My Paris Brest Paris 2011: A Brief Review

Sun 28 August 2011

aka How NOT to do Paris Brest Paris


1. Paris Brest Paris
Paris Brest Paris is the oldest cycling event in the world, having started in 1891. It is a ride of over 1200Km with a time limit of 90 hours, with the emphasis on self-sufficiency being what makes randonneuring so special. Paris Brest Paris involves about 12000m of vertical ascent, and I used about 29,000 Calories doing it. About 50 countries and 5200 cyclists participated this year, with only 15 representing South Africa. It is ridden once every four years.

There's no point writing up a brief history of the event as I could never improve on the succinct history of the event as posted at this site.

2. The Idea, as a Paris Brest Paris newbie
The idea to ride Paris Brest Paris first entered my mind sometime late in 2010, I'm still not quite sure how. For some time prior to this though, I have been interested in long distance cycling, although have never participated in anything of any distance other than two 320Km for charity during 2009 and 2010.

However, I finally decided to begin the qualifying series for Paris Brest Paris with the South African audax club, Aurasan, under the stewardship of Eddie Thomlinson. The qualifying series would involve 200Km, 300Km, 400Km and 600Km rides under the auspices of the Audax Club Parisien.

3. The "Preparation", ha ha!
January 2011 started very badly, with me having mumps (yep, mumps!) during the month, and missing out on the first Paris Brest Paris (PBP) 200Km qualifying ride. By February I was back from the brink, ready to do a 300Km first, with nothing in the legs, and then a 400Km at the end of February. During March, we did our 600Km ride (also the longest audax ride in South Africa), where the first indications of what ultra-distance riding was about became apparent, with matters such as hallucination, disorientation and micro-sleeps coming to the fore. I completed my final 200Km in April, thereby becoming a Super Randonneur (200Km + 300Km + 400Km + 600Km in one year) for the first time ever. You get a special medal for becoming a Super Randonneur I have since discovered.

Between having qualified for PBP and the end of August, I did a variety of weekend rides of up to 200Km per day in South Africa, with a 200Km and a 400Km (the dreaded Oak Ridges Moraine!) brevet with the Ontario Randonneurs, as well as some other rides while on holiday in Canada in Jun/Jul 2011. This was a pretty thin base in retrospect, and too short a timeframe to have your body properly prepared, and it would show.

And it was thus, with the furthest ride I had ever done being a qualifying 600Km, that I took on Paris Brest Paris 2011.

4. The Registration
There was a lot of excitement on registration day, which first involved a bike check involving a rudimentary roadworthiness check, with a more serious check on the operation of your front and rear lights. Indeed, it seemed that lights were more important than roadworthiness!

A 'pass' meant you could proceed to registration, where you would receive your ride number and timing chip, and a few other things such as PBP Jersey and reflective vest, if they had been pre-ordered at the time of registration. I ordered both. The PBP reflective vest proved to include the benefit of being quite warm, if not being entirely breathable.

Afterwards, team South Africa got together outside, all 15-or-so of us, and exchanged some nervous banter. Oh boy.

Now the build-up would begin, and all anyone wanted to do (at least at the official PBP campsite), was ride their bikes! It was fabulous there, mingling with fellow randonneurs from all over the world. You couldn't necessarily understand everyone, but with a common interest, everything was possible! Speaking of bikes, the variety of Human Powered Vehicles (HPVs) being used as tools during this event would probably be able to fill a special purpose cycling book, from singles to tandems, to trikes, to foldables, single-speeds, recumbents, recumbent tandems and fully enclosed HPVs, to shopping bikes, MTBs, old 70s racers, today's ultimate racing machines and so many others!

My steed of choice - from too many in my garage according to my wife, where I of course subscribe to the n+1 theory as all enthusiastic cyclists do - was a red and white 1990 Bridgestone RB1 steel clickshift bike, a quality Japanese response - built with premium Ishiwata steel - to the Italian masterpieces of the period, and weighing in at just under 10Kg. Modifications included a 2008 Dura Ace Scandium wheelset with 10 speed Dura Ace 12-27 cassette suitable for audax, Gore low friction racing cables, and XT pedals again suitable for audax riding. I love this bike, and it's been with me for 21 years now and will no doubt do many more km with me.

5. The Ride
In summary, I had made the ride incredibly hard on myself by making all sorts of amateur cycling mistakes. A knee injury didn't help. For someone who has been cycling for over two decades (albeit mostly in the road racing scene with an average speed in excess of 35km/h for most 100Km races), perhaps it was the scale of PBP that had overwhelmed me, or perhaps that I had taken it much, much, much too casually, knowing that I have pulled myself through most things by grit, if not by preparation. I should be able to do it significantly better a second time round, especially with the benefit of experience and hopefully a lot more ultra-miles in the legs (the next PBP is in 2015). In any event, here is my story. 

