bar and sipped on some water.  At last, two riders were cresting a hill a few miles behind, so I cut my break short, trying to warm back up before hoping to 'jump in'.  

It was another few miles before I slowed enough for the two to finally pass -- I was preoccupied contemplating a massive harvester working right next to the road, and shrouding the way in dust.  I followed the other two's charge through the cloud, winding up the hill on the other side.

The other cyclists were strong indeed, and they made it hard just to keep up.  That and the weather: the wind had picked up something fierce, and was gusting well over 20, maybe over 30 mph.  It was an effort just to keep the bicycles tracking straight, and at times, the pea-gravel (mixed with rounded river rock) might as well have been like riding on marbles.  The wind was noisy too, making any conversation seem like a chore. 

At around mile 35 there was a hike-a-bike section across Salt Creek (it was once a paved low-water crossing, but years of flooding and neglect have left the concrete and culverts in a dystopian disarray).  I pushed across it quick as I could; the other two stopped for a short break.  I could still see them on the "road" behind me as I made the next turn; I gave it just a little gas, tempting them to try and catch me again.

We arrived almost all together in Traer, with the Short-Stop Convenience Store offering everything we'd need to get going again.  For me, that was a Nutty Bar and a Pepsi (for right there), and a marshmallow treat with a Brisk Iced Tea (for down the road).  I left as soon as my snacks were gone (or packed); it seemed I'd caught the others a bit by surprise with my haste, but I was confident they could catch up again...

They caught me around mile 50, and rather than trying to match their pace, I let them go.  We were half way through the day, and the wind was relentless.  The curb of the "B" roads offered the best break from the wind I could find.  

I couldn't see them any longer, but I knew they were still ahead.  I wondered, too, who, if anyone, might be behind, but I didn't plan to linger any longer to find out.  Instead, I put my head down and focused on the next stop in Reinbeck, at mile 75.

It was over 6 hours into the ride when I finally reached town.  I passed the Dig Inn, but it looked quiet and without any bikes; I pressed on instead, around the corner to the main highway.  I found a Casey's -- and I found two familiar faces.  They were looking nearly ready to go, and I was set on matching (or beating) them, so when I opened the C-Store door and saw the lineup of customer's, I made a fast decision to skip the stop and hop back on the bike.  It was only 25 miles to go, and at least 10 or 15 miles would be all tailwind.

The two others jumped on soon after, and I could see them making a strong start but somehow I held a lead (it was never really a race, just to be clear).  I dug deep into the last few headwinds, almost rejoicing as I made the last turns, first south, then east, and away from the northwesterly gusts.  At mile 90, with the horizon still clear behind, I stopped for a clear shot of the "empty road ahead". 

I arrived a bit early for the 9 o'clock departure and was happy to pay for my ride registration (a handful of body soap and deodorants -- a donation to a local non-profit charity).  But then, as we got to talking, someone mentioned that the Century riders had left early.  A bit dismayed, I clipped in and pedaled out.

The first few miles were quiet, and despite wanting to catch the lead group, I slowed up a bit to let my camera get some exercise in too.  

It was blustery day, and a 10-to-20 mph tailwind made it seem like it was going to be an easy day.  Of course, I'd have to reckon with the headwinds at some point (I was thinking enviously of the pack ahead, who was probably taking turns in the draft just a handful of miles ahead).   Even so, I kept my camera close at hand, and was thrilled to catch a good snap of the decommissioned Iowa River Railroad Engine.

Little did I know, that just a few miles ahead I'd be trekking along the decommissioned rail-lines, too.

It was only a few miles in the "rough" before the route turned back on the "usual" gravel roads, but now I was headfirst into the wind for a long stretch.  I knew enough not to push too hard, and rather hoped, if I could catch them at all, it would as a tortoise to the hare.  At one point, I noticed their tire-tracks veered to the side of the road, into the shade of a large tree; I rolled past diligently, with intent.

But as I was thinking about the folks ahead, I got to thinking about the possibility of some behind (I had started early, too, after all).  Even though it wasn't a race, I kept an eye over my shoulder, until sure enough, another rider appeared on the horizon.  

At first, it was a bit dismaying to think I had been "caught", but when I noticed his ride was a single-speed, I felt a bit better about it all -- I had been geared down into the wind and the hills, and so I knew he had fought for every inch he had gained.  He pulled ahead, for a time, until we came to a "Level C" road (which is to say, no road at all).  I really only wanted to push ahead for a clear picture, but I ended up holding the lead as we pulled into Eldora: mile 36.

I rolled into the designated pit-stop, a Casey's General Store, and was somewhat relieved to see a handful of riders posted on the curb.  They were still picking at the remnants of a pizza, and so I hurriedly set about filling up on water and grabbing a slice of pizza of my own.  I scarfed down breakfast and a soda, applied some sun screen, and then slipped back into my gloves and helmet.  I must have seemed anxious, but really, I was didn't want to be left behind!

When we finally did roll out, it was only a few blocks before we picked up another segment of old railroad right-of-way.  Unlike the first sections though, which were mostly grassy, this bit of littered with the remnants of rail ballast.  At one point, the "trail" was rutted out, inches deep, comprised of stones generally larger than 2''; there was a moment where my tire caught the edge of the rut, and I almost thought I was going down (what an introduction to the group that would have been) -- it took a firm and deliberate push, digging the tire hard into the wall of rocks to free the front tire at last.  

It was only a few miles until we were back to the gravel, and forming up into a tighter paceline.  I hid the camera away to focus on my form, instead.  We were covering ground quick, but often stopping to regroup; I never really mind such an approach, but my legs definitely prefer to just keep spinning (even if at a crawl).  At mile 50, they stopped behind, and I slowly inched up the next hill, stopping for awhile in the shade of a tree.  

