Wow! Paris-Brest-Paris! Hands down, this was the physically hardest
thing I ever did, but I’m so glad I got to do it. PBP is an epic, 1200-km brevet held every four years in France. It’s the Olympics of
randonneuring. PBP isn’t a race, but I
had to complete it within 90 hours. I
did it in 86 hours, 32 minutes, and 48 seconds.
Woo hoo!
During my
ride I came up with this succinct description of PBP: Slow-motion suffering
with lots of highlights. If you want all
the details, keep reading. If you don’t
want to read the whole thing, which probably will take you about as long as it
did for me to complete PBP, you might check the section headings and read only the
parts that interest you. Much of my
writing is primarily for my own enjoyment anyway; I figure that if I’m ever
stuck in a nursing home, I can go back and read about my previous adventures.
The Road
to PBP
The first
PBP was in 1891, the early days of cycling.
Originally, PBP included both racers and amateur riders. This format continued every 10 years through
1951, except when PBP was held in 1948 instead of 1941 because of World War
II. PBP became an amateur-only event in
1956. It was held every five years until
1971, when it switched to a four-year cycle.
Why did I
decide to undertake this grueling exercise in sleep deprivation? I didn’t just wake up one day and say, “Hey,
I think I’ll do PBP.” It has been an
interesting yet unplanned path for me.
I’ve been riding a lot for about 25 years and started racing about 12
years ago. Then, in 2012 I had a serious
crash in a road race. It was a long,
tedious recovery. I gave up mass-start
races but still wanted to challenge myself on the bike. In gratitude for my recovery, I decided to
ride a century (100-mile ride) a month throughout 2013 on behalf of 12
charities, which I called A Year of Centuries.
During my June century, I met a nice guy named David who told me about
randonneuring, a type of long-distance self-supported cycling. It sounded interesting, but I just mentally
filed it because at the time I was focused on A Year of Centuries. Later that year, I was looking for an
organized ride for December when I found the Silk Sheets 200K brevet, hosted by
the Audax Atlanta Club of Randonneurs USA (RUSA). Oh, yeah – I remember that guy at my June
century telling me about randonneuring.
200 km is just a little longer than a century, and it seemed like the
perfect grand finale to A Year of Centuries.
From there, I just kept randonneuring.
I heard
about PBP soon after I started randonneuring, but it wasn’t on my radar screen
at first. I was getting comfortable with
200K and 300K brevets with a 400K or two thrown into the mix. Then, I became part of a four-person women’s
team in the 2015 Race Across America (RAAM).
That was also a PBP year. Between
my Audax Atlanta friends talking up PBP and my doing RAAM, PBP almost inevitably
became my next cycling goal.
I did my
first 600K in April 2016 with my eye on PBP 2019. That was a very hard ride, but I specifically
remember finishing that 600K and thinking, “I can do a 1200K.” PBP was still nearly 3½ years away; I was
glad for time to get more 400Ks and 600Ks under my belt.
Your PBP
preregistration date is determined by the longest brevet you do the previous
year. Having done a 600K in 2018, I was in
pretty good shape for preregistration.
Not as good as those who had done a 1000K or a 1200K, but I didn’t need
to worry. Once I preregistered in
January, I had to qualify by doing a 200K, 300K, 400K, and 600K between January
and July 1 of this year. I was grateful
to get all my qualifying rides done by the end of March. Thank you so much to my RBA Wayne for
front-end loading the 2019 Audax Atlanta brevet schedule!
I kept up
my endurance with my regular monthly brevets and permanents. Tuesday Worlds and some interval training on
my own gave me some intensity training.
Besides preparing physically, there were lots of logistics. Robert, my wonderful husband/soigneur, did so
much on that end. He booked our flights
and lodging, including an Airbnb for me in Bécherel, about halfway between
Paris and Brest. Amazingly, this Airbnb
was only about 500 m from the PBP course!
I also have to give a huge shout-out to my mechanic Nate at Bike Tech in
Macon, who pretty much completely overhauled my Trek Domane, my randonneuring
bicycle, for PBP. I had absolutely no
mechanical issues on PBP, which was a huge relief, especially with so many
other logistics.
Paris
Robert and
I flew into Paris. We arrived on a
Friday morning, giving us a little over a day to explore the city. Mostly, we walked around.
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| My soigneur |
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| Arc de Triomph! I sent this one to The Monticello News. |
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| I wonder if I can get an invitation to their wedding next May for an excuse to come back to Paris. |
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| Statue of Joan of Arc. Our Paris hotel was very near here. |
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| Panoramic photo of Palais Garnier, the Paris Opera House. It has inspired the architecture of other opera houses around the world. Even the dome of the Macon City Auditorium seems to be based on Palais Garnier. |
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| Charcuterie and cheese with Bordeaux. Sublime. |
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Ferris wheel right outside our hotel
|
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| I love the French flags on this ride. |
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Parisien haute couture
|
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| Le Chat Noir was open from 1881 to 1897 and is thought to be the first modern cabaret. I got this souvenir magnet, and I also sent a Le Chat Noir postcard to Ashes the World’s Best Office Cat. |
We tried
to go to the Louvre, but we didn’t know you have to order tickets online ahead
of time. We stood at the entrance trying
to order tickets and literally saw the last few disappearing before our very
eyes. Fortunately, we had a much easier
time getting our art fix at the end of the trip in Aix-en-Provence (more
details in that section).
PBP:
Check-In and Other Preparations
Around
noon on Saturday, Robert and I took an Uber to Rambouillet, the start location
of PBP on the southwest side of Paris.
Our Uber driver was Jalel. I’m
amazed when I think about how many people made my PBP experience possible,
including this kind man from Tunisia.
Robert and
I had not been able to get a hotel room in Rambouillet, and so we stayed in
Maintenon, about 30 km away. Jalel took
us to our hotel in Maintenon, where we dropped our luggage, and then took us to
Rambouillet.
I had
shipped my bicycle through Bike Flights.
Although this was more expensive than taking it with me on the plane, it kept me
(i.e., Robert) from having to haul my bicycle in its box through airports, on
trains, and in taxis/Ubers. Robert would
have been ill, which would have made me ill.
In other words, Bike Flights was totally worth it.
