PBP is hands down the longest-largest organized cycling event on the planet and is the ultimate goal of many a randonneur or randonneuse. It's 1230 kilometers (764 miles) stretch from the outskirts of Paris through the rolling hills of the Brittany countryside to the coastal city of Brest and back. Official finishers must complete the course within the 90 hour time limit to have their names homologated and added to the great book of finishers since the event began. Hilly means about 40,000 feet of climbing along the way, which is pretty much constant over the entire route.
To qualify to ride this event, one must complete a series of rides or brevets of varying distances (200K, 300K, 400K and 600K) by the registration deadline. I was fortunate to have a brevet series offered through the Great Lakes Randonneurs not far from my home and just over the Wisconsin boarder in Delavan. This year I was also fortunate to travel to Nashville to get an early season 200K out of the way with my bud Michael and also southern Illinois to complete a 400K.
I was excited to have some friends who were equally interested in doing PBP which would only add to the fun of traveling abroad to ride our bicycles in France! My friend Tav, who has completed PBP before (this would be his third trip), is a guy I have been riding with since 2005. He also has done several transcontinental rides over the years so is no stranger to long difficult efforts. His counsel and advice over the years has been invaluable to me in preparing for just about any type of challenge. And two other first-timers Michael Billing and Mark Harrison from Wheaton and Naperville are newer friends who share our common passion for long distance rides. Both of these gents have completed numerous 24 hour races. They too know how to test the limits of endurance and pain. A mix of the four of us trained together during the spring months as well as riding the qualifying brevets together. Tav and I travelled to Paris together before the start of the ride while I would not meet up with Michael and Mark until the evening of the start.
As far as strategy was concerned, I didn't come into this ride with an overly analytical approach to completing it. Yes, my longest brevet to this point was only 600K, half the distance of the event so sure, there was some mild concern of a breakdown, whether physical or psychological. But I have also had other experience on 24 hour rides, a 19 day ride across the country, a complete brevet series of 1,500 kilometers over the course of a week as well as bearing witness to the cruelties of Race Across America from a crew member's perspective, seeing first hand what 12 continuous days of cycling can do to the mind and body of a solo rider.
While I am a stickler for preparation and planning, I also like to keep things as simple as possible, trying to boil everything down to its base elements. First and foremost, this is supposed to be fun! You have earned the privilege of getting to ride your bike across France as much as you like within a 90 hour period, what a beautiful gift. Do not squander this opportunity. The task at hand is quite simple, pedal the damn bike, you have nothing else to think about other than the goal at hand. Within this, other very basic things to keep in mind:
1. Bring a reliable machine to the start line. Carry what you need to ensure your comfort and avert ride-ending events or mechanicals, leave everything else behind.
2. Hydration and nutrition. Keep the calories and fluids flowing with regularity.
3. Take care of your body. Protect the contact points (hands, feet, and arse - don't let a minor irritation go unchecked and let it become a major problem), stretch on the bike regularly, and sleep before you become a danger to yourself or others.
4. Ride within yourself - measure your effort and don't ride somebody else's ride, do your ride.
Pretty simple stuff. I figured if I could keep reminding myself of the basics, there should be no problem completing the ride within the allotted time.
There is certainly a significant psychological component to getting your head around the prospect of being out in the elements for 3 days and 4 nights with little rest. As I figured that I had no desire to race PBP (this time), the mental game in my mind was THE most important element to success. I was not worried at all about the physical demands of the ride, in fact, I did not expect near the amount of physical toll I had experienced on other rides or events. The one component of PBP however that was missing in all of my other cycling experiences was the actual duration of the event. For this, I took comfort in previous advice received on long brevets by breaking the ride into smaller components. We often tell ourselves not to worry about how many miles to the finish, simply focus on how many miles to the next control or rest stop (usually there is a nice treat waiting for you there!).
PBP is 1,230 kilometers or 762 miles long, more than a triple century longer than my longest single ride, pretty daunting on its face. Leading up to PBP, I put myself in a mindset of taking on this challenge as three separate 400K rides. 400K is also a mighty long way, but over the years I have come to view and enjoy the 400K as the perfect way to spend a very long day on the bike, for me, usually around 20 hours with stops give or take. There was also a bag drop in Loudeac, at just over 400K on the course, and again at 800K on the return trip from Brest. I thought it would make sense to use Loudeac as the transition point or base for each of my three rides. That would be a point where an extended break and rest would be my reward for each day's long effort. Do a 400K in each 24 hour period in each of 3 days and you'll be back to Paris with plenty of time in the bank. Piece-O-Cake? We shall see!
We arrived in Paris on a Thursday morning prior to the Sunday evening start of the ride which would provide us ample time to get bikes built up, have a few test rides and most importantly get as much rest as possible before the start.
Thursday was pretty much a travel day, having an early morning connection from Dublin to Paris, and then dragging our luggage and bikes across Charles DeGaulle terminals to meet our prepaid shuttle to our hotel. There we met up with some familiar faces, including other Illinois riders like Eric Peterson, Rick Cosaro and Rob Schaller. In total, there were 15 Great Lakes riders giving it a go in Paris this year. It was great chatting with the other riders on the 45 minute bus ride to the start town Saint Quentin en Yvelines which is to the southwest of Paris. The bus ride offered our first opportunity to experience the language barrier. Rick and I were sitting toward the front of the bus which was making stops at a number of hotels near the start. After a while, the bus driver started looking at us like he needed directions or something. We could not decipher a word he was saying. Then in perfect English, the driver said "I don't know any English". We returned of course in perfect French, "Je ne parle pas France'". Now at least we were clear, pretty much no communication but lots of polite smiles, nods and pointing. Our attempts to casually talk about the weather went pretty much nowhere.
It was clearly very dry in Paris, which we of course hoped would hold out for the duration of our ride. We were aware that the region recently had temperatures in the high 90s and even 100s which is pretty unusual. Thankfully we were looking at perfect weather for the entire ride. Forecasts throughout the region called for daytime highs in the upper 60s and low to mid 70s and low 50s at night. That was a bit cool for me but we had no complaints whatsoever. I recall the stories of endless rain at the 2007 event which caused massive numbers of DNFs. Happy to not be dealing with that.
After another 10 minutes on the bus, the driver exclaimed "voila"! Language barrier broken, we were here!
Tav and I settled into our room and awaited the arrival of our bikes which would be dropped later in the afternoon. A nap or two were in order after a fairly restless flight the night before. Later that evening we went downstairs to find our bikes, uncrate and reassemble them. All of the bikes were stored in a conference room on the first floor, they did not allow bikes in the rooms, nor would they fit. Everything in France (and I would presume Europe in general) is a bit smaller, however they are much more conservation minded in terms of just about everything when compared to the U.S.
On Friday, we tagged along with a bunch of Canadian riders for an easy paced course preview ride. It was off to the Velodrome National which was the official start of the ride and about 4.5 miles from our hotel. We rode out on the course about 15 miles, just enough to get out of town and into the countryside, and then turned back and caught a different finishing segment back to the velodrome. It was helpful to identify landmarks while I still had my wits about me as I was not too certain what shape I would be in when I next saw this segment after 1230 kilometers of riding. I celebrated a wonderful easy paced ride with another nap.
