The great adventure began in Berlin Saturday August 21st. Matthias and myself packed the car with our bikes and baggage setting off for Paris with the uneasy feeling, we'd forgotten something. After 11 hours of driving we reached Paris and enjoyed a relaxing evening with a little sightseeing at the l'Arche de Defence. On Sunday we made our way to starting point of PBP in the suburbs of Paris at Saint-Quentin d'Yvelinnes (SQY) to check in our bikes and collect our papers.We had registered for the 84-hour start and would set off for Brest at 5am Monday morning.
Those riding the 80 and 90-hour rides would start from 4pm to 10pm on the Sunday. There was a great festival atmosphere at the start and we met lots of riders we knew from Berlin and elsewhere and had a chat over sandwiches and drinks. Franz entertained us with numerous stories of his mishaps on the journey so far, such as how he had tried to push his bike box through a turnstile in the Paris Metro and got completely stuck.
As we left to move the car to the long-term parking the 80-hour riders were already queuing up in the tunnel leading into the stadium where there road-books would get their first stamp and soon after they'd be on their way to Brest in blocks of 200 riders. After setting up our bed in the car at the multi-story car-park we kitted our bikes out with their frame numbers and headed back to the start to watch the starters.It seemed everybody on the 90-hour start had turned up at once. The queue reached past the entrance to the roundabout with about 3000 people standing in the searing heat. The riders at the back of the queue would have to wait over 2 hours to start and their water bottles would probably be empty before they even started.
We watched all the group starts and managed to wish Alex and Klaus "bon route". The atmosphere was electric and I began to wish we had chosen the 90-hour start, though certain advantages to our strategy (like not having to queue for two hours) were becoming apparent.After a nice meal at a "Flunch" in SQY we went back to car to try and get as much sleep as possible before our start at 4am. Unfortunately annoying classical music was being piped into the car-park making it hard to sleep but thankfully that ended at 10pm. Then at 2am the first randonneurs started arriving for the 84-hour start, their car tyres squeeking loudly on the painted floor.
We woke at 4am not entirely rested but full of motivation.
At the start there was very little of the buzz that had been just hours previously and only a small queue had gathered with half the starters in front of us and the rest arriving slowly after us. We got our books stamped and moved out onto the road where we gathered at the front of our block. While we waited for the starting gun it started to rain. We had chosen not to use mudguards and I was now beginning to think that this was a big mistake.
Finally we set off with the pace car guiding us for the first 20km. Shortly after the pace car left us the rain stopped and the pace sped up to 30+kmh only to fall apart on the first hill. We quickly got dropped but by the third hill managed to hold the pace. We stayed with the faster groups from our block until the first control at Mortagne-au-Perche (158km). Our average pace here was 31 kmh.
We didn't have to stamp here so we just filled up our water bottles and were about to set-off when it started to rain heavily. We decided to take shelter and set-off 15 minutes later. It was here that I really started to regret taking the mudguards off the bike. The roads were wet and it rained on and off all the way to next stop in Villaines-la-Juhel. Well ahead of our schedule but thoroughly wet we decided to eat here. The shabby gymnasium of the town school was cheerfully decorated with cycling pictures drawn by the school children and a number of young kids were enthusiastically carrying the randonneurs trays from the canteen to the dining hall in the gym. The rain had become heavier while we were eating and I now realised that my saddlebag and it's contents were thoroughly soaked so I put the damp clothes in a plastic bag to stop them getting even wetter.
As we continued, the rain let up and we were just getting into our stride and starting to dry out when Matthias got a flat. We quickly set about changing the tube when the officials stopped alongside to help. With the stand-pump and a present of a spare tube we were quickly back on the road, unfortunately it started to rain heavily again.
We now realised that a storm front was following us. Thundery clouds were rapidly gathering overhead while we could see sunny patches of land not far from the left and right of us.
Between Villaines and Fougeres we got caught in four extreme thunder storms with heavy rain mixed with hail at times and gusty winds. Forks of lightening were striking the ground in close proximity and one rider told us how a lightening bolt had hit the ditch just meters in front him. We sheltered twice during the heaviest rain only to get caught in worse rain a few kms further up the road. On the long decent into Fougeres the water was rim deep on the road and coming at us in torrents from every direction as we plummeted at 50 kmh to the next control.
Having eaten in Villaines we only had a short stop here so that Matthias could fill up on water, I still had plenty. It soon got dark after we left Fougeres and the rain continued although not as heavy as in the afternoon. Nonetheless we reached Tinteniac wet and tired, so after we got our stamps we inquired about a bed. There was no queue, we booked our beds headed to the canteen for the usual menu, soup, pasta and sauce, desert and a Kronenburg. The control at Fougeres is a boarding school so they had proper beds in four bed dormitories. We asked to be woken at 2am after 3 hours of well earned sleep.