The start is quite an extended and not particularly exciting affair. For a 6pm start, we started lining up at about 4.30pm already, wiggling slowly along, but only departing by 7.15pm. The first 90hr group departed at 7.00pm, and then in a whole sequence of groups at 15 minute increments thereafter. I suspect many drank up most of their first stage water supply while waiting in the sun!

Everyone just a bundle of energy, waiting to get started!

5.1 The start of the first evening
And then we were off. It was a beautiful, warm summer day, and I was cruising at the front of the 2nd bunch of the 90hr start, revelling in the beautiful scenery, smooth roads, cameraderie, all while listening to a bicycle in perfect tune (I do all my own bike servicing and repairs). However, by about 110Km I had hit the wall, hard. I had committed that oh so amateur mistake of not eating on the ride to date! When last had I failed to do that I don't know!

At the first control in Montagne (140Km), which was reached in the dark, I refilled with water, and missed all the the restaurants as I got tied up at the water tent on the side thinking this was the actual refreshment stop. Jeepers, there were bicycles and people everywhere. I got my brevet card stamped, and got back on my bike asap, still in a spot of bother in terms of energy, and chomped on another energy bar.

During the second stage, I bonked yet again. On a steep uphill in a village somewhere, I stopped at a smelly tobacco shop that happened to be open at that hour of night, to get a double espresso and to buy two dodgy-looking biscuits off the purveyor's counter. At least it kept me ticking over. By the second control in Villaines (221Km), I found a queue leading to some pastries, and wondered where the real food was. Pastries and coffee were not enough.

Again, I bonked during the third stage, and by the time I reached the control at Fougeres (310Km), I was pretty much done for energy-wise. It was then that I saw the light! There was a petit dejeuner ('breakfast') queue for pastries, breads and coffees, and elsewhere there would be a restaurant queue that served high carbohydrate meals. Sometimes there would be a tent outside that basically sold beer, coke and water. How did everyone seem to know that? From previous entries? All my instructions had been received in French, and I couldn't read most of it... Aah. What a messy start. So now I was probably in 300Km of energy and glycogen debt, with over 900Km still to go.

So on to Tinteniac at 364Km. The damage was done, and it was about coping with energy deficiency from here on. What is interesting is that I don't remember much about the out-route. I was probably concentrating on maintaining the round-and-round motion of the pedals to keep moving. I got to Tinteniac in the mid morning, ate again, and took my first 30 minute snooze under a staircase in the building.

Looking at this, it was not only me that was cold - the dude behind me also has all his clothes on!

I woke up and rode on, almost trance-like to Loudeac at 449Km. I ate again, but I could often only bear to eat 20% of what I was served. Indeed, I bought what my eyes desired, but often left most of it. I ended up getting into some sort of rhythm buying yoghurt, apple puree and creme caramel, as they were really easy to get down, while bread and a carbohydrate rich meal were quite hard to tuck in to. I would often take the bread with me to eat en route. It probably saved quite some misery as there's little worse once you're on your bike than having hunger pangs when you're in the middle of nowhere.

5.2 The start of the second evening
The stage to Carhaix (525Km) was one of the stages that almost shattered me. It had become a deep, dark night, and there was a raging thunderstorm, hours of rain, and it was clearly mountainous because there was lots of up and down work during the dark and occasional blinding light of the storm. I was exhausted, becoming disoriented, and at some point, I could hardly maintain 10Km per hour. I was frozen, alone, and in the middle of nowhere for miles on end. I wondered if anyone would ever find me if I fell off my bike over the edge and died here. Other cyclists were continually flying past me, for what felt like hours on end, in the deep of night. That was no good for my self esteem.

I was in no-man's-land, the epitome of zombiedom. I just kept turning the pedals, because if I stopped, I would surely freeze to death. I was sodden to the bone in the rain, on a cold, dark night. There was a stop probably about 30Km before Carhaix, and it seemed we were all being called in out of the cold and wet. I went into the huge tent, the base of which was a muddy mess in the copious rain, bought soup and bread, and drank and ate that. I hung around a bit wondering what to do next, and started getting the chills. I bought two cups of coffee, and swallowed them too hot in an attempt to warm up, burning my insides. I could feel this because every time I swallowed anything after this, I felt pain along my aesophagus pretty much to the end of the ride.

5.3 Wanting to bail: Part 1
I sat at this stop for hours, hoping that someone would see me shivering uncontrollably, give me a blanket, and force me to retire from the ride. Instead, someone asked if I was going to continue, and I said no, I can't. I was about to bail. Much of the feeling of cold comes from the sweat against your body chilling to near air temperature, which felt like less than 10deg C in the mountains. 