Saturday was bike inspection day. We had our inspections scheduled for mid-morning, which really consisted of not much more than showing the volunteers that you had functioning head and tail lights and wheels that would roll. This was the first time we really got a sense of the enormity of the event, with nearly 6,000 registered riders, the velodrome was packed with perhaps 1,000 of them picking up rider registration packets which included the all-important brevet card, an ankle timing chip which would check you into control stops, a reflective vest which was part of the 130 euro registration fee (amazing how affordable the event was considering the crazy logistics that needed to be attended to), and other elective items such as the event jersey (I secured two) and SR medal for completing the qualifying brevet series.
After picking up my registration packet, as I was queued into another endless line to collect jerseys and vest, I looked at my registration and realized it was not mine, I got some French guy's - Jean-Paul Hamoignon. Aside from the nuisance of having to get the correct packet and re-queue into the line that I now had to leave, I rather appreciated my new nick name of "Jean-Paul" which I would wear throughout the ride. Tav, adopted his French middle name "Guy", in French pronounced "n'Gee", with the ever-so slight pronunciation of the silent "n". The atmosphere inside the velodrome was energetic and festive, a great place to hang out and take in the diversity of nations, languages and cultures represented. So different, but really so much alike. I was also happy to run into Rob Welsh, representing the Minnesota Randonneurs. I first met Rob on the 2010 Elite PAC Tour. Rob first rode PBP in 1979 and was back for another go of it 36 years later. Not too many out there than can claim this feat!
Sunday had finally come. At last, ride day! But not until 7:45 pm, which was our designated start time. There are 3 available ride times to choose from, 80 hour, 84 hour and 90 hour. For faster riders, an 80 hour start puts you at the front of the pack and you depart between 4:00 and 5:15 pm. They begin releasing 90 hour ride waves from 5:30 though 8:00 pm, and finally 84 hour riders begin on Monday morning between 4:45 am and 5:30 am. This all helps keep congestion on the roads and controls to a more manageable level. Waves of a few hundred riders apiece are released in 15 minute intervals. For better or worse, we picked the second to last time of the 90 hour group. I think the original thought was that since we were not going to race PBP, why get caught up in a fast group and possibly regret it later?
We got up Sunday morning at a reasonably early hour in time to enjoy our usual breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausages, chocolate croissants, sugary waffles and great quantities of tasty European coffee. As we left breakfast I pocketed an additional four croissants to take along that evening to eat on the road. Knowing we were gong to try to sleep in the afternoon, we planned a short ride for the morning of about 12 miles in the area. It was a cool and beautifully sunny Sunday morning to be out enjoying the quiet roads of town. We made our way towards, but not quite to Versailles. Along the way, we would have a fast descent and slow climb out of a valley which proved to perfectly foreshadow what we would experience over the next 4 nights and 3 days. We stopped at an ATM to fuel up on Euro before we left for the hotel to do our final packing and organizing for the evening's departure.
As imagined, laying about the hotel room in the early afternoon trying to bank a little rest was not an easy task. While I was relaxed and feeling no inordinate amount of stress or anxiety, I could not get myself to sleep. After several hours of laying about it was finally time to get moving for the start. The text messages between myself, Michael and Mark began to fly as we tried to coordinate rendezvous point and start plans. Final packing was underway, including storing our baggage in the bike room as we had to abandon our hotel room for the next couple of days. What to wear, what to wear! Temperatures at the start were perfectly pleasant at around 72 degrees, however, it was supposed to get down into the low 50s that night. I remembered riding back from dinner the previous evening in shorts and a short sleeve jersey and thinking I was cold, yet surprised to check the temperature at only 66 degrees, which felt surprisingly cooler than the same 66 degrees in the U.S. Wondering whether I would regret it, I went with a winter base layer over a short sleeve jersey and full leg warmers.
After stowing our baggage and mounting my front pack on the bike, Tav and I left for the start around 6:00 p.m. We sopped at le McDonald's on the way for a quick bite and scored a few extra double cheeseburgers to throw into the bike bag for later in the evening. I have found the double cheeseburger to be an excellent cycling food for me. It's packed with calories and is handled by the stomach surprisingly easily, likely because McDonald's serves them partially digested already. It was about 86 miles to the first rest stop in Mortagne-au-Perche which was not an official control, just a place to refuel, so I thought it would be a good idea to have the burgers, croissants and three full bottles ready to go for the start since I had no idea where or what we would be able to find to eat on a Sunday night in rural France.
As we approached the velodrome, we caught a couple of waves of riders leaving town. We pulled over and sat at the curb cheering along with the rest of the crowds at the grand spectacle of hundreds of riders embarking on their journey, some of which would return no more than two days hence, most others which would return in 3 to 3.5 days. What an awesome sight!
It was not difficult finding Mark and Michael and his family among the crowds. After a few group pix, we were ready to enter the velodrome to queue up in our starting group. We were in Group S, which had 345 riders registered. The various groups were labeld A though Z as far as I could tell, and because they were released in order, you should be able to get a sense of yours and others pace as the ride progressed. As we made our way through the velodrome parking facilities, all of the bicycle racks that had held our bikes during the Saturday inspection were reconfigured into rodeo format, we were being channeled like cattle into our Group S pen, where we would be held until our start time. At this point, we received the easiest stamp to obtain on our brevet cards, the one signifying we made it to the start. Don't laugh, there were 7 in our group that failed in this task. Once we made it into our Group S pen, we had a bit of down-time yet again as we watched the R Group being shuttled from their holding tank to the start line. Within 15 minutes, we would be on our way!
The start was quite exciting. All of those long training rides, midnight centuries, and brevets came down to this moment. I felt ready, relaxed and quite energized. There was a sea of neon yellow reflective vests as far as they eye could see - these were required during night riding. I was thankful we would still have daylight for at least the first hour and a half of the ride which would give the group the opportunity to begin spreading out over the course. My biggest concern at this point was not getting caught up in a crash and maintaining contact with Tav, Mark and Michael.
Before the ride, we had discussed our desire to ride together as long as possible throughout the event. We were all well trained and prepared for the ride and we had all logged many miles together during brevets and other group rides so we were well matched in terms of ability and riding style, not to mention comfortable riding in proximity to one another. That can be a concern for new riders together for the first time, but that was far from the case in our quartet. I knew there would be challenges to staying together. Fist, the larger the number, the greater the challenge. The start is very chaotic, not to mention we would be riding in traffic in darkness. Try to find your buddy in the neon yellow vest among a hundred other riders wearing the same. There was also the factor of feeling good or bad at any point along the way. With a ride of this duration, there would certainly be ups and downs each of us would experience, and at different times. Sleep is another very important consideration. None of us would be feeling tired or needing sleep at the same time. Fatigue hits everyone in different ways. Either way, we were ready to give it a go!
As the start approached, the emcee was giving a very impassioned address over the PA, all in French, but it sounded good. Next Jennifer Wise came on to give instructions in English, basically saying to everyone, be safe out there and don't do anything stupid!
In unison, that magical click in of pedals and slow rolling en masse out of the velodrome and onto the traffic circle and then over a large bridge lined with cheering crowds, horns and cowbells in full force. We shouted out and waved to Michel's wife Sheri and two daughters who were taking in the action from the bridge. Bon route!
The pace in the streets was reasonable and riders started stringing out nicely, without a lot of bunching up that I had feared. Our quartet was able to stay in contact rather easily during the first few kilometers. The main thing was to avoid sudden movements or surges that would break us up. The route was lined with cheering spectators, shouting bon route (goof ride) and bon chance (good luck) and many children at the roadside looking for high (or low) fives from the riders. It was great to finally be on the road. The early kilometers ticked away quickly as there was a lot of focus required to maintain position with the number of riders on the road. We enjoyed a fast downhill that we experienced the other day while pre-riding the course with the Canadians and then up a hill followed by a fast downhill down a country road with a beautiful tree canopy.
