Cyclist Completes Paris-Brest-Paris

For the last several years, I’ve done a type of long-distance, self-supported cycling called randonneuring. It’s not racing, but there’s a time limit.

Organized randonneuring rides are called brevets. I started with 200-km brevets, which are about 125 miles long. Over time, I built up to 300-km, 400-km, and 600-km brevets. The ultimate randonneuring event, however, is Paris-Brest-Paris (PBP), a 1200-km (750-mile) brevet. First held in 1891, PBP is the oldest cycling event still run on a regular basis. It has been held every four years since 1971, making PBP the Olympics of randonneuring.

Riders must complete PBP within 90 hours. I did it in 86 hours, 32 minutes, and 48 seconds. Woo hoo!

Hands down, PBP is the physically hardest thing I ever did, but I’m glad I got to do it.

My husband Robert accompanied me to France. Although he didn’t do PBP, he was my biggest supporter during this whole adventure. We had about a day in Paris before PBP, followed by several days in Aix-en-Provence after PBP. However, this article focuses on PBP itself.

During my ride I came up with this succinct description of PBP: Slow-motion suffering with lots of highlights. PBP is like one long day that ebbs and flows. The sun rises, and the sun sets, but the snatches of sleep at odd hours make it hard to keep track of time normally. Therefore, instead of trying to tell about my ride chronologically, I’ll describe it by topic.

The Course

This year PBP began in Rambouillet, southwest of Paris. We headed westward through the Brittany region to the coastal town of Brest. Then, we headed back to Rambouillet on the mostly out-and-back course. Riders had to stop at a number of controls (checkpoints) along the way. Each control was open for only a certain window of time, keeping riders from going too fast or too slow. I had my bicycle computer, but I found I didn’t need it for navigation because the course was very well marked with arrow signs.

Equipment and Logistics

I shipped my bicycle to France ahead of time through Bike Flights. Although this was more expensive than taking it with me on the plane, it kept me (i.e., Robert) from having to haul my bicycle in its box through airports, on trains, and in taxis/Ubers. Robert would have been ill, which would have made me ill. In other words, Bike Flights was totally worth it.

Bike Flights shipped my bicycle to a bike shop in Rambouillet. Jeremy, one of the mechanics, built my bike back up after it arrived at the shop and had it waiting for me at bike check-in in Rambouillet. I can’t say enough good things about the excellent service he provided.

My mechanic Nate at Bike Tech in Macon also deserves a big chunk of credit for my completing PBP successfully. He gave my bicycle a super-duper tune-up about a month before PBP. I had absolutely no mechanical issues on PBP, which was a huge relief, especially with so many other logistics involved.

A drop bag service was available, but I opted to carry everything with me in a large bicycle bag mounted on a rack. This saved me time because I didn’t have to locate my bag along the route and eliminated the possibility of my bag getting lost. On the other hand, I had to be judicious about what I carried with me.

Riders are required to have front and rear lights. My front light is powered by the dynamo hub on my front wheel. I also carried a battery powered front light as backup. I had three rear lights with rechargeable batteries. The rear light clipped to a mount securely attached to the back of my bicycle rack.A charger in my bicycle stem allows me to charge devices from a USB port connected to my dynamo hub. I charged two batteries this way and then used the batteries to charge my bike computer, rear lights, and phone. I can charge devices directly through the stem charger, but I used the intermediate batteries to better protect my devices from my naturally varying power output through the dynamo hub.

I’m so glad I followed a friend’s advice to carry an emergency blanket. I took the one from my car’s first aid kit. The shrink-wrapped package weighed next to nothing and took up almost no space in my bag. I was very glad to have the blanket during my several roadside snoozes.

My start time was at 5:45 p.m. on Sunday, August 18. Therefore, I had to complete PBP by 11:45 a.m. on Thursday, August 22. Before my trip, I created a pacing spreadsheet. I knew my brain would be too foggy to do serious rate/time/distance calculations during the ride itself. I referred to my spreadsheet often, and it gave me a sense of calm about staying on track.

