Yet
Another PBP 2007 Story – But it is my first! (Patrick
Nolan, Aug 07)
For those that are not aware of it,
Randonneuring is ‘time limited, long distance, self supported endurance
riding’. For most of us, it is racing only in the sense
that you can compete with yourself to attain or beat your own personal best
time. Only the very strongest and fastest professional
caliber riders think of it as a race with others. And
well they should given what they are capable of doing on the ride.
This ride, Paris-Brest-Paris (known
worldwide as PBP), is the king of all grand Randonneurs.
Others have evolved, but if my facts are right, it is the longest continuing
long distance cycling event of any kind in the world. It was first held in
1904-I think. The organizers wanted to test what a human
being could do. Many people thought that it was
impossible, and that people would die in the attempt.
(Several have, but it has more to do with accidents and collisions than
physical/health failures). PBP evolved over the years
to what it is today: a once every 4 years grand
Randonneur open to people all over the world who can qualify for the event.
The distance is set at around 1,200 kilometers and the maximum time
for successful completion is set at 90 hours.
To quality for admission to this 1,227
kilometer (or 761 mile) ‘grand Randonneur’ one usually must complete a
series of qualifying rides by early summer. The
qualifiers are 200k, 300k, 400k and 600k. Time limits on
these rides are reasonable and given that sleep deprivation is an issue only
on the 600k ride, if conditions are not terrible, most long distance bike
riders can do it without too much trouble.
This may come across as a ‘Pat Nolan
brag rag’. Sorry, but it was the biggest ride I have
ever been on and, in retrospect, I feel lucky just to have completed it.
So many things can go wrong with your bike, your equipment, your body
and particularly your mental state. To put myself back
into my place however, even though I was able to finish the ride at a good
pace of just under 77 hours, my goal was 70 hours. On
top of that, the fastest riders, ‘The Premiers’ can do it in less than 50
hours. On the other hand, the weather conditions on the
ride were so bad that reportedly over 1,500 of the 5,000 plus starters
either dropped out or did not finish in the maximum 90 hours allotted.
The ride starts on a Monday evening in
a planned business park/community named St. Quentin on the southern
outskirts of Paris , not to far from Versailles . It was
the most modern place I was to see for the next 4 days.
It is 21 century. The ride is held in lands/towns
developed in roughly the 10th thru 18th century – and not much
changed since then.
Many people found St Quentin odd,
given the beauty of the old architecture of France . It
is an anomaly. The way it pops up our of
no where reminds one of a Soviet command-developed community, but one
that was done right. You may remember from your cold war
history how the USSR would basically send thousands of people to a barren
field in Siberian to establish a ‘ new city of, by and for the people’.
Given centralized command and allowing no personal initiative, the
Soviet result was a modern, functional yet really ugly cement block city.
St. Quentin looks to have been built on an empty field about 20 years
ago. But it was done well. It is a
functional and, if you like function over aesthetics, a very pretty and
modern place. I liked it.
My club, lead by our truly super
Regional Brevet Administrator (RBA – means club president) Dan Driscoll,
sent about 15 riders. Most of us have more than one club
affiliation so an exact number is somewhat hard to determine.
Most of the riders stayed in St. Quentin and arrived several days
before the start. My family, including my Mom,
and 3 friends from home (Jeff, Megan and Matt) and I
arrived in Paris the day before and stayed in Paris .
My first realization of what I was about to face occurred
when I arrived at the start location (a sports stadium) on Sunday afternoon
to learn that the outdoor bike inspections had been cancelled due to the
risk of the incessant rain damaging the computers used to tally the safety
inspections. And yes, as I stood there looking for the
inspection location I got soaked by a sudden and cold downpour.
I also started getting that tingling feeling in my stomach, the
tightening that tells you to be wary, you may be in for more than what you
bargained for.
In brief now, and more in detail
later, this is my summary of the ride:
PBP is not a 761 mile bike ride. No.
It is really a 4 day, sleep deprived, hill climbing festival for
masochists. This year the festival was held in the rain,
wind and cold.
After registration, (and getting a
really cool commemorative jersey – cannot wait to wear it in local North
Texas rides), I got back on the train with my bike for the 30 minute ride
back to Paris to spend the evening with my family. (You
can bring your bike on the suburban trains to and from Paris , but not on
the subway trains in Paris ). Before continuing with my
ride narrative let me recommend Paris . We stayed in a
rented apartment in the affluent 16 district of Paris on the right bank
(west side) of the Seine . Note that is the very core
of the heart of Paris , the left bank is the south; the right bank is the
north. Since the Seine curves a lot through Paris , we
were actually on the west side of Paris , not the north.
This area is about 1 mile south of the Eiffel Tower .