After the first hour and about 14 miles, we were clear of the Paris suburban sprawl and settling in. We began to make our way through small towns at this point, the first was a town called Montfort l'Amaury which had about a 250 foot climb to get through. This was the first of countless hills we would need to contend with. There were photographers taking pictures of the riders as we passed though town as daylight began to wane. About midway through the climb, I noticed Tav was no longer in our group, I held up a bit and he came right along around a corner. I also noted that Michael and Mark were not in sight anymore. No worries, as I was sure we'd see them up the road a ways.
Within the next hour, it was nearly completely dark as Tav and I settled into the first night. We kept our pace conservative and just enjoyed the signts and sounds. I had done a considerable amount of night riding in training and I was quite comfortable in the dark. The temperatures had begun to fall and I was glad I had decided to dress warm at the start. Where I was previously overheated a touch, I was now perfectly comfortable as we began watching riders and groups pull to the side of the road to don their warmer weather gear.
By about mile 48, it was after 11:00 we came across our first opportunity for a coffee stop. To this point, there had been nothing open in the towns we had passed through. Here was a sports bar that had curb-side service for riders. Tav grabbed a few Cokes and I opted for a few espressos at the bar. We came across Michael and Mark as they were finishing up their break and wished them well as they moved up the road. The scene was rather chaotic as there were riders everywhere standing in the streets with their bikes as the little traffic there was attempted to make it though. Nobody seemed to mind. I scarfed my previously stowed cheeseburger which went down quite well. This stop picked me up quite a bit. I was afraid to admit to myself that after only 50 miles, I was already feeling a bit run down - with 700 miles still to go! Shake it off man.
Resuming our 86 mile trek to Mortagne-au-Perche (the "city of dead fish" as Tav often jests), our next little gaffe came at mile 74 as we proceeded through the town of Longny-au-Perche (the city of lonely fish). Upon exiting the city on a sharp right turn, we were greeted by a half mile climb at an average gradient of 7%, pitching to 12% which was quite an attention getter. I again lost Tav on the climb and waited at the top. While taking a nature break no doubt brought on by the double espresso 25 miles earlier, I tried to keep my eyes on the passing riders to track for Tav. Thinking I did not see him I continued to wait, and wait, and wait. Five minutes later, I swore I didn't see him come by so I wondered if he had a mechanical issue or something. As much as I dreaded going back down the hill, I did not want to simply resume riding if there was something afoot. So back down the hill, against a bunch or riders climbing into me, I made it back into the downtown and surveyed that he was not there. Back up the hill I go. Now at 74 miles and separated again. Oh well, I am riding my bike in France with thousands of other cyclists! What could be better. When I got my lungs back after cresting the hill for the second time, I picked up my pace, presuming Tav somehow slipped past me whilst peeing.
After another 12 miles I finally arrived at Mortagne. The site was very crowded, and while not an official check point, it hosted cafeteria services as well as some gnarly grilling going on outside. I elected for a couple of Cokes and a sausage sandwich sans the baguette, as they had run out already. I fired off a quick text to Michael informing him that I had become separated from Tav and it looked like solo ridng from here on out. After making my way back to my bike, I turned around and there was Tav racking his bike. And minutes later we bumped into Michael and Mark again. I thought this quite miraculous given there were easily hundreds of bikes and riders working their way through the rest stop. Mike and Mark were finished with their stop so headed out, while Tav and I went inside to warm up a bit as it had become quite cool at this point. It was just after 2:00 am at this point. I was surprised to already see many riders inside the cafeteria sleeping away so early into the ride. I suppose like us, many had already been up the whole of the previous day so were getting tired already.
As we readied to resume our ride after a half an hour break or so, I put on a wind shell over my winter base layer and jersey and also pulled out the long fingered gloves as temps were crashing into the upper 40s. At this early point in the ride, I had already become accustomed to the general topographical protocol on entering and exiting towns. For the most part, you either climbed or descended into a town and when you left you did the opposite. In this case, we left Mortange with a screaming descent, which, for just starting out after being off the bike, I was literally shaking so badly from cold that the bike itself was unstable and wobbling on the descent. But not to worry, all it took to get warmed back up again was a short wait for the next uphill and we warmed up rather quickly.
After a few more hours on the bike and still and hour or more before the first signs of the new day revealed themselves, we stopped for a quick sleep break in the small town of LaHutte, probably no more than several buildings and stores clustered around a highway intersection. I hunkered down in the doorway of a local business and closed my eyes as sleep quickly washed over me. I was awakened by passing riders about 15 minutes later and was feeling refreshed, ready to resume our trek to the first official check-point (control) of the ride at Villaines-la-Jeuhel at mile marker 137. We had only about 20 miles to get there and during this leg we began to see the coming dawn of the first morning through a light blanket of fog.
We arrived in Villanes-la-Juhel at about 7:30 am, nearly 12 hours from the start. This was by most accounts a very easy pace for what is slightly more than a 200K. On the regular brevet series, one is allotted 13.5 hours to complete a 200K, and I usually finish somewhere in the 7.5 to 8.5 hour range. This was of no concern to me as this route was particularly hillier than most, I was still feeling very fresh, and most importantly, there was still 1,000K to go! There was no sense burning up to pay a price later. Slow and steady wins the day! Tav and I stopped into the cafeteria to fuel up. There was considerably more carnage to be witnessed in terms of riders sleeping at tables, under tables and anywhere one could find a free spot on the floor. Tav elected to take a brief snooze, but I laid down and couldn't sleep, still pretty pumped from the start and looking forward to our next leg to Fougeres which was only 55 miles away. The first leg to Villaines was by far the longest (probably to spread the riders out more over the roads).
We had a nice climb on our way out of Villaines, into a light fog as the morning air was still quite cool. I was hoping that the fog would burn off soon and that we would finally get to see some sun and its warmth as the day progressed. The climbing was noticeably longer and steeper in this section as we worked our way westward. After a few hours the sun had finally come out and it turned into a gorgeous day. I was reminded that we would soon be traveling roads that were featured in this year's Tour DeFrance which had a stage which ended in Fougeres. This became evident as we descended into the beautiful town of Ambrieres-les-Vallees which had an iconic Tour bridge crossing with much of its TDF wares still on display. Boy do the French love cycling! We stopped for a few pictures and got back on our way.
As the temperatures began to rise, we gradually shed our layers to stay cool. Tav was in need of something as his pace was beginning to fade. We needed to stop more frequently as the heat had really gotten to him and we were trying to work through hydration or electrolyte issues. We knocked the pace way down but this was not helping too much. One thing I noticed that was missing here in rural France was access to stores and minimarts which were virtually non-existent. All he was craving was some Gatorade. For crying out loud, was that too much to ask? In the U.S. one can ride from gas station to gas station across the country and have access to 37 flavors of Gatorade, each in regular, low-cal, and recovery brands no less. But here, not so much.
I was now becoming worried, because I started running numbers in my head. Running numbers is not a good thing, especially because I am not so good at numbers (hee hee). We had left Villaines at about 8:30 and had only traveled about 30 miles in four hours, which, at an easy pace could have been done in two. As I realized it was time to start thinking about having "the talk", Tav had already preempted me and told me it was time for me to go on ahead. I told him why don't we hang out together until Fougeres which was about 20 miles further and then we could decide what to do. After a few more miles we came upon a roadside restaurant-oasis in the small town of Gorron which seemed to call to Tav. With a quick turn of the head we both smiled, and with a fist bump and "Go get it Johnny B!", at mile 171 I was now riding solo ... with several thousand riders ahead of me and probably a thousand behind. As I slowly picked the pace back up to my normal cadence, I remained hopeful that Tav would be able to find what he needed to recover and continue up the road. In any event, one thing I was certain of was that he would find the way that worked best for him and that he would be able to enjoy his journey.