I waited a few minutes, but didn't see any movement from behind.  Being my own support for the ride -- and with thunderstorms starting to take shape in the sky -- I felt it was all but necessary to press on at my own pace.  There were only 15 or so miles more of the headwinds, then, with any luck, an easy stroll back to the start, sailing on the winds.

At the crossing of the Iowa River, around mile 60, I stopped for a rather traditional photo, but didn't linger long.  It was early afternoon, the sun still blazing, and my water on rations.  It was 10 more miles to any sort of supply.  

It was in Union that I found the Gingersnap convenience store.  If there was water on top, I didn't bother to ask; instead, I happily paid full price for 4 bottles of Powerade.  I drank 2, and filled my bottles with the rest.   It had gotten to be 2:30 already, and I was estimating another 2 hours, minimum, still to go.

By the crow, it was only about 15 miles back to the starting line, but of course, the route had mapped out another 30.  That meant a bit of lollygagging, first west, then a bit south (back into the wind), before coming full circle, eastward and back towards the river.  A new series of thunderstorms had developed, this time, looking ready to organize into a vicious storm front.  The thought of throwing in the towel and heading in had occurred to me, but I dutifully followed the course until at last, I was 85 miles in and 15 miles from the finish.

By the time I knocked out 10 miles, the storm had indeed intensified -- but I was optimistic that I could sneak in under the clouds.  I didn't dare push it though!  I needed to reach the finish line feeling good -- I was my own ride home!

It was, unfortunately, an anti-climatic finish.  I rolled into Steamboat Rock to a nearly empty Main Street.  It was too early for Happenings (the local grill), and too late for the riders from the shorter courses.  I felt a bit bad about just loading up and vanishing; surely the other century riders were just a few more minutes behind.  Nonetheless, it was a better safe than sorry kind of deal -- two hours later, after a good ol' "Highway Run", I was glad to be home in time for dinner. 

Sidenote: in the future, this sort of silliness probably deserves a dedicated motorcycle helmet (it, and the boots, are going to need a good rinse and dry).  And of course, a shoutout to Ben (the ride organizer), and everyone for coming on out -- would not have done it otherwise!  I might look for the Gravel Iowa River Greenbelt ride again, next year.

The route I had plotted called for a short jaunt east into Shellsburg before continuing on northbound.  It was the first 'busy' road of the day, but there were maybe 10 cars in the 20 minutes it took to ride 5 miles; everyone was giving me a comfortably wide berth.  I never had a problem finding quiet routes in Texas, so I'm not really sure why I thought it would be difficult in Iowa?  There are over 2 million people living in the Austin metropolitan area; there are under 4 million people in the entire state of Iowa.  I turned back north, onto another quiet road to finish rolling north towards Urbana.   It was a notable turn, climbing up to Walnut Ridge, then tracing the ridge line for a few miles before plunging back down to the river; it was one of the few places where the route was anything other than straight.

From Urbana, there's a sneaky way through town to link up to another rolling ridge road; the backroad is mostly only known to the local residents since the adjacent Interstate offers a much faster connection for most drivers.  It was a short tease pushing southeast for a couple of miles (with the backing of a tailwind); I leveled off in Center Point, half way for the day, stopping briefly again to dab on a bit of sunscreen and to scarf down a peanut butter and jelly (and to polish off a bottle of water). 

Next up, I had added a quick loop north through Troy Mills and around Coggon, where I had planned a resupply stop at a local Caseys.  I was starting to feel fatigued: I had been fightng the northerly winds for a few hours, and was starting to crack a bit.  I tried desperately to hold any sort of pace as I finished the last stretch against headwind.  It was a relief to finally reach my late lunch stop; I slipped into my old habits: a large soda and a $1 custard-filled long-john (available fresh daily at most midwestern gas stations).

After 'lunch', I was ready to get home (and feeling a bit better too).   Once I hit the straight shot south, I opened it up:  I averaged over 20 mph for over 10 miles.   (And, it wasn't just the tailwinds:  I was pushing with my heart too).

Just another 100 mile ride.

From Solon, there is a popular loop around Lake MacBride -- the hills are about as steep as any in Iowa, the roads are curvy, the traffic is light, and the scenery mostly unspoiled.  I didn't stop for photos, as I was too focused on my time and pace; I'll be back this way, or so I told myself.  20 miles or more had ticked by, and I was headed back to Solon, then onto a new rail-trail that ran northwest.  Around mile 60, I found myself in Ely, at Dan and Debbie's Creamery, a local spot for fresh made dairy goods (including cheese curds, and of course, ice cream); I went for the double scoop.

I thought the ice cream would be enough to hold me most of the rest of the afternoon, and for the most part, it was.  But it started getting warmer, and I was feeling the sun blazing above in the clear skies, hot on my back.  I let off the pace a bit, but my heart rate stayed high all the same.  I did what I could to keep moving forward as I looped through Cedar Rapids, across the Cedar River, and back along the river front on a road I'd only found recently: Otis Road.  It was a nice quiet road, daringly close to the floodplain in places and culminating at the Indian Creek Nature Center.  I stopped off for water (around mile 80), then pushed off without much rest -- I was counting down from just about 90 minutes until I could officially finish the "Century".

In the end, I surprised myself -- I thought I had 'come up short', but I had managed a reasonable 17mph for the day: this pace put me at less than 6 hours total saddle time (though the ice cream and water stops did add another 25 minutes).  Realistically, I probably left a bit in the tank too, but I guess that gives me some assurance heading into August. 

