Uncompatible Systems

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.

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.

Secret #2
A nice secret checkpoint with food. We eat stuff. It’s yummy and we meet a new friend from texas. She’s fiery and doesn’t seem to show any sign of weakness despite bring over 500 miles into the ride. Back home she’s a racer and we chat about road and track fields and the scandals of the pros.

Étape 10 - Tinténiac (retour) - 23 Août 14h40
Still no sunlight on the third day. It’s going on 24 hours without any sun at this point. I’m still depressed and cold. My butt hurts. I’m falling asleep again. I know that I have to sleep at the next checkpoint but despite the knowledge of the current time and the distance to the next controle, my exhausted mind can’t do the math to help me figure out when I might arrive.

Étape 11 - Fougères (retour) - 23 Août 18h46
I have to pull another short time trial to the checkpoint to get some more sleep hours in before Grant and Dave arrive. I mix some recovery drink and curl up on a gym mat. The sound of the controle closing wakes me up. I pick up my bike to find that the front tire is flat. We are seriously down on time now and all three of us feel bad. We leave at sunset and accept another night of riding.

Étape 12 - Villaines la Juhle (retour) - 24 Août 00h30
Grant is now exhausted and Dave and I are boxing him in to help keep the pace up. Getting to Villaines is a landmark, as it was out first checkpoint on the way out. It’s also the 1000k mark. Word on the road for first timers is that if you make 1000k you’ll finish. So we need to get here with enough time to sleep for an hour, eat and get back on the road to make up any deficit. Our pace line is efficient and we’re making good time. But it’s a long dark road ahead and Grant and Dave get into an argument.

I’m feeling alone at this point and I have to make the decision to stick with my team and risk a DNF or take off on my own and finish for sure. Their middle of the night argument seals the deal. We’re all cranky and not thinking straight but not only did my breakaway wake me up, it lightened my spirits a bit. My legs felt new. I crouched down and hammered away into the invisible horizon. Nearing the end, my headlamp batteries were running very low and I have to stop and change them. The others pass me as I do this and we catch up to each other with the final stretch in sight. We get excited and forget our differences and hammer up a hill that’s filled with a train of red tail lights as far as the eye can see. Rando riders aren’t especially good climbers, so the three of us pass about 100 people in the last 20 km of this stage. I was like pacman going over that hill, eating up tail lights.

We roll into the checkpoint, eat and sleep on a wooden cafeteria bench. We find the only space heater in the gym, gather around it like moths and thaw our eternally damp feet. This was the first heater I found at any controle. It was a nice sleep. We ride out into our final morning.

Secret controle #1
I think this is where this secret controle was. I was fairly delirious at this point so all I remember is how sad I was to discover it was an unofficial controle. They did have food, which gave a nice boost.

Étape 6 - Carhaix - 22 Août 11h18
Seemingly endless, we struggle into Carhaix with some of the only sunlight of the second day. The bulk of the previous hours were covered with clouds and rain. This controle is bustling and the momentary sunlight gives people a celebratory feeling. My camera lens is clouded with condensation from the sudden temperature change. We all eat a big lunch and take a nap for 30 minutes in the sun. The anticipation of one more checkpoint to go until Brest makes the next stage even longer, but it’s easier to stay awake with anticipation.

Étape 7 - Brest - 22 Août 18h17
More darkness and rain then a long descent, spectacular bridge and a clearing into Brest. Mentally it took longer because of fatigue and anticipation of the half way point arriving. The town is beautiful. It reminds me of San Francisco. I take a nap and a shower. I feel great. I don’t really want to leave Brest but then the same nagging voice tells me I can only get back to Paris by riding there. The three of us leave the 600 km mark feeling good.

Étape 8 - Carhaix (retour) - 23 Août 00h16
The good feelings end quickly when we ride back into the clouds. More darkness and rain. I’m hitting a low point again as the sun sets and we prepare to ride into the next day. Soaked from rain we roll into this checkpoint planning on sleep but already behind on time. Fortunately, there is a rumor floating around that we have two extra hours at each control due to a high number of withdrawals yesterday and a lower average speed for a bulk of riders. I walk around, try and figure out some hacked together french to ask the controle lady if this rumor is true. She understands what I’m saying and responds in English. We do indeed have two more hours at each controle, but our total time is not extended, so any hours spent off the road must be made up by riding faster. I need every minute of these extra hours. I need to try to sleep but there is nowhere to lay down except the cold tile floor under a cafeteria table. I wake up shivering an hour later. I’m using my water logged bag as a pillow. The saving grace was my ipod, which I used to drown out other noises and keep focused on sleeping. Compared to Loudèac this sleep stop was the farthest thing from comfortable and I’m happy to wake up, stop shivering and get back on the road, this time in pitch blackness and more rain. We ride through our second night.

Étape 9 - Loudèac (retour) - 23 Août 07h56
I almost lost it on the way to this checkpoint. My mind wouldn’t move my legs and I was convinced I would fall over while riding. After a very kind intervention by Grant and Dave, shielding me from the cross wind, giving me some extra food and telling some jokes, I got over the dark place and came back to life. It convinced me that I was doing fine physically and I could ride harder, especially since I’m over half way there. All the PBP stories I read contain a moment like this, and it is always mental. The problem is you never know when you get there, sometimes needing an outside influence to get out. I’m grateful for my riding partners. If I were alone I would have packed at this point. We roll into Loudèac for the second time. It is early morning and far less populated this time. The living dead have left long ago and either packed at Carhaix or Brest for the DNF or are lagging even further behind us. I’m feeling better after a breakfast that looks suspiciously like dinner and the three of us pass out on the cafeteria table for 30 minutes. Andrew Dade, representing the Welsh Cardiff Byways Cycling Club with their charming pink berets snaps a picture of us. We have been only a few minutes behind them at every controle since Villaines two days ago.