Very nice, very different from Dallas . The lifestyle
has a heck of a lot to recommend. People do not shop at
Costco or Sam’s or even large grocery stores. They shop
at small neighborhood deli’s, bakeries and butchers. I
got the impression that shopping each day for the day’s food was the norm,
not the exception. This was a highly social experience
that my family was not accustomed too. Leslie my wife,
Lauren, and Kate my daughters had wonderful experiences frequenting the
local shops each day. (I learned this later as I began
my recuperation from the ride).
We had not fully realized, until
shortly before coming over, how far north Paris is. In
fact, it is on latitude with our northern border with Canada .
As such, the summer heat in Paris rarely gets to 80 degrees.
When we left Dallas it was the usual 100plus weather.
I do not think it got to 70 degrees the whole week we were in France
(and this was late August!). The temperature on the ride
hovered between 50 and 60 degrees for the most part.
So, back to the story.
We decided to check out the neighborhood. Went
for a walk and ended up crossing the Seine and walking towards the Eiffel
Tower . I was thrilled to see the model used to design
the Statue of Liberty on a little island in the middle of the river just
upstream of us – and directly in line with the tower.
Took some neat pictures
Eiffel
Tower and
Statue of Liberty m
odel
We continued along the left bank of
the Seine towards the tower. I did not want to wear
myself out, so I persuaded our group (my Mom, Leslie, Lauren, Kate and
Megan, [Lauren’s BFF in text message speak]) to turn back before the tower.
We found a little Italian/French restaurant just down from the
apartment. My very poor French and the owners moderate
English were enough to communicate menu selections. Note
to self: The French do not cook their meat.
To them, rare is equal to ‘give me a knife and run the steer by me’.
‘Well done’ can be considered ‘rare’ and a request for ‘burnt to a
cinder’ would probably bring you a medium rare steak. We
mostly had pasta and beef based dishes that night. As a
Texan I was very impressed with the sauces, not too much with the cuts of
beef. I will mention cows later. We
saw thousands of them during the ride. This is not too
different from what you see riding in west Texas , but the cows, and how
they raise them are quite different.
We were all still a bit jet lagged, so
we got back to the apartment around 10pm. I packed the
bike as everyone else went to bed. The next morning, the
Monday of the start, was of course cloudy with a bit of rain on and off.
The family did some exploring while I checked my equipment over and
rested.
While making final preparations I
discovered that I had left my four water bottles at home! I was able to make
do with two ‘grocery store bottled water’ bottles we had purchased after
passing through security at DFW, (they were great, fit
fine in my bottle racks and lasted the whole ride) and the promotional
biker’s water bottle they gave us at check in.
I caught the commuter train from Paris
to St Quentin and arrive at the town around 4:40pm. On
the train ride I realized I forgot one more very important item – my shoe
inserts. I had been fitted for orthotics a few weeks
back and was wearing them in my walking and biking shoes.
They seemed to help me avoid foot pain, so I had removed and
discarded the inserts that came with the bike shoes. So,
here I was, about to being the bike ride of a lifetime with totally
inadequate foot support. Very scary.
If you have foot problems you know how debilitating foot pain is on a long
bike ride. I stopped at a pharmacy and purchased Dr
Scholl type odor eater inserts. You know what? – They
worked great! I had less foot pain on the entire ride
than I normally have on much shorter rides. Who can
figure that out.
Our club, the Lone Star Randonneurs
(LSR), had a planned rendezvous at 5:00pm near the hotel most of them were
staying in. I do not know how I missed them, but I did.
(I also did not have the presence of mind to go in the hotel and try
to find out what room some of them were in).
I next went to the planned dinner site
and hung around until 6:00pm. Again, I missed my
teammates! I was beginning to get worried that I would
be riding this whole thing without a familiar face in sight.
The plan at this point was to meet at the start line by 6:30pm and
get in the first wave of 90 hour riders leaving at about 9:30pm.
I somehow got ahead of the rest of the 90 hour group and walked to
the start with several hundred 80 hour ‘very fast’ riders.
At the entry to the start line they were permitted to pass, and I was
sent to the side with about 20 or so other early 90 hour riders.
You guessed it, by the time I was allowed to the start line with the
very first 90 hour riders, I still saw no one I knew. I
did meet several other riders from the UK , Australia , the US and France –
and ended up starting with them.
Finally, we rolled up to check in, got
our cards signed. Note: at
registration you are issued a log book and mag ID card.
At each required stop, usually about 50 miles apart, you must check in, have
your log signed and run your card through a mag card reader.
The stops are usually held in schools or small town sport centers.
As such they have toilets, rooms you can nap in and usually small
cafeterias.
Just before we started
rolling out.