The morning was cool and the crowd dense, such that I was quite literally whisked along the first ten miles by a never-ending, if not loose-knit, peloton.  I only stopped out of habit at the first Casey's for a slice of Breakfast Pizza. I ate quickly, then rejoined the pace. 

I was enjoying my road bike and took to the "fast" lane; even the hardiest riders struggled to match my tempo (but of course, most had already ridden 300 miles on the week, compared to my modest 60). Given a small bit of effort, it wasn't long until I arrived at the tiny town of Selma, where it seemed appropriate to take a short rest so as not to rush too quickly through the day's ride.  It's important to stay hydrated, and to maintain a steady supply of carbohydrates.

The sun was rising and with it, a fierce wind out of the southeast.  Before it became problematic, however, the route turned north towards Libertyville, and we were all spared the headwind, at least, for awhile.  In Libertyville, I stopped to support another of my favorite local vendors: a team of Amish, from youngster to elder, were keeping a constant churn of fresh vanilla ice cream.  If I wanted to keep my tempo, I'd be needing all the extra extra sugars I could manage.

I kept on the power and pace, still keeping a strong presence in the fast lane.  The day was turning into a bit of a training ride, but it was fun, too.  I topped up my water in Fairfield, but otherwise skipped out on any amenities.  It was supposed to be the lunch stop for the day, the place where all the teams could regroup (and meet with their support team), but that just meant longer lines.  Instead, I pushed on to Brighton.

It was in Brighton that I started feeling hungry.  (I should have known from experience, this meant I was far, far behind on my intake.)  On the main strip, there was a hawker crowing about the fried hand pies being sold by a few gals in an otherwise inconspicuous little table.  It was easy to miss, especially in comparison to the massive food trucks billowing smoke just down the street.  I was glad the man caught my attention: I enjoyed a fried apple pie with the proceeds going to support the Lake Darling State Park.  The pie probably wasn't quite enough to get me back to baseline, but I set out for the highway feeling fine just the same.

The route was now turning directly into the wind, but I was confident.  I held onto my pace, despite the increased effort, and for the most part, I was successful.  I powered the 8 miles through Coppock, over a small river valley climb, and into Wayland, where I topped up on water and started dreaming of a strong finish.  I skipped any snacks: the Karras Loop was next, and the route would make a second pass through Wayland, in any case I changed my mind.

The herd was thinner in the Loop, but there was still a constant stream of riders ahead and behind.  There wasn't much drafting though, as everyone settled into their own pace; it helped too, that a portion of the loop backtracked west with a strong tailwind.  But once the loop was back in Coppock, eastbound for Wayland, into the wind again, I knew I had burned one too many candles, or not eaten enough, or both. There was only another 20 miles to go, but my pace was now closer to the others: touring, not tempo.

It was going to be a hard ride.  The invitation was for a 200km (125 mile ride) with nearly 6,000 feet of climbing through the Hill Country, with a forecast for temperatures nearing 100°F with an index well over.  I knew it was meant for experienced riders, and was a bit skeptical to read social ride, no drop and tempo in the post.  (No drop implies no rider left behind the pack, and tempo usually means few, if any anaerobic efforts.)  Even if I knew better, I didn't want to miss the ride -- it was basically along my usual routes through Wimberley and along the Guadalupe River, but promised a sizable, social group to share the day's challenges; it was a rare event for San Marcos cycling.  Since I couldn't miss it, I headed out around 5:20 in the morning, excited for the ride.

We barely made it 3 blocks before the hard efforts began.  It was the second hour of my ride but the first with the group, and we were headed right into the hills; it seemed someone up front was 'attacking' the climbs, and most of the rest of the group were keen to keep up (no one wanted to left out of the draft at the top).  I was regularly seeing my power spiking as high as 400 and 500 watts -- that kind of raw power might be a tempo pace for a pro, or even a semi-pro cyclists, but for most seasoned riders, we only can only reach that high so many times, and for so long, in any given ride.  It was a brutal pace to start and was setting the tone for the ride; I hung at the back of the group, watching as other riders reached their limit, and fell back: dropped.  Finally, we reached a regroup and resupply point around mile 33 (mile 40, for me); the ride leaders asked some of the stronger folks to cool it a bit on the climbs.  

The request seemed to be well received, and there was a distinctly new pace to the ride.  Instead of 'holding the pace' on the climbs, the folks off the front were slowing at the base of the hills, establishing a comfortable gear and pace, and pedaling to the top with most everyone in tow.  This worked exceptionally well, and for nearly 30 miles, the group seemed to stay together, all the way to Canyon Lake Dam; I was even still getting PRs with the calmer pace, without much exertion, just thanks to the benefits of working together on the bikes.  At the top of the dam, however, there were turnstiles which required dismounting and carefully pushing your bike through, single file, one at a time -- and, rather than regrouping after this obstacle, each rider through the gates just took off, and our group ride was looking more like the starting line of a independent time trial.  But it wasn't that big of deal, since the next stop was just a few miles over the hill at mile 63 (mile 70, for me).  We took a few minutes to rehydrate and grab some snacks.

I had made my water last, and had plenty of snacks to go another hour or two; Lockhart was just 15 miles away.  I turned north and had the wind at my back, which made for an easy hour -- the sun was starting to peek through the clouds and it was getting hot; I sipped on the last of my water as I went and rolled into the taco shop, grateful for a chair, some cold air, and fresh water (and a taco, too).  I didn't sit too long, fearful that the afternoon was only getting warmer!