I believe by now I had now found my way into the Brittany region of France which is the peninsular area that makes up France's distinguishing western "point". I have been told that the people of Brittany love cycling more than most in France (which is already a ton) and that clearly became evident. Each small town had bicycle themed welcoming signs and old bicycles decorated with lights, neon spray paint, decorative foil and just about anything else you could imagine strapped to trees, hanging from homes, and on roofs, you name it. Not to mention the great numbers of people at the roadside cheering and encouraging the riders along the way and offering their assistance with water, coffee, and other assorted goods. So different than in the U.S. by comparison where cyclists are at best tolerated and at worst despised for the great injustice of delaying a motorist by a second or two.
As I rolled into Fougeres after about an hour of riding solo, I was surprised that this control was not overly congested which led me to wonder if I had fallen too far back. I realized that I was desiring to put some more time back into my bank so I kept the stop short and only had a few Cokes (and a smile!). It had taken me 6 hours to travel 55 miles from Villaines to Fougeres, so a 9.2 mph average was not going to cut it. Fortunately, it was a beautiful day and thus far, nearly 18 hours into the ride, I was not feeling fatigued or tired in the least (and considering we were up for 12 hours before the start of the ride, I had already been awake for 30 hours with only a 15 minute cat nap the previous night).
The next control on my brevet card was Tinteniac, which was one of the shortest control distances at about 34 miles. This was good news as it would be motivating to me to knock out another punch on my card in just a few hours time. I wondered at this point if I would be able to latch back on with Michael and Mark who I had not seen since early the night before. I had no idea how far up the road they might be. On the way to Tinteniac, I began overtaking a number of slower riders and tried to keep my pace up enough to slowly claw back some time, still realizing that it was early and that I shouldn't kill myself trying to chase others. It still took me about 3 hours to reach Tinteniac which included the 20 minutes of rest time I took in Fougeres, but I did manage to pass 386 riders along this leg (no, I didn't count them, but thanks to the timing chip on my ankle and post-ride stats, this was some validation of my perceived effort at the time).
Tinteniac was again busy, which I was actually glad to see, as I felt as though I was caching back up a bit into the main cluster of riders. There, as I searched for any available place to park my bike, I ran into Eric Peterson who was just finishing up his stop. Eric indicated that he saw Michael and Mark at this stop and they were probably also gearing up to push on. I also saw Rick Cosaro who was looking good. Although I would have enjoyed riding out with these guys, I really needed a sit-down and a full meal at this point after my abbreviated stop in Fougeres. On my way into the cafeteria, I ran into Michael and Mark, who were looking and feeling good. I was just about 1.25 hours behind them at the Tinteniac control, so they must have also grabbed a short nap as they were just on their way out. They assured me that they would not be flying down the road and that I would catch up with them. No worries. I was able to quickly take on a large plate of pasta with a mushroom gravy that went down splendidly with another Coke and Orgina. Still feeling great, I pressed on toward Loudeac, the 400k point (actually 440K and first of my 3 400K's) to try and reintegrate the Michael/Mark grouppo.
Climbing continued uninterrupted along this leg and the scenery did not disappoint. As I approached the town of Becherel, I saw a large radio tower in the distance which meant more climbing. In accounts I had heard from previous PBP riders (mainly Tav), I had heard of the famed "radio tower climb" and incorrectly presumed that this was it. Funny, I thought that was supposed to be closer to Brest, but oh well, there's a radio tower, and this sure as hell is a climb. The Climb was only about 4% but lasted for nearly a mile and a half. As with most big hills, there was a reward on the back side.
About 15 miles out of Tinteniac, there was a non-mandatory control at Quedillac which offered food and sleeping accomodations. I stopped to slam a quick Coke and continued on. I continued to pass riders and joined up with a New Jersey Randonneuse Dawn who was keeping a quick pace. I asked her if she had seen my friends and she replied, oh yes, they must be up the road less than a mile. We continued to set a good pace along with a number of other riders hoping to reel in Michael and Mark. Each group we overtook, no sign of the lads. Just as I was beginning to tire a bit, and thinking of easing up the chase, I spotted the gents among a small group. I snuck up on Michael and in my best foreign accent yelled "a gauche! a gauche!" (on left!, on left!). Apparently I was convincing and gave him a good surprise. It was grand to be back among friends again as we continued the push toward Loudeac. It was close to the waning hours of the day as the sun was sliding low in the western sky.
We all rolled into Loudeac just after 9:00 pm after 25 hours on the bike, still with a touch of twilight. Overall, I felt really pretty good; we were not blazing but we were not in trouble in terms of pace (probably in the top of the lower 1/3rd of the field) which was just fine with me. Loudeac was PACKED, most likely with the majority of outbound riders but I am sure there were already some who started in earlier groups that were already on their way back to Paris. In terms of rookie mistakes, missteps, tactical errors or whatever you may want to call it, Loudeac was probably the biggest one over the course of the entire ride.
Our first priority was to get something to eat, which took nearly an hour just to get served. We stood in line for what seemed forever and we were getting tired. Once we finally sat down to chicken and a double serving of mashed potatoes, I started feeling a bit better. I have been told to order the white glop when going through controls and this white glop was hot and quite satisfying. Next was to find our previously dropped bags at the bag drop. I picked mine up but didn't really need much from it, so I packed some fresh supplies and returned it. We had planned this stop as a sleep break and I was surely feeling ready, still only having slept 15 minutes thus far.
As we found the dormitory where you could rent a cot for 3 or 4 euro and set a wake up time with the volunteers, we were greeted by a very long wait line. This was one of my first big blunders. Michael was wise to wait in line for an indoor cot. I told he and Mark I would just sleep in the courtyard outside and to come get me when they were done. I had seen some of the space blanket zombies laying on a small grassy patch amongst the concrete jungle that was the Loudeac control and thought I should have no trouble going zombie as well. I pulled out my space blanket and rolled up in it but I did not do well. It was cold outside, probably lower 50s and extremely noisy with music over the PA and riders everywhere talking. I had not yet perfected the art of making the perfect space blanket cocoon and it would periodically blow off of me and chill me back to consciousness. I put on my rain jacket at this point trying to retain body heat (I would wear it every night for the rest of the ride). All in all, I may have gotten another 15 minutes of uninterrupted sleep. Mark was also outside with me and I don't recall if he really got any type of sleep or not.
Now I was basically ready to want to ride again, but the problem (the one of my making) was that Michael was down for a 2 hour sleep break. Even if we wanted to wake him, we would have no idea where he was in the dorm. The volunteers did not take names down when you paid for a cot, you just got a bed tag so they would know who (what number) to wake up and when. I was starting to chill again out in the cold but found a nice bench and lie down on it where I may have fallen in and out of consciousness for brief spells as we waited for Michael. Finally our companion arose and we were able to get bags packed and ready to roll out again. We finally left what was a fairly unpleasant time at Loudeac (at least for me) at 1:30 in the morning, following a 4.5 hour break that I personally didn't have much to show for. I was glad we were able to feed and rest off of the bike for a spell, but I was disappointed I was not able to capitalize on some good sleep opportunity and worried a bit whether this would catch up with me.
