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When I compare my previous PBPs to PBP 2007, I am reminded of the lyrics
to the Kingston Trio song called
Raspberries, Strawberries --
“A young man goes to Paris, as every young man should.
There’s something in the air of France that
does a young man good.
An old man returns to Paris, as every old man must.
He finds the winter winds blow cold. His dreams have turned to dust.”
PBP2003 was a fantastic experience – the highlight of my cycling life.
Therefore, my expectations for PBP 2007 were sky high. Although PBP 2007
did not exactly turn my dreams to dust, it certainly did not live up to
my expectations.
Pre-Ride
Several things happened before PBP2007 that had a negative impact on the
event:
1. On my vacation to France last year I learned that my baker friend in
Tremblay Les Villages was planning on retiring, making PBP 2007 the last
PBP he would be supporting.
2. The PBP route was changed so that it did not return through Tremblay
like it did in previous years.
3. Several of my best cycling companions announced that PBP 2007 would
either probably or definitely be their last.
4. Work commitments immediately before PBP limited my training, deprived
me of sleep, and put me under a lot of stress.
In spite of these negatives I was very much looking forward to riding
unsupported this time and spending a lot of time savoring the French
cuisine on the return leg from Brest to Paris.
The trip to Paris was uneventful. My bike and I arrived undamaged and on
time. The weather was perfect. I was able to get in some very pleasant
training miles with Rex and Charlie. And I really enjoyed visiting with
a growing list of friends I had met on previous 1200KM brevets.
On the day of the ride I thought that I had caught up on my sleep and
was both physically and mentally prepared. However, the weather forecast
was ominous, and by the time of the 10PM + ride start, it was cold and
raining.
Day 1 – Monday and Tuesday
In previous PBPs I had chosen the 5AM start time in order to minimize
sleep disruption. But this year I wanted to experience the full 90 hours
of PBP so I signed up for the 9PM start. After waiting in line for over
an hour I was off with the peloton. The start was exactly as I had
imagined it would be, but the rain and wet pavement greatly magnified
the danger in having so many adrenaline-charged cyclists riding in large
pelotons at night.
My baker friend in Tremblay welcomed the cyclists as usual with free
water and coffee. However, I had time for only a brief visit. I had been
hoping to spend a substantial amount of time visiting with him on my
return trip to Paris, but the route change made that impossible.
By the time I reached Mortagne Au Perche it was pouring rain. There were
so many people at the control that I decided to continue on without
stopping, even to refresh the water in my camelback.
By the time I reached Villaines La Juhel it was well past sunrise, and
the rain had stopped. But I was cold and probably dehydrated. I was also
having a very difficult time staying awake – a condition that would
haunt me for most of the ride. Before reaching the control, I rode
through the town without stopping at any of the numerous cafes,
boulangeries, or small stores for water. At the control there was a line
for water so I departed mistakenly thinking that there would be
additional places to buy water on the way out of town. I was wrong. I
did manage to find a tabac and have my first café noir of the event, but
no water. I ran out of water in my camelback almost immediately after
leaving the tabac.
Down the road in Hardages I was desperate for water. Fortunately a
boulangerie was open, and I was able to replenish my water and purchase
a ham and cheese sandwich. I had learned my lesson. From this point on I
replenished my water at every opportunity. I never ran out of water
again, and I never had to buy water at a control.
But my problem staying awake continued to plague me. I found that I
could go about one hour on a small café noir. After an hour my mind
would wander, my speed would drop, and I would end up weaving down the
road. Therefore, for the rest of the ride I spent a lot of time in cafes
and tabacs, something I was planning to do a lot of on my return trip
when I had a lot of time in the bank, but not on my way to Brest.
Most of the trip from Hardages to Loudeac was uneventful and actually
somewhat pleasant. For the most part the rain had stopped, and I managed
to hang with several pace lines during the times my caffeine levels were
high enough to keep me alert. It was only the last few miles of ride
into Loudeac in the dark that the rain returned with vengeance making
all my clothes good and wet insuring that they wouldn’t dry out during
the rest of the event.