My confidence was well deserved -- even though we were still carefully moderating our efforts, I registered a great time up "Mt. Sharp", and the segment behind it, on "Longhorn Trail".  (Yes, they're only Hills, in Hill Country, but someone, somewhere, at some point in time, decided the road's name should be Mount).  But then, as we approached mile 45, the efforts had started to catch up with me, along with the slow realization that 'lunch' was still over an hour away, tucked behind another 1,000 feet of climbing.  We made a pit stop, under the shade in Fischer, where I finished the last of my gummies with a bottle of water.  Once back on the move, we eased up on the climbs and coasted on the descents, enjoying the scenery along the way -- especially from up on the Devil's Backbone (Ranch Road 32). 

The last road before lunch was Purgatory, a smoothly paved, gently rolling road through a relatively flat bit of the Hill Country -- the only caveat was a staunch, nearly 20mph headwind.  We took turns breaking through the wind, keeping the pace strong and steady (a real perk of riding in groups of 2 or more), and pulled into the Valero convenience store, mile 65, nearly 'empty'.  We restocked bottles and bellies - Gatorades, sodas, and for me, and ice cream sandwich.  We left feeling refreshed, and possibly just a bit overconfident: "how hard could 35 miles be?!"  

Our short break was rewarded with at least one more Personal Record, though perhaps less impressive, being almost entirely downhill -- but at the very least, we averaged close to 30 mph for over 4 minutes!  From 306, we turned towards Sattler, and then down, onto River Road (where'd I been just a few days before).  I took the lead for the first half of the river tour, falling to the back around the 'second crossing'; we knocked out nearly 18 miles in just around an hour (including the climb out of the river valley)!  It was getting to be afternoon, the cloud cover was breaking, and the sun was scorching; it had a noticeable effect on performance, and on hydration.  We stopped again in Gruene, around mile 85, needing another refill -- to be safe -- in the rising heat. 

It was another hour of mostly familiar roads to get back home -- that hour cost me nearly 50oz of fluid (and most likely, I was falling behind); it was another great day out on the bike, taking advantage of the last weeks of spring before the official arrival of a southern summer.  I was glad for the invite, lest I probably would have 'only' rode some lesser distance!    And for the company, more generally, which undoubtedly helped push the pace up a bit: a proper 'training ride' to complement this month's previous 'touring' rides.   

It was the first day out with my newest heart rate monitor (a chest strap style, with a replaceable battery, which I hoped would be more reliable than my previous rechargeable type); to be clear, while the monitor can be used for sustained hard efforts, it's more useful as a "speed-governor", to avoid overexertion!  I kept my head up, ignoring my slow pace, drifting instead between "Zone 1" and "Zone 2" (the recovery zone, and the easiest of the aerobic zones).  I had the time to smell what remained of the spring flowers and to fiddle with my camera (even though I kept rolling as the shutter clicked)!

It was still quiet in Gruene, except for a bit of road construction -- the surface had needed redone!  I took advantage of the peaceful plaza to take a short rest (again, focusing on making the ride a relaxful and restful one).  I have a nice picture of the old Planet-X bike, in the same place, and thought to try again -- it didn't seem to capture the same magic of the old barnwood and rustic benches, but you can never have too many bike pictures (there are a couple of bikes from my youth that I seem to have no pictures of)!

From Gruene, it was out and back on River Road -- I left my camera, allowing my eyes to wander free.  The road had changed quite a bit since I first road it (6 years ago), but it was always just one little bit at a time, so as to hardly show: a fresh coat of paint on the cabins, or a rebranding of the campgrounds (or the bars), and the surface had been mostly repaved (a welcome change for my 23c tires).  There were a few motorcyclists out, and a few campers appeared to be getting settled in for the week (and weekend); it's a good reminder that people travel hours just to spend a few days in "my backyard"; it's a thought which reminds me to appreciate the beauty of the place.

It wasn't long at all (or so it seemed) before I was back to Gruene and making my way east, under Interstate 35.  I had skipped out on the hills, but was now faced with a stiff headwind!  I tucked into the drops and fought (just a bit) to keep my pace steady.  At the worst, it was only a few more hours home, and at best, pushing much harder would only save half an hour (if that)!  I passed the New Braunfels International Airport, and outside of it, the National Weather Service Station (including a downed tree from the recent storms).  My mind went to the weather -- I was still appreciating the beautiful day, which was only starting to get "hot" (just as my ride was nearly over).  This kind of weather wouldn't last much longer, and soon Texas would be gripped with weeks of 90 and 100°F days -- I'd have to start getting out earlier!

It was almost a smooth ride, all the way to town, until it was my wheel that went flat.  Since I was tubeless, I tried with a 'plug' and pumped up the wheel: it held!  My group went home, and I went on -- uphill, towards Fulton Ranch, the Blanco River, and the "Big Hills".  As I meandered through the quiet back country, it seemed my tire wasn't quite as stiff as I would've liked; I stopped and added just a few more pumps, and road on, confident in my fix.  Unfortunately, the extra pressure was too much for the plug and sealant, and I was left with the tire flat again.  It was disappointing, but I installed a tube, dared to try a compressed air cartridge, and was glad when I heard the satisfying "pop" of the tire seating on the wheel bead.  I considered turning around and heading straight home, which would have been prudent, but might also have thwarted my century!  I pressed on forward, down to the Blanco (setting myself for the big climb back).  Despite the heavy rains, the river was still low.

