…of 2011, at least. I normally don’t like to make a post of nothing but complaining and whining, but I figured I’d tell you just how bad it was in hopes that other 100 milers this year will only be better. Also, I’ve been told by several people that they read to live the wannabe pro life vicariously through my blog. Well, it’s generally a sweet life, but sometimes it’s just fvcking hard.

My instructions for Sunday’s ride were to maintain a strict Z2 pace for 6 hours.  I’m in the process of digging a bit of a training hole, and I started feeling delayed effects of Southern Cross late in the week, so I started out feeling tired. The icing on the cake? It was damp, 40, and cloudy. The 50 and sunny forecast never showed up.

Light wind from the NNE and a mostly eastbound route made for slow going on the way out. I decided to take a route I’d previously used from Cordova to Williston and tack on an extra loop to the east side. It had been a nice 5 hours a few weeks ago, so I figured that the new (to me) roads would add more interest. Unfortunately, the interest I found was not of the rural, bucolic type.

At approximately 2 hours and 20 minutes into my ride, a medium-sized rat terrier came streaking across a yard after me. It was small and yappy enough that it made me giggle to sprint away from it. Once it peeled off, I sat up and turned around to watch it do the dog-chase “walk of shame” back to its house. Therein lies my mistake. When I turned around, there was a gigantic boxer and a short, fat, fluffy dog standing in the middle of the road. The boxer was hopping its front feet off the ground and barking with its hackles up from shoulders to tail. With two dogs in the middle, the sprint option is nixed. I had no choice but to face it down.  As soon as I was close, it began to lunge at me. Between lunges, I stopped and put my bike between me and it and proceed to chase it away from me with the chainring. Once it retreated, I got back on my bike and tried to get away before it came back. He immediately came after my right leg, which was not yet clipped in.

Luckily, that was on purpose. I managed to land a solid donkey kick to Cujo’s teeth.  He yelped and made a permanent retreat to the side of the road. The fluffy dog followed suit.

The remainder of that loop was similarly stressful. One trailer I passed had a massive pit bull chained  to a tree outside. Just as I was thinking, “damn, I’m glad that thing is chained up, I heard more barking as a 2nd pit bull- whom I’ve dubbed the “DJ Paul” of pits- with only 3 whole legs and the remnants of what I can only think is a leg that pit #1 had bitten off- came running (albeit slowly) across the yard towards me.

Then, I came upon a “road closed to thru traffic” sign. Hmmm… I wonder just how closed it is. The answer? Not closed enough…

After that, the remainder of the trip was uneventful. Thank doG. I ended the day at exactly 6 hours and 100 miles. My feet had fallen asleep somewhere around mile 15, and once I was in the shower, they turned bright red and felt as if they were covered in fire ants. The 100s can only get better from here.