Uncompatible Systems

Coming back from the New York Art Book Fair I decided to post links of all the exhibitors to my del.icio.us feed under the tag nyartbookfair. Browsing through the list of publishers web sites, I noticed a particular publisher’s mission statement

A.R.T. Press primarily publishes books based on artist to artist conversations. The conversation format permits a thorough and at the same time informal investigation of the artists’ practice and the larger social issues that inform it. By virtue of their clarity, personal focus, affordability, and innovative method of distribution, these books make possible the presentation of contemporary artists and their work to a wide readership.

Then it hit me. Most people I know look at art books because they have large color prints of art they like. But there’s always lots of writing in these books. The writing is usually a conversation with the artist.

I’m going to make a series of recordings of different people reading artists answers to questions in these books. Then the user will call a telephone number. They will be presented with a menu to select from 9 artists to ask a question. Then they will speak their question and press the # key. Then they will hear a response by that artist. This question/answer combination will be recorded and later published as if the two really had that dialog.

Of course most of the dialogs won’t make sense…but the ones that do could be interesting.

Étape 15 - St Quentin - 24 Août 16h30
We’re not to the finish yet but the checkpoint at Dreux is a party. Everyone here, 84 and 90 hour riders are celebrating because they know they can eat lunch and average 20 km/h into the finish and not DNF. There is an old man standing next to the bar playing accordion. I settle down for lunch with Dave. Then, 20 minutes later Grant shows up, smiling like nothing happened. Dave and I were like “what the fuck?!” and he was like, “I put my iPod on and averaged 35 km/h into the headwind through the farms.” At that moment all three of us realized we each had a moment of clarity and broke away into a time trial to this checkpoint. I’m thinking about the last three days, the constant rain, cold, suffering, arguments, sleep deprivation, it means nothing because we all arrived at the last checkpoint with more than enough time to spare and we all did it by riding as hard as we could to get here.

All our differences are reconciled over a beer with lunch. We roll out as a team again. It’s still a crazy scene. 90 hour riders are blowing past us at a blistering pace, 84 hour riders are leisurely strolling through the remaining farmland. We meet a tandem team who’s rear brakes stopped working two days ago. Somehow they got this far and will most likely finish next to us. We start doing a rotating pace line to keep things interesting. A 90 hour rider comes up behind us and asks what we’re doing and if it could help him get to the finish in an hour and 15 minutes. He doesn’t really get the pace line too well but he looks stronger than he’s letting on. We encourage him to hammer it out to the finish. He speeds off. He finished.

With 10 km to go we start telling jokes about the last three days. Will we do a true Paris Brest Paris and ride home after this last 10 km? Do we have a consensus? Yes, the answer is a resounding “hell no.” There is a very short but steep incline. I see a rider fall over trying to pedal up it. I see others accept their exhaustion and walk up. After 750 miles a 10% gradient feels like a mountain. We’re so ready to be done. We’re doing madison exchanges to get there faster.

We arrive to St. Quentin to a massive crowd applauding. There’s a ramp and grant skids into a 90 degree turn and bunny hops off the ramp. I’m on his tail and can only hear oohs and aahs. Perhaps one year I’ll skid through the PBP finish too but right now I’m ecstatic to finish.

We get the cards stamped. It’s official, 83 hours, 30 minutes. Fucking rock! Waiting in line, a man collapses and EMTs rush in to put him on a stretcher. We all finish up with paper work and proceed to procure champagne, beer and foods. PBP is over, we’re not dead and we have to get back to Paris.

This just in, the iPhone looks cool but IT ISN’T FINISHED YET! Don’t buy it. I’ve been using a Samsung Blackjack for about a year now and while it has problems, it can do over the air sync. That means I can input data into my phone, get home and like magic it appears on my laptop computer. This is made possible by software and the fact that my phone is connected to a wireless data network called AT&T wireless service. Suprise! This is the same service the iPhone uses.

The iPhone has THREE RADIOS (wifi, bluetooth, AT&T phone service) but in it’s current version can only sync with a laptop using a USB cable. Seriously? Yes, you have to connect a wire to use a feature of your wireless phone.