Bike
Flights shipped my bike to Culture Vélo Cycles Jacky, a bike shop in
Rambouillet. My sister Donna, who is
fluent in French, paved the way for me by contacting Jeremy at the bike
shop. (Merci beaucoup, Donna!) Jeremy was incredibly helpful. He built my bike back up after it arrived at
the shop and had it waiting for me at bike check-in in Rambouillet. I can’t say enough good things about Jeremy
and Culture Vélo Cycles Jacky.
The PBP
staging area, including bike check-in, was at Bergerie Nationale. Audax Club Parisien is the mothership
randonneuring club that hosts PBP.
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| A little refreshment at Bergerie Nationale |
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| This ain’t no triathlon! Bicycles lined up at check-in |
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It was fun checking out all the variations of rides. These enclosed recumbents were like rockets when they passed me on the route.
|
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Cool tower where PBP participants could store their luggage during the event
|
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| A common sight for me - Robert checking the Interwebs for directions, translations, etc. |
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| After so much preparation, I’m finally here! |
I had been
a little concerned about not being able to speak French, but I found that
bonjour (hello/good day), merci (thank you), and pardon got me a long way. Still, there were several funny language
incidents. The guy who checked my bike doesn’t
speak much English. He asked me if I
speak French. Non. Then he asked me if I play the piano. I play a (very) little and wondered how he
knew that. Then I realized he asked if I
speak Italiano. Ha ha - even less than I
play the piano.
Robert and
I then headed back to Maintenon. We called
another Uber. This time our driver was Sinthujan. He is a
native of France, but his parents immigrated from Sri Lanka. I was truly feeling like the whole world was
helping me with PBP! It turns out that Rambouillet is the
outer limit of Uber availability near Paris.
Maintenon, even farther west, lies outside of this range. Therefore, Sinthujan agreed to pick
Robert and me back up on Sunday in Maintenon so that I could return to
Rambouillet for my PBP start.
Back in
Maintenon on Saturday evening, Robert and I walked through the beautiful
town. Although Maintenon is not part of Brittany,
this graceful old church is similar to the many village cathedrals I saw while
riding through Brittany in western France.
We also noticed how even everyday,
functional things in France have a certain beauty. These stones prevent cars from driving up on
the curb. They are part of the overall
artistry of France that you can just feel in your soul.
Our first
order of business that evening was finding some aspirin or equivalent for
Robert, whose back was bothering him a bit.
We were baffled that we hadn’t been able to find an open pharmacie
(French spelling) in Paris that morning, but the city doesn’t even begin to
awaken until at least 10:00 AM. (By and
large, Europe is not on the same early-morning schedule as us American
athletes.) We didn’t have any greater
hope of finding an open pharmacie in Maintenon.
However, we did find a small grocery store. The shopkeeper was very friendly but didn’t speak English. Robert had his Google translator, but we
didn’t get anywhere with aspirin or Tylenol. I suggested he try analgesic, but he said “I’m
not trying anything that starts with ‘anal’.” The shopkeeper finally got it when I pointed
to my head and said, “Owwww!”
It was getting pretty late, and we
hadn’t had dinner. We found a restaurant
and ordered pizza. I deferred to Robert,
so we got the Americana pizza. I guess a mini beef patty in the middle and
white bread toast on the side made it American.
A teenage girl was going to be our
server, but she handed us off to a teenage boy when she found out we don’t
speak French. Both teenagers were so
cute. Robert and I split a banana split
(ha ha) for dessert. It was huge. Robert and I joked with the girl, via Google
translator, “Hey, we ordered the large!” She texted back via the translator, “That’s as
big as we make them.” Robert responded
via translator that it was a joke, and then she laughed.
Sinthujan picked us up as scheduled early Sunday afternoon. We had plenty of time to get my bike situated
and have a meal before my 5:45 PM start.
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| My last meal before the ride started was at a restaurant called Napoleon’s. |
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| Making my way to the starting area |
I was so glad I got to see my Audax Atlanta rando buddy Brian before the start! He’s a PBP veteran and gave me a great gift, a flashing light (shaped like Hermes’s foot, no less) to help me find my bike at night at the controls. It’s hard to find your bike again when you park it among dozens or hundreds of others. The light was a huge help and was not something I had thought of.
I was also so glad to see my Audax Atlanta rando buddy Robert N.!
I was in start group H. Here we are lined up, ready to go!
PBP: The
Ride
A
volunteer stamped my brevet card, and I was off!
I had been
cautioned that things could be really squirrely as riders headed out in
a flush of adrenaline. I was
particularly alert during the first few kilometers. Fortunately, I didn’t feel very hemmed in or
experience any close calls. The riders
around me soon spread out comfortably.
It was a
beautiful late afternoon and evening.
France is at a higher latitude than Georgia, and so the August days
there are about as long as the summer solstice at home. I remember the angle of the sunlight and the
lovely hues of the French countryside in those fresh, early hours of PBP. I didn’t take many photos during my actual
ride because I always had my eye on the clock, but I took lots of mental
pictures.
After a
couple of hours, I knew I needed to eat something. I didn’t want to dip into my supply of Clif
Bars just yet. Lo and behold, the route
came to a small town where people greeted us enthusiastically and had food and
drinks for sale at sidewalk tables. I bought
a Coke and a sandwich – rocket fuel! I
drank the Coke quickly right there and took the sandwich with me. French sandwiches are served on a small
baguette that can be easily eaten while riding or conveniently stored in a
jersey pocket. The PBP sandwiches
typically were ham, cheese, or ham and cheese.
I chose a cheese sandwich, which turned out to be brie – just delicious. As I chewed my sandwich while rolling out of
town, I saw two boys who were about 10 or 12 years old riding their bicycles. One of them popped a wheelie. The other one saw me eating my sandwich and
called out, “Bon appétit!” It doesn’t
get any better than that.
As another
rider put it, PBP is like one long day that ebbs and flows. The sun rises, and the sun sets, but the
snatches of sleep at odd hours make it hard to keep track of time
normally. Therefore, instead of trying
to tell about the rest of my ride chronologically, I’ll describe it by topic. First, I’ll describe my approach to equipment
and other logistics. Then, I’ll tell
about the more difficult aspects of PBP.