I had reserved a hotel room in Loudeac, and Charlie’s son, Peter, had
transported a drop bag for me. I was able to shower, get my typical 1.5
hours of sleep, eat breakfast, and change shorts and jerseys. What a
treat! Unfortunately it was cold, and I needed to continue using my wool
undershirt, which was wet from sweat or rain and for which I did not
have a change. It also made me sad to learn that Charlie had been forced
to abandon the ride.
Day 2 – Wednesday
For me, Wednesday (not night) was clearly the best day of the ride. On
the leg from Loudeac to Brest there was a headwind for most of the way,
but the sky was blue, and I had a good time when I was awake. After
nightfall, however, things went in the proverbial toilet.
First of all, heavy rain returned soaking my clothes all over again.
Secondly, the heavy rain and black night made direction finding
difficult. This difficulty was compounded by what seemed to me to be a
dearth of direction arrows, forcing cyclists to ride long distances
without positive reinforcement that the route they were on was correct.
What cruel and unusual punishment! I managed to stay on route by staying
with large groups of riders, but it made me extremely nervous knowing
that I could find myself miles off the route at any time.
Thirdly, I had the worse case of chain suck ever in one of the darkest,
wettest, and most complicated sections of the route. I was using a
worthless plastic device to prevent just such chain suck, but it
happened anyway – with a vengeance. I shifted down to my small chain
ring and began noticing that it was getting harder and harder to pedal.
By the time I got off the bike I couldn’t pedal at all. The chain was so
jammed between the chain rings and chain stay that it took me 10 minutes
to somehow get it loose by using all the strength I could muster. At
several points during those 10 minutes I really thought that my ride was
over. But finally the chain came loose without breaking, and the bike
was still rideable.
I finally arrived in Loudeac in the wee hours of Thursday morning, took
a shower and went to bed for another 1.5 hour sleep cycle.
Day 3 – Thursday
After waking up I put on predominately wet clothes because none of the
clothes I had taken off the night before had dried out thoroughly. The
only dry clothing I had was a pair of dry socks and shorts. I put them
on, then my wet wool undershirt, then my driest jersey, then a second
pair of wet shorts and jersey, Then a cheap sweater I had purchased
before the ride, then every other piece of clothing I had with me except
for the third pair of wet shorts and jersey. I was that cold!!!! I ate
breakfast and headed for Paris in the rain.
Overall this was probably the most trying day of the ride for me. There
were a few high points, such my accidental meeting with Jean-Philippe
Battu, who had stopped during the last PBP to give aid to Charlie when
he was having vertigo problems on the downhill into Hardages. But,
overall, it was not a good day. I found myself cursing on several
occasions.
My first cursing episode occurred on the ride into Forgers. The route
entered the city and then made a sharp right turn out of the city on a
steep down hill. What the heck!! Had I missed the control? At that point
it sure looked to me like I had, but other riders went down the hill
like lemmings without hesitation, so I eventually joined them. I had not
missed the control, but what followed was another horror. We had to
climb an even steeper hill back into the city to reach the control. I
was angry – first for the doubt that the exit from the city had planted
in my brain and second for the physical pain caused by climbing that
darn hill. Was this sadistic detour really necessary? It wasn’t on the
route last time.
My second cursing episode came on the route to Hardages. I was looking
forward to descending the same hill that we had climbed up on the
outbound leg, the same hill on which Charlie was forced to abandon the
last PBP. But again they changed the route to add more climbing. The new
route descended on another road, then climbed and climbed until making a
short decent into Hardages. Why were they doing this to me?
My third cursing episode had nothing to do with a route change. I just
did not remember all the climbing getting back to Mortagne. It was dark
and raining. I was cold; my knees were bothering me; and I was
developing a severe case of Shermer’s neck. And all I was doing was
climbing this endless hill. At that point if someone with a vehicle big
enough for my bike had offered me a ride, I would have abandoned the
ride right there – no question about it.
Somehow I made it back to Mortagne, but I was now only about an hour
ahead of the cut- off time. So I only took a 1-hour nap, hoping to rest
my knees and get some strength back in my neck. My legs ached so much I
was unable to get much sleep.
Day 4 – Friday
With sore knees and my neck hanging like an overcooked noodle, I
departed on the last leg of my journey to Paris. After sunrise I rigged
a head support by tying my Sam Brown belt to the back of my helmet,
pulling it tight and sitting on the other end. It provided little help,
but it improved my morale somewhat to think that I was doing something
to help.
