Contact: Mark Wooldridge
E-mail
mdwrhw@myriad.net
Click on the photos to get an enlargement and any comments on the scene.
The long-awaited PBP was here! My wife Ruby and I had come over from the US, and toured Paris for 5 days prior to the start of the ride, but the PBP was finally starting. First off, what is the PBP? It's the Paris-Brest-Paris bicycle ride, a 1200 km bike randonnee that is conducted over a fixed length of time, either 80, 84, or 90 hours depending on the choice of the rider. It's in a style of riding called randonneuring, where the rider can get support only at periodic control points (every 50-100 miles) and must be self-supporting in between. It's only run every four years, and has a long history dating back over a hundred years. In 1999 over 4000 riders took part. After our flight arrived in Paris at the Charles de Gaulle airport, we took a bus over to our hotel, the Gril. We were staying in a small suburb on the southwest corner of Paris called Plaisir. The PBP actually begins in Guyancourt-Saint Quentin en Yvelines, about 20 miles southwest of central Paris, at the Gymnase des Droits de l'Homme; we were staying about 10 km away.
Our hotel was a little bit off-kilter because of the cyclists arrival. Normally August is a down-time for this area, with most locals on vacation. The hotel was packed, however, with cyclists booked through a travel agent from the US. The food in the area was limited, however, with the hotel kitchen shut down for lunch and dinner. Transport to the RER train station at St. Quentin and the start area of the PBP was limited to buses every hour or so during the week and every few hours on the weekend. Taxis from the train station to our hotel were only 85 FF ($15), though, so if you missed the last bus back you did have a choice besides walking the 10 km. The hotel staff members were very friendly and struggled very diligently to help us with our problems, even though their English wasn't perfect (I'm not complaining--my French is non-existent other than merci and sil vous plaits).
The first 5 days or so we did the tourist routine. It was really fun to roam around Paris, visiting the various sights that we had read about and seen pictures of. I just about walked my legs off in those days. I didn't have to worry about getting any exercise--rather, I was getting way too much!
Ruby and I met a number of people from the states at the hotel. It was interesting looking at the various bicycle crates and watching everyone unpacking their bikes. The storage room quickly filled with stacked crates and assembled bikes. It was wall-to-wall bikes very quickly. Removing your bike from the back row sometimes took a while, shifting the bikes around while being careful to avoid scratching the multi-thousand dollar machines. My bike (a 1990 Cannondale) huddled sheepishly in the corner most of the time, suffering somewhat in comparison to the various Litespeeds and the like.
The first real PBP event was the bike check. In registration we had to choose a time for getting our bike approved for the ride; this included checking the headlights, taillights, 3 spare bulbs, the rider's reflective vest, and the general sea-worthiness of the bike. Accordingly, I went in on Sunday morning and worked my way through the lines. The only real comment at the check was that my rack bag was a little floppy and could use some reinforcement. I reassured the inspector that I would brace it and he passed my bike (although I tied the bag down better, it still was quite unsteady toward the end of the ride–fortunately, it managed to stay on). I then went into the gymnasium and completed picking up my registration packet. It included the magnetic card and the book that were used to record my passage through each control point on the ride, checking to make sure that I was on-time and hadn't missed any required stop. My Super-Randonneur medal was missing from the packet, although I didn't find out it was supposed to be included until quite a bit later.
Although a 40-km prologue is offered to all riders, I skipped it to get a little rest prior to beginning the PBP; I didn't manage to rest much anyway, though. I was too nervous about the ride and kept checking and re-checking my bike and "stuff." I finally left for the start at the Gymnase des Droits de l'Homme at about 7:30 pm and hit the line at 8. I got in the first group, but paid the price of standing around for 2 hours. There's no real advantage to being in that group because they let you go in waves at 15 minute intervals; each rider's book is marked to indicate which group he or she leaves in, which theoretically allows additional time for completion. Ruby found me in the line, and took the picture shown below. Finally we started moving forward, only to simply move over to the other side of the soccer field behind the gymnasium. Of course, just as I really needed to pee the group finally started moving forward and I would have to wait! As you can see in the second picture it grew dark before we started.
I took the 10 pm start on Monday night, beginning my adventure. Although the start-time seemed somewhat insane, it allowed me the maximum 90 hour time limit to complete the PBP (you could choose to limit yourself to either 80, 84, or 90 hours--the majority (2300) took the 90 hour option, as I did). I tend to be fairly slow and hadn't completed the qualifier brevets with very much time in hand, though, so I gave myself the most time I could. The reason the ride organizers gave for putting the 90 hour start at 10 pm was that it allowed you to finish during the day if you were close to the time limit (4 pm on the last day), allowing you to negotiate the urban streets in the daylight.