I turned towards home -- just 35 miles to go.  The tire was holding air, the sun was still hiding behind thin clouds: aside from the headwind home, it was turning out to be a great day.  The only real problem was that I had nearly run out of water, and was avoiding the convenience stores altogether; there was a public faucet available at Purgatory Creek, right around mile 85.  I enjoyed a nice rest under the park's trees, then set off for one final hour of pedaling.  I considered pushing the pace a bit, but I never really did, sitting back for the last few miles; besides, I really hadn't eaten or hydrated for a hard effort anyway.  It didn't even phase me when a train slowed me down for a few extra minutes.

I started south, towards Seguin, on mostly straight roads; there was no traffic in sight (it was early on a Sunday morning, after all).  I had knocked out nearly 25 miles before the sun cleared the trees; the thought of stopping to apply some sun screen had crossed my mind, but it seemed it could wait an hour or two more.

Less than an hour later and the conditions changed -- the wind had turned (which I had known would happen), but the sky turned too (which was more or less, unexpected).  As early as it still was, the cloud cover brought on a bit of a chill -- I focused on my power output, aiming to keep a smooth but aggressive tempo: I'd simply generate my own heat!

Now, there's no such thing as a flat route around these parts.  While the morning to Seguin was mostly flat, and the plan for the afternoon, around Lockhart, was too, there were still a few ridges and hills in between, around Kingsbury.  I listened to my data and sensors, trying to keep my pace "aerobic", even on the climbs.  Easing up on the climbs is actually rather straightforward -- the more challenging side of things is on the descents: it's hard to think about adding in power when you're already rolling at 20 miles per hour.  But the mission was clear, and I had to get home to help with the housework.

I reached Lockhart, mile 60, right around 10 in the morning, just shy of 4 hours riding; it was a usual pace, but at least I was still feeling strong, having held back some.  Nonetheless, I promised myself a lunch (at a favorite mid-ride stop, Mario's Tacos) and thought a large (full-sugar) soda with a couple tacos would help keep the tempo high.  It was delicious!

With just 40 miles to go, I knew I could finish up in 3 hours, but hoped for better.  The wind was still out of the north, and home was due west.  It was only a few minutes to warmup before I pushed the pace beyond tempo, towards "threshold": in theory, I could hold that power for an hour or so (before complete failure).  My effort was rewarded, and my after-lunch pace was well above the ride's average.    

I put 20 miles behind me in just around an hour, but I was definitely 'burning matches'.  Worse still, there were a few more hills in the final push home and I had to turn into the wind, too.  I pushed myself as hard as I dared to avoid burning out; I held strong, but my speed suffered all the same.  It didn't really matter anyway: overall, I was ahead of schedule and just needed to finish the ride, an any pace.

I really shouldn't complain.  In the end, it was my fastest solo century to date (my second fastest overall -- the absolute fastest was set on a mass-start group ride).  While I've been riding for years now, I've only recently started tracking things like heart rate and power; initially this was only a matter of curiosity, but the collection of this data portended my interest in "serious training", and in a relatively short amount of time, that training has paid dividends.  

There were some strong folks itching to take their pulls at the front -- we seemed to have more power than we needed, and our pace was the beneficiary.  I was able to take in the sights, but the speed (and tightness) of the group kept the camera put away: we passed an office of the Boring Company just before reaching Bastrop -- over 60 miles (100km) down for me, 35 for the rest of the group.  We made a quick stop, but just long enough for the bare minimum of water, gummy bears, and sunscreen.  We turned back to the open road, and immediately took to a pace line.

It was only 15 miles up the road to Smithville, but our previous water break had caught up with some folks.  It was an opportunity to meander a bit, and to gaze out over the Colorado River, which we'd be following a bit longer.

From Smithville, there was a more formal stop planned in La Grange.  I was about to roll past my own 100-mile marker, whereas most of the group was closer to 75; I wondered how well the pace would hold up, as we started venturing past the usual "training" distances.  

After La Grange, the route ventured through some of the smallest little towns on the map.  Around 35 to 40 miles into the section, there were murmurs, asking about water and sag support -- there would be nothing until the next town, at McMahan, nearly 10 more miles ahead (and 50 past La Grange).  In the end, it was nearly 2 and 1/2 hours of riding at nearly 20 mph: it was a productive stretch -- at the very least, putting a little time back in the bank.

The McMahan Country Store was much needed by all (or at least, by most).  I was around 160 miles in, and knew I only had to hang on to the group for another hour or so (when they would split back towards Buda, and I, towards home): I indulged with an ice cream cone (and an Oatmeal Cream Pie, and a Gatorade, and some gummy bears).   

The route paralleled the Colorado River northbound.  The route also crossed every stream and gulch that fed into the Colorado, making for a slow start on the first 10 miles of the day.  Luckily, the weather was superb and the new views were distracting; time didn't just slip, it vanished.  The road looped back around and dumped us on a busier two lane highway, forcing our attention back to the pace and the 'line'.  The highway also meant stores and stops: donuts and coffee.

It was a bit over 10 miles back to the Park.  Most of the road was flat with a wide shoulder, offering a relaxing roll.  When the shoulder did vanish, it marked the beginning of a steep descent with a long rollout; a few curves added a bit of excitement, pushing the bike into the corners and feathering the brakes, just in case.

There were a few more rolling hills for good measure, then we were back where we started.  It was an opportunity to grab a few extra snacks and top up our water.  We'd only ridden a third of a century!

The second loop started by retracing familiar territory, up the hill, along the flat and wide shoulder, and back into Burnet.  There were options for food and supply, but we didn't a stop: we pulled straight through, down 281 and onto the far end of Park Road 4.