Another bit of advice I’m glad I took was to carry small mementos to give to the people along the route. I had several types of lapel pins. One was shaped like a stamp, read “USA,” and depicted a cyclist. I was also proud to share some City of Monticello, GA pins. Kids and adults alike along the PBP route seemed excited when I gave them a token of my appreciation for their hospitality and encouragement.

Enter Sandman

The hardest part of PBP was sleep deprivation. I thought I had somewhat of a feel for what this would be like from the 600Ks I had done, but PBP was much harder. Over the approximately 3½ days that I was on the road, I slept a total of about 11 hours. Most of this was in stretches of 1 to 1½ hours.

Later, I discovered that I was a relative Rip Van Winkle. Many riders got three or fewer hours of sleep total. I don’t see how that’s even physically possible, but I suppose that’s the only way slower riders can complete PBP within the 90-hour time limit.

Truly, I underestimated just how little sleep is involved in PBP. The farther I went, the more frequently I saw riders catching a few z’s on the side of the road, in a field, or under a tree. Other times, riders laid their heads down at the tables at controls.

I took short sleeps at an Airbnb, at a few of the controls, and along the road. The route frequently went through villages, which usually had cathedrals. During the second night, I was getting really sleepy and thought to myself, if the next town has a cathedral, I’ll stop there for a nap.

Sure enough, I found the perfect sleep spot. The cathedral in the next town had an enclosed courtyard. I propped my bicycle against a tree and lay down on a bench with my emergency blanket. That was the first real sleep I got; I didn’t awake until my phone alarm went off an hour and a half later.

I took another roadside nap soon after I left Brest on Tuesday morning. I found a small roadside park with a copse of trees that offered a little privacy. I lay on the ground with my emergency blanket wrapped around me. I woke up before my phone alarm went off, about an hour later. As I awoke, I felt a few drops fall on me. At the same time, I became aware of a terrible odor. My first thought was that the city park employees were spraying pesticide on me. Then, I realized that the drops were probably dew from the trees. Furthermore, the terrible odor was me!

My last sleep was around midnight on the final night at the control in Mortagne-au-Perche. That was one of my lowest points of the ride. Tired and cold, I parked my bike and said loudly to no one in particular, “Will someone please just shoot me now?” No one obliged, but I got the feeling the sentiment was shared. I joined the throng in the cafeteria. Bodies were lined along the entire perimeter of the room. They looked like battlefield casualties.

I found about half a space on the hard floor and curled up into a ball so that my legs wouldn’t block the walkway. I laid my head on my rolled-up jacket and covered my face with my reflective vest. I set my phone alarm for one hour but yet again woke up before it went off, about 45 minutes later.

When I awoke, I heard the guy next to me snoring. It sounded like an airplane taking off. As I became more alert, I saw another guy standing near me, checking his phone. We looked and each other and both started to crack up.

When I found myself getting sleepy while I was riding, I used one of my tried-and-true tricks from my longer brevets. I sang, mostly TV theme songs because that’s all that seems to come to mind in these situations. (Laverne & Shirley – Making Our Dreams Come True – is a great motivator!) Fortunately, on PBP I was usually by myself when I had to sing. Not that I really cared at that point if anyone heard me. Actually, I’m surprised I didn’t hear anyone else singing to stay awake.

Cold as Ice

A close second on PBP difficulties was the nighttime cold. I had checked the forecasts for Rambouillet and Brest. Both indicated highs in the 70s and lows in the 50s (Fahrenheit). I was prepared for temperatures in the 50s: base layer, arm and knee warmers, long-fingered gloves, and an ear warmer headband. In reality, overnight lows were in the 40s or maybe even the 30s. I nearly froze.

I think a lot on long rides, but it was different on PBP. The intensity and duration reduced everything to an almost primal mind-body connection. Somehow, I had to keep myself from focusing on the cold. The only thing that helped was singing out loud. I don’t remember most of the songs I sang, but I insisted to myself that they be classic rock. Maybe classic rock has better cold-fighting powers than TV theme songs. One of the few songs I do remember singing was Summer of ‘69 by Bryan Adams. From now on, whenever I hear that one, it will remind me of riding across Brittany in the middle of the night.