So, as it turned out, I was in about
the fifth row back from the very front of the start group at the official
start line. Very exciting. Thousands
of people were standing around, cheering their riders, checking the other
riders, speeches (mostly in French) were given, photos taken, fire baton
wielders were performing – you know the usual thing for a once every four
year event that includes participants from around the world.
Finally, at 9:30pm the cannon went
off, and so did we. If you have never been in a group
start on a bike ride with hundreds of adrenalized riders, let me tell you –
it’s dangerous! People are weaving around trying to
click into their pedals, some are racing off, passing the riders in front
(who ‘are weaving around….’.) some are starting slow. In
sum, real potential for a crash or too. I missed the few
that occurred around me and got started.
It is now dark, rain is threatening
and we are racing down the streets of St. Quentin. I had
been told to expect a real frenzy of speed. Strangely,
it did not seem that way. We were going fairly fast, 18
to 25mph, but people around me were really trying to be careful.
The roads were wet, and the majority of us did not know where were
going.
You might ask, how did we know
where to go for the next 750 miles? The answer is
hundreds of special directional signs posted on the route.
We were off! The
first 50k are a blur of trying to keep with a fast
group, but not jumping in with the speedsters, avoiding the inevitable
weaving in and out (and the few crashes I saw in the first few crazy miles).
One thing most US riders are not used to: pitch blackness. In the US
, at least in north and west Texas , you are rarely if ever totally away
from some sort of light, be it street lights, the glow from a town up ahead,
or moon light. Not so here. The
clouds completely obscured any moon light and the French, on these country
roads, do not use street lights. If you are alone and
turn your lights off you truly cannot see your hand in front of your face.
The only light you have to guide you is your headlights (and you
better have adequate ones because some real disasters occur when you ride
and don’t) and the hundreds of other rider’s lights.
From the start, with all the riders around you, lighting is not too bad –
but depth perception really deteriorates. Many a time
over the next hours before dawn I found myself mesmerized by a taillight
ahead and only just in time realized I was about to run into the bike!
From the start to the first stop or
‘control’ as it is called, is about 85 miles. It is in
the town of Mortagne Au Perche . It is
a feed station, not an official check-in so most just fill water
bottles, restock food and ‘git goin’. That’s what I did.
It was still pitch black dark. I was totally
unable to see or report on the surroundings at this time.
All I knew was: “This place is hilly –
and not the hilly I was accustomed to!” Our rides
around Texas have, for the most part, rolling, gentle hills.
You might climb about 50 - 80 feet on one of the larger ones.
Here I was already riding on long gentle and sometimes not so gentle
climbs, interspersed with many shorter and pretty steep climbs.
As you rode into villages in the wee hours (sometimes there was a
small village every mile to three miles) you had to be very careful.
It was very easy to miss the slowing of the group as it wove through
the town (there were some street lights in the towns) and run into others.
I saw several crashed riders and bikes on the roadsides this night.
The ride was so hilly not just because
of the terrain (there are valleys to ride along right), but by design.
The west of France is not mountainous, but it is hilly. The area we
were riding into is Brittany . When the ancestors of
the local peoples settled in the areas over a thousand years ago they
established themselves on the hilltops for defense. Each
village is built on the top of a 100 to 300 foot high hill.
These hilltop fortified positions from over a thousand years ago
became small villages. At the very top of almost every
village is a beautiful old church. The ride committee
set the ride up so that we passed though very rural towns and the only roads
were from hilltop village to hilltop village. There was
little weaving through valleys around the towns – you rode up to the church
at the top, you rode down to the bottom of the hill on the way out and when
you came to the next tiny village you did it again.
The churches! I
was so enthralled by them that on the way back I began photographing them if
I passed during the day. I have attached some photos below.
I would speculate that each small
village had maybe 200 to 500 inhabitants. (Probably lots
more people in the farmland surrounding the towns, but it was hard to
tell.). However, just about every town we came to had a
beautiful old church (200 years old– 500?) with an beautiful spire mounted
on it. Any one of them would be a tourist
attraction/monument in the States. I would love to rent
a car and follow the same route just to see these towns and their old yet
beautiful architecture. Catholic roots run very deep
here. An exceptional number of the villages were named
after saints, or martyrs. Clearly the church was the
focal point of each villager’s life in bygone days.
This is an incredibly beautiful and
rural region. It is like traveling back 200 – 300 years
in time in almost every way. The villagers tended to
look and dress in very simple clothes that probably have not changed much
over time. In most villages we passed through seeing a
building less than 100 years old would be an anomaly. No
establishments like 7-Elevens, McDonalds, modern grocery stores or even a
gas station. I would guess that except for the cars and
electric lights, a time traveler would guess he was in a village during the
1800’s.