It was 6 miles to Longhorn Cavern and 12 miles to Inks Lake.  The road was curvy and hilly, but never really excessive; the traffic was mostly patient, too.  The time was vanishing again, as we were ticking well past 50 miles.  We weren't obligated to go any further, but it seemed silly to stop in the early afternoon.  We took a small break to acknowledge the panorama.

We resupplied again, back at camp, before turning towards our third loop of the day: Kingsland.  We started against a headwind, never really pushing hard, but taking turns in the wind, all the same.  The sun had come out too, ratcheting the intensity a bit further.  Technically, we were mostly rolling down river.

Time was revealing itself at last. The minutes turned slowly, the miles turned slower.  We stopped for lunch at a marina -- Boat Town -- for a shaded seat, a bite for lunch, and a wide open view of the Colorado River.  It was a well deserved, and much needed, respite.

We plodded along a few more miles through town, impressed by the varieties of river front real estate.  But time was catching us, and we were counting ahead, towards sunset.  So we kept on: it was only 15 miles back to camp, and there was a strong tailwind too.  We made great time, leaving spare to hike to the Devil's Waterhole and around the grounds.  Our tents were up just before sundown, and dinner finished by 9.  

Three of us met up in town and headed straight out, into the the Hill Country.  We saw the sun a few times, but never lingered.  As we started down the descent to the Blanco River, it was apparent that the fog -- despite lifting -- would hang around, keeping the sun at bay awhile longer.  As much as I was anxious for the "Spring" sunshine, the late morning temperatures were actually rather pleasant.

We sidelined around Wimberley, following along the Blanco River, along Wayside Drive and out Fischer Store road to the unincorporated hamlet of Fischer.  We made good time getting to Canyon Lake, where we paused to fill our water: there was one last major climb for the day.

From the top of Canyon Lake, we dashed down 306 to the bottom of Canyon Dam; the view from the top is a bit more romantic, but the view from the bottom is equally impressive, if not just a little bit imposing. The last real climb of the day was on the other side of the dam -- up, out, and over Canyon Gorge.  The reward, once over the top, is the ten uninterrupted miles of River Road.  We held a quick pace, but I was sure to take a few long looks over the water. 

It was mostly tailwinds home from New Braunfels, which with a bit of power made easy work of getting a few Personal Records on the ride.  It was reassuring too, as we neared the finish line for the day, that I was still feeling comfortable: it was my first time over 60 miles on the new bike.  The position is similar to the old Planet-X and the weight is similar to the steel Lemond, and somewhat, the best of both; the biggest improvement though, at least to me, seems to be the Power Meter, which helps push towards a maximum effort without the risk of pushing too far and burning out.   

Most of the gravel in the area is relatively well sorted and crushed stones; the surface is only a bit slower than the pavement, but the traffic is almost always light.  Even the hills are generally shorter and shallower, though there are still a couple risers -- enough to check your transmission. 

It was just a bit over 30 miles, meandering, to Lockhart; we stopped for a snack: I had an Oatmeal Cream Pie, and stuffed some gummy worms in my pockets for later.  There's a popular "gravel" loop just out east from Lockhart, and while quite a bit of the route is paved, there's some fun sections of rough road, a bit of gravel, and very little traffic.  The only complaint might be the smell -- oil wells abound, and every once in a while the wind would kick up the dizzying smell of gas. 

We were back to Lockhart on cue, at mile 60.  Though we'd kept the pace modest, the mix of headwinds and rough roads had taken its toll.  We were relieved to see Mario's Taco from across the field: our primary rest stop for the day.

After lunch, we found some more gravel on the way back home.  One in particular -- Long Road -- offered a gravel ride for the purists: a soft road base sprinkled with an aggregate of gravel, peppered with larger rocks (like landmines), and striped with an occasional stretch of the really chunky stuff.  The pictures don't really do the road any justice. 

At mile 75 (and Highway 80), we took our last turn away from home.  We added a 5-mile detour to reach one of the most picturesque locales on the San Marcos River (in my opinion).  We stopped for a few minutes to stretch our legs, but otherwise knew the clock was ever-ticking.  It was just 20 miles home!

It wasn't really a slow 20 miles, but it felt like it.  We were back into the headwinds, and huffing up some of the biggest hills of the day; it didn't help the pace (real or perceived) that I had to stop and add air to the tire.  It's noteworthy though, that we still managed to hit a bit of extra gravel on the way in: a hidden gem, just a few miles from home.  

I headed straight into the wind (northwesterly), which meant straight into Hill Country via Fulton Ranch Road.

The winds on the cold front were supposed to leave a sunny sky, but the cloud cover refused to be broken so easily.  The climbs slowed my pace up, and the wet ground slowed my pace going down -- three hours in and I had covered less than 40 miles.  I saw a pair I'd seen several times in the past, which brightened the day a bit; the two share a pasture with the cattle, and it's a big enough space they can hide from the road, if they want to.

The halfway point was Dripping Springs -- where I usually get a donut.  Instead, I pushed forward into the wind to explore the hillside neighborhoods.  I pushed my bike to the top of the ridge, and my odometer to just over 50 miles.  The sun remained elusive and the wind kept up a chill; at least I'd enjoy mostly tailwinds on the way home.

Back in Wimberley, I calculated the distance home and thought I could use an extra loop.  I turned down River Road (alongside the Blanco River), and added an extra hill to the route, in the process.  The sun came out with 25 miles left.

By mile 35, I was under the trees, bankside on the Guadalupe River.  With many of the camps closed for the winter, the traffic was calmer than usual.  Although the River itself mostly flowed as usual (since it's regulated by the Canyon Lake Dam), the various creeks and gullies were mostly roaring, with one even threatening the road itself. 