I rode fairly fast the first night and kept up with most of the riders I was with. The adrenaline of the ride carried everyone along at a very fast pace. Everything was kind of a blur, with riders taking photos and cheering spectators. I was nearly blinded a couple of times by a rider just in front of me holding up his flash camera and taking a photo backwards into the darkness. The stream of riders stretched out through the cool night as far as I could see. I recognized much of the first section because I had ridden the first 30 km to make sure my bike was OK and to see the route.
Although the route was easy to follow at this point because of all the other cyclists, the route was generally well-marked with arrows. Pink stems were used for the outbound route and white stems for the inbound route. It was important to note this because it could save you a major mistake later in the ride. Eventually the outbound and inbound riders start to meet at the control points (and for much of the route, also), leading to a few being confused about whether they were coming or going as they got tired!
I finally reached the first food stop (not a control), but I didn't realize that it was only for food until I had wasted ten minutes looking for the officials to check in with. At most of the control points you have to check in and "swipe" your magnetic card and get your booklet stamped to show that you reached that point on or ahead of the minimum pace.
I finally found another American I knew and he set me straight. It was stupid of me not to have either read the directions (it was plainly stated when I looked) or asked more quickly. I probably could have sped up by carrying food for this stop and only refilling my water, although the Coke, café au lait, and sandwich was good. I had run out of water 10-15 miles outside of the control point and was very thirsty. I was carrying 70 oz of water in a Camelbak bladder and one water bottle with drink mix but had drank everything I had. I should have stopped and gotten more water but was too interested in covering ground at this point.
Just at dawn I stopped at a bakery with some people that I had met at our hotel (the "Gril") and bought a chocolate croissant. The fresh bread was wonderful. I ate it down the street at a bar that was serving coffee. Pretty good stuff, all in all--much better than a "gu" gel packet. Talking to the people from the hotel was nice and reduced some of my nervousness that had been present at the start.
I felt like I rode OK the next day. I was stopping at every control for food, spending roughly 45 minutes at each of the stops. The French countryside was very beautiful. The weather was cool and clear, and it was so pretty along the roadway. Everything seemed so clean, with flowers in every window and beautiful stone buildings in the villages and farms. Although I had heard about the wonderful support for the ride it was so nice to see all of the people out clapping and cheering as we went by. I didn't stop very much because I was riding well, but it was really nice to see everyone out cheering for the riders as we went by.
I didn't have any real problems at this point other than losing my money and credit card at the first full control (Villaines–where the 1st Rusa drop bag service was). I ate and got stuff out of the drop bag that I had positioned along the course, then as I left town I discovered that my money bag was gone. I went back and searched for 30 minutes before discovering it in my drop bag. Apparently it had fallen into the bag while I was getting more gel packets out. The people at the cafeteria were very nice, and helped me search all over before I discovered it as I left town; finally, I decided to look in my bag as a last resort (the drop bag van was a hundred yards or so past the control). Apparently the cafeteria workers put up some kind of notice or something after I left Villaines because a friend from the our hotel saw the notice; Ruby heard about it back at St. Quentin and was worried. I had my passport and other money in my bike bag, though, and had mainly worried about needing to cancel the credit card that was in the bag.
I didn't sleep until nearly dawn on the second night. Early on I was able to stop a couple of different times where people were giving away coffee and wake up because of the caffeine. The people were very nice, wishing us well and refusing to accept any money. When the lack of sleep became overwhelming, though, I stopped and slept at the side of road for an hour or so. I just stopped on the side of the road and dropped my space blanket in the ditch to lie on. I covered up with my rain jacket and faced toward where the sun would rise. I hoped I would wake up but didn't really have any choice about the sleep. Note: bring alarm clock next time! My watch had an alarm but it wasn't anywhere near loud enough. Fortunately I awoke without a problem, and was able to climb back onto my bike and continue toward Brest. Other riders slept themselves right out of the race in this manner, though, so beware!
My right knee started hurting about 150 miles from the turnaround at Brest. It gradually got worse, and I was eventually down to spinning up hills and on flats in my granny gear. The pain at first was alleviated by taking some 800 mg tablets of Ibuprofen that I had, enabling me to continue, but after about the second dose it didn't stop the pain completely. Gradually the pain got worse until I could think of little besides the pain and how good it would feel when I quit the ride in Brest. I really didn't think I could make it any further because of how much it was hurting. It felt like someone was jabbing the left front part of my knee with an icepick every time I pushed down.