Finally, I’ll share the more enjoyable aspects of PBP, which definitely
outweigh the hard parts. (Randonesia is
already setting in…)
Equipment
and Logistics
A drop bag
service was available, but I opted to carry everything on my bicycle with
me. This saved me time because I didn’t
have to locate my bag along the route and eliminated the possibility of my bag
getting lost. On the other hand, I had
to be judicious about what I carried with me.
My Yogi Bear picnic basket bag is definitely large, but I had to pare
down my initial packing list. For
example, I carried only one extra kit instead of the two I had originally
planned to take. Overall, however, my
setup worked well.
Riders are
required to have front and rear lights.
My front light is powered by a dynamo hub on my front wheel – super
convenient. I also carried a battery
powered front light as backup. I had
three rear lights with rechargeable batteries.
The rear light clipped to a mount securely attached to the back of my
rack.
Again, my mechanic Nate deserves a big chunk of credit for my completing PBP successfully. He took everything on my bicycle apart and cleaned it, replaced the cables, lubed everything, and put on new Gatorskin tires. He also installed a charger in my stem. This charger has a USB port that allows me to charge devices directly from my front wheel dynamo hub.
I was
reluctant to charge my bike computer directly from my stem charger because of
my naturally varying power output through the dynamo hub. Instead, I connected the stem charger to one
of two rechargeable batteries I carried.
Then, I charged my bike computer, rear lights, and phone from the
rechargeable batteries. I carried three
micro USB charger cables in addition to my phone charger cable. This system worked great. Also, I didn’t have to use the rechargeable
batteries as much as I anticipated because I also got to recharge devices
directly at my two stops at the Airbnb in Bécherel.
I had
uploaded the route to my Wahoo bike computer ahead of time, but I wound up not
needing it for navigation. I used it only
to record my ride data. The course was
well marked with arrow signs the entire way.
The signs on the way out said “Brest,” and the signs on the way back in
said “Paris.” The arrows had reflective
material, making them easy to detect at night.
I came to think of those arrow signs as my friends. I had heard stories of riders toward the end
of PBP taking arrow signs as souvenirs, causing other riders to miss
turns. Fortunately, this didn’t happen
to me. I think I was ahead of “the
bulge” toward the end. Additionally, I
read that the organizers purposely printed extra arrow signs for riders who
wanted to keep one.
One of my
experienced rando buddies had recommended carrying an emergency blanket. I’m so glad I followed this advice. I took along the shrink-wrapped, silver
emergency blanket from my car’s first aid kit.
The blanket weighed next to nothing and took up almost no space in my
bag. I was very glad to have it during
my several roadsides snoozes.
I embrace
my nerdiness. It came in handy because
of the pacing spreadsheet I made ahead of time:
I knew my
brain would be too foggy to do serious rate/time/distance calculations during
the ride itself. I referred to my
spreadsheet often, and it gave me a sense of calm about staying on track. My average speeds on the spreadsheet incorporate
sleep time. To follow my schedule, go
down the rows for the outbound trip and up the rows for the return trip. (Dreaux and Mortagne-au-Perche were controls,
i.e., checkpoints, only on the return trip.
Quedillac was a supply stop only, not a control. St. Nicolas-de-Pelem turned out to be a
secret control.) I thought I had been
fairly conservative in my calculations.
For most of the first half, I was somewhat ahead of schedule. However, for the rest of my ride, I was quite
close to my calculated times. Fortunately,
I had built in another time buffer at the end.
A last bit
of advice I’m glad I took was to carry small mementos to give to the people
along the route. Several years ago, my
cycling friend Mike, who retired from the U.S. Postal Service, had given me a
bunch of pins. Each one is shaped like a
stamp, reads “USA,” and depicts a cyclist.
Perfect! I was afraid I didn’t
have enough of the stamp pins, and so I supplemented them with some City of
Monticello, GA pins and some Georgia Chain Gang pins from Neil, one of my Audax
Atlanta rando buddies. Kids and adults
alike along the PBP route seemed excited when I gave them a token of my
appreciation for their hospitality and encouragement.
Audax Club
Parisien provided several helpful items at check-in. One was a reflective vest. A reflective vest is always required for
nighttime riding, but because they provided one to each rider, this was one
less thing I had to bring from home.
Additionally, they gave each rider a heavy-duty plastic pouch on a
lanyard. I kept my brevet card and other
valuables in this pouch, safely tucking it between my base layer and jersey.
Enter
Sandman
The
hardest part of PBP was sleep deprivation.
I thought I had somewhat of a feel for what this would be like from the
600K’s I had done, but PBP was much harder.
Over the approximately 3½ days that I was on the road, I slept a total
of about 11 hours. Most of this was in stretches
of 1 to 1½ hours.
Later, I
discovered that I was a relative Rip Van Winkle. Many riders got three or fewer hours of sleep
total. On Wednesday morning, about 2½
days into PBP, I caught up with my friend Brad from Audax Atlanta. Brad typically rides slower than I do, and
his start group had been 45 minutes after mine.
Therefore, I was very surprised, although happy, to see him. I soon learned the reason. At that point he had slept only one
hour. One. Hour.
I don’t see how that’s even physically possible. I suppose that’s the only way slower riders
can complete PBP within the 90-hour time limit.
By the way, I was thrilled to find out later that Brad, too, finished
PBP successfully. He did it in just over
89 hours – less than one hour to spare!
Truly, I
underestimated just how little sleep is involved in PBP. The farther I went, the more frequently I saw
riders catching a few z’s on the side of the road, in a field, or under a
tree. I found myself evaluating their
choice of sleep spot. (The best was a grassy area between a fenced in cow pasture and some woods.) Other times, riders laid their heads down at
the tables at controls.
My first
sleep was at my Bécherel Airbnb on the way out to Brest. By the time I arrived there, I had been awake
about 36 hours. I took a much-needed
shower, rinsed out my kit to put back on at my return visit, and lay down. Just then, I got a text from Robert. He was in Bécherel! He was staying fairly nearby in Rennes and
had ridden his rental bicycle to see me!
The timing was perfect even though I only had a few moments to say
hello. I was too tired to get out of
bed, and so I texted him back and told him to let himself in.
He came upstairs and gave me a kiss before I fell asleep. It was like a fairytale.
