Event: Gran Fondo Maryland
Distance: 97 miles
Ascent: ~10,000ft ascent
Time: 8 hrs 1 min riding time (8 hrs 45 min total time)
Ten years ago I had an absolute blast riding the Gran Fondo New York (editor’s note: it was miserable sufferfest in terrible weather, where Ben was woefully underdressed and shivering so hard at the finish he could hardly get the finisher’s dinner pasta from the bowl to his mouth. So yeah, good times! ).
At the beginning of the year, the Gran Fondo Maryland race popped on to my radar. A long, challenging race happening nearby? That sounds fun!
So on a whim, I signed up. And me being me, I signed up for the longest distance on offer, the whole enchilada. Basically a century ride (100 miles distance) with 10k ft ascent. A huge ride (for me). Especially given that the longest ride I’d done in the past 8 years was a 60 miler with less than 1,000 ft ascent. No problem!
After signing up, I made a vague promise to myself to cycle more, so I upped my riding from 2 short rides per week to 3 short rides per week. I then promptly forgot all about it.
Fast forward to May when I rode 82 miles along the C&O canal as part of the Hancock tour. It was hard! And it was flat! My legs were empty by the time I reached Harpers Ferry and the final hill, and only hill I hasten to add, was a killer.
Remembering that I’d signed up for this Gran Fondo, I realized that I needed to up my training game if I was going to finish.
Oh, and what about my knees? Would they survive? Ever since I wrecked them by going from zero to running 25 miles/week in 2019 (d’oh, you idiot!), I’ve been managing them carefully. Cycling is much, much easier on the body than running, so I had that in my favor. And so far, although they occasionally ache after a ride, they’ve never stopped me from finishing a ride.
Anyway, so that was the reality going into summer. Distinctly average, middle-aged dadbod fitness levels and dodgy knees. (Note to self: this is as good as it gets. Be grateful that I’m able to get out and do this stuff still. Work hard to ensure I can do it for as long as possible.)
I made more of an effort to fit in some longer rides over the summer: more 30 – 40 milers up and down the local hills, plus a few longer rides: a 60 miler around Sugarloaf mountain, an 80-mile off-road adventure, and a ridiculously hot, flat 110 miler along the canal.
I was ready and raring to go definitely not ready.
Two weeks before, I thought seriously about cancelling or at least downgrading to the 60-mile distance, but my laziness condemned me to the long route. Death or glory then, as the Lancers would say.
Race Day
I woke at 5:30am on Sunday, 17th September. Game day!
There were some nerves. I packed and re-packed. I shuffled stuff between bags and generally fretted like I was preparing for an exam, not a fun bike ride. I was ridiculously over-prepared (although that didn’t stop me forgetting things).
My nerves calmed as I pulled into the parking lot near the start. There were tons of other cyclists milling around. This was good, at least I was in the right place. But they all looked so serious! I felt some imposter syndrome. At least nobody would mistake me for a fast rider though, given my old bike and sartorial faux-pas, like short black socks that screamed AMATEUR.
After watching the fast boys and girls leave at 8 am, I made my way to the very back of the starting corral, with all the other folks here for a good time and not taking it too seriously. There were people of all different shapes and sizes, with a weird mix of attire and bikes too. Everything from entry-level road bikes to $15k super bikes.
There was an air of excitement and nervous anticipation within the “peloton”. After some announcements and mandatory safety briefing (“be safe out there. Don’t be a dickhead!” sort of thing), we were off!
We rolled slowly down Fleming Avenue, picking up speed as we left Frederick behind. The line of riders stretched far ahead of me up the road. And presumably behind me too. (Although not that far because I was pretty near the back.)
Soon, the peloton split into lots of little groups. I rode this section alongside a friendly chap called Scott and we chatted most of the way up the first climb. The timed section was the top 6 miles of the climb, with about 1,200 ft ascent. About 3 or 4 times as big as the biggest hill I ride on any of my usual loops.
Riders were everywhere. Groaning, cursing, smiling, a bit of everything. I overtook lots of people and was overtaken by other, faster climbers. This was probably the hardest climb of the entire route (although I didn’t know that at the time). I remember thinking how on earth would I do this for another 90 miles! Riding with lots of other riders helped though: I could see everyone else suffering similarly.
The rain began in earnest on the way up the climb so everyone started talking about how sketchy the descents would be. They were very wet. And there were wet leaves all over the place. But they were fine if you rode conservatively.
I was happy to reach the first aid station, for a loo break and some snacks. I’d ridden for 2 hours without a stop and I was soaked through. As was everyone else.
It was at this moment I realized I’d forgotten my Skratch electrolyte drink refills. Dang! But no worries, they have Hammer electrolyte on tap. Blurgh, that stuff is gross though, like drinking super sweet fruit juice. But, beggars can’t be choosers and it was preferable to getting cramps later in the race.
After stuffing my face with peanut butter sandwiches, I set off, with two full bottles of Hammer, soon wishing I’d filled one bottle with only water.
Truthfully, I don’t remember a great deal about this section of the ride. The time seemed to fly by, just me and a few other mad cyclists jabbing away at our pedals as the tarmac slid beneath our wheels.
The road went up. The road went down. But mostly it went up. It was very scenic though, even with the low cloud.
We had a break in the rain for a couple of hours, which was pleasant. But it began again in earnest as we reached the northern zenith of the loop, just brushing up to the MD/PA state border.
Another aid station came and went. Another handful of peanut butter sandwiches were stuffed down my hungry gob along with some chocolate wafers. Long rides (and walks) are great mostly for the reason you can eat as much as you want.
Then it was onto some of the gravel backroads as we made our way into the mountainous Catoctin Mountain Park region (incidentally, where Lexi and I got engaged! ❤️).
The cloud came in thick and reduced visibility. With the rain falling heavily, I could barely see out of my glasses.
I had to look over the top of my glasses to see anything.
And that’s my helmet strap down the side of my face by the way, not some crazy sideburn that I’m growing. Just wanted to clear that up.
I really enjoyed this section. Very few cars. No houses. Just an empty road through a beautiful forest.
The downhill was fast and cold.
There were only a handful of other riders about. Just enough to reassure me I was still on course, or in fact, that I was in mass participation race at all. More than once it felt like I was just out there doing my own training ride.
Again, the strange time dilation effect was happening, where I wasn’t really aware of the passage of time. I’d been riding for 5hrs, 6hrs, 7hrs, but it only felt like a couple of hours at most.
It was only when I reached the final aid station, at mile 86 with 11 to go, that I finally allowed myself to think about the finish. Before that it felt like I would be tempting fate.
The rain didn’t let up until the very end. My legs felt surprisingly strong in these final miles. Being wet and cold had been the bigger challenge of the day. But being a Brit, I love these miserable conditions. Reminds me of summer back home.
One short, punchy climb remained and then some faster, flat and downhill sections carried me into Frederick. I was in a pack of 5 or 6 other cyclists, stragglers like me, coming in towards the back of the group but elated to finish nonetheless.
And then, abruptly, it was over. Just like that. I rolled across the finish line, after 97 miles of riding, to see Lexi and the boys standing in the rain and cheering for me. What a welcoming party! Wonderful!
I’m proud I finished it, especially given the weather. I rode conservatively to give myself the best chance of completing it, which was the right strategy.
So, another cold, wet and shivery Gran Fondo in the bag, 10 years after the last one.
Will I do it again?
You betcha! And hopefully, sooner than 10 years this time.
In fact, I plan to return to this one next year to see if I can ride it quicker.
Photos: Ben Collins and First Place Photo.
Ben Collins Outdoors 