This brings up another interesting
fact. The French don’t seem to build for the same
purposes as we do in the US . A home or office building
or store in America is built to last maybe 30 to 50
years. Then – urban renewal. In
the west of France things look to be built to last a lot longer.
Lots of stonework, slate roofs, all of it is
built to last.
Back to the ride.
At this time I was still riding with the first group of riders.
Of the several hundred in my start group I judged I was in the middle
of the pack. A good place for me because I sure was not
a lead rider and I did not want to be a tail-ender this early in the rider.
It continued to rain on and off through the night.
The wind was predominantly in our faces.
Just before dawn my group arrived and
the first check-in control, Villaines La Juhel. Quick
check-in, fill the water bottles, refill the Sustained Energy bottle.
Sustained Energy is a powdered drink mix from Hammer Nutrition.
It is designed to be mixed as an extremely calorically dense
milkshake you sip from every 20 minutes or so. I found
it so effective for me on past rides that I brought about 8 pounds of the
powder with me to use on the ride.
I did two things
on this ride that are out of the norm. First, I tried to
ride self sufficiently without drop bags or a support team to meet me at
each stop. Carrying the Sustained Energy on the bike
was part of it. Riding without drop bags or support is
not uncommon, but it is not the easiest way to go. And
on this ride anything to ease hardships would have been a blessing.
The other very uncommon thing I did was to mount a stuffed monkey toy
on my handlebars. I believe this made me the rider with
the most compact tandem in the ride, but I won’t go to the Guinness people
about it. I have been ‘riding with the monkey’ as sort
of a joke for the last several months. It got to be a
habit. Simon, (or Simone after Rani Freeman ‘put a
Barbie dress on him’ about a month ago), rides on my handlebars and
screeches every time we ride over a bad bump in the ride.
The monkey is a common toy you can buy for about $5 at lots of toy
stores. It has a motion sensitive switch inside that
causes it to scream out when you hit or throw it. This
can get annoying as a fellow LSR rider, Robin Phelps can attest from past
rides on rough chip seal roads. Fortunately the roads in
France were really excellent. Very little chip seal and
the asphalt was well maintained throughout.
To give you an idea of how this long
term riding affects your thinking, a few days after the ride I saw a web
site forwarded by one of the LSR riders showing photos of riders from, I
think, Seattle . In one of them a large stuffed monkey
was strapped behind the seat. My first thought was
not ‘boy that’s weird’, but ‘that monkey is too
big and heavy – it probably got waterlogged in all the rain!’
Anyway, after the
Villaines stop we had about 55 miles and about 4 hours to go before we
reached Fougeres. The rain and head wind kept up.
I found myself constantly shifting gears and groups of riders.
So far, even on the steep pitches, no need for the small front ring
on my triple crank, the one called the granny gear. I
think the hills had not gotten really bad yet and my legs has yet to settle
into the ‘one speed, one weak power mode’ they usually get to after 150 or
200 miles.
A note about the Italian riders:
Don’t try to stay with them on the hill climbs, they are the mountain
goats of the bike world. I found myself riding with the
same group(s) of them for quite some time. On the rare
flats and downhills I kept up or passed them pretty often.
But as soon as we got to a hill they stood on their pedals and soon
left me behind. Then, at the top of the hill/village I
would see them standing around a café or small shop. I
would pass by and a few miles down the road when we began climbing hills
there they would be – coming up and passing me. I guess
I was starting to be sleep deprived already because it took me a while to
catch on: They were stopping for quick espresso breaks
all the time!
After checking through Fougeres there
was a pretty flat and pleasant 35 mile run to Tinteniac.
It was now midday Tuesday and I was feeling pretty good.
This ride was a piece of cake! Beautiful, not too hilly,
sporadic showers, minimal head wind, and I was about 220 miles down the road
from the start.
At some point I was riding along side
an experienced tandem from North Carolina and a northern
California rider. I mentioned how we seemed to have passed through a pretty
hilly piece over night, and that I was glad the hills had abated somewhat.
I sensed they exchanged knowing glances before one of them said
‘Well, you are going to see some bigger hills
as we get closer to Brest .’ He knew.
Anyway, on to Loudeac, another 53
miles past Tinteniac. I got there by about 6:20pm.
I knew that some people planned to sleep there, but I was following
the Dan Driscoll plan of pushing through to Carhaix before sleeping.
By now, with almost 250 miles into the ride, my legs had set into
their ‘this is all I got, but as long as you don’t fall asleep,
starve or dehydrate, I can keep it up all day and night’ rhythm.
I got to Carhaix by about 10:30pm.
Sleep was definitely needed, I had not slept for almost 40 hours and
I really needed to stop. Also, following the Driscoll
plan, I ate a large cafeteria meal before my planned nap.