I had set
my alarm for a 3-hour sleep, but I woke up after only 1½ hours. No time to waste – I put on my clean kit and
got back on the road as quickly as possible.
The next
control was Loudéac. I decided to take
another short sleep there. Like most controls,
it had a couchage, or designated sleeping area, which was a gym with rows of cots. It cost a few well-worth-it
euros. You’d tell the volunteers how
long you wanted to sleep or what time you wanted to get up, and they would wake
you. Amazing.
My first
experience here with a couchage was pretty funny. These particular volunteers didn’t speak
English. There was a “clock” made from a
paper plate with moveable hands so that you could tell them how long you wanted
to sleep. I was a little confused at
first because the interior of the clock also showed 15, 30, and 45
minutes. Was I limited to only 1 hour of
sleep? I wanted to sleep for 1½ hours. It was about 7:30 PM, and so I wanted to get
up at 9:00 PM. How could I convey this
information? Although I don’t speak
French, I can count to 10 in French. I
tried “neuf PM.” Apparently, that’s not
how you tell time in French. Fortunately,
a few moments later, another rider who spoke both English and French came up,
and he helped ensure I was telling the volunteers the correct time when I
wanted to get up. Then, after all that,
I slept only 1 hour, waking up on my own.
Time to get back on the road.
After a
couple of hours riding in the dark, I got sleepy again. Neither of my first two sleeps had been very
restful. The route frequently went
through small villages. The bigger towns
had cathedrals. I thought to myself, if
the next town has a cathedral, I’ll stop there for another nap. Sure enough, I found the perfect sleep spot. The cathedral in the next town had an
enclosed courtyard. I propped my bicycle
against a tree, snapped a quick photo when I noticed the moon in the
background, and lay down on a bench with my emergency blanket.
That was
the first real sleep I got; I didn’t wake up until my phone alarm went off an
hour and a half later. Interestingly,
when I got back on my bicycle, it was only about a mile to a secret
control. I was in Saint Nicolas-du-Pelem.
I took
another roadside sleep, about 45 minutes long, shortly before sunrise. Soon after I got back on the road, I saw a
family on the side of the road with refreshments for the riders. I stopped and then realized that they mainly
had coffee. I don’t like coffee, but I
got some partly not to be rude and partly because I was still fatigued. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
I made it
to Brest – half way there!
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| The iconic bridge at Brest! Cars cross on the cable stayed bridge. I’m taking this photo from another bridge for bicycles and pedestrians. |
I started
the return trip toward Paris. A couple
of hours later, I wanted to sleep again.
I found a small roadside park with a copse of trees that offered a little
privacy. I lay on the ground with my
emergency blanket wrapped around me.
Once again, I woke up before my phone alarm went off, about an hour later. As I awoke, I felt a few drops fall on
me. At the same time, I became aware of
a terrible odor. My first thought was
that the city park employees were spraying pesticide on me. Then, I realized that the drops were probably dew
from the trees. Furthermore, the
terrible odor was me!
My next
sleep was a return to the couchage in Loudéac.
This time I slept the entire hour and a half that I told the
volunteers. A nice man gently tapped my
leg to awaken me. I gasped and jumped
about three feet, startling him just as badly.
He apologized profusely, saying, “Excuse moi!” The volunteers were simply amazing and took
on some of the most unusual jobs.
I rode
through the night, arriving back at the Airbnb in Bécherel around 4:30 AM. Paulette, the Airbnb owner, was incredibly
kind and accommodating of my odd hours.
I had let her know my second stop would be during the wee hours, and so
she left the door unlocked for me. I got
a solid three hours of sleep – my longest stint during PBP.
I was
doing well on my schedule, but I only wanted to stop for one more sleep if
possible. I did manage that, sleeping
for the last time at the control in Mortagne-au-Perche. I arrived there sometime around midnight on
my last overnight stretch. That was one
of my lowest points of the ride. Tired
and cold, I parked my bike and said loudly to no one in particular, “Will
someone please just shoot me now?” No
one obliged, but I got the feeling the sentiment was shared. There might have been an official couchage,
but I opted to join the throng in the cafeteria. Bodies were lined along the entire perimeter
of the room. They looked like
battlefield casualties. I found about
half a space on the hard floor and curled up into a ball so that my legs
wouldn’t block the walkway. I laid my
head on my rolled-up jacket and covered my face with my reflective vest. I set my phone alarm for one hour but yet
again woke up before it went off, about 45 minutes later. When I awoke, I heard the guy next to me
snoring. It sounded like an airplane
taking off. As I became more alert, I
saw another guy standing near me, checking his phone.
We looked at each other and both started to crack up.
When I
found myself getting sleepy while I was riding, I used one of my tried-and-true
tricks from my longer brevets. I sang,
mostly TV theme songs because that’s all that seems to come to mind in these
situations. (Laverne & Shirley – Making
Our Dreams Come True – is a great motivator!) Fortunately, on PBP I was usually by myself
when I had to sing. Not that I really
cared at that point if anyone heard me.
Actually, I’m surprised I didn’t hear anyone else singing to stay awake.
Cold as
Ice
A close
second on PBP difficulties was the nighttime cold. I had checked the forecasts for Rambouillet
and Brest. Both indicated highs in the
70s and lows in the 50s (Fahrenheit). I
was prepared for temperatures in the 50s: base layer, arm and knee warmers (my
legs are short, and so my knee warmers are more like leg warmers),
long-fingered gloves, and an ear warmer headband. In reality, overnight lows were in the 40s or
maybe even the 30s. I nearly froze.
Later, I
read about particular weather conditions that made the nights unusually cold
during PBP. It was clear and windless,
allowing cold air from higher altitudes to sink. This cold air follows the path of least
resistance, i.e., the roads and streams, where flow is least impeded. Therefore, the coldest air was flowing toward
us as we climbed, and then we descended into very cold, wet air.
Although
just about any conditions are ridable with the appropriate clothing and gear,
I’ll take heat over cold any day. The
nighttime cold during PBP was a particular shock to my system, having come from
temperatures in the 90s at home. I
simply had to make do with what I had. I
couldn’t do anything but keep riding. It
came down to mind over matter, particularly the last night.
