From the Alamo to the Capitol: Luis, Thomas, and My 100-Mile New Year's Resolution

At the start of 2021, I got my first carbon road bike. It was light and made me zoom zoom fast, and I finally understood the hype. I quietly set a goal: ride 100 miles in one day before the year was over. I didn’t pick a race or mark my calendar—I just started riding and hoped the opportunity would find me.

By summer, I was clocking more than 100 miles a week. That same season, I went on a first date with a guy named Bobby. He was training for his first marathon, planned for February 2022. We bonded over our shared dedication to our fitness goals—even though I insisted I would only run if chased, and he didn't own a bike.

In November, with no century ride in sight, my bike crew told me about the Chingona Ride in San Antonio. It offered a 65-mile route, 20 miles longer than my longest ride so far. Bobby drove me to the ride, and I surprised myself by crushing it, pedaling hard the last 15 miles. That success lit a fire.

A few weeks later, my friend Angel told us about “Crash the Course” where cyclists ride an empty marathon course before the official race. The Rock and Roll Marathon was coming up in San Antonio, and crashing sounded fun. I convinced Bobby to go with me, and run it ahead of his scheduled first marathon goal. He ran it, screaming across the finish line, and I rode alongside the route, cheering. It was inspiring to watch—and a reminder of what’s possible when someone believes in you.

On the drive home, Bobby said, “I never would have done that if you hadn't pushed me. How can I help you hit your century goal?” It was early December. The clock was ticking.

I mapped out a ride from the Alamo to the Texas Capitol. If you take back roads through the Hill Country, it’s almost exactly 100 miles. I picked out rest stops, prepared fuel and snacks, and Bobby volunteered to be my SAG van (Support and Gear) and #1 fan.

Despite my best efforts to recruit any of my bike friends to ride with me, I ultimately planned to ride solo on December 31. That morning scrolling my phone and housing a banana while Bobby drove me to the Alamo, I checked Facebook. Angel had made a public post, tagging local cycling groups: “Good luck on your first century ride @Heather! She's leaving from the Alamo at 6 AM. Go join her!” I laughed, chucked the banana peel, and pulled up my audiobook to start the ride.

Lo and behold, two riders I’d never met before—Luis and Thomas—were waiting for me at the Alamo. They weren’t exactly prepared–Luis had no water, Thomas no helmet and had to work at 2 PM, and neither had eaten breakfast–but off we went. After a reluctant stop for breakfast tacos, we set out in earnest.

We rode hard, cheered each other up hills, and laughed a lot. We talked about music and relationships and how riding bikes had changed our lives. At one point, Thomas bailed on work altogether, and Luis’s single-speed bike started losing bolts. But we kept going.

Nearly 100 miles later, we reached the base of South Congress. I shouted, “You’re gonna see the Capitol any minute now!”—even when we still had miles to go. I could taste the victory at 80 miles, 85, 90.

When we crossed the Congress bridge, my legs and arms jello and my heart thundering, I went full send to hit all the lights.

I crossed 11th St onto the capitol grounds, and watched my Strava tick from 99 to 100. I looked up to find Bobby waiting with balloons, dollar store prizes, a 6-pack of Gatorade and a tiara just for me.

The bike I rode that day now hangs on my office wall, cracked and unrideable—but a welcome reminder that I can do hard things.

And Bobby? He’s still here, training for the New York marathon and co-planning our wedding.

This story is adapted from one I told at Bike Story Night on September 10, 2024.