I’m very thankful that we didn’t get any rain during PBP because conditions were hard enough otherwise. I’m not sure how I would have dealt with rain on top of everything else.

Ain’t No Mountain

High Enough

I had been told that the terrain on PBP is mostly rolling hills. Therefore, I expected PBP to be somewhat like the roads I regularly ride in Middle Georgia. It wasn’t. The eastern portion of the route was relatively flat, but there was pretty serious climbing in Brittany to the west. Grades were often 4 percent or more for a half-mile to a mile at a time. It was like doing segments of Neels Gap in North Georgia, over and over.

In total, there were more than 40,000 ft of climbing. For comparison, Mt. Everest is about 29,029 ft high.

And Bad Mistakes…I’ve Made a Few

I made several mistakes during PBP. Thankfully, none were catastrophic. The worst was…I lost my brevet card! I must have left it on the table when I was taking one of the few pictures of my ride, the flags at Fougères.

When I got to the next control, Tinténiac, I realized I didn’t have my card. This was a major panic because according to the rules, you’re disqualified if you lose your card. I thought I had read that official times were being taken from our timing chips and that cards were just a backup, but I still thought I might be disqualified.

I told the volunteers at the control. They were so nice and said they could make me a new card because, sure enough, they could pull up my electronic times on their computer. They said to give them a few minutes, go get something to eat, and come back. When I returned, they gave me back my original brevet card! Someone had found it and turned it in. Merci beaucoup!

My next worst mistake was missing the return control in Carhaix-Plouguer. Fortunately, I hadn’t gone too far when I realized it. I backtracked to the control and lost only about 30 minutes total. I reconstructed in my mind what happened. I took a wrong turn from a roundabout. That’s because just before the roundabout, someone had called out to me that my jacket was hanging down off my bicycle. It had been secured under bungee cords on top of my bike bag but came loose. In my flustered state from fixing that issue, I must have missed the proper exit from the roundabout.

Food

I’ve pretty much decided that there is no bad food in France. Even the food at the controls during PBP was quite good, and it was very reasonably priced. I ate a lot of sandwiches, croissants, and pain au chocolat and drank a lot of Coca-Colas. I got fresh fruit as much as possible and discovered a delicious caramel yogurt. Soup, spaghetti, and fish were warm and filling. I even ate tabbouleh, paella, and beef bourguignon!

Convenience stores are nonexistent in rural Brittany. However, it’s easy to find a café, restaurant, or patisserie (bakery) in most towns, at least during the day. Additionally, the French people who live along the PBP route are legendary for their hospitality. Many offer food and beverages to the riders, sometimes even for free. I availed myself of their generosity a number of times. One of the most memorable stops was on my last night. This was during one of the worst stretches when I had to fight the cold so hard. I knew I needed food. I came to a village, but nothing was open in the middle of the night. However, the kind residents set up a tent with refreshments. I had a cup of soup, some prunes, and a few pieces of dark chocolate. That might sound like an odd combination, but it tasted so good!

The most memorable thing I ate during PBP was in a small village about the size of Shady Dale. I saw a patisserie and stopped for a treat. What to get? The eclairs looked good, but I had already had several of those while I was in France. Interestingly, all the eclairs had chocolate filling as well as a chocolate glaze. They certainly were delicious, but they didn’t have the custard filling I was expecting. At this patisserie I chose a delectable looking, cream-filled wonder. I can’t remember or find the name of it now, but it was round and made of light, flaky choux pastry. Best of all, it had that elusive custard filling. I sat on the sidewalk outside the patisserie, relishing my unknown-name pastry. I thought, “This is what I came to France for.”

I’ve Seen All Good People

It was a huge thrill to ride with nearly 7,000 other cyclists from all over the world, including all six inhabited continents. Because I couldn’t communicate verbally with most of them, I mainly just enjoyed observing the vast array of countries represented. I did remember enough high school German to have a decent conversation with a German rider.