I think a lot on long rides, but
it was different on PBP. The intensity
and duration reduced everything to an almost primal mind-body connection. Somehow, I had to keep myself from focusing
on the cold. The only thing that helped
was singing out loud. I don't remember
most of the songs I sang, but I insisted to myself that they be classic
rock. Maybe classic rock has better
cold-fighting powers than TV theme songs.
I had to be able to remember the lyrics (challenging at that point), and
they had to be sing-able a cappella (knocking out most progressive rock, my
favorite genre). One of the few songs I
do remember singing was Summer of ‘69 by Bryan Adams. From now on, whenever I hear that one, it
will remind me of riding across Brittany in the middle of the night.
At least
we didn’t get any rain during PBP. I’m
very thankful for that because conditions were hard enough otherwise. I’m not sure how I would have dealt with the
rain on top of everything else.
Ain’t No
Mountain High Enough
I had been
told that the terrain on PBP was mostly rolling hills. Therefore, I expected PBP to be somewhat like
the roads I regularly ride in Middle Georgia.
It wasn’t. The eastern portion of
the route was relatively flat, but there was pretty serious climbing in
Brittany to the west. Grades were often
4% or more for a half-mile to a mile at a time.
It was like doing segments of Neels Gap in North Georgia, over and over.
Such
climbs wouldn’t be too big a deal on a regular ride, but they were incessant on
PBP. I like Brad’s description he gave
me while we rode together: “My legs are saying, ‘OK, this is what we do now.’”
Overall,
there were more than 40,000 ft of climbing. For comparison, Mt. Everest is about 29,029
ft high.
And Bad
Mistakes…I’ve Made a Few
I made several mistakes during
PBP. Thankfully, none were
catastrophic. The worst was…I lost my
brevet card! I must have left it on the
table when I was taking one of the few pictures of my ride, the flags at
Fougères.
When I got to the next control,
Tinténiac, I realized I didn't have my card.
This was a major panic because according to the rules, you're
disqualified if you lose your card. I
thought I had read that official times were
being taken from our timing chips and that cards were just a backup, but I
still thought I might be disqualified. I
told the volunteers at the control. They
were so nice and said they could make me a new card because, sure enough, they
could pull up my electronic times on their computer. They said to give them a few minutes, go get
something to eat, and come back. When I returned, they gave me back
my original brevet card! Someone had
found it and turned it in. When I got back home, I found this
picture of myself on the PBP Facebook page.
I’m expressing my extreme gratitude to the anonymous person who turned
in my card!
Perhaps I
was able to pay it forward later in the ride. A guy behind me in the food line at
Mortagne-au-Perche didn't have enough cash for his meal, so I covered it for him. He was very grateful and wanted to track me
down later, but I told him not to worry about it. That's what we do - look out for each other.
My next
worst mistake was missing the return control in Carhaix-Plouguer. Good thing I was aware enough of the road
signs to realize that I was leaving the Carhaix-Plouguer city limits. Fortunately, I had gone just a few extra miles. I backtracked to the control and
lost only about 30 minutes total. I
reconstructed in my mind what happened.
I took a wrong turn from a roundabout.
That’s because just before the roundabout, someone had called out to me
that my jacket was hanging down off my bicycle. It had been secured under
bungee cords on top of my bike bag but came loose. In my flustered state from fixing that issue,
I must have missed the proper exit from the roundabout.
For a
while I thought I had lost my ride data from the first 542 miles. I had been diligent about keeping my Wahoo
charged; it’s well designed such that you can continue recording data while
charging. However, I forgot to charge my
Wahoo the second time I was at the Airbnb at Bécherel. Just as I was about to roll out, I realized
that it was at about 3% power, and it was trying to recover my ride data to
that point. Ack! If it’s not on Strava, you didn’t really do
the ride, did you? Ha! That’s definitely not true for PBP. I let the potentially lost data roll off my
back; it was much more important to focus on the finish and have my control
times recorded correctly. In the
meantime, I used the Strava app on my phone to record the remaining 226
miles. And to my delight, later in
Aix-en-Provence, I was able to upload those first 542 miles to Strava! Somehow my Wahoo didn’t upload the elevation
data for that portion, but at least I got the distance data.
My other
significant error was accidentally breaking one of the arms off of my
glasses. D’oh! I did it early in the ride while I was
fooling with one of the connector cables to my Wahoo on its mount. I still managed OK because my ear warmer headband held my
glasses in place. I had some electrical
tape with me and would have tried to tape the arm back on, but somehow I lost
the arm, too. Most of the time
during the day, I wore my contacts, but I wore my glasses at night. Sometimes I rode with my cycling sunglasses
over my regular glasses – haute couture!
Food
I’ve
pretty much decided that there is no bad food in France. I had some excellent meals before and after
PBP, but even the food at the controls during PBP was quite good and very
reasonably priced. I ate a lot of
sandwiches, croissants, and pain au chocolat and drank a lot of
Coca-Colas. I got fresh fruit as much as
possible and discovered a delicious caramel yogurt. Soup, spaghetti, and fish were warm and
filling. I even ate tabbouleh, paella,
and beef bourguignon!
Convenience
stores are nonexistent in rural Brittany. However, it's easy to find a café, restaurant, or patisserie (bakery) in most towns, at least during the day. Additionally, the French people who live along the PBP
route are legendary for their hospitality.
Many offer food and beverages to the riders, sometimes even for free. I availed myself of their generosity a number
of times. One of the most memorable
stops was on my last night. This was
during one of the worst stretches when I had to fight the cold so hard. I knew I needed food. I came to a village, but nothing was open in the town in
the middle of the night. However, the kind residents set up a tent with refreshments. I had a cup of some kind of delicious soup
(mostly broth), some prunes, and a few pieces of dark chocolate. That might sound like an odd combination, but
it tasted so good!
The most memorable thing I ate during PBP was in a small village. I saw
a patisserie and stopped for a treat.
What to get? The eclairs looked
good, but I had already had several of those while I was in France. Interestingly, all the eclairs had chocolate
filling as well as a chocolate glaze.