Ordinarily, I'd continue straight through Sattler, and onto the dam, but I was feeling a bit energetic (to my own surprise); I opted for a detour to one of the harder climbs in the area: Summit Road.  

Summit is a dead end, and so once at the top, I turned around; by comparison, the climb to the Gorge and to Canyon Lake Dam were easy!  I parked, momentarily, at the top of the dam to enjoy my packed lunch, before turning back towards home.  I was over halfway, and besides, the rest of the way home was mostly downhill.  

San Marcos was quiet aside from the Farmer's Market, and other than some tedious stoplights (absent any traffic) I was underway, savoring the wind-breaks on Stagecoach Trail, all while ignoring my speed, focusing on heart rate instead.

Once passed Kyle, the neighborly roads end; instead, the State Highway provides FM1636: it's like a miniature clone of Interstate 35 with none of the pesky regulations set by the United States DOT.  Speeds are near 60mph, easily approaching 70, complete with cross-traffic without signals; its only redeeming quality is a gargantuan shoulder.  But clearly, even that is still not enough space for folks to keep their cars battle-tanks on the road, and all I can think is, "how does nobody else see this?". In any case, it was only a quick few miles before the junction with State Highway 45 and the paved multi-use path adjacent to it.  Drivers have to pay to use Tollway 45 (good!); thankfully, the trail is free (for now). 

The trail alongside Highway 45 is nearly 5 miles, and much of it uphill; I knew that. Still, I was surprised when Garmin's ClimbPro appeared on the display: it outlined the distance and elevation ahead (still into the wind, too). The display motivated me to push a bit, though nothing too much, as I was still trying to keep to a tempo.  At the top -- at Escarpment Boulevard -- I was relieved to finally turn aside from the headwind, and descend down to the Veloway. 

I finished up ten laps -- just a bit over 3 miles each -- at the Veloway.  It was just under 2 hours, and, while not too fast, had still helped my wind-challenged pace quite a bit!  As I finished up, the sun finally broke through the day's clouds, promising a welcomed warmth to the early afternoon.  I retraced my route precisely, back to Escarpment Boulevard and down the Tollway Trail: I never saw much lower than 20mph on the speedometer.

Traffic was a bit busier on the way back down 1626 but it wasn't the cars that kept my camera away: I averaged about 20mph for 36 minutes (account for stops and corners, and the "moving paces" were even higher)!  It was easy going all the way to San Marcos, where a few of the local hills overwhelmed any help from the wind; that, and traffic had picked up, causing several extraneous stops-and-starts, the kind that just sap any cyclist's energy.  But it didn't really bother me -- I was on familiar streets, a known quantity.

We did 12 miles together before parting ways. I turned back south into the headwinds, looking to see if the Edge would pick up where it had left off; once back on "course", the display was nearly overwhelming: maps, compasses, graphs, and tens (maybe hundreds) of individual data fields being tracked.  I let the turn-by-turn take charge along the way towards Seguin; my focus was attentively on the wind.

My navigational experiment became more serious past Seguin.  But first, there was a foible: Garmin's routing had sided me onto a tertiary road (with extra stop-signs) rather than straight-on-through on the secondary roads; oh well.  More importantly, the turns and estimated distances (and even "time-to-point" estimates) were accurate and useful for cruising along Highway 46 and 745.  Knowing my heart rate too, I pushed a bit extra but was careful to stay out of "Zone 5" on the graph.  Once off the highways, and onto the quieter Leissner School Road, I checked the map to see how much further south -- into the wind -- I had yet to suffer through.  

Then, at over 50 miles in, another foible: road construction on the Interstate forced a detour: the shortest option was out and back (to the next overpass) using the frontage road, but a bit longer backtrack (southward a bit more) promised a quieter alternative.  The Garmin complained a bit -- asking for several u-turns -- but otherwise its map added a layer of confidence to my decision-making: it kept my phone in a pocket and kept my feet on the pedals.  

I enjoyed the detour itself, and the alternative crossing of I-10 was exceptionally quiet; but the old bridge won't stand much longer.  The road work seems an easy critique: millions of dollars to elevate the interstate so the farm road can go under, instead of the current arrangement; meanwhile, most of our cities suffer without basic sidewalks, let alone proper paths.

It was fifteen more miles to cross I-35, but now, riding a big tailwind, time and pace seemed nearly inconsequential.  As I sailed over the rolling prairie, I contemplated my computer once more, anxious for the last experiment: the "climb" utility.  

The ground was a bit wet; there were a few places where it made the road a bit slick, but most of the country roads have a chip-seal top-coat that inspires confidence.  I weaved a bit of a circuit around the prairie, back east towards Staples, and across the San Marcos River on FM1977.  It was just 20 miles into the day, and I still had my doubts about the distance.

I chased Highway 80 southeast towards Luling; the wind wasn't strong, but it was at my back, which helped lull me further from the home.  But not wanting to let the wind push me too far out, I turned again towards Kingsbury.  It wasn't far, about at mile 30, when the rear tire let loose. 

Broken glass had embedded itself in the tire -- I worked it out of the carcass with a flathead bit, then worked just a few inches of the tube free of the tire.  I set a patch, put the tire back, and crossed my fingers: the patch held, the tire aired up, and I never did have to remove the wheel.

Rolling along slow and steady got me to Kingsbury and mile 40; from the top of the ridge, it sounded fun to venture again down to the San Marcos River.  I caught a few photos of the Longhorns along the backroads -- Gravel Pit, Wade, and Munk Roads -- but it was the small alpaca that was an exciting spot. 

