100 Kilometers. 62.3 miles (what I actually rode, which is slightly more than 100 K, but not enough to worry about). It took me just under 4 and a half hours.
Yes, I realize the TdF riders rode that in about an hour and ten minutes today, including inclines that would make me throw up at the side of the hill, going up or down. I also realize that those folks are professional athletes. I, clearly, am not.
I only went out for a 30 mile ride this morning, but the weather was perfect, cool enough and warm enough, minimal wind, clear skies. So at the 15 mile turn-around point, I decided I'd ride out to the malt shop and get myself a malt.
I rode a couple miles beyond the malt shop (so I wouldn't be short on the century), and then went back and scooted up the hill into the little town. Alas, my malt shop is still closed. (I'm sort of worried. I don't really know these folks, but I really like their shop, and I've had nice conversations with them.) I stopped at a little place and had a grilled cheese sandwich and a so-so malt, and then rode back.
I love grilled cheese sandwiches, and they're one thing you can get at just about any small town place that will be very good. It was, indeed, very good.
I'm tuckered now, and my tush may just be a tad sore. (I'm hoping I haven't given myself a real saddle sore. We'll see after a layer of neosporin and a night's rest.)My wrists are surprisingly happy, though.