Uncompatible Systems

While I compose part III of my PBP adventure, here are some other reports from Blog O’Sphere:

Willesden Cycling Club, UK. This report is brief and filled with local info but it’s clear that the author’s pace was almost identical to mine. A good survey of the various injuries that caused the over 1500 withdrawls.

New England Cycling Club. A completely different summary of this club in the Vedette group, shooting for a sub 80 hour finish.

Joel Metz, Magpie Messenger Collective. Pictured below, dozing off in the background on the train ride back to Paris after finishing this year’s PBP, Joel is co-owner of of the Magpie bike messenger collective in Portland, OR.

Étape 4 - Tinténiac - 22 Août 00h20

The sun sets and I get tired but I’m still alert. It’s raining again and cold. This is the first descent into darkness. After a few hours we meet up with a nice Australian rider on a folding bike. Despite the size of his wheels, he’s fast and we’re happy to have a conversation with a new person to keep us awake in the cold rainy blackness of this first night in Bretagne. Grant and I catch up with Dave and the four of us arrive to the controle two hours before closing. Our friend leaves us to use those last two hours for sleep. There’s a large amount of people at the controle despite the late hour. We eat some snacks and continue into the darkest part of the evening, back into the cold rain.

Étape 5 - Loudéac - 22 Août 4h45
We’re now riding into the next morning. We’ve been awake for 24 hours in the middle of this stage. By the time we get to the controle it’ll be 29 hours of waking and 24 hours of riding. At around 3 AM the front peloton passes us on their way back from Brest. They began six hours prior but have already rode 400 miles. That means they have been riding for 28 hours already and are over half done. I see the aftermath of an accident where a rider crashed after falling asleep on his bike. I get a glimpse of a half conscious bloody face on a body being lifted by two EMTs. I’m slowing down and getting really drowsy. Eating helps. Coffee would help but it’s too late for anything in these almost vacant farm towns to be open. I hit a low point when the rain starts up again and the temperature drops to 12 degrees celsius. We near the controle and realize we can’t get more than 2 hours of sleep without having to make up time on the road by riding harder. I’m not ready to accept this so I find the last amount of strength and time trial it to the finish for some extra minutes at the controle. My legs are burning but I can’t slow down. We get to the controle 40 minutes ahead of the expected time.

Going back in time, I think of the day before the start when I meet a man on the train ride back from registration. He told me this is his third PBP. He’s in his 40s and is very mild mannered and polite. I ask him if he would advise I ride hard on the first day, trying to get as far as Loudéac before sleeping. He tells me I should spend as little time there as possible, referring to the controle as “night of the living dead”. He recommends I ride through dawn the next morning and make it to Carhaix, 525 km from the start. He then tells me he expects to arrive at Brest 22 hours after the start, finishing the whole thing in around 50 hours. He is referred to as 50 Cent by my group from here on out and his advice is taken with a grain of salt.

When the three of us roll into Loudéac, fity’s words ring true. It’s pitch black, cold, wet and there are thousands of bikes everywhere. The parking lot is lit by three dim street lamps. People who started in the 90 hour group underdressed for the rain find their support cars or drop bags and try and stop their hypothermia. The bathrooms are not enclosed and don’t even have toilet seats. My fingers are numb. I get my card stamped, down some recovery drink and sign up to spend three hours in a bed.

There are 300 WWII era mattresses in a large gym with a wool blanket at the foot of each. Most are occupied and there are disturbing noises coming from some. They are not snoring, but a cross between moans, growls and snores. I change into my dry clothes which fortunately stayed dry in my bag and go to sleep. I wake up one and a half hours later to Grant freaking out about leaving now or we’ll miss the next controle cut off. I hate life, I’m cursing this ride and I’m perfectly ready to pack it in and go back to Paris. Then I remember I have no way to get back to Paris other than by bike. The randonneuer challenge: intentionally maroon yourself hundreds of miles from your home and figure out how to make it back in one piece. Awesome! It takes all the courage I have to put the still damp arm and leg warmers back on and face the outside temperature, now 10 degrees celsius at 7:30AM on the official second day of the ride. Lucky for me after eating some food and getting back on the bike I feel better and ride on.

Prologue
Arriving in Paris with three days to spare. The whole city has a feeling of PBP. I see bike cases from other countries at the arrival gate, still expecting everyone to speak english, I speak to a Korean man and he looks at me confused and says something in French I don’t understand. A woman from England on the train from the airport to the flat is talking to an English man about “this bike thing” her husband is doing. It is his third and she says she’s getting sick of going to them.

Riding through Paris I run into another group of Americans, for some reason in full kit touring the city before PBP. They gawk at Grant’s fixed gear. They are nice enough.

