Solvang, Calif., is called the Danish capital of America. A two-hour drive from Los Angeles, Solvang was founded in 1911 by a small group of Danish settlers. Nestled in the Santa Ynez foothills, the burg is a taste bud buffet of coffee nooks, bakeries, and chocolate shops, not to mention the eye appeal of windmills and curio shops. But twice a year, its Old World serenity changes as a horde of avid bicyclists roll among this quiet village’s 5,350 resident “Danes.” Called the Solvang Century, this 100-mile trek has been a cycling tradition since 1983, when members of SCOR’s (Specialized Coronary Outpatient Rehabilitation’s) Cardiac Cyclists Club decided it was a great way to raise funds. 

My brother-in-law, John McIntyre, has been riding the Solvang for 10 years and constantly has been urging me to join in this “ride of passage.” Rated “difficult” due to the 2,000-4,000-foot elevation gain, the ride (which SCOR insists “is not a race!”) winds through some of the most scenic landscape in Southern California. 

Ride coordinator Randy Ice claims that “4,200 riders have indicated they’ll be here.” 

“Forty-two-oh-one,” I say to Randy, with more confidence than I feel. Waiting in line to get his jersey number is Navy vet Jim Anderson. At 68, he plans to do the whole 100 miles (there’s also a 50-mile ride). Next to him is Mike Gimbel, a 52-year-old former Air Force crew chief who will join him. Mike hopes he won’t “bonk.” 

“Bonk?” I ask.

“When you’ve had enough, cried uncle, quit,” he explains. He notes this often happens to riders at a series of steep hills that loom between the 85-mile point and the finish line.

When John shows up the next day, we decide to shave 23 miles off the ride and start in Lompoc, where we’re staying. We start out pedaling past Vandenberg Air Force Base and soon find ourselves in rural California. After a bit, the sun burns through and Mother Nature puts on her spring fashion show. To my right, a pasture appears, lush green grass peppered with darker clusters of clover. 

There are five rest stops along the route, each staffed by dozens of volunteers who fill water jugs, hand out peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, and dish up cookies. Each respite is a mob scene of energy-craving riders stuffing down the carbs. 

After another dozen miles we start a long, severe climb up Foxen Canyon, called “the wall.” No one pays any attention to the spectacular views. Riders litter the shoulder. “Bonkers” stand huffing astride their bikes — some sit with head between knees; others lie spread-eagled. Soon, I have to take a breather. One woman walks her bike past me, head bowed. “I ain’t proud,” she mutters as she shoves her machine upward. Finally, I do the grind over the pass and roll two miles to the final oasis. Everyone is thinking, “Don’t bonk!” John and I have made it this far, but is there energy left to make the climb? We stuff down handfuls of cookies and mount up.

Going 10th gear all the way, I manage to reach the ridge top without stopping. After that, it is downhill into Solvang and a triumphant dash across the finish line. Wow! Of course, I was almost an hour behind Anderson, who did the whole Century in less than seven hours! Next year, though, I’m thinking forget 50, forget 77 — why not have a go at all 100 miles? See ya there!