They certainly were delicious, but they didn’t have the custard filling
I was expecting. At this patisserie I
chose a delectable looking, cream-filled wonder. I can’t remember or find the name of it now,
but it was round and made of light, flaky choux pastry. Best of all, it had that elusive custard
filling. I sat on the sidewalk outside
the patisserie, relishing my unknown-name pastry. I thought, “This is what I came to France
for.”
Brittany
Most of
PBP is in Brittany, a region of northwestern France. I must admit that I knew nothing about Brittany
before doing PBP. I’ve read a little
online since then. What a fascinating
place!
Brittany
is primarily agricultural. The people
seem to be mostly middle or working class.
In fact, these aspects made it seem a lot like my home in Middle
Georgia. The buildings are strikingly
different, however. Most of them are at
least several hundred years old. The
multitude of villages are remnants of feudal times, when lords controlled large
tracts of land and ruled over commoners. Riding
mile after mile through Brittany, the villages all started
to look alike. As a fellow rider from
England remarked, it was like the movie Groundhog Day, riding through
the same village over and over again.
His comment also gave me a new earworm for the ride, I Got You Babe.
I read
that Brittany is one of six Celtic nations; in this case “nation” means a
region with a distinct culture. The
other Celtic nations are Scotland, Ireland, Isle of Man, Wales, and Cornwall. In each of these regions, a Celtic language
is spoken to some extent. Breton is the
Celtic language still used in Brittany.
I noticed a number of road signs with wording in two
languages on them. I didn’t realize until after the fact that these were bilingual signs with both French and
Breton.
Many
people along the route waved a unique flag that reminded me of the U.S. flag.
It took me
a while to catch on that this was the flag of Brittany. Later, I read that its creator, Morvan
Marchal, took inspiration from the U.S. flag, seen as a symbol of freedom.
Although I
didn’t explicitly plan it, I’m so glad I got to see three such varied parts of
France: Paris, Brittany, and (after PBP) Provence. It’s easy to go to just the big cities –
Paris in France, New York or Washington, D.C. in the U.S., or Atlanta in
Georgia – and think you’re experiencing a particular place. Not that Robert and I are super
well-traveled, but when we go to other countries, we enjoy getting out in the
countryside and doing less touristy things.
We get a much broader feel for the local culture that way.
I’ve Seen
All Good People
It was a
huge thrill to ride with nearly 7,000 other cyclists from all over the world,
including all six inhabited continents.
Because I couldn’t communicate verbally with most of them, I mainly just
enjoyed observing the vast array of countries represented.
 |
| Italian riders with their jersey pockets filled with sandwiches |
In the
cafeteria at one of the controls, I sat with a German man. I remembered a few German words and phrases
from high school. His English was
slightly better than my German. We
actually had a pretty decent conversation.
One
afternoon I was riding down the road and heard a woman’s voice call out several
times in a foreign language. Yes, she
was talking to me. My first thought was,
am I doing something unsafe or using bad cycling etiquette? That wasn’t it at all. She had noticed my jersey, which read Audax
Atlanta, Georgia Randonneurs. As she
rode past me, I saw her Ukraine jersey and heard her say “Georgia.” I called out, “USA! The other Georgia!” We both laughed.
Because it was important to me to maintain my
own pace, whether faster or slower than anyone else, I rode the
vast majority of PBP by myself. However,
I did ride a few times with other English-speaking riders. I met a nice fellow named Owen from Seattle
Randonneurs, who happens to be good friends with Andy in my Audax Atlanta club. Owen snapped this photo and sent it to Andy,
who sent it to me:
Thousands of volunteers, both French and other nationalities,
made PBP possible. Merci beaucoup! They pointed the way at intersections,
stamped our brevet cards, served food and drinks, and woke us at the
couchages. One of the most thankless
jobs was quickly swabbing the toilet after each rider to make sure it was adequately
clean for the next person. Wow!
I remember
so many French people who offered kindness along the way. Paulette, the owner of the Airbnb in
Bécherel, was so accommodating of my odd hours.
Also, she and her husband prepared a delicious breakfast for me before I
left the second time:
A young
boy guided me late one night when I almost made a wrong turn. A man played a bagpipe on the side of the
road in Brest. A woman somewhere along
the route played French music on an accordion.
One of the
biggest surprises was the second visit to the control at
Villaines-la-Juhel. They treated us like
rock stars! As I rolled into the control
early that Wednesday evening, dozens of people – maybe hundreds – cheered for
me!
I told
myself to hold it together for now; I would allow myself to get all verklempt
when I crossed the finish line in Rambouillet.
I parked
my bike and headed toward the restaurant.
A girl who was about 12 years old asked me if I speak English. I said yes, and she told me to follow
her. Skeptically, I followed. Was she some kind of hustler? I was embarrassed to realize I could be so
cynical because it turned out she and scores of other young people were there
simply to serve us riders. They guided us
to the serving line, held our trays, and led us down a red carpet (literally)
to the dining tables. I thought they
were the rock stars for showing us riders such extravagant hospitality!
Before I
left the wonderful control at Villaines-la-Juhel, I had to get a picture. One of my life rules is never to pass up a
photo op where you stick your face into something.
All along
the route, I was surprised that most of the riders didn’t acknowledge the many French people cheering us on. I made a
point as much as possible to wave or say “Bonjour!” or “Merci!” It was the least I could do to thank them for
making the effort to come out and see us.
Besides, it gave me energy to interact with them this way.
This set
the stage for one of my funniest experiences of PBP. It was about 2:00 AM. I
heard a couple of people clapping for me and a few other riders nearby. I couldn’t see these dedicated fans, but I
called out into the darkness, “Merci!
Merci!” Then, the clapping got
louder. Why were these people chasing me?! Suddenly, a pony was running beside
me! I was hearing its hooves clack on
the pavement. It soon turned off onto a
side road. I laughed and said to whoever
was riding near me, whether they could understand me or not, “I thought that
was people clapping for us!” A man
responded in accented English, “Memories.”
Random
Rando Thoughts
With so
many hours in the saddle, I had plenty of time to think. Despite the fatigue, I did have a few
coherent(?) thoughts.
About 850
km into my ride, a runner passed in the opposite direction. I thought to myself, “Poor bastard.”
It
occurred to me that the teenagers in A Nightmare on Elm Street should do
PBP because they can’t sleep anyway.