I lost much of my time cushion because of riding so slowly, and was in the control point in Brest, ready to hand in my papers and drop out when I thought of adjusting my seat height. I remembered that my bike had been in the shop the week before and that they usually changed the seat around to fit in their clamps. When I had packed the bike for the plane I marked the seatpost but didn't checked to see that it was in the right place, so my marking was off. Anyway, I then raised it 3/4 of an inch (a HUGE amount!) and went back on the course to ride up part of the last steep hill to the Brest control point. I could put pressure on the pedal again (although it still hurt)! I decided to continue on and see what happened.
My knee gradually got better as the day wore on, although pushing it on the hills was tough for the rest of the evening (I left Brest at about 1 or 2 in the afternoon). I focused on riding, with little thought for anything else. I was really tired by this point, and had trouble staying on a line. Since many riders were still passing me at this point, it was very nerve wracking. Like other problems, though, I eventually stopped doing it and went on to other issues–no clue as to the cause or the solution.
The countryside was quite lovely, and we kept riding through beautiful villages. I really enjoyed seeing the courtyards and churches. I wish I had had more time to "stop and smell the roses" but I only had a few hours in hand and had to press on. The kids were really nice, giving out bottled water in many different places and giving us a lift in spirits. Virtually every village had either a roadside table with some kind of drink (always water, frequently coffee or Coke), and most would not accept any money at all. At one of them that did ask for money I was kind of zoned out and couldn't understand how much. I dug into my bag of money and pulled out 100 F (~$20); the lady shook her head, said something in French and reached for my bag, taking out 2 F (~50 cents). Several other times in restaurants I was reduced to holding out a handful of coins and letting the waiter pick out what they wanted to cover the bill.
I rode with a group from South Africa on the 3rd night--it really helped having someone to talk to. I was riding along in a group of riders who spoke French (presumably) only and struggling to stay awake when I heard someone speaking English. I started working my way through the pack and rode up to them. I introduced myself and asked if I could tag along, talking to stay awake. They were agreeable, leading to some interesting conversations. I still remember lying on the asphalt in a cross road, discussing how many stars appeared in various night skies! A bit surreal, actually. The South Africans included a woman and two men. One of the men owned a plumbing company, the other was a transport exec, and I was later told the woman was a doctor. Biking provided a good bit of the conversation, as they told of how they had started the randonneuring group in South Africa. I did get to talk a little shop talk, though, with the transport exec (I'm a researcher at a transportation institute).
Anyway, the "plumber," as he introduced himself, was having a tough time, having been sick earlier. He stopped several times to rest, providing me with welcome breaks. It was interesting when the phone rang after midnight and he answered the cell-phone in his pocket. It was a friend from South Africa calling to see how the ride was going. Quite a change from communications on the first PBP's! I finally left them about daybreak at a control point when I lost track of them. They really were very nice, and helped me through a tough time.
I was riding fairly well the next to last day. I felt strong and comfortable, although my butt was starting to hurt. I met a rider from Tennessee, Art Williams, and rode with him from about mid-afternoon on. We got on very well, just chatting away. We were charging up hills and I was actually passing people! A nice change. Of course that deteriorated somewhat after nightfall and my real state of tiredness set in. I rode with Art for the last night. The sleepiness was bad, leading to my stopping and simply leaning over my handlebars to rest several times. And then the hallucinations started! On a long downhill, riding very fast, I suddenly braked to a stop and almost wrecked both of us. I told him (after being yelled at because of the abrupt stop) that we needed to give our brevet cards to the lady at the control. It turns out that we were on a long descent in the middle of the country with no one around....
Art and I finally reached the next control, planning to sleep for about 2.5 hours; however, we both woke up before his alarm went off after 1.5 hours or so. We were sleeping under a table at the control point cafeteria, where the carpet covered concrete felt as soft as a baby's behind. We started out at about 5 am (guessing) and rode for a couple of hours. Needing some more rest, I then slept about 30 minutes on the side of the road, near some buildings that looked like apartments. They had a really soft lawn (although concrete felt soft at this point), but it was somewhat damp. I should have dragged out my space blanket because I got damp and cold. After waking and continuing on, I gradually lost track of Art because he was riding a bit faster than me now, although I ran into him at a later control point and he gave me back a spare taillight that I had loaned him. His taillight was very dim (although nearly new) and his vest didn't reflect anything when he leaned over his handlebars.