I reach the river -- mile 50 -- and stopped for a snack, and a favorite picture.  I snapped the usual bike pic, with the river background, but then a different shot.  The leather Brooks saddle offered an interesting composition, and it should -- the leather riveted over a steel frame has been delicately stretched into it's current shape through its extensive use, such that, at the least, riding a 300 mile week is only mildly uncomfortable, rather than downright miserable.  

It would have been just 20 miles home, and it did sound tempting.  It was a good setup though, as I could weave my way towards Seguin, and towards 100 miles, never getting much further from home, but never getting closer, either.  As I fought the wind westward, paralleling Interstate 10, the local fighter pilots started their drills; the camera struggled to catch anything more than a glimpse.

I weaved through downtown San Marcos -- still quiet in the days before school -- and out Post Road to Stagecoach Trail.  the final descent down to the Blanco River offers an aesthetic twist in the road, down-under the old rail-bridge. 

One course led east, out to Yarrington and new FM110 (which is officially opened, now), but I pressed on north, through the western side of Kyle and on towards Buda.  At 1627, I considered the turn north towards Austin (and the last chance towards the Veloway), but decided against the 5 mile highway run.  

Instead, I left Buda behind and went east into the Blackland Prairie; just a few miles from the Interstate, on Turnersville Road, and the traffic all but vanishes.  

It was mile 40, and Lockhart was just 10 (tailwind) miles ahead.  I was contemplating lunch, but thinking of two very different thoughts.  On one hand, I had just been calculating the cost-per-mile of my nearly 4-year old Garmin GPS unit (about $0.005/mile), and carefully considering the cost of cycling, but on the other hand, I was equally attached to the marketing department's vision of an aesthetically-minded cycling stop -- a small bistro serving a cup of coffee and a morning muffin.  I let my wander, as I often do on long rides, and skipped right past Lockhart.  

I went right on to the San Marcos River, and continued.  I had ridden a pretty usual 100km in just over 4 hours, and it was lunch time; home was just around the corner: the menu was limited and the service a bit slow, but the price matched.

I even prepped some chili in the slow-cooker before setting out again, aiming for another 35 miles; the wind was still kicking.  In a bit of a twist from my usual preferences, I let the wind carry me out, away from home, knowing I was setting myself up for a slog on the way back.  I was still thinking -- about bikes and maintenance, about training and training plans, and even thoughts about the summer: what could I do?  Where could I go? 

18 miles had slipped by in thoughtfulness, but a turn towards home and back into the wind ended any meditations.   

The small outpost at Staples -- a few homes and a few trees -- offered a brief respite from the wind and another view of the San Marcos River; from there, a few backroads lead on towards Martindale; the road is rough, but I was somewhat ready for the challenge.  Unfortunately, high water limited my progress -- it was probably passable, but I was cold already, and didn't want to add wet to the conditions, too.  

I sought refuge from the wind, pedaling westward across the interstate, cutting crosswise into the wind and feeling every windbreak -- fences, stands of trees, structures.  The pace drifted from a light effort to an absolute lull; it was 35 miles in but really not much effort; I was ignoring the clock, but didn't feel a need to escape the saddle, either.  Instead, the tree canopy and the Guadalupe River provided a focus for the camera.  Few cars passed from behind me, though there was some traffic from the opposite direction: a few different car clubs enjoying the holiday, too.  Their numbers seemed to keep the speed, and attitudes, in line.  It was most of a free car show, only disrupted by a few of the hotrods' potent exhaust.  

River Road ends in Sattler at about mile 45.  I dared not lose any ground to the wind, and thought to push on head first northwest -- this of course, was straight into Hill Country, starting with the climb into Canyon Lake Gorge.

The going was slow; and I desperately ran the numbers in my head; it had taken nearly 4 hours to cover the first 50 miles, and it was now 1 in the afternoon; at best figure, there was hope of just about 4 hours ahead; but with no stops included.  More figuring: the cold wind had at the very least helped to stretch the water.  I came to a full stop around mile 60 (just shy of 5 hours) -- on the very pleasant Mail Route Road -- to survey, and ultimately ration the remaining fruit snacks. 

Although the landscape was refreshing and relaxing, the hard reality was still another 40 miles home averaging 13mph, which left another 3 hours saddle time.  It was still 10 more discouraging miles into the wind until at last I turned southeast on FM2325; the speedometer read over 16mph for what seemed the first time in hours, cruising down into Wimberley.  Of course, the various backroads twist and turn all the way down to the Blanco River, and the climb out on Fulton Ranch Road is familiar to many; the chain fell easily onto the small chainring and wrapped as well around the largest cog: it took 7 minutes and 15 seconds to travel 0.5 miles.  Still faster than walking.

With 20 miles to go and the last of any major obstacles clear, the rolling hills were less of a challenge; the tailwind gave  enough momentum to square off with gravity.  At mile 90, I emerged from the Hill Country and descended swiftly back into San Marcos and the usual weekday routes.  I took a loop through Hunter's Hill (an extra hill) to round out the 100, and thought to try a selfie as I coasted down the back side of the escarpment; it is somewhat of a honest start to this year's journaling -- which if I wasn't committed before, I certainly feel now. 

It was just a familiar few miles home: probably the most dangerous roads of the day, and the roads I have to ride to get anywhere: the city roads of San Marcos.  The knocked-over light-post on Rattler Road is still laying flat, though at least it's moved from the sidewalk; I took a photo of it nearly two weeks ago, and if foreshadowing, as the light post lay there the last few days, 2 victims were killed in a 3 vehicle crash on the adjacent 123, just a few 100 yards away; I took another photo today, as a measure of documentation.