My fourth cursing episode of the PBP occurred because of the endless
ride into the Dreux control. Why had they changed it? I knew how to get
back to Nogent Le Roi. I knew the landmarks; I knew what to look for.
Here on this endless rolling prairie where I found myself riding, there
were no familiar landmarks – in fact there were no landmarks at all. For
what seemed like an eternity there was no town in sight, and the clock
was running out. When I finally arrived at the outskirts of Dreux and
reached the first turn to the control my time had almost ran out, but I
kept pedaling like a mad man. I knew I had some extra time because my
starting wave was retarded from the 9PM start, but I didn’t know how
much, so I kept pedaling for what seemed like another eternity until I
reached the control. At the control they told me that I was OK, but I
need to get back to Paris by 4:30PM. I though I had plenty of time so I
stayed at the control for a relatively leisurely snack. When I returned
to my bike I discovered that my mirror and the nut to my pump were
missing.
I remember that the first part of the ride from Dreux to Paris seemed to
be predominately along bike paths. Then as we merged back on the
original route we seemed to go in circles. I thought I went through the
same intersection several times, but of course I couldn’t see very well
with my chin on my chest.
I thought several times that the motorcycle riders patrolling the course
were going to force me to abandon, but apparently I did a good enough
job holding my head up when they were beside me that they let me finish.
I’m certainly grateful for that.
After the mandatory tour through the suburbs on the final leg of the
ride I arrived at the final control. I don’t remember the exact time,
but it was really close. Then there was a long line at the control that
delayed my time another 10 minutes.
In the final analysis I finished the ride. All the route machinations
and delays, though stressful to me, did not matter.
Post-Ride
After scraping 5 pounds of slug guts from the inside of my fenders, I
packed my bike and joined my wife for a two week tour of southwestern
France, where it was warm and sunny. In two weeks of self supported
bicycle touring we rode approximately 225 miles and drank approximately
15 liters of wine between us. That equates to approximately 30 miles per
liter of wine per person – not bad for a recovery ride.
Lessons Learned or Relearned
1. For many reasons wool is great for cycling apparel, but wearing the
same wool undershirt for 4 days is a bad idea. I developed the worse
case of itchy rash I can remember. I do not know how much of this was
caused by the wet conditions, but I plan to change my base layer daily
in the future.
2. Always stay properly hydrated, fed and clothed. Everyone knows this,
but in the cold and rain I discovered that it was way too easy to stay
focused on the road instead of paying proper attention to these three
basics. I did not drink enough, eat enough, or take off clothes and
helmet light when I should have. The fact that I wore my helmet light
during most of the ride probably contributed greatly to my case of
Shermer’s neck.
3. Riding the PBP unsupported was a liberating experience. Although
carrying everything on my bike undoubtedly slowed me down somewhat, it
was like riding with a security blanket. I didn’t have to spend time
locating my support at the controls. And I didn’t have to worry about
unanticipated events or changes in conditions between controls. I had
everything I needed.
4. Riding the PBP unsupported was also not difficult at all. I
discovered that I could avoid burning time at the controls simply by
purchasing water and food elsewhere along the route. Before the PBP I
had been concerned that there would not be enough places along the route
to buy road food and water, especially at night. My concerns were
unfounded.
5. As for equipment, I have become a true believer in sandals and
fenders with mud flaps. The former prevented me from getting the hotfoot
I used to experience on long rides, and the latter kept the road muck
and slug guts off me and the riders behind me. However, the Third Eye
Chain Watcher I used failed and contributed to the severe case of chain
suck I had on Day 2. It was impossible for me to fasten it tight enough
on the seat tube to prevent it from rotating slightly every time the
chain hit it. Eventually it rotated sufficiently to allow the chain to
squeeze between it and my small chain ring. Now with the Chain Watcher
in the way the chain was extremely difficult to free.
6. As for my derriere, the liberal application of Lantiseptic Skin
Protectant and two pair of shorts on the last day successfully prevented
the damage done on previous 1200KM rides.
In spite of the arduous nature of this particular edition of the PBP, I
will go back to France in 2011, seeking the Perfect PBP. |
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