Étape 1 - St Quentin en-Yvelines - 21 5h00

We wake up at 12:30 AM to ride 30 km from Paris to the start, which is in a collection of suburbs called St Quentin et Yvelines. Registration is in a subdivision named Guyancort. We joke about being one of the few who are actually doing Paris Brest Paris rather than Guyancort Brest Guyancort. I’m in the 84 hour group, which means I start 6 hours behind everyone else. It’s 5AM and we roll out to applause. Leaving the city takes about 30 minutes then it’s all farms and charming small towns through Normandy. There is a rainbow at sunrise. This is nice but it means rain. When the storm is fully in effect, we stop and put on rain gear. The temperature is about 15 degrees Celsius.

Étape 2 - Villaines la Juhle - 21 15h15
The first controle is 222 km from the start. Not even one controle in and the distance is longer than the first qualifying brevet of 200 km. We get there in the afternoon and the rain has stopped. This refreshing break was taken advantage of and we spend way too long eating and drinking wine. We get back on the road looking at a time deficit which we will battle until the finish.

Étape 3 - Fougères - 21 Août 20h19

Riding into this castle city at sunset, the rain has again subsided and we roll into the city. Though dry, there hasn’t been any sunlight since Villaines. We eat a big dinner of chicken and noodles. We’re still behind on time a little so we decide we’re going to ride through the nite and make it as far as we can. The goal is to get to Brest without sleep. Short of that we all agree to ride at least 300 miles. Our average speed is lower than normal but Grant and I are weary of pushing it any harder since we have no idea what lies ahead since this is our first time on the course. Dave has other plans and he speeds ahead.

I’ve always wanted to ride up the hudson river and into the catskills. I didn’t have a route until the NJ Rando series came around. But this route is intimidating. 380 miles, 23,000 feet of elevation gain and three climbs with the word “mountain” in front. I decide not to think about it…then Grant and I ride from Brooklyn to a hotel in Englewood, New Jersey friday afternoon to get some sleep before the 5AM start. The secret was in place: big dinner, warm bath, beer, tylenol PM and a soccer match on TV. We were both out by 8PM.

Waking up was simple and all gear was packed. My load was significantly lighter this time despite carrying more tools and a spare tire. We register, light inspection and off into the 5AM pre-dawn. The first 200k is relaxing but nothing special. We do the all too familiar 9W ride through Piermont and Nyack, then further to Upper Nyack and Bear Mountain state park. The climbs are not hard and I’m awake and relaxed.

We pass Indian Point, the notorious nuclear power facility along the hudson. Some call it NYC’s biggest terrorist target. To me it just looks like some kind of Logan’s Run reference to a bright future.

Then over the hudson and up the east bank. Flat, flat, flat. That’s nice. I get worried that something must be wrong with the elevation estimate. Nearing 12 noon we cross back over the Hudson at Catskill, NY. The mountains appear. They are big. I forget them for a while and eating lunch is awesome. Tuna sandwich and a beer. Word up to the old school. Beer is good for riding, gives you calories and calms the nerves. Peroni seems to be the best.

Then the approach. Up the mountains with the afternoon sun. Climbing, standing on the pedals with back arched and chin up. Spinning as much as my 42×25 will let me. Far from a race gear but it’s enough to get up the hill ahead of the group. Maybe one day I can do this at 43×19, just like Krabbe in The Rider. It feels great for the first half but then I start to overheat. Chills shoot down my back, the first sign of heat exhaustion. I have to stop, dump water over my head and take off the hat. That simple move made all the difference and I climb back up the ridge and arrive at the top, feeling tired but overwhelmed with my first real mountain ascent.

We regroup and cascade up and down route 23A onto 214 into Phoenicia. At this stop I meet up with my third rider, George’s family. His wife and two children took a day in the mountains to visit pops on his adventure. We get ice cream and chat, trying not to be too gross in non-riding company considering the day has brought us 155 miles already and our jerseys are quite salty.

Back out of Phoenicia and through the mountains for what seems like forever. Up, down, up, down…then…there is this fabled climb. 5 miles of ascent with the steepest gradient at the top. Three false peaks. The name everyone has been calling it is slide mountain. At first it’s not terrible. Steep, I’m back in 42×25 and pulling at the ends of my bars. Then, without notice it spikes up. I’m pulling as hard as I can, still in the front and trying to regulate breathing. With each inhalation I can feel the oxygen going to my legs, helping them fight gravity. Eventually I have to start tacking up the hill to keep cadence and recover. First turn, no tree line in sight, just more up. Deep breath and mash some more. Second turn, still no tree line in sight. Breathing faster, lungs getting bigger, making good progress up. I hear a scream behind me. Grant is pushing 70 inches on a fixed wheel. He warned me about this and I don’t panic. It sounds more encouraging than fearful, as I know this sounds means he’s still on the bike. I’m fighting to stay upright and to keep my legs from cramping. Water, pedal, sugar gel, pedal, water, sugar gel, pedal, third turn where I can actually see the tree line and above that nothing but blue sky! There’s a 20 meter break in the gradient where I get back in the saddle and keep the lowest cadence I can without falling over. Once I stop floating I push as hard as I can and mash up the final ascent. It hurts more than anything I have ever felt. I’m gasping for air but I make it.