Sometimes
I kept my brain occupied by converting the temperature from degrees Celsius to
degrees Fahrenheit. This was a particularly compelling exercise when I rode through a town in the middle of the night
and saw a thermometer registering in the single digits. What is that conversion anyway? I knew it involved adding or subtracting 32
degrees and multiplying by 5/9 or 9/5. I
could reconstruct the formula using the boiling point of water: 100˚C or 212˚F. 212 ends in 2, so I probably need to
start by subtracting 32. That gives me
180. 180 is divisible by 9. 180 / 9 = 20.
Then, 20 x 5 is 100. That was
it! ˚C = (˚F – 32) x 5/9. Simply rearrange the equation to convert from
˚C to ˚F. If the temperature in Celsius
was divisible by 5, I could calculate the exact temperature in Fahrenheit
(e.g., 5˚C = 41˚F). Otherwise, I had to
interpolate. Regardless, it was cold out
there!
You’ve
probably heard of small towns that are speed traps; i.e., they rigorously
enforce speed limits on cars as a source of revenue.
Ludowici, GA is one such speed trap.
I don’t know that I’ve ever even been through Ludowici, but its
reputation is known far and wide. Well,
have you ever heard of a cycling speed trap?
I found one on PBP in the town of Dingé.
Fortunately, I didn’t get caught.
I stopped at the top of a hill in the middle of town to take off my
jacket in the warming day. About 20 meters
down the hill was a stop sign, where two police officers were standing. A few local people stood near the top of the
hill and called out vigorously to the cyclists to stop at the stop sign. I did so, even putting a foot down. I said “merci” to the officers and rolled
on. I might not have been so deliberate
about my stop if I hadn’t just started up after taking off my jacket. Shortly thereafter, a Belgian woman told me
about the speed trap as she rode by. She
said that several of her friends had been fined for not stopping. They had to pay 50 euros – on the spot! Yikes.
I
thoroughly enjoyed the pastoral landscape of Brittany. One cow particularly caught my eye. It was the most beautiful cream color with
darker brown spots. Most notably, it
seemed to have unusually long legs. Was
this some type of exotic French cow?
Later, I did some online research on French breeds of cows. I couldn’t find any long-legged cows. Maybe I only imagined I saw a particularly
beautiful cow with long legs. Or maybe I
had seen Bugs Bunny in drag.
One time I tried to perk myself up by having a conversation with myself. Out loud. It went like this:
- Me: "So, tell me how you got into this crazy adventure."
- Myself: "Well, one day my brains fell out."
- I: "I think that's the end of this conversation."
Sometimes
I definitely wasn’t thinking coherently.
For a while on Tuesday morning, I was convinced that I had only one or
two hours to spare. Then, I reviewed my
trusty spreadsheet schedule and realized that I had miscalculated by 12
hours. I couldn’t dillydally, but no
need to worry.
As a
person of faith, I often pray during long rides. Prayer is really just a type of
thinking. During PBP I found my prayers
reduced to, “Lord, please get me through this.”
The day after I finished PBP, I saw this installment of Coffee with
Jesus, a comic strip I follow on Facebook and a main source of theology for me these days.
This really resonated with me.
We Are the
Champions
I made it
through that last, extra tough overnight stretch between Mortagne-au-Perche and
Dreaux. It felt so good to get out of
the cold for a bit at Dreaux. Two things
motivated me to get back on the road: it would start getting warmer as the sun
came up, and there was only one more control – the finish in Rambouillet! I left Dreaux a little after 6:00 AM. I had about 30 miles to go. Even at my slow PBP pace, about 13 mph, I
should make it to Rambouillet in less than 2½ hours, well before my 11:45 AM
cutoff.
Most of
the remaining route was relatively flat, and the rising sun lifted my
spirits. I was going to do this, and I
was almost there!
On the
approach to Rambouillet, I recognized a few landmarks that I had seen on the
way out. That had been only about 3½
days ago, but it seemed a lot longer. I
remembered the cobblestones near Bergerie Nationale. A lot of people were milling around,
but few paid much attention as I crossed the finish line. Although it was anticlimactic, especially
compared to the cheering crowds at Villaines-la-Juhel the evening before, I didn’t
mind. I did it! And I wasn’t even verklempt.
Robert
found me almost immediately. I kissed
him quickly and went to get my brevet card stamped one last time. An older French
man put a medal around my neck. Then, he smiled at me and gave me a big
hug. That was one of the best hugs I
ever had!
I’m so
honored and thrilled to have successfully finished PBP with all its punishments, joys,
and traditions. I understand that later
I’ll receive a packet with all the PBP 2019 statistics sliced and diced every
which way. A few figures I do have
already:
- 474 U.S. riders registered for PBP 2019, but
not all of these started the event. Some
percentage also DNFed. Of the 474 U.S.
riders who registered, 61 (12.87%) are women.
- Since 1975, the percentage of women finishers
at PBP from all countries has always been less than 6%. I
expect that 2019 will have a similar percentage.
Thank you
again to Robert, my Audax Atlanta club, Audax Club Parisien, Nate, Jeremy, my Uber
drivers, all the volunteers, the people of France, and everyone who cheered me
on! I couldn’t have done PBP without
each of you. I went into this planning
for it to be my only time doing PBP.
It’s a huge commitment of time and energy. Also, Robert was super supportive, but it
will be a long time before I ask him to make such an effort on my behalf
again. Knowing that this was probably my
one shot at PBP was also a great motivator to finish successfully.
Going back to my initial question: why would someone voluntarily do something as difficult as PBP? I read one randonneur's response: "If you have to ask, you don't understand." That's supposed to be funny, but I think the question is legitimate. In the first few days after PBP, I pondered it. Here's my answer:
PBP is tough and gritty. It gives you satisfaction when you persevere and overcome setbacks. You get to share the journey with a bunch of fascinating other people. You give and receive help and love along the way. The scenery is beautiful. There is joy. It's like a microcosm of life in 90 hours.
Ride on!
Provence
Robert had stayed in Rambouillet the night before my PBP finish. I had plenty of time to take a (marvelous) shower at his hotel room before checkout time. We then headed for Aix-en-Provence in southern France. I've wanted to visit Provence for years, ever since I read a beautiful article about it in National Geographic. The balmy Mediterranean climate was also quite welcome to my post-PBP chilled bones.