I viewed this next phase of the ride as our assult on Brest with a return to Loudeac the same day, and then we could start thinking about the final 440K back to Paris. It was basically 100 miles to Brest and 100 miles back to Loudeac which I figured would put us back in the same place by late afternoon or early to mid-evening the same day. Oh how I was wrong - another lesson about to be learned.
As we rolled out into the darkness, we were greeted by some of the steepest hills on the ride. With a rain coat on over my winter base layer, jersey and wind shell, I would overheat on climbs, yet shiver on descents - and there were a lot of both in this section. So at the crest or bottom of every hill I would zip up or down depending on the pitch the road would take, all one-handed as I would not dare take a hand off the handlebars at this point. It was probably for the best that it was dark outside as not to get too freaked out about what lie ahead. In this case seeing as far as your headlight would carry was just fine with me.
After what seemed to be the worst of the steepest hills we came about the small town of Saint-Martin-des-Pres, which was a total lifesaver. In the wee hours of the morning, locals set up tents and chairs in a church parking lot and were serving hot coffee and crepes which were simply phenomenal. It was difficult to resist stopping at each one of these roadside oases to perk up, if for only 5 minutes, before carrying on. Refreshed again, it was back into the darkness.
With sleeplessness and fatigue setting in, night time riding at this point began to have an interesting effect on the mind. While I was not having any troubles at this point in staying awake and alert, there was a strange sense that we were riding in a tunnel or were somehow enveloped from the outside world. While the area was lush and in many parts forested, I had the sense that we were riding continuously through deep forest, completely covered by a canopy of trees ( I later viewed some of these sections of the ride on Google Street View and much of these areas were in fact wide open fields!). Cloud cover blotted out any external light which might have been provided by the moon, so it was pitch dark during most of the evening hours, making it difficult if not impossible to distinguish the horizon. The senses could only pick up the illuminated road in front of the bike, the red tail lights of riders in front of you and most particularly their reflective vests and ankle bands, which added to this tunnel effect.
The early morning was cloaked again in light damp fog which added a crystalline effect when head lamps shone onto other riders' reflective gear. Watching in front of you, the riders and bikes became washed out as you only really picked up on the skeletal frame of the rider's reflective gear. We were also catching more and more of the space blanket cocoons in our headlights at the sides of the road. I even saw a guy sleeping standing up while straddling his bike. Pretty amazing.
Our next official control stop was Carhaix-Plouger which was mid-way between Loudeac and Brest. There was an unofficial stop before Carhaix in Staint-Nicholas-du-Pelem which we stopped at for coffee, crepes, and a short table nap of 15 minutes. With this sort of night hypnoses we were in, our sole mission in life was to pedal the bike and watch out for route signs signaling a turn. It became pretty much implied that if you saw a place where bikes were stopped that yes, we too must check it out, whether a control or not, my frame of mind was "maybe they have coffee?!".
We continued on from Saint-Nicholas in the dark and still in our fog, both mental and actual, eagerly awaiting the first signs of morning of the second day. We arrived at Carhaix at 7:00 am to a pretty busy control. Pretty much the same routine here, get fed, quick table nap, fill bottles and back out on the road again. With the new day, I had a renewed sense of energy and purpose. There was now scenery to enjoy and within the next 50 miles or so we would land in Brest, the ocean and the beginning of the turn toward Paris!
Within 2 miles of leaving Carhaix, we crossed a small stream and were on the steeps again. The roads were superbly smooth here and climbing was a joy as the scenery was lush and bright in the cool morning air. The first climb over the next 3 miles or so only rose about 300 feet so it was slow going but not overly taxing. The air was beginning to clear of the fog and the sun was coming out for another majestic day! We were now in heavy forest which had the look of a national park since the scenery was unspoiled by homes or businesses. After a quick descent, we began climbing again, now only at a steeper grade and this one sustained itself for some time. I did not realize this at the time, but we had begun the longest sustained climb of the ride which rose about 800 feet over more than 10 miles, again, not overly oppressive but we had been out riding for a day and a half already.
We climbed into the very picturesque town of Huelgoat which offered another opportunity for a quick break to shed layers as it was getting warm and to adjust our gear. We stopped by a park where there was a beautiful lake were you could still see remnants of the morning fog blanketing the water. We were also across the street from the Hotel Du-Lac, which I believe was the mythical town in the movie Shrek.
Following this absolutely picturesque and serene road we were shuttled out onto more of a highway where we began to encounter numerous riders going the other way on their return from Brest. The out and back routes used slightly different roads between Loudeac and Brest, I would presume to avoid overcrowding on smaller narrower roads. As the landscape opened up, I spotted a large radio tower up ahead. Ah yes, THIS was the radio tower climb I had heard of. This was not terribly tough and on top of it, I was flying high with excitement about reaching Brest within the next few hours. It was full sun and beautiful climbing in open farmland as we reached the "summit" of La Roc. We paused for a few pictures and to take in the spectacular panoramic view of the valley below. There were many locals parked around the traffic circle cheering riders on as they reached the top or began their descent toward Brest.
The final push into Brest was magical. There were many downhill stretches where we could really put the pressure on the pedals just because the energy was there. I was eager to put my eyes on the iconic bridge that crossed the bay, the one I have seen only in pictures since I first learned of this ride in 2005. We kept descending, which was a good sign, seeing as we were heading to sea level naturally. Frustrated by a few steep uphill climbs I was thinking we'd never make it. Then the next thing I knew, around the corner, the bridge! Michael, Mark and I shared some congratulations at arriving at the unofficial far-point of our journey (we still had to travel into the city a few more miles to the control). We stayed only for 5-10 minutes or so, but just enough time for some pictures. Eric Peterson and Rick Cosaro had also crossed with us and stopped to congratulate them as well and shoot a few pics.
We rolled across the bridge and finally down into the busy city of Brest with the distinct scent of a sea side port in the air (salty and fishy). There was all of a quarter mile of actual ocean side riding before we were routed up, straight up, into the city and the control which was characteristically busy and crowded. Arrival time was 1:00 pm, with total time elapsed since the start at 41 hours 15 minutes, not terribly impressive by most standards but we had a hell-of-allot-a fun getting here! With total ride time of 90 hours, and 45 hours for each leg, we were not in trouble, but we needed to keep pace for the second half of the ride, plus we hadn't had much serious sleep since the start (None of this, especially the 41 hour time, was running though my mind at that moment; had I known, I might have been much more of a basket case than I was already becoming). We took a pretty short stop as planned and agreed it would be more time efficient to find something to eat as we rode through town. We found a nice sandwich shop within a few miles of the control on our way through town and enjoyed pizza and more Cokes. We were routed out of town differently than our entrance along some steep and heavily trafficked areas since we were passing through in the early afternoon. Climbing along the road I was amazed to see number of ditch zombies littering the narrow shoulder, just sleeping away in the middle of the afternoon, some with their heads no more than two feet from the edge of the pavement. I was not tired in the least, still squirting lots of adrenaline from the fantastic day's journey.
