First Gran Fondo!

What’s next? What goal should I set now? Any ideas? Oh, come on, it’s obvious… Let me give you a hint! H...Hu...Hun. That’s right, one hundred kilometers. A full century ride. A Gran Fondo.

I knew I could do it. Maybe my butt would hurt, and maybe I’d be in a bad mood afterward. But I’d get it done. Honestly, I think anyone with some training can do it. If I managed it a month and a half after buying my first road bike, then so can you, as long as you ride somewhat regularly. So, since I was confident that the distance wouldn’t break me, I needed an extra challenge. Yep – 30 km/h average speed.

I don’t know what’s so magical about that number, but in the short time I’ve been into road cycling, I’ve noticed that a lot of riders define a "good pace" by whether it’s above or below 30 km/h. Which, honestly, is a bit misleading. I can’t wait to get a power meter and finally know my watts outdoors. Sometimes, you can ride a route at 31 km/h and feel fine. Other times, you might barely manage 29 km/h, but between those two, you had to fight the wind, brake suddenly multiple times, or just push harder overall. And that’s what watts will reveal.

At home, I already have a Wahoo Kickr Core trainer and Zwift, so I can’t even imagine riding without numbers anymore. Some say, "Why bother with power meters? Just go by feel!" Yeah, sure, but my feel is always: ‘Could I go faster, or am I just fooling myself?!’ So, a power meter is definitely happening before my next outdoor rides. Still undecided between Garmin RS100 and RS200, but that’s a topic for another day.

This ride took place at the end of August, about a month and a half after getting my Canyon Ultimate.

Goal: 100 km in 3 hours and 20 minutes (30 km/h average speed).

Everyone I talked to about this goal had the same response: "Make sure you can handle the distance first. Then focus on speed."

Sounds logical, right?

But there were so many variables that could mess things up: the route choice, the weather, my form and mindset, clothing and gear (if something started chafing at 50 km, I wouldn’t be in the best mood), bike fit (a long ride can expose even minor fit issues), tire pressure (too soft? too hard? Who knows!), nutrition and hydration, and of course… pure luck – or lack of it. (See my last article…)

I knew I had to stop overthinking and just go out and ride 100 km. At least then I’d know what it felt like, how my body would respond, and whether I’d struggle. I pumped my tires a little harder than usual, though I still had a bit of an MTB habit of keeping pressures lower for comfort. The temperature was around 32°C, so I wore my super-thin aero jersey from Le Col. I love that jersey, but on the road, I feel almost naked in it. On the bright side, it’s neon green, so I figured at least everyone would see me.

Into my pockets, I stuffed three gels, filled my big bottle with an electrolyte mix, and kept a smaller one with water, planning to refill it along the way. For longer rides, I carried a saddlebag under my seat. I know road cyclists don’t love saddlebags because of aerodynamics and style, but I couldn’t imagine carrying a pump, spare tube, and tools in my jersey. (If you have tips on what you do, drop them in the comments!)

I’m considering getting some sort of case to keep my essentials organized in my jersey, but still… Where do roadies put all their stuff?! One pocket for nutrition, another for a phone, another for extra clothing. Sometimes I even carry a 0.3L plastic bottle as an extra water supply. Honestly, I’m tempted to buy cargo bib shorts just for the extra pockets. I feel like a cycling kangaroo.

Back to the ride. I planned my route carefully: from Nehvizdy straight to Poděbrady on the main road – one of my favorite routes, slightly downhill, fast, and smooth. That would cover 40% of my ride. Then a detour to Nymburk, where I’d hop onto a beautiful riverside cycling path. This bike path is one of my absolute favorites – smooth pavement, scenic views of the river, and a rare peaceful atmosphere. Well… except for the cyclists sweating buckets as they hunt KOMs. That’s just part of the experience.

And from there, it would be a straight shot home. But between this ride and my previous ones, one crucial thing happened.

I finally caved and bought a Garmin Edge. And shortly after… a Garmin Varia radar. Every cyclist who’s tried them will agree: absolute game-changer. Not only did I feel like a pro, but suddenly, I had everything important right in front of me. Navigation, current and average speed, elapsed time, distance, elevation gain, live gradient readings (which I’m still unsure if I love or hate).

And the Garmin Varia? That thing increased my sense of safety by a million percent. When I know a car is approaching before I even hear it, I just feel so much more comfortable.

