The indomitable Crista Borras wanted us to know that it was a new record in, well, her history of leading weekend 100-milers. "I've never led a ride when it was less than 17 degrees," she said after explaining that the thermometer on the van driven by her tandem captain, the equally indomitable Chuck Wood, read 12 degrees. But ever optimistic, just as we were about to leave T.C. Martin Elementary School in Bryantown, Md., she pointed out it had warmed up: "It has to be at least 14 now." Starting the ride at 8 instead of 7:30 made all the difference in the world, I guess. Chuck's cyclocomputer includes a thermometer function, but it doesn't register any temperatures below 23 degrees. Its makers must have had the good sense to never ever ride in temperatures as low as 12.

The Sandgates Century is a gentle, mellow ride in scenic Charles and St. Mary's Counties in Maryland, south of Washington. Its route winds on mostly quiet roads through woods and farm fields, punctuated occasionally by the clopping hooves of horses pulling carriages that bore Amish families. It includes scenic views of the Patuxent River near its mouth at the Chesapeake Bay. Chuck and Crista rode Chuck's titanium Santana tandem (aka Sweet Thing) and I rode my LeMond (aka Silky). Cold, wind and snow would be our only companions. Three miles in, Chuck and Crista had to turn around; Chuck's facemask was forcing his breath up onto his sunglasses, where the moisture condensed and then froze. He went back for ski goggles. I told them I'd meet up with them at the rest stop at mile 35. Immediately after we parted, I was faced with the first challenge of the ride--a 200-yard stretch of blown snow packed down by passing automobiles. I picked my way gently through it and rode on.

It was cold cold cold. Water bottles froze within minutes, although I could still squeeze a trickle of Ensure out of one of them for awhile, before the valve froze. The water froze in the tube of my Camelback when I forgot to blow it back into the bladder. I went the first 40 miles without fluid (not in Danny Chew territory) but the weather conditions didn't exactly demand rehydration. Despite putting chemically activated toe warmers inside my shoes (which were themselves sheathed in neoprene booties), my feet were numb. The handwarmers worked a little better. Even the Amish of St. Mary's County were bringing in electric space heaters and plugging them into really long extension cords (that's a joke).

Two missed turns later (damn those aerobars) I pulled into the rest stop minutes behind Crista and Chuck. Hanging from my facemask was a four-inch-long ice goatee that had formed because my own breath had condensed on the fabric and frozen into an icicle. In years of cross-country skiing, plus wintertime running and cycling, I had never experienced icing like that on my body or clothing.

Together again, we crisscrossed Maryland Routes 5 and 235 several times on the way to our most southerly point, a patented Crista mileage loop at Greenwell State Park, on the western bank of the Patuxent River (where we could see, from a distance, the tall bridge onto Solomons Island, at the base of Calvert County (the eastern bank). From there, we looped up to the Sea Breeze restaurant in Sandgates for lunch (again, on the banks of the Pax river). The oyster stew tasted really, really good by then. From the restaurant, our view included the cooling towers at the Calvert Cliffs nuclear power plant. By now, I was getting wise to the cold weather. I learned that my toe warmers worked better if I stuck them to the sock on the top of my foot, rather than the bottom. Wearing my Camelback inside my outer layer kept the tube from freezing. Nothing to be done about the water bottles -- but at least I knew I'd have some fluid to drink on the way home. Crista, meanwhile, had worn a Goretex shell and was moistened on her inner layer and expressing some concern about chilling once she returned outside.

We rode on through occasional patches of packed-down snowdrifts. Chuck's thermometer finally began working, reaching a high temperature of 27 degrees. A quick stop at mile 82 to warm up revealed that one of my handwarmers had stopped generating heat, although my hands didn't feel the difference. They were plenty warm. Finally, we pulled into the school at 5 p.m, just before dark.

In short, it was a ride I was happy to have completed and reflects my attitude about outdoor activity in inclement weather. I commute by bicycle most days, and often get stares and questions in my building about ``riding in the cold'' when it's all of 40 degrees outside (I do live in Washington, land of climactic imbeciles). My pat response is, ``Nothing is too cold if you dress right.'' Look at the people who are posted in Antarctica or on the Mt. Washington weather station. Crista and I discussed this at lunch. In cold weather, another layer removes the discomfort. When it's hot out, you have one choice -- go slower, or not at all. Crista, however, says cold weather hurts -- and it can -- but in hot weather you can survive on frequent hydration and frequent stops. Whatever your preference, I can tell you that riding in bad conditions always -- always -- makes you appreciate the perfect 80-degree days. That's the best reason to do it.

This article appeared in the randon mailing list, 24 January, 2000. Used by permission of the author. .

UMCA Year-Rounder Century Challenge

Preparing for and riding centuries