Then something amazing happens. I’m overheated, almost out of water and in pain but I spin over the peak and immediately descend. I feel better than I ever have on a bike. It’s like I just took drugs, seriously. I’m descending in ecstasy at 40 mph, laughing about what’s behind me. I do not resent this mountain. I respect it for not killing me when it easily could have.

Later in the ride I spoke about this and Grant squashed my poetry with nothing more than “oh yeah, those are endorphins. They make you feel real good because your body is in extreme pain. You probably hit some kind of peak when there’s more endorphins than lactic acid, so you got high.”

While climbing mountains is far more gratifying than buying E off some street guy, it’s hella harder. Drugs are good if you don’t like riding.

So that’s that. We descend. Little ups, downs, nothing memorable. Then we roll into Liberty, NY. I hear this is a place for Hassid summer camps and youth recovery programs. So there’s funny hat wearing gentlemen and gangstas from NYC who’s parents want them to “recover”. Awesome! I don’t give a fuck after that mountain and all I can think about now is drinking a beer in the hotel room and getting some sleep, which is exactly what I do.

Three hours later I wake up and eat breakfast. Not too sleepy, though it’s strange to be awake at 2AM ready again to ride. I regroup after breakfast and we’re ready to roll once again. The night is quiet. People are starting to come home from their saturday night parties, drunkenly driving through mountain roads. One couple of guys was nice enough to remind the three of us that we should be driving cars at this hour, not riding on bikes. But compared to my relaxation and his stress I don’t think he was right.

Riding through the night was amazing. So peaceful and quiet, warm air and stars everywhere. Grant held up his phone in speaker mode and played a slow Velvet Underground song. One of the more memorable moments I’ve had on a bike. Then we settled in and pedaled away. When dawn broke I became hungry and extremely tired. It was all psychological. Dawn equals sleep. Some mental block I need to get over. I pushed through Peekamoose river road and was rewarded with some of the more beautiful scenery of the ride. This included a rock quarry and miles of riverside riding. We roll into the breakfast checkpoint and I eat a bunch, drink coffee and stretch out some more. I’m not feeling too tired, as dawn was just a trick and it’s bright out at 7:30AM. I continue and the temperature rises. Soon it’s over 80 degrees and not even noon yet. I roll past New Paltz, through some farm land and let the sun beat down on my arms, which have become significantly darker than any other part of my body.

Then the ridge of Monhonk mountain appears in the distance. The road approaches carefully, not too hard then there’s a switchback and it rises. There is a sign at the rise that an 11 foot bridge is 2 miles from here. This serves as a benchmark and after mashing up the mountain I see the 11 foot bridge warning again and I know this last lump marks the top. I sprint it, slow and roll in circles as I pour water over my head. The other side of Monhonk is steep and I take in the scenery as I say goodbye to the Catskills. The mountains are over, it’s all valley for a good while.

We roll through lots of farm land and into a McDonalds, which is one of the strangest checkpoints in the whole 2007 brevet series. Kids, bitchy moms, angry dads and cartoon food assault my senses as I stand there and order a number six and stretch out by touching my toes. The food tastes like it should and I don’t really care at this point. I’m pretty tired and it’s 95 degrees outside. Then we’re off again, into the blazing sunlight and over a large ridge descending into Harriman state park.

This part rocks. I’m feeling great and the road is covered by trees. I stand on the pedals and get into climbing position. I have more leverage this time and shift to higher gears. Having a mountain of this size this late in the ride was intimidating on paper but I’m loving this climb. I get to the top and stop at a lake to cool off. Nature’s air conditioner works well. I regroup once again and descend the ridge of the park. This is the fastest descent of the ride. I don’t have a computer but I’m convinced I hit 50 since my fixed buddy hit 39. We roll into Congers in the 95 degree heat. I drink water and eat pizza. We all feel good if not sleep deprived and over heated. The next part is only 25 miles and it’s all on 9W, which is familiar as ever. Grant and I get some last minute energy and both float up the hill from rockland state park. After that it’s all flat back into Engelwood and the hotel parking lot. I gently coast into the finish. Turn in the brevet card with a time of 37 hours and 40 minutes.

This was the best one yet. The celebration at Marlow was especially grand, with beer, oysters, raw cow cheese, rabbit stew and two deserts of ice cream and chocolate cake. Our waitress took one look at both of us and was brutally honest, “you look like you’re on lots of drugs.” She was right, but these drugs aren’t the ones with acronyms that get you suspended from the tour.