Carhaix has showers and cots! I took a shower
then was shown to my accommodations in the gymnasium. I
slept in spot #107. I heard later that I was fortunate
to be in the front of the pack. Later arrivals had trouble getting sleep
space on the crowded gym floor. It would have been a
great 3 hour nap except my feet, after being so wet all day, stayed cold.
I kept waking up trying to warm them. Here is a
suggestion for future riders: Wear wool, winter weight
socks. I did on the ride and it really helped.
I should have kept them on while I slept. Even
wet they tend to stay warm.
I got up around 3:30am but did not get
on the road until about 4:30. Next stop Brest and the
½ way point – I believed I had this ride licked! Then,
in the predawn darkness I noticed that a hill I was climbing was kind of,
well, staying a hill climb. Where was the summit?
As I later learned there is an ancient mountain ridge between the two
controls. Later, on my way back I checked my
watch/altimeter to learn that the climb was about 1,100 feet.
Not a huge gain, but when you are tired and cycling up a hill into
the wind….
Anyway, I was glad it was dark.
Climbing a hill into the wind and in the dark is a lot easier than
the same hill in daylight for some reason. By the time
it was light I could see the rocky summit and radio tower marking the top.
The ride down was bliss. Probably 6-8 miles of
mostly continuous down hill. I say probably because my cyclometer had quit
in the rain. I think the battery compartment was water
damaged.
The last piece into Brest was steep
uphill. I was prepared because I remember Rani Freeman,
who had completed PBP before, saying one time “ I sure
wish someone has told me about that xx??!?x!@ hill climb into Brest .
By this time I was firmly into using my granny gear and would
continue to do so for the rest of the ride every time I came to a hill.
Speaking of hills:
I am amazed at the tandem riders. If you do not know it,
tandems are great on the flats and down a hill, but going up a hill, uh-uh.
For reasons of coordination and weight they are not efficient or easy
climbers. I remain amazed at all the tandem riders and
how they tackled this “4 day, sleep deprived, hill
climbing festival for masochists”.
Another thing about hills – I am
almost certain that the ride organizers arranged it so that you had to ride
a steep hill in the final mile to the controls. Further,
I suspect that at a number of controls they arranged it so you had to go
down hill once you were ½ up to the control and enter it from another side –
just so you could ride another steep hill into the control.
It’s for darn sure they don’t want anyone leaving without their fair
share of hill climbs.
A note about the people of Brittany .
They identify with their region almost more than with France .
To me this seemed sort of like Texans and their
identity with the rest of the USA . It is almost, but
not quite, ‘region first than nation’ in identity.
French is predominate but there are one or two local languages that precede
French in the region.
Speaking of French, I spent from
February to July trying to learn it during my commute. I
got quite adept at simple phrases for directions, food , toilets, etc.
I could even follow simple conversations - but not in France as it
turned out. Each time I asked for something I was met
with either a rapid and unintelligible response, or a look that said
“this is a big, tired American. He is destroying my language, but –
I appreciate the effort and don’t want to offend him’.
Frequently the next think I heard was ‘I speak
English’. In reality not all the French did, but my
simple French, and the fact that what I wanted was easy to figure out no
matter what the language, made communication pretty easy.
Now a word about the French.
Among the things I had heard were ‘the French are not, by nature,
open and friendly’. Could not be further from the truth.
All along the route complete strangers would stand at
street corners and encourage you on. Little kids with
big eyes would shout Bon Courage! and Bon Route! Old
men would stand at village corners at all hours to watch you ride by.
They invariably shouted words of encouragement.
And the control volunteers… There were hundreds of them and I cannot think
of a single instance where I felt they were anything but friendly and
helpful. Plenty of smiles and encouragement.
These are good people and they really opened their hearts to the
riders of PBP. As an aside, when I got back to Paris I
discovered that my family was enchanted with the people they had met.
They are now firm friends with the people who own the neighborhood
bakery and the woman who owns the apartment we rented.
I ended up
spending an hour or so at the control at Brest . It was
Wednesday morning and the sun had peaked through and it was not even misting
slightly. I think the temperature had even risen to over
65 degrees. I left and miracle of miracles their was a
side to rear quarter tail wind! That wind pushed me up
the long climb up to the old mountain ridge abut 25 miles or so east of
Brest ! And it was on that climb that I saw my first
LSR rider. I was incommunicado the whole ride due to my
inadequate cell phone service, but by then I was pretty sure, given that
none of them had been in the first start wave, that none of them had passed
me. Looking at the approaching riders became my hobby.
And sure enough, I saw this attractive blond woman in sunglasses
coming toward me. Sure enough as she passed I realized
it was Pam Wright from LSR! She got passed me as I
realized this and I was loath to go back and obtain ‘bonus miles’.
But it felt good to see her none the less.