Coming back toward Sizun, a group of faster cyclists began to pass us which turned out to be a local club ride. The Frenchman on the tail end of the group greeted us cheerfully and asked where we were from and how we were enjoying our ride. He spoke excellent English which seemed a bit more rare in the rural areas we had been riding. We had a nice chat and then off they went into the distance. We took another brief stop in Sizun to ready for the 10 mile climb back up to the top of the radio tower. I finally found a grocery store that had Monster Energy (much harder to come by in France), one of my many bad habits. I also picked one up for Michael who I was trying to lure over to the dark side. These went down extremely well and we were off! I told Michael and Mark that I was going to fire up the hill and take a quick nap at the top just off of the traffic circle. I passed many a rider on the way up and crested the hill in 34 minutes, good for position #100 of #1,018 on the Strava board. Top 10%, on 2 days of riding with little sleep? I'll take it! Michael and Mark were not far behind, which afforded me a nice 20 minute break. The top of La Roc was still busy with locals encouraging riders along. One gentleman came up to me and in French must have asked if he could pose with me for a photo. Why certainly, I replied as he put his arm around me and had his wife take a pic. Michael and Mark were able to join in the festivities when they arrived as well. While I know barely a lick of French (in a pinch, I can tell you what day it is!), I hope they understood when we left how much we enjoyed them sharing their corner of the world with us and how appreciative we were of their hospitality. Onward!
We rolled into the approaching evening with our sights on Loudeac for another hopeful sleep break. We may have made it two hours and just after the sun went down before Michael started having fatigue and difficulty staying awake. Mark and I tried to keep conversing with him in hopes of getting us all to Loudeac for some solid sleep. We knew that Saint-Nicolas-du-Pelem was the next intermediate (non-control) stop before Loudeac where we could get inside and at least sleep at a table or on the floor, but at this point a cot was what we all were jonesing for . We all remembered Saint-Nicolas from the early morning which, from memory, was a bit dingy and we didn't notice any sleep areas. I tried to explain this to Michael, who looked pretty bummed when I broke this revelation. As we rolled into the stop however, it looked much different than earlier that morning, still cast in the last whisps of daylight. We caught a volunteer who pointed out another building we hadn't seen before, a large gymnasium which was set up with hundreds of awaiting cots! "Michael, they have beds?" Oh the look I got! We hastily racked our bikes, pulled our gear bags and tromped over to the gym for some much deserved shut-eye.
It was serenely quiet inside the gym. At it's entrance, several volunteers awaited to escort riders to their cots. There were showers, of which I opted out. Sleep man, sleep! We paid our 3 Euros, got a bed number assigned and asked to be awakened in 3 hours, about 12:30 am. A volunteer walked us inside, the floor entirely covered in cardboard to dampen the noise. A cot and a thin white sheet awaited. I popped my contacts out, and crashed. Problem was that it was about 90 degrees in the gym with no air movement. Making matters worse there was some yahoo 3 beds down tossing around under a space blanket of all things making all sorts of racket. I remembered the ear plugs I had in my bag and packed them into my ears. Perfecto! Aside from being extremely warm, I got the most solid sleep here over the entire ride, in my estimation about an hour and a half, maybe two. I was awakened early by an intense chill. During our slumber, someone must have realized we were cooking and opened some windows. I could feel my entire body cramp and tense which went deep into my core. It lasted about 10 seconds and finally released, then set in again for another 10 seconds and release. This went on for a minute or so until I sat up and started getting dressed. We were probably about 20 minutes from our wake up call anyway. Michael and Mark were easy to rouse as well so we gathered our things to ready out again into the night. All considered, this was a necessary and tremendously beneficial stop for all of us.
Back on to the road toward Loudeac, I recalled the steep hill repetitions we were about to undergo again, the same ones we experienced 24 hours earlier. Even though I slept, I recall this leg being fairly quiet and I was in a bit of a mental fog. This was beginning to become a chore! There were still many other riders to be found plodding along through the night, however there was not a lot of discussion going on within our trio. We were riding together, but also sort of apart. I think we were all looking to dial in our own comfortable pace. Hill climbing from my perspective tends to be a rather personal thing. Many people approach them differently in terms of rythym, cadence and effort. At any given time, Mark, Michael or I would be off the front, with two back or all of us within 100 feet, or 100 yards at times. It became too difficult to discern this headlamp beam from ten others behind or this tail light from the next one up the road. After some nice downhill sections we rolled into Loudeac at 3:43 am.
After clocking in at the control, I did a time check against a card I pre-printed and put in my bag which listed all of the control time cut-offs. A shot of panic came over me to learn that we had just come within 11 minutes of missing the control cut-off! The adrenaline flared and I was pissed at myself that I had fallen so far off of my plan. I was cursing myself for going dull and not keeping an eye on the simple stuff like managing time. It had become clear that our actual effort and progress was much slower than what I had perceived. We had departed Loudeac for Brest the previous morning at 1:30 and it took us more than 26 hours to get back to Loudeac which was only 200 miles round trip. We had make up work to do. I was determined to put time back into the bank, so instead of sitting down to eat, I bought 3 ham (jambon)and butter sandwiches and started working them into my now dishoveled handlebar bag. The space blanket I had crumpled up from the previous evening was now jettisoned and left on the ground, not to be returned to the bag. Time to roll!
Looking back at the data after the ride, we were clearly in the danger zone. My position in the field at Loudeac was 4,812. There were about 5,800 starters of which about 750 were in the 84 hour group which departed the morning after us! Add to that more than 1,000 who abandoned along the way or were over the time limit, we were clearly bringing up the rear or PBP. So whether it was my crazed state or instinct, there was a real need to keep it moving if we were to finish within the 90 hour time limit.
Michael and Mark did very well to put up with my rantings as I was clearly irritable as we head off to Tinteniac. We were tired, and I was wired, now only running on adrenaline and determination to not DNF on time. Sleep deprivation was beginning to take its toll on me. As long as we kept moving, we should be fine I thought. The pace picked up a bit and we were able to engage other riders as well as we continued in the dark, hoping to see daylight break for the third morning. We were able to continue to make quick stops along the way, including a bar filled with cyclists downing hot coffees as dawn finally broke.
We arrived in Tinteniac at about 8:30 am, clearing 53 miles in about 4 hours which was a great improvement considering our previous 24 hour period. This was evident as my position improved by more than 1,100 places, from 4,812 to 3,650. We also were ahead of cut-off by 3 hours which helped calm me down some. We took a quick 15 minute floor nap in the cafeteria under a table before resuming to the next control in Fougeres which was a rather short hop.
As the morning warmed up, it was yet another picture perfect day for cycling in France! I seemed to do much better in the daylight hours. No matter how sleep deprived I had become, I never experienced sleepiness while on the bike during the daytime hours, in fact I felt invigorated. This being the first time any of us has been out on the bike for such an extended period of time came as quite a pleasant surprise to me.
Fogeres came just after noon, the time bank had eroded slightly to 2.5 hours but I still felt good so no worries, I had no intention of prolonged breaks until the finish. Our highlight in Fougeres was Michael's wife Sheri and two daughters were waiting for us at the control. They took great care of us there, filling bottles and taking unneeded gear off of our hands. We decided not to eat at the control, rather find a local food vendor who was grilling sausages down the street. Unfortunately they ran out of food while we waited. Bummer. It was great to see Michel's family but we needed to press on. Next stop was Villaines-La-Juhel, at 55 miles out, we would spend the afternoon reaching this stop, and what in my mind was the gateway to the finish, still 220K or 140 miles out, but the final push nonetheless.