The dormitory was being run by local teenagers and when two pretty young girls woke me, I hadn't a clue where I was. To make it worse I had ear plugs in and couldn't hear anything which made everything even more surreal. Still it only took a minute or two and I was packing my bag and putting on all the dry clothes I had for what I thought would be a cold stretch to Loudeac in the early hours of the morning. When I got to the door of the dormitory I couldn't believe that it was still raining heavily. The thought of putting my wet clothes back on again was too grim so we set off into the darkness.
Somebody answered our prayers and the rain finally stopped so that we were dry again by the secret control at Illifaut. We stocked up on bananas and had a cup of coffee and a pastry for breakfast here. The night had been warm and even at dawn we had our fingerless gloves on.
Loudeac was the first really busy control we came to. Up until now we had been at the back of the field and hadn't caught up with slower riders from the 90-hour start. Lots of 80, 84 and even 90-hour riders must have slept at Loudeac and were now having breakfast and setting off in both directions. I decided to have a power-nap on the table in the canteen while Matthias did his usual business. He met fellow Berliner Franz, now on his way back to Paris but in bad shape. He had decided to quit here, we found out later he had fractured his arm. All in all through a lack of communication we lost precious time here and most of the larger groups had left ahead of by the time we set off.
Day 2
Setting out from Loudeac we were sure that we were now behind schedule and that we would soon be out of time. This stayed a constant problem for me right up to the second last control. The printouts I had made with cut off times etc. were now soaked and illegible. My phone which was also my GPS had stopped working from all the rain and my odometer was showing more and more kms at every control so calculating my progress became such a headache I gave up completely after Carhaix which we reached at midday. My plan was to be in Brest by then. We reached it in the early evening an hour before the cut-off. There was no food left at the control so we went to Mc Donalds (in the interest of saving time). Back at the control our bikes were amongst the ten to twenty bikes left. The control was closed and everything in the huge hall was being dismantled and packed away, a worrying situation to say the least. I had a short rest on one of the damp, smelly and very dirty mats lined along the walls of the gym.
On the way out of Brest we got into a small group doing a descent pace. We descended a hill on the outskirts of Brest with a roundabout at the bottom, just as I came out of the roundabout my back wheel jammed and I skidded to a halt. My jersey had fallen from where it was rolled up on the saddlebag to dry onto the wheel and bunched up under the rear brake. We had to remove the back wheel –which also meant deflating it– to get it out, losing the group we were with and more precious time. Conscious now of not stopping for anything else we started powering up the long hill outside Brest which was shrouded in mist. Although the control was long closed a string of riders were still coming against us. The we saw a young japanese rider on foot pushing his bike along the middle of the road. Reluctantly we stopped and pulled over to the side of the road. He was under-sugared and completely disoriented but with the help of chocolate, coke and a very helpful french driver who took him to Brest we were back on the road after about 30 Minutes.
There was only one more delay before Carhaix. A french rider asked to use my phone to call his wife because he had fixed the same puncture 3 times and was now giving up. We persuaded him to take a tube, try again and come with us. He got about 10km when the tyre punctured again. Then it transpired he didn't even know his wife's mobile number. I suggested he walk, cycle on the rim, whatever (I now know that stuffing the tyre with grass is a good alternative), just try and get to control which I reckoned was only 10km away. An hour and a half later we reached Carhaix.
I needed another short rest here and Matthias wanted to push on so we split up. When I left Carhaix at 1AM, I was only 30 Minutes ahead of the time limit.
Day 3
As the day rolled on there were noticeably more riders which hopefully meant I was catching up. The weather was glorious and what little wind was there was at my back. Now on my own I was able to ride at my own pace. I took turns with quite a few riders who like me seemed to want catch up. The hills however exploded any of the groups that came about. I was feeling good and enjoying the buzz. I was powering up the hills on the larger chainring to keep rolling.
The only dry socks I had were woolen ones which were even too warm for the night on PBP so I had to take them off as the weather got warmer. As I rolled on however I noticed my left ankle was swelling. I was sharing experiences of the ride so far with an american rider who was complaining about the suffering he was going through with his behind. He had a big bag of Ibuprofen with him and suggested I take two to stop the swelling. When I was leaving Fougeres I bought some Ibuprofen gel and it seemed to stop the swelling somewhat.
A beautiful summer's day was drawing to a close as I reached Villaines and the whole town seemed to be at the control point soaking up the great atmosphere. I felt much better about the time limit now. I was about 3 hours up and had eaten at the last stop, so I just refilled my bottles and set off again with Salvatore whom I had met the previous day.As I was coming to the end of the hill below the control my front tyre went squishy and I had to stop. I realized then I'd forgotten to replace the tube I used the day before so I had to walk back to the control, not far mind. As I changed the tube I had about 20 onlookers all asking me questions and presumably giving me tips in French which I couldn't understand and what should've taken 5 minutes took half an hour.
When I finally set of from Villaines it was dark and the hills became relentless. I started to feel dozy again and needing full concentration on the descents of the hills to come I decided to roll out my mat and sleeping bag on a patch of concrete in front of a cow barn with about ten other riders. I set my alarm for 45 minutes but woke before it went off.