I was now over 390 miles into the
ride. I had expected the return to be harder but
doable. I was only 3 hours over schedule on my 70
hour plan and I though I would be able to skip a sleep to catch up.
In less than an hour or so my plan completely changed.
The tail wind abated a bit and
the rain started up again. And I was tired.
Your mind really plays tricks on you on these long rides.
For some reason, given that I was doing so well on time that I was
pretty sure I was in no jeopardy of missing the 90 hour cut off, I
kinda-sorta gave up on my 70 hour goal. I decided to
start taking pictures of the churches of each village as I passed them.
I ended up taking pictures as long as the daylight held out the rest
of the day.
Also, I had brought several LSR lapel
pins that I had intended to give to the kids on the route as I passed.
I had not given any out so far and resolved to begin doing so.
That was the best decision. Time and time again a
beautiful little girl ( I am partial to them since I have two beautiful
daughters, Lauren 13 and Kate 10) would capture my heart when she waved.
I would stop, back up and offer her a pin. That I
would stop for no apparent reason was usually a surprise to them, but that I
would offer a little gift really lit up their eyes. I
could see to that their mothers and fathers liked it too.
Made me feel great as I rode off.
I got back to Carhaix by about noon.
Carhaix to Loudeac to Tinteniac to Fougeres is a bit of a blur.
At one of these controls, I think Tinteniac, I was the sole rider
walking into the room. All the volunteers jumped up and
started clapping! Some one shouted ‘Un Mille’
I must have stood there for 10 seconds with my mouth hanging up.
‘Thousand, thousand what?’ I thought. I then said
my one clear and unequivocal French phrase: ‘Je
ne parle pa francais’ – I do not speak French.
Finally an English speaker told me I was the thousandth rider to come
through on the way back. Had I the presence of mind I
would have had a picture taken. I did think to say in
French, ‘Well, where is my prize? They
seemed to get a laugh out of that one!
I think I napped a few minutes at some
of these controls. I did stop at Fougeres at about
2:00am Thursday morning. By then I was back on the
‘maybe I will make 70 hours plan’ and opted for a 1 and ½ hour sleep.
I do not recommend Fougeres for sleeping. The
designated sleep room provides floor space and not much else.
I don’t think I slept well. I kept trying to
count back from 100. I would get to about 86, 85… Then I
would wake up, irritated that I had not gotten further before falling asleep
and I would start counting again. Also – you never heard
such snoring. I think that after such a long time on a
bike our sinuses become affected and the snoring really picks up.
It really did for many people in Fougeres.
The photos are not pretty.
But I think they do tell a story.
On to Villaines La Juhel.
I got there by 9:30am I tried to nap in the
dining area adjacent to the control area and was woken probably 5 minutes
later by the weirdest caterwauling you ever heard. (I
may be in error – this may have occurred at the next control, Mortagne Au
Perche) A troupe of what I assumed were musicians were
playing these really odd looking odd instruments! Then
two by two they would jump into the circle and start this really strange
kick boxing! After a few moments I recognized it as a
Brazilian martial art of choreographed street fighting.
Does that mean it really originated in the Brittany region of France?
Or was this a group of French aficionados of the art?
I still do not know.
I took a few photos and a short movie
clip not included here.
Brazilian street fighting?
– Indigenous dancing?
One funny story here.
As I was filling my water bottles at Mortagne Au Perche at a
temporary hose manifold they had rigged, my hands were shaking so badly from
the cold that I could barely fill a bottle. An English
speaker next to me mentioned that I was really shaking.
I asked him “Isn’t anybody else as cold as I am?”
He said, and I quote, “You do not have enough body fat to
keep you warm!” Hah! Guess he never noticed the
large energy storage compartment I keep under my skin and over my belly.
A few miles down the road I started a
cough/snot performance that only got worse as the day wore on.
It had started Monday night with a sore throat that did not seem to
get better or worse as time wore on. The continuous rain
and headwind probably had a lot to do with it getting worse.
I would not have wanted to be a following rider during the time I was
trying to clear my respiratory system… Then my rear wheel broke.
A spoke had not broken, or just pull
out of the rim, it broke the rim out with it. This was a
32 spoke wheel so the failure was a bit surprising.
I had glanced at it sometime hours earlier in the ride and noted that
the wheel was not true. Before I began the attempt to
true it with my spoke tightener I saw that the rim seemed to bulge at the
spoke hole. I know it was on its last ride, but at the
time I decided to leave well enough alone and not mess with it.
The wheel was not savable, but it did have about 15,000 miles on it
so I was not too upset.
As I mentioned, I had left the wheel
alone and it stayed out of true, but at least did not rub the brakes.
So as I was riding along on this segment I heard the crack and
started the roller coast ride that occurs when a round wheel suddenly
becomes slightly egg shaped. I stopped, twisted the bad
spoke around another and tried to tape it on with duct tape.