A little more than half the distance to Villaines, we took another break in Ambrieres-les-Vallees, that really neat Tour De France town Tav and I stopped at on the way out. We took in Cokes and ice cream bars there which really hit the spot and Mark took a brief nap across the street in the park in the grass. Picture perfect day! There was a pretty steep climb out of town which pretty much used up all of my ice cream calories. The remainder of the way to Villaines was beautiful country and seemingly much more hillier than previous parts of the day. Mark, Michael and I all continued forward but separated from one another along the way. I recalled the hills getting progressively steeper and slower going as the afternoon wore on. Funny though, I was particularly enjoying this stretch of countryside, beautifully rolling and lined with many cheering locals along the way. There came great strength with this encouragement. I caught up with Mark on a climb several miles out of Villaines while Michael was back, not far behind but not within eyesight. I commented to Mark how absolutely blissful that last segment was. Mind left body for a spell and all I could feel was absolute joy in being in the moment. He echoed my thoughts and was having a great run himself.
We rolled into Villaines at about 6:00 pm to the roars of hundreds in a crowded city center. This amplified my mood even further. Michael rolled in right behind Mark and I and appeared to have had a similar high on the last segment into town. Understandably, much of my anxiety and stress from earlier that morning had dissipated because we were moving along well and we had a great day in the saddle and now just a 200K+ to the finish! We again opted for a food stop outside of the regular control area and found a nice sidewalk bistro for a quick pasta diner before moving out of town.
As we entered the final hours of daylight, temperatures remained relatively warm and quite comfortable. We were treated to some views of open rolling terrain along what felt like a ridge we were climbing and descending, where on either side there were fantastic views of farms below. Our mood seemed to be quite upbeat and chipper as I think we were all recognizing that we were going to make it and that this was the beginning of the final procession back to Paris. We needed to cover only about 140 miles by 1:45 the next afternoon to become official finishers ... Anciens! In my mind, this was akin to the final day of the Tour de France, which is customarily easy paced and the celebration of the completion of a long journey.
The next stop of Mortagne-au-Perche was 50 miles from Villaines. As total darkness fell, after riding in some larger groups, we again drifted apart a bit, and as riders became a bit more scarce, it began to feel like we would never get there. After a number of seemingly circuitous climbs, we finally dragged ourselves into Mortangne at 15 minutes past midnight, a full 6 hours since checking into Villanes including stop time for dinner. I had a heaping plate of pasta bolognese which went down beautifully.
Determined to keeping rest stops short, on my way out to ready the bike for departure I ran into Michael and Mark. Mark was in obvious need of some shut-eye. I told the boys I would be pressing on as I was not feeling sleepy and that I was getting pretty antsy to get to the finish line as my condition was deteriorating. I told them that if I was feeling sleepy by the next stop in Dreux, I may lay down for a bit and wait for them. I wished them well and moved out of town at about 1:00 am, after 45 minutes off the bike.
Another 48 miles to Dreux, which was not an outbound stop but was a control on the return trip. The route was a bit different than our outbound route, but in the middle of the night, this made little difference as there was not much that was familiar even if I had seen the surroundings. There were still plenty of bikes on the road with bright red tail lights to follow. While I was riding alone, it was comforting to know that I was in the company of others, even though I was not feeling talkative or particularly energetic. Just follow the tail lights and look for the reflective directional signs I kept telling myself.
I was generally keeping pace with or passing riders along the way, which is when I began to realize that I was riding amongst cyclo-zombies! There were many who were falling asleep on their bikes, bobbing and weaving over the road. One guy almost broad sided me as he failed to keep his line as I passed him. It was at this time that I must have been bitten by one of them, as I began to quickly "turn" myself. I had made it all of 12 miles out of Mortagne, probably just under an hour or so, and I was finally being hit by the sleep bug. I stopped in the town of Longny-au-Perche and got off the bike next to a church and sat down on the sidewalk next to the building to grab a quick 15 minute nap to see if I could snap out of it. I pulled out my phone to set the alarm only to discover it was nearly dead. I had forgotten to charge it more than a day ago, again one of the many blunders which can transpire when sleep deprived. Fearing if I fell asleep I would never wake up, I got back on the bike and tried to start charging the phone with my generator hub (yes, I can charge my GPS, a cell phone and power a hair dryer, all by plugging it into my bicycle, pretty cool! Another zombie gaffe here, you can't charge devices while the headlight is running! But I was clearly not conscious of this at the time).
Now a full fledged member of the rolling dead, I plodded along, marking tail lights ahead and fighting head bobs to stay awake. If I caught up to a rider in front of me and I did not see another ahead, I would slow down and try to mark them. Trouble is, if they are weaving too, it becomes a real challenge trying to ride in a straight line. Riders and their reflective vests took on the appearance of dancing skeletons in the beam of my headlight.
My psychosis only grew as the early hours of the morning wore on. Pretty much everyone was out of it. On one slightly fast downhill I see a guy standing on the left side of the road at an intersection yelling at me, "left turn! left turn!". I overshot the turn and rolled up to him. As I began to thank him for keeping me on course, he yells to the next rider approaching, "left turn!". A tandem, nearly locking its breaks was able to make the quick left. As he rolls past, he yells back in an English accent, "You're standing in front of the sign!". Sure enough, this boy scout was completely blocking the reflective directional sign. Yeah, thanks a lot.
Perhaps a half an hour later, another left turn, where I and a few others were clearly able to spot the directional sign. Sadly though there were a number of red tail lights off in the distance who did not notice it and were now off course. They were too far off to shout at and there was no way I or anyone else was able to chase them down. I could only wonder how long it would take them to realize they had some backtracking to do. Every so often I would begin worrying that I too were off course, but then was elated to see a directional sign confirming that I was indeed still on the correct route.
For the next two hours I continued to ride solo and was able to fight off the sleepiness by yelling aloud, standing up on the pedals or whatever else it took to break the monotony of the cold featureless night. Every six or seven miles, I would pass through a small town with many a brick or cement wall or building lit dimly by a yellow streetlight. While I knew it would take several hours to reach Dreux, I was beginning to become paranoid that I was lost, because I had been out for hours now and it never seemed to come. I even began thinking that someone must have been messing with the directional signs because I was convinced that I was going in circles. When I came to one town, I stopped in a panic, even though there was a route sign right in front of me, I was certain I had passed though this town an hour before. I saw that same guy sleeping in that same ditch on the right side of the road just past that last turn. I even turned back and stopped to get reassurance from a French rider. "Is this the way to Dreux?". He nodded and pointed down the road, the same direction the route arrow was pointing. OK I guess.
I was clearly coming close to crossing the line between reality and hallucination. I swore I saw a sign that appeared to announce the city limit of Dreux, only to leave that town minutes later. I continued to curse the organizers for routing us on this absolute maze to nowhere. The only thing that seemed to keep me in check was I remained proximate to many other riders. Just hang with these guys and you'll be OK. After talking to the demons in my head for a while, I became consciously aware of my paranoia and absurd behavior and was able to correctly convince myself that sleep deprivation was taking its toll. Finally, the landscape seemed to change a bit and I could see numerous city lights coming up in the distance. Dreaux had finally come! The control site remained busy servicing cyclists in these waning hours of PBP as I checked in at 5:15 am. I had two Cokes in the cafeteria and that was it. I didn't feel I could choke down any more pasta at this point and it was pretty clear that controls were running low on supplies. I head outside as the first signs of daylight came into view to find a nice spot on the grass to lay down for a spell. I didn't know if I would run into Michael or Mark again, but I was along the walkway where they could spot me if they came along. After 15 minutes of rest I was awakened by a light rain. Crap! Time to get moving again.