Étape 13 - Mortagne au Perche - 24 Août 07h22
Riding into the final dawn, it’s still dark and drizzling. I remember this checkpoint from three days ago, though it looks totally different now. Everyone is tired, people sleeping in corners. I’m alert and determined to go off on my own since my journey here was solo. I broke away from my group as they were arguing some more and being very negative. It was beyond my ability to lend sympathy since I was nearing a DNF due to being behind on all the time controles up to this point.

In the bathroom I was waiting behind a man drying his face with the electric hand dryer. He was short but was stooping unusually low. A friend of his enters the room and they greet each other but his still stooping. I wonder what’s wrong with him. Judging from his conversational tone, he’s aware and alert. Then I overhear him tell his friend that his neck muscles have collapsed and he can no longer hold up his head. He doesn’t seem to be overly concerned with this, since he points out a rope at the back of his helmet held his head up from the last checkpoint. He sounds confident that this system will get him to the finish.

I catch up with Grant and Dave. Dave and I have a serious conversation and we agree that I will pace with them as long as they are willing to work together and accept the fact that we are down on time and there is no way that I’ll accept a DNF this late into the course. We take off for the final checkpoint, another 80 km from here.

Étape 14 - Dreux - 24 Août 11h18
On the way to this checkpoint, it begins to dawn on me that Dave’s promise was in vain. They are both slowing and overwhelmingly negative about riding their bikes. Granted we are all in significant pain and I’m probably in the least of it, riding a road bike with 18 speeds but I can’t take it any longer. I feel like we’ve reached the emotional bottom of the ride, our collective spirits gone into a space of self-pity and despair. I’m quite sad right now and I some to the conclusion that the only thing which will save me is riding harder than I have ever ridden before. I flip to the big ring (WTF was I doing in the small ring anyway), ignore the pain in my backside and get into a race position. I’m hammering 53×16 on the flats and it feels great. Then I realize that if I’m to make up time on the road I can’t stop to eat. I check the reserves: one flask of hammer gel, half a flask of honey stinger and a full bottle of hammer perpetuium. I rarely ride this technical with nutrition but this time it really counts. I do the math and realize that if I can keep this pace, only stopping twice to refill the bottle of perpetuium (which contains maltose, protein and electrolytes and happens to taste like fish food) I’ll make it to Dreux in less than 4 hours. I contemplate how I must look to my team and conclude that it’s a really dick move but I’m okay with that because I’ll be able to say I finished PBP.

The next three hours feel like a race. I’m more alert than I was three days ago, I’m passing hundreds of riders. I feel all the power in my legs going directly into the bike. I assume that other people in the 84 hour group had a similar realization because there are an unusual amount of blue placard (84 hour group) riders going at a similar pace to me. For the first time in three days I’m in a pace line. For the first time in three days I’m riding with strangers and we’re working together. This is what it’s all about.

An older man with flowing grey hair and a yellow beret is on my wheel. I drop back and he pulls for a few miles. We reach a climb and I take off passing people every few seconds. Beret dude is close behind and he’s back on my wheel. We play this game until we roll into a splendid chateau and have to make some “legal” moves through traffic. I run out of fish food and stop for a refill. I know if he keeps this pace I won’t see him again. I say au revoir and he gives a nod. Now I’m by myself. I’m still flying with only the sight of the checkpoint in my mind. Every few minutes I’ll get a strong wave of exhaustion, a feeling strong enough to knock me off the bike. There are riders strewn all over the sides of the road. What a fate, riding 1100 kilometers out of 1200 and getting a DNF because you fell asleep in the bushes.

My fits of exhaustion are increasing and I have to down some hammer gel each time I feel one. Then it gets real weird. I start to see trails along the center and sides of the road. Trees streak by and linger in my sights. Everything has this awesome vibration and I’m real relaxed. I literally feel like I’m on LSD. Recognizing this as a Bad Thing, I start eating as much as I can and popping espresso beans. It works. I snap out of it.

Still hammering away, a familiar face appears next to me. It’s Dave! I look over at him and give a very sincere “what the fuck?!” He has a similar instinct as I, only a few minutes after and somehow caught up to me on his 45×18 single speed. I ask about Grant. He responds with “it doesn’t look good.” I’m sad but I still have some hope. Dave and I roll into Dreux about 3.5 hours after leaving the previous checkpoint, clocking in our fastest time yet.