Lesson for the future: Duct tape does not stick
well when applied in the rain. Eventually, after
adjusting some other spokes I was able to get going. I
think the fear that it was going to fail completely help motivate me onward.
Funny thing – the more adversity on the ride, the more motivated I
was to finish. I think it is like being a kid and being
told you cannot do something, you just want it more.
For the preceding 10 or 15 hours I was
riding mostly alone. I stayed at a steady pace/hear
rate. Not pushing hard up the hills, not accelerating in
the rare flats. I call this the Mark Metcalf method.
Mark has this approach to riding that seems to be ‘put the
machine in drive and just keep going at the same fuel consumption.
Don’t race the engine up hills, don’t idle at any time.’
This really works for me too on long rides. Also,
I had figured out that as I tried to stay with the riders passing me I was
just wearing myself out.
This was perhaps the first
time in the ride that instead of my passing more riders than were
passing me, I was being passed by everyone else. So
what – Dreux, the final control before heading back to St Quentin was only
’10 miles’ away. And, believe it or not, it was a flat
road. That ten mile stretch was the
easiest pedaling of the whole ride so far, but it seemed more like 20 miles
of pedaling.. I kept thinking I was there, but Dreux
never got much closer. Also, I had convinced myself I
had developed pneumonia. I was wheezing and coughing so
bad that I figured it would be better to know what I was dealing with when I
started the final 42 mile segment out of there. I had
met and talked to an Aussie, Daniel, from Melbourne at the start (he too had
forgotten to pack his water bottles). About ½ way
through I came upon him again. I told him how I was
feeling and he told me he had been throwing up and the doctor fixed him
right up with just two pills. Sounded like a doctor
visit was a good idea.
Somehow the organizers were unable to
find a control station on the top of a steep hill in Dreux!
I pulled into Dreux, got my card signed and went to the medical
station. The nurse listened to my breathing and coughing
and called the Doctor who was about 20 minutes away.
Neither he nor I spoke each other’s language well.
(Remember, I can ask where the bathroom is and ask for food in French, but
describing medical symptoms was beyond me). As an
aside, this is the first time I have ever fallen asleep during a medical
examination.
Eventually, thankfully, he drew me an
illustration of the lungs. He was able to show me that
pneumonia would have affected the lower part of my lungs, and that my
problem was in the upper part.
Turns out I was running a low fever
and had developed some kind of lung infection – but no pneumonia.
He then turned to the nurse who translated “the doctor
suggests you do not finish the ride’. Are you
kidding, 720 miles in the bank and only 42 to go? I
would have tried to walk to the finish at that point.
I suggested that I would finish, but would go very slowly
for the final 42 miles, which I did.
Wow – what a difference.
The ride suddenly turned very pleasant – I could see the end and I
know I was going to make it. The rain mostly stopped
and I got to watch lots of nice people passing me by, but I also really
enjoyed the last leg. There were some really hilly spots
around Gambais, it was pitch black, the light rain came again sporadically,
and I got my first flat tire, but I made it in at about 2:00am Friday
morning.
Can believe that several hundred
people were still standing around at 2:00am cheering us in as we arrived?
Truly wonderful.
Before the ride I had promised my wife
and kids that I would site see with them in Paris on Friday after the ride.
To do so I had planned to try for a 70 hour finish – which would have
allowed me to finish by about 7:30pm on Thursday – with enough time to catch
a train back to Paris for a night’s sleep. What an
overreaching and dumb idea that now seems! Obviously
that did not happen, and I needed to sleep – so, one more time on the floor.
This time in a large, dark room with several dozen other sleepers on
the floor. I caught maybe 2 hours and then got up, got
my bike and – ouch could not put my butt on that seat! I
ended up standing on the pedals to the train station.
Got the 6:18am into Paris and was showering in the apartment by 7:00am
Friday.
I got a good few hours of sleep Friday morning then met the
family at Montmartre at 3:00PM for a really fun walking tour of the area.
I do not know if it was legal, but I enjoyed the $7 beer I bought at
a bar and drank during the last ½ of the walk.
We toured Paris again Saturday (you
have got to go on the Paris Sewer tour – if you do, you will know the
original meaning of ‘get the ball rolling’), then flew home Sunday.
At the airport we ran into Mark Metcalf. It was
then I learned how bad weather conditions were in comparison to prior PBP’s.
Reportedly something like 30% of the riders were unable to finish in
the allotted 90 hours. On top of that, (final results
are not yet available to confirm) Les Premiers – (the
elite race stars of PBP) were reportedly unable to break the 50 hour
barrier. If this is true it means the conditions slowed
them up over 6 hours in comparison to prior PBP finishes.