I was elated that as I pedaled out of the control that the next one was Paris and home! And only 38 miles to boot so I could really start to smell the barn at this point. I was ready to be done. As daylight broke, my mood elevated a bit and I was not feeling as sleepy as I had during the dark hours of the previous night. I did hang on to some of my irrational fears about the route and desire of the organizers to tack on bonus miles which were totally unnecessary in my opinion. The rain was very light and mildly refreshing as I left town, tailing a larger group of cyclists to help guide me home. The mood was again a bit ceremonious as I began to reflect a bit on this amazing journey. I felt as though I were in a processional, a parade of sorts, marching on to the finish, and the reward of a hot shower and rest.
After 10 miles or so, morning was in full swing, the rain had stopped and we entered a surprisingly flat section of wide open fields. We rode on what I through was a bicycle path that linked small towns every several miles between the open fields we were crossing. It was only about 3/4 of the width of one traffic lane back home so I was surprised to be passed by a car driving on our path. Turns out this was indeed a roadway. I still had energy in the legs but my mind was fried. Our slow processional rarely saw riders passing one another. For the most part, if I caught up to someone in front of me, I just coasted to avoid overtaking them, no idea why. Everyone was quiet. There was rarely any chatter at all on the road.
At long last, we rejoined the outbound route and I could recognize many of the small towns we passed through days earlier on the Sunday evening start before darkness fell. This was reassuring that the finish line was in fact coming! In the distance I could see the iconic tree-lined section of road I remembered from the start and the pre-ride we did on the Friday before the start. Only 10 miles to go!
One final climb out of the rural countryside and I was again back in Saint Quentin navigating through traffic circles and waiting at stop lights. It began to rain lightly again. One last shot. Bring it! The finishing miles through a park and entry back into the velodrome were surprisingly unceremonious. There were spectators watching and welcoming the finishers, but the mood was somber and quiet, one more of relief than jubilation. While it was a fairly anticlimactic conclusion, this was not at all a disappointment to me. I could only think of turning in my brevet card and pedaling yet another 5 miles back to my hotel in the rain to finally climb into a hot shower and lay down for a nice long sleep. My work was done, and I could rest without the urge to keep riding.
I rolled into the velodrome parking lot and racked my bike and began the long walk through the light rain into the control area inside. At 8:44 am, my journey had finally come to an end, 84 hours and 58 minutes in total. YES! As I stood in line to have volunteers record my final time and take my brevet card, I was elated and extremely moved to see Tav waiting in the wings for my arrival. He snapped a picture of me, of course wanting to preserve my death warmed over look for all to see.
Tav took such great care of me. I could hardly speak and when I tried to convey to him how the ride went and what a great time it was, most of what came out of my mouth was pure nonsense. After he bought me PBP T-shirts, he helped me out of the velodrome to collect my bike. It was now pouring down rain, and I was now even more grateful I did not have to make the 5 mile pedal back to the hotel. Tav got me into the car where he already had a lunch waiting for me and then proceeded to break down my bike and pack it into the car. A quick drive to the hotel and he pulls up and hands me a room key and tells me to go to bed. He had already got my bags out of storage from the start and they were waiting for me in the room. At long last a hot shower to wash off the stink of the last four days and I was instantly off to dreamland. What a friend!
I awoke surprisingly fresh after about 5 hours of sleep, ready to eat again! We caught an early dinner and then drove into Paris for a quick behind the wheel tour of the city at night. Took some stops at Notre Dame and the Eifel Tower to walk around a bit and take in some people watching and a bit of an architectural tour. The following day we got up early and drove out to the Normandy coast and took in Utah beach and the memorial museum and cemetery which were simply fantastic. When we got back early that evening, it was time to pack for the journey home the next day. Got the bikes broken down and secured and threw the luggage together in a huge mess. Neatness was not really a concern at that point.
On the whole, the PBP experience was a tremendously good time. I will continue to have great memories of this ride for the rest of my life. I look forward to the possibility of doing it again in four years if the opportunity presents itself. In total, I feel that the event was much as I anticipated from stories and advice I had gained from Tav and other randonneurs before the ride. I had achieved what I had wanted to do, be an official finisher and have a full experience in doing so. I felt I was adequately prepared for the ride and knew generally what to expect. The list of things I would approach differently or that I should have known or realized is rather short.
- Pick an earlier start time to avoid congested controls. We chose the second to last start time for the 90 hour group, which is the largest group. We rode much of the time near the tail end of the event so there were numerous controls that were overcrowded. Even if the desired pace is not fast, an earlier control time at least gives you the chance to get in and out quicker. Now that I completed the event, I would consider an 80 hour start time next go around.
- Look for food / fuel stops outside of the controls. This can also help keep control stops more efficient. In many of the towns I was not looking out for these opportunities, I will plan on focusing more on this next time. There are no 7-Elevens in France so don't count on finding mini marts everywhere.
- Keep an eye on pace. Perceived effort over a long time period can be quite different than actual pace. I had printed up control open and close times and brought them with me but I rarely consulted them. Had I paid closer attention to these, I could have avoided my close call in Loudeac on the way back.
There were some pleasant surprises I came to learn along the way as well. First, I was pretty amazed that I could go without sleep for such a long time. Over the course of the ride, I estimated that I got less than 3 hours of sleep the entire time. Having been awake since the morning of the Sunday evening start, I was awake for nearly four full days and survived fairly well with one 1.5 hour sleep plus several 15-20 minute cat naps along the way. I never felt sleepy during the daytime hours and only really started to unravel during the last night of the ride. I was also very pleasantly surprised at the quality of the route signage. Never needed a cue sheet or GPS to complete this ride which were modest concerns coming into the ride. As I pretty much expected, with nearly 6,000 riders on the road, we rarely came across stretches of road where there were not riders within sight ahead of us.
While not a surprise, a definite ride highlight was the French people and event organizers. It is truly amazing the degree to which the people of this region revere cycling and anything having to do with bicycles. The crowds and individuals lining the roads day and night always provided encouragement and gave me a mental boost throughout the entire ride. An event of this type could never be done with the same effect in the US.
Just a few finishing stats, cause I am always curious about numbers. There were a total of 5,820 riders starting PBP, and 4,570 official finishers resulting in a success rate of 78.5%. This was not as high as in 2011 but was much better than 2007 which was very cold and rainy. The USA Randonneurs had a finish rate of 76.5% which was slightly below the average. Of the top five countries represented France, Germany, USA, United Kingdom and Italy (in that order), the US had the lowest completion rate, with the Italians having the highest at 86.2%. A total of 63 nations were represented marking this as a truly international event. Some countries that had the highest finishing rates which pushed 90% were the Switzerland, Norway, Austria, Bulgaria and Spain. It was likewise encouraging to see great representation from Asian countries. Some had good completion rates and some really struggled. Thailand, Taiwan and China were at or below the 50% finishing mark. Some I had spoken with indicated that the cold and hills were taking a big toll on their riders. Many nations train and are accustomed to very hot weather and no hills and found it more difficult to assimilate to the French countryside.
As far as my own ride, I finished in position 2,925 of 4,570 or the top 2/3rds. I noted a distribution graph of finishers on Facebook which indicated I completed the ride with the most common finishing time at 85 hours. The fastest rider finished in a mind blowing 42 hours! Woah now, that's fast! I was actively turning the pedals for about 55 hours at an average road speed of 14 mph, with a whopping 30 hours off the bike. Its hard to realize how quickly all of those short stops add up, but having slept only 3 hours of that time, the balance was spent feeding and sight seeing along the way. Next time I would opt for a bit more sleep and fewer stops along the way. With stops, the average pace throughout the ride was a pretty slow 9 mph. But hey, this is not a race after all. I think my balance of time overall was just right because this go around, I was in it for the complete experience. And I got it!