I was completely disoriented not really knowing who, what or why I was where I was. Instintively I packed up my roll and got back on the bike and started up hill in the right direction. I took me about 5 minutes to really wake up and when I did I saw a rider lying on the road surrounded by cars, his bike lay in the ditch about 25m down the hill. He must have dozed-off on the downhill and hit the oncoming traffic. Now I was awake and determined to stay awake.
The last night became a minor nightmare. Every village I came to seemed like it must finally be Mortagne and the sound of voices or riders stopped beside lit up stands on the road would raise my hopes only to realise coming into the village that it was St. Christoph-du-whatever and it was just locals out giving the riders much needed support with coffee and shouting only 20km to Mortagne. Between the villages riders and their bikes were strewn everywhere; in ditches, in fields on traffic islands and even on the edge of the road. Most left their lights on so it was hard to tell whether they had crashed or stopped for a rest. I was starting to feel drowsy again so I stopped a few times putting my head on my arms mounted on the handle bars while still straddling the bike. When deep sleep starts to set in the knees give way and you wake up and set of again - it really does work.
When I finally got to Mortagne at 4 am, I knew I'd finish the ride. I had 2 hours to spare, only 140km to go and time till 5 pm (13 hours) the next day to do it. So I inquired about a bed and got some food and a well earned beer. I met up with Matthias who'd had a rest in the dining hall, where amongst the snoring of the countless other riders strewn in every corner and the awful loud music they were playing it was hard to manage that anybody could get to spleen. He said it hadn't done him much good but that he would set off. I was tempted to go with him but after the nightmare stretch I'd just had the thought of lying down in a proper bed for 2 hours was too tempting.
The dormitory was a gym full of camping beds. In the low light I could make out that there were still about fifty riders asleep. I stuck my earplugs in my ear and set my mobile to wake me in 2 hours times. Again I woke before the alarm to a strange clattering sound when I opened my eyes I saw that most of the beds had been clapped together and piled up around the gym. Feeling a bit like Raymond Brigg's Father Christmas on Holidays it was time to be moving on.
Day 4
I left Mortagne 1 hour over the time limit as dawn was just breaking. It promised to be anther spectacular day and I now felt well rested and looking forward to Paris and the ride that lay ahead. I was passing numerous groups of riders and passed one group particularly fast only to take a wrong turn and have to embarrassingly pass them again ten minutes later. Then I passed Salvatore who was plodding along, headphones on, listening to the cricket results. I interrupted him and he keenly put his headphones away as if we had unfinished business to chat about which had been interrupted the day before. We really didn't stop chatting for the rest of the day.
Coming into Dreux at high speed, an official helper ushered me into the entrance. I wanted to ramp up the curve at a steeper angle but the man with the flag misunderstood me thinking I was going miss the entrance and took a few steps towards me his hands outstretched. I managed to avoid hitting him but as soon as I was up on the pavement I came off it again into a parking space now hitting the second curb at an angle and doing an elegant roll onto the pavement to the amusement of Salvatore and the other riders behind me. I didn't hurt myself but I was beginning to realise one can't cycle indefinitely.
The atmosphere in Dreux was really relaxed everyone knowing they'd make it to Paris with only 65km to go. Here Salvatore and I teamed up Claude who was over 70 and on his eight PBP.
My ankle was the size of a tennis ball as we rolled into Paris which I didn't find as much of a challenge as most people made out but maybe I'm used to city cycling. Salvatore was saying how he found the end to be a bit of an anticlimax. I had been much more relieved to reach Mortagne the night before than Paris. I got to the roundabout in SQY shortly before 4pm, perfect timing, with a total time of 82 h 39 mins.
There weren't many spectators left at the finish but a few riders from Berlin were there and gave me a warm round of applause.
I met up with Matthias who was alarmed at the sight of my ankle. We picked up our free drink had a shower and went back to our temporary home in the multistory car park packed up the car and left SQY where everything was quickly returning to normal again.
We spent another evening with Valerie in Paris who had to put up with either one of us dozing off while the other recounted the ride and vice-versa. The next day we drove to Cologne and spent the night there with friends of Matthias' and then home to Berlin on the Saturday, well and truly wrecked but still buzzing at the same time.
On the whole PBP is a magnificent event. If you'd like to feel the highs and lows of being the greatest hero on two wheels one minute and a miserable whinging loser the next - do PBP.
There's a lot of debate about which starting time is the best. Having only done the morning 84-hour start I have no comparison but I think you miss out on a lot of the PBP flair on this start, then again for me it had all the flair it needed.
My dream of cycling PBP on a bike (frame) I built myself has now been most satisfactorily fulfilled.
I haven't yet mentioned the incredible support of the french en Route. It surpassed anything I have experienced yet. I only regret my French was so bad I couldn't thank the numerous helpful souls on the side of the road, cheering the riders on, around the clock. So if you plan to do PBP, do yourself a favour and brush up on your French it will make your ride all the more enjoyable.