I was also sad to learn that almost
50% of my fellow club members did not make it in the 90 hours.
For those that struggled on anyway, wow – I salute you.
And for those that did not finish: I have a
confession – at several points in the ride, if I had been near a rail
station… – well, lets put it this way:
since I did not have a way out, and since stopping meant freezing
(wet, cold, wind and exhaustion are very dangerous) I had to keep going – I
had no other way out but to stay on the bike.
So that’s it. A
really great experience. Lots of fun, pain, really
wonderful people… hills galore, I
would do to again. I did come up with a few interesting
perceptions during the ride. Read on if interested.
Of Snails, Slugs and
Mushrooms – As you know the French consider snails and mushrooms to be a
delicacy. We saw thousands of them on the road side.
I think they proliferate in the cool, damp of the region.
To me a slug looks like a snail without a house.
Is there really a difference? Probably.
Which raises this pure speculation: I
bet that at some point in history the people of the
region, when they could not get a good old steak and other food was scarce
said ‘Ok damn it, lets try the snails”.
They did and found them edible, and, maybe, tasty.
Eventually they found a way to prepare and cook them that, well, was not
half bad. Then a real genius said “You know, I
bet we can market this, we certainly have enough snails to go around.
When travel writers come through, lets make a big show of eating
them, what do you say?” The visitors came, saw, ate
– and snails become escargot – a French delicacy.
Cows – You may find this
hard to believe, but you can get your fill of the smell of wet cow poop.
I sure did. In Texas we have lots of cows and
hot, dry conditions. Not so in France .
They have lots of cows and wet, cool conditions.
The cows thrive on the abundance of grasses. Their poop
production is prodigious and the odor, well, it’s strong and pervasive.
I got really, really tired of it.
Another Memory – In Texas
when you riding along at night in the country you will sometimes see a red
light some distance ahead, usually appearing to be 200 feet or more up.
As you get closer you confirm your guess, yep, another radio tower.
In France , once you leave the village, it is
pitch black. As you ride along in the rain, up the hill,
the only thing you can see is the white lane divider on the left and the
grassy median on the right. Sometimes you see the red
light. It is usually, like in Texas , ahead and maybe
200 feet above you. The difference here is that in
France it’s the taillight of a bike in front of you, higher up on the hill.
I’ve said it at least twice – this ride is a hill climbing festival.
Eating on the Ride – On
the way out I ate mostly Sustained Energy. Good product,
but the 7-8 pounds of it I carried weighed me down a lot on the hills.
On the way back I ate mostly Jambons (ham/butter baguette
sandwiches), chocolate croissants and quiche Lorraine. I
strongly recommend the quiche. Easy to pack in a pocket,
plenty of carbs, protein and fat, fairly moist and easy to chew.
A really good on-bike food.
August in Western France
– It really is true, most shops are closed in August as the owners take
vacation. However enough were open to keep us supplied.
Physical Maladies –
Normally my hands, feet, butt and neck begin to give me some pain on any
ride over 200k. I cannot think on any time they really
bothered me. Go figure.
Sleeping – Some controls
were good, some a little less pleasant. I strongly
advise earplugs. Also, when you feel sleep deprived, a
15 minute nap sometimes is all you need to revive.
Aiding Other Riders – I
never had too. The organizers had motorcycle patrols
going by at least hourly. Top notch support.
Normally on long club rides we tend to stop and ask if a rider needs
assistance or needs help with a tire. On this ride,
whenever I came upon a rider on the side, I would give him or her and
inquiring glance, really hoping to hear ‘Pa du problem’ (no
problem) or to see a busy rider, clearly not needing help.
And that is the way it happened to me with my flat.
Of the several riders that passed by a few slowed up, could see I was
not in need and rode on by.
Riding Unsupported – I
recommend it. Not having a bailout was probably a large
part of why I made it. Your mind can really convince you
that you cannot go on - even when your body can. However
Leslie tells me that if she had come along with a support car she would not
have let me DNF no matter how much I pleaded. A battle
of wills, hum? She may have won – but we’ll never know.
Riding Without Drop Bags
– I’m still open on this one. I carrier about 10-12
pounds of gear and packs that really hurt on the uphill parts, and there
were a lot of those. One other thing – I rigged my bike
with four bottle cages, two in the usual places, two on my handlebars.
I did not carry anything on my back. I could have
done the ride (in these wet and cool conditions) with only two bottles.
I figure the extra two bottles added 3 more pounds of weight I could
have done without.
Follow up Maladies – It’s
now a week later. My feet are still a bit swollen and
tender and a couple of finger tips are still a bit numb.
But – I’m itching to ride. Tomorrow is a 200k organized
by Sharon Stevens, a really strong rider who could not make it to PBP this
time. I hope to make it…