A big bonus was that our friend Christian and his girlfriend Eugenia live in Aix-en-Provence. Robert and I have known Christian since he was a teenager in Macon. When Robert and I first started riding with the Macon cycling group, Christian's dad Dave was one of the first people I got to know. Dave told me about what a good cyclist Christian was. I figured that was typical dad bragging, but Christian was the real deal. He was on the USA Cycling Under-23 (U23) team and continued for a while as a pro. Now, Christian is a cycling coach with clients around the world. He can work from anywhere - why not Provence? Actually, he landed there because Eugenia, who is from Colombia, got a job in Aix-en-Provence.
We also met up with our good friend Bill and his two adult daughters, Bryn and Sky. Bill, Bryn, and Sky went with Robert and me on our trip to Mallorca a couple of years ago. They are great traveling companions.
Robert and I took a train from Rambouillet to Paris, where we transferred to another train to Aix-en-Provence. Not surprisingly, I slept most of the way. When we arrived in Aix-en-Provence, Robert and I took an Uber to an Airbnb. Bill, Bryn, and Sky had already checked in. That evening, I thoroughly enjoyed my first real meal post-PBP: salad Nicoise, escargo, and rosé (a specialty of Provence).
The next few days, I enjoyed exploring Aix-en-Provence and generally taking it easy. Although I didn't feel like napping during the day as I expected, it felt good simply to lie on the sofa, reading and relaxing between jaunts around town.
On Friday Bryn, Sky, and I visited Musée Granet while Bill and Robert went for a ride on their rented bicycles. This museum is adjacent to the Church of Saint-Jean-de-Malte, which was built in the 13th century.
In addition to Musée Granet’s permanent exhibit that includes artists like Cézanne, Picasso, and Rembrandt, it has a temporary exhibit with paintings by French artist Fabienne Verdier.
Abstract art usually isn’t my thing, but this artist really intrigues me. This trip and PBP have been such a strong reminder that every person goes through life and sees the world differently, which is a wonderful thing. The key is to be aware of that and try to learn from others’ perspectives. I’ll never see the world the same way this artist does, but I’m glad she tries to share her outlook. All this came out of the fact that I happened to read the description of her replacing her paintbrush handle with bicycle handlebars (toward bottom of this photo):
 |
| Some of Fabienne Verdier’s art created with the bicycle handlebar brush |
A second section of the museum is in a repurposed portion of the church.
When we left the museum, I met Bill and Robert at a coffee shop. On the walk back to the Airbnb, we checked out some of the artistry that infuses everyday French life. This is the largest and most elaborate of the many fountains near our Airbnb. Water sprays from fish mouths and swans ridden by (I think) cherubs. Pairs of lions with clamshells between them encircle the fountain. The fountain also has a sensor that turns off the water when wind speed gets too high.
Even the security chain the surrounds the fountain has a fleur-de-lis motif:
This statue represents industry and art. I can see how being surrounded by art could greatly influence a person’s worldview. I’m reminded of my favorite Rush song, Cygnus X-1 Book II: Hemispheres, which examines the necessary balance between the left brain and the right brain (reason and love).
That evening we all met up with Christian and Eugenia for dinner. I felt festive in the beret that some good friends back home gave me before PBP:
On the way to the restaurant, we walked past this ornate tower adjacent to a government building.
As we walked around after dinner, we heard a lot of live music from various plazas. This band was playing a salsa type of music. Earlier in the evening we heard particularly intriguing music right near our Airbnb; it sounded like cello and didgeridoo of all things.
Christian and Eugenia showed us some ancient Roman ruins that lie beneath Aix-en-Provence. These were discovered only recently when a particular plaza was being reconstructed. The excavation was halted until those in charge could figure out what to do. They left the ruins in place and covered them with glass panels that you can walk on and view the ruins. What an innovative way to preserve the ruins!
The next morning we visited the market. A smaller market with primarily clothes is held daily. A larger market is added on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays that has the most beautiful, fresh food.
 |
| If it lives in the sea, this market has it. I took this photo of sardines in honor of one of my favorite protein sources on brevets. |
That afternoon, while Bill and his daughters drove their rental car to several vineyards, Robert and I visited another museum. As the afternoon faded to evening, we heard more beautiful live music from the various plazas.
We spent Sunday, our last full day in France, visiting Mont Ventoux, "The Giant of Provence." This highest peak in Provence is one of the signature climbs that is often included in the Tour de France. It was painful not to join Christian Bill, and Robert, but I didn’t have a bicycle. (The bike shop in Rambouillet is shipping my PBP bike home.) I could have rented a bicycle, but maybe it’s for the best that I didn’t. I developed tendinitis in my right arm from shifting gears so much during PBP. It probably needed to rest. I still enjoyed seeing this iconic mountain.
 |
| Christian, Bill, and Robert about to begin the climb up Mont Ventoux. |
 |
| There are several routes to the top of Mont Ventoux. The guys went up the Tom Simpson route. |
 |
| Tower at the top of Mont Ventoux |
 |
| Bill passing another guy at the top of Mont Ventoux. You go, Bill! |
 |
| Allez, Robert! |
 |
| Bill, Robert, and Christian at the top of Mont Ventoux |
 |
| Christian and Eugenia |
 |
| Remembering the climb up Brasstown Bald that several of us Middle Georgians did back during the Tour de Georgia |
 |
| Christian, Robert, and Bill taking a break after the climb up Mont Ventoux |
The top of Mont Ventoux is like a moonscape because the elevation and wind prevent much vegetation from growing. (Ventoux means windy in French.) The mistral, a cold, dry, northerly wind common in southern France and neighboring regions, makes the summit especially windy. Wind speeds as high as 320 km/h (200 mph) have been recorded. The wind blows at over 90 km/h (56 mph) for 240 days a year.
We stopped at the memorial to Tom Simpson, who died on the climb up Mont Ventoux in the 1967 Tour de France. “Put me back on my bike.”
Bedoin is the town at the bottom of this side of Mont Ventoux. It's definitely a tourist town, but it has a cool vibe from all the cycling shops. We had lunch at an excellent restaurant. This map made of coffee beans, displayed on a mirror, says hello in several of the world’s languages.