One afternoon I was riding down the road and heard a woman’s voice call out several times in a foreign language. Yes, she was talking to me. My first thought was, am I doing something unsafe or using bad cycling etiquette? That wasn’t it at all. She had noticed my jersey, which read Audax Atlanta, Georgia Randonneurs. As she rode past me, I saw her Ukraine jersey and heard her say “Georgia.” I called out, “USA! The other Georgia!” We both laughed.

Thousands of volunteers made PBP possible. They pointed the way at intersections, stamped our brevet cards, served food and drinks, and woke us from naps. On the second visit to the control at Villaines-la-Juhel, they treated us like rock stars! Dozens of people – maybe hundreds – cheered for me as I rolled in. I parked my bike and headed toward the restaurant. A girl who was about 12 years old asked me if I speak English. I said yes, and she told me to follow her. Skeptically, I followed. Was she some kind of hustler? I was embarrassed to realize I could be so cynical because it turned out she and scores of other young people were there simply to serve us riders. They guided us to the serving line, held our trays, and led us down a red carpet (literally) to the dining tables. I thought they were the rock stars for showing us riders such extravagant hospitality!

Before I left the wonderful control at Villaines-la-Juhel, I had to get a picture. One of my life rules is never to pass up a photo op where you stick your face into something.

I remember so many kindnesses the French people offered along the way. Paulette, the owner of the Air bnb where I stayed, was so accommodating of my odd hours. Also, she and her husband prepared a delicious breakfast for me before I left on the inbound trip. A young boy guided me late one night when I almost made a wrong turn. A man played a bagpipe on the side of the road in Brest. A woman somewhere on the route played French music on an accordion.

I had been a little concerned about not being able to speak French, but I found that bonjour (hello/good day), merci (thank you), and pardon got me a long way. All along the route, I was surprised that most of the riders didn’t acknowledge the many French people cheering us on. I made a point to wave or say “Bonjour!” or “Merci!” It was the least I could do to thank them for making the effort to come out and see us. Besides, it gave me energy to interact with them this way.

This set the stage for one of my funniest experiences of PBP. It was about 2:00 a.m. I heard a couple of people clapping for me and a few other riders nearby. I couldn’t see these dedicated fans, but I called out into the darkness, “Merci! Merci!” Then, the clapping got louder. Why were these people chasing me?! Suddenly, a pony was running beside me! I was hearing its hooves clack on the pavement. It soon turned off onto a side road. I laughed and said to whoever was riding near me, whether they could understand me or not, “I thought that was people clapping for us!” A man responded in accented English, “Memories.”

We Are The Champions

Sunrise was approaching on the final morning. I had about 40 miles to go. Even at my slow PBP pace, about 13 mph, I calculated that I would make it to Rambouillet in about three hours, well before my 11:45 AM cutoff.

I did it! Robert found me almost immediately. I kissed him quickly and went to get my brevet card stamped one last time. An older French man put a medal around my neck. Then, he smiled at me and gave me a big hug. That was one of the best hugs I ever had!

I’m so honored and thrilled to have successfully finished PBP with all its punishments, joys, and traditions. Later I’ll receive a packet with all the PBP 2019 statistics sliced and diced every which way. A few figures I do have already:

•474 U.S. riders registered for PBP 2019, but not all of these started the event. Also, some percentage of the starters didn’t finish. Of the 474 U.S. riders who registered, 61 (12.87 percent) are women.

•Since 1975, the percentage of women finishers at PBP from all countries has always been less than six percent I expect that 2019 will have a similar percentage.

Thank you again to Robert and everyone else who helped in any way, including cheering me on! I couldn’t have done PBP without each of you. I went into this planning for it to be my only time doing PBP. It’s a huge commitment of time and energy. Also, Robert was super supportive, but it will be a long time before I ask him to make such an effort on my behalf again. Knowing that this was probably my one shot at PBP was also a great motivator to finish successfully.

Ride on!