I stopped at the last control point and ate as much as I could force down. I met an older rider from England named Jack Eason going through the cafeteria line. He was in his mid 70's and was cracking jokes and in great spirits. It was interesting to think about the implications of that: his age was almost exactly double mine and we had exactly the same ride time and distance at that point. I then went and sat down with a rider from Massachusetts while I ate. He was telling of waking up as corn stalks hit him: he had ridden off the road after falling asleep while riding, and luckily went into a field instead of a ditch. After deciding to nap for a bit he then was woke up by the course marshals to see if he was all right and later by someone nearly peeing on him. More soberly, he also told me of a French rider who rode into a ditch while asleep and crashed, injuring himself badly.
I rode with an English rider the last 3-4 hours prior to the finish. We were riding along behind two people (I think both were women) in pink on a tandem, as they were interviewed at length by a film crew on a motorcycle. The motorcycle kept zipping back and forth, then pacing them while getting them to talk into a mike and filming them.
I finished at 87 hours 58 minutes overall (ending at 1:58 pm on Friday). My wife Ruby met me at the end, and it was really nice to be off the bike!!! Lots of cheering and clapping at the circle in front of the gymnasium. She missed a finishing snapshot, but I was just too tired to circle around one more time and stopped anyway. After going through the final control I had a light snack and half a liter of Coke with Ruby, then I was off to the hotel and a bath before I stiffened up too much. I had to get back on my bike and ride back to the hotel (10k away). I rode standing up most of the way because of severe trauma to my butt, and then collapsed on the bed.
Other random memories: the pleasure of finding a toilet with an actual seat at one of the controls, the odd acceptance of the open nude showers in the middle of the courtyard by an attendant with a hose, the beauty of lights on medieval battlements as we rounded them at night, the view of 30-40 cyclists peeing in unison on the side of the road as cars drove by, the accordionist at 2 AM in a small village as we rode through, the singer by the side of the road in a village in the middle of the night, the young children leaning out of their bedroom windows at night and cheering as we went by, the friendliness of the workers at the control points, and on and on.
I ended up getting about 5 hours of sleep in the nearly 88 hours that it took me to complete the ride: 3 hrs in 2 different controls and 2 hrs in 2 different roadside spots. I also spent about 8-10 hours in various control points, eating and checking in. I mostly ate the food provided in the control points, supplemented by gel packets between the controls. The food was generally very good, and beat trying to stick to a liquid diet.
I am now classified as an "ancien." From a French dictionary, "ancien" is defined as "from ancient time" or "old". According to Audax, an ancien is anyone who has completed PBP in the alloted time limit. Each finisher's name is recorded in "The Great Book" as a member of the "Anciennete de Paris-Brest-Paris". One rider completed his 10th PBP in 1999. One must really be "ancien" to do that. My medal is supposed to be delivered in February, with video sometime in the same time frame (video extra, medal included for once).
On Saturday we intended to do a little sight-seeing if I was able, but I was anything but "able." I managed to get my bike disassembled, but other than that I wasn't worth much at all. But I was done! How long is it till the next one, anyway??
To qualify for the PBP you must complete four "brevets" in the year of
the event:
200 km in 13 ½ hours
300 km in 20 hours
400 km in 27 hours
600 km in 40 hours
A little more speed and hill-climbing ability would have been nice. I didn't have much time to sleep, leading to minor hallucinations the 3rd and especially the 4th night. Talking to a doctor afterwards, it seems I was going through short REM cycles as I was riding. The hours from 2-5 AM were by far the worst. Once daybreak came I "woke up" and had no problem staying awake.
On the fourth night I was riding with Art Williams (a doctor from Tennessee who helped me a lot!) when I suddenly braked to a stop and almost wrecked both of us. After Art finished yelling at me about the abrupt stop I told him that we needed to give our brevet cards to the lady at the control. Although the lady was a really cute blonde (I can still remember her perfectly), it turns out that we were on a long descent in the middle of the country with no houses or lights and no one was around....
It was really nice to run into other people from the Texas brevets:
Dan Driscoll (the Regional Brevet Administrator in Ft. Worth) and Rany (recognized in the dark of the 3rd night as they passed me in a little town, and later as they came out of a sleep area), John Haste
(2nd day and early evening), and Scrub (early the 3rd day).
© Mark D. Wooldridge, August 2002.