The day of the ride arrived. My wife was running late from work, so by the time I finally rolled out, I had about 3 hours and 30 minutes until sunset. And I didn’t bring a light. Idiot. So now, I wasn’t just racing for my challenge – I was also racing against the dark.

Off I went. The first part of the ride didn’t go as planned. If it had, that would’ve been boring, right? From Nehvizdy to Sadská, a weird side wind was acting like a headwind. This section, where I had previously blasted through, ended up costing me a few minutes.

And the biggest delay? Poděbrady. Some weird bike lane markings. Or… maybe I was just too dumb to figure them out. Take your pick. Then came the town square, where I got stuck waiting at an intersection. Great. Finally, I found my way to the cycle path along the Elbe River. From Poděbrady to Nymburk, nothing special happened—just the occasional rough patch that required slowing down. In Nymburk, at Stará Rybárna, I took a short break—partly for the view and partly to refill my bottles. A quick Kofola and a fresh bottle of water, as planned. I checked my time.

Originally, my idea was to push hard in the first half and then benefit from it in the second. That didn’t quite happen. My average speed was still just barely above 30 km/h. I knew I’d have to step it up. Other than my sore butt, I felt physically fine. I got back on the bike and struggled to find my rhythm again. There’s a reason I hate taking breaks, I mumbled to myself.

I made my way through the side streets and started hammering towards Lysá nad Labem. And that’s when the magic happened! Suddenly, everything clicked, and I was flying through the villages at 36–37 km/h. Absolute bliss! Perfect roads, strong legs, and the feeling of pure speed. Kostomlaty – Šepov – Ostrá. I was in my element, and I knew I had a real shot at my goal. Past Lysá nad Labem, just a few more villages before reaching Brandýs. I passed through without any major issues, lucky with traffic lights and minimal congestion.

Finally, I climbed towards Dřevčice. My mood was still good, but my butt was begging for a break. That was about to change. The mood part. Obviously.

As I climbed the overpass from Svémyslice to Zeleneč (which I hate—it’s not steep, but the road surface is awful), I glanced at my Garmin and realized I was slowing down. No more cruising at 32 or 33 km/h—I was down to 28 km/h. Shit. What’s happening?

I knew I was close. A sign on the road said "Prague 10 km," but I knew I needed to overshoot my target, ride an extra out-and-back on a forest road, and then head home to reach 100 km. So I wasn’t looking at 10 km left—it was more like 17. I pushed harder, but… nothing happened. What the hell? I gave my legs more power, and they just ignored me.

Such betrayal!

But I was almost there. I tucked into an aero position, hands on the drops, determined not to sit up until I saw 100 km on my screen. Tucking in also helped push more power into the pedals, and my pace recovered for a moment.

I reached the forest road, a 3.5 km stretch. If I rode it out and back, I’d hit my goal. My Garmin showed an average of 30.0 km/h. I had no room for error.

These were the hardest 7 km I had ever ridden till then. I was negotiating with my own legs, promising them rest, Netflix, and even a massage if they just held on.

Somehow, I managed to keep the speed above around 31-32 km/h.

Sweat in my eyes, the temperature dropping, and suddenly, I was freezing in my ultra-thin jersey. I closed my eyes briefly to save whatever energy I had left.

The path felt endless.

Finally, I reached my neighborhood, sprinting (if you could call it that) toward my house. I stopped in front of my house, stopped all my devices, and nervously checked Strava.

The final numbers?

📊 Distance: 100.77 km
⏱ Time: 3:20:00
⚡ Average Speed: 30.2 km/h!!!
🏔 Elevation Gain: 357 m

I was exhausted, but also overwhelmed with gratitude. A month and a half into road cycling, and I had already hit a goal I thought would take months of training. Even if I had burst into tears from happiness, no one would have noticed under all the sweat.

I stumbled into the house, drained.

“How was the ride, honey?” my wife asked. “Yeah… fine, nothing special,” I mumbled, unable to say more.

Later, as I sat in the bath, washing off layers of sweat, I thought: “Challenge accepted and completed.”

That was easy. So… what’s next? I’ve got an idea. A similar distance, but way more elevation. That’s gonna be fun.

And as you already know…It’s only pain.

And how did your first Gran Fondo looked like? Or your favourite one with the greatest achievement? Let me know in the comments!