I was so frozen now and I was hitting hypothermia I'm sure. Survival kicked in and said that if I don't ride now, I'll freeze to death. Riding now meant getting colder still with the wind chill, but eventually warming up. I had to do it. I had to get back on my bike. I forced myself up, and got back on my bike, shivering uncontrollably as the wind hit me on the downhills out of the village. I warmed up. I survived. Pitch black outside, dark, cold, but alive.


I wonder how many people bailed here or at Carhaix.


5.4 Pushing on
I cycled on, but felt so miserable, that I stopped on the side of the road to take a 45 minute snooze in the breezy dark, against a stone wall, under my space blanket. At least the rain had stopped. I got up, and got myself to the next stop at Carhaix, where I ate again.

Cycling from Carhaix to Brest (614Km), leaving in the dark but becoming light, is quite an endeavour in sustained focus once fatigue has started to kick in. The mist was somehow soothing - the morning light was enough to see where you were going, but with not so much vision that you could see the work required ahead of you. You know you will be halfway once you complete this stage, so it seems you just get up and do it, even though it is quite hilly (hills? no ways!). It was raining when we got to Brest, and I so hoped to see the fabled lighthouse. Sadly I didn't. I got to the control, to face probably the worst, i.e. the slowest eatery service ever (and the worst toilet facilities), where it took hours to process us! I took a 30 minute snooze at the table here, then got back on my bike start the ride back.

The ride from Brest back to Carhaix (703Km) is a tough ride, as there is a 20km long uphill out of Brest that will keep your previous meal from settling properly, especially if you pumped it a bit going into Brest as well, with all the adrenaline involved in finally achieving the half-way mark. It is ordinarily not a particularly challenging hill with a cross- or a tail wind, but with a headwind, it can easily become significantly more bothersome! Fortunately the wind was not too strong that day. Very welcome was a young French boy dishing out fresh, buttered brioche on the side of the road. It was the most delicious sample I had ever tasted.

Speaking of public support, this has to be the real gem of Paris Brest Paris. The French love affair with the bicycle is so deep and entrenched, they were even standing in the rain and at all hours of the night supporting the 5000-odd riders. I had brought 10 South African PBP qualifying medals to hand out as gifts along the way, and they were richly appreciated at every point. So many richly memorable moments that are beginning to colour my life now as I fully recover from the ride.

5.5 The start of the third evening

The route back to Loudiac (782Km) marks the end of probably the worst, i.e. seemingly some of the hilliest 400Km in Paris Brest Paris, at least given my physical state and the conditions I found myself in. It was also the time I experienced the quite nerve-wracking experience of your lights running out of battery power, nicely timed for a downhill of course, and all in the pitch black of rural France! Fortunately I had a backup light that I quickly managed to switch on, thankfully before I went careening headlong into the bushes somewhere! I stopped halfway up the next uphill to change batteries. In the midst of the pitch black, interrupted occasionally by a quiet sequence of bright lights followed closely by dead quiet cyclists, unless they were French or Italian of course - I don't think those dudes ran out of anything to say for 1200Km :-)! - I paused to look up at the stars, wondering what on Earth it was that I was actually doing out here...

With no richly satisfying answer, I took up the slog of the remaining part of the hill. I was pleased to eventually get to Loudeac, by which time my quads were properly sore, while my triceps and deltoids were starting to take strain. After all, I had never cycled this far in my life already, and it does take your muscles some effort to hold you up after all!

I carried on to Tintineac (867Km), where I washed up, put some clean clothes on, and felt slightly better about myself given that many important aspects of hygiene had finally been given some attention. I used the women's toilets, which had a much smaller queue than the men's, much to the ire of the women standing outside! I mustered a smile. It wasn't returned (what?)! I went upstairs to eat, and then I took an hour long snooze at the eatery table. By this time, my left knee had begun to hurt, that delightfully understated condition known as an overuse injury.  There was still about 400Km to go!

At the Fougeres eatery, I got into a lunch conversation with a Frenchman, who said he needed to make it to Montagne before falling asleep. I thought about it, and realised I needed to do that too if I'm to have any hope of finishing in time!

Fougeres Castle.
Source: http://krostybat.deviantart.com/art/fougeres-castle-196520217

The route between Tinteniac and Fougeres (921Km) crosses a pretty little town, Sens-de-Bretagne I think, which I hope to visit again one day. It's the place I tasted Breton-style milk for the first time while on the way to Brest, and decided I like it and want more. It's thick, like buttermilk, and slightly sour like natural yoghurt. Quite a shock if you're expecting the normal runny, fresh-tasting stuff, but it's great once you acquire the taste for it! Indeed, even Fougeres is worth more than a second look given the presence of the big historical castle in town!


I had forgotten how hilly the route between Fougeres and Villaines was. Clearly I was too busy dealing with the bonk on the road out from Paris! It's a fair stitch of work when you're tired, make no mistake! However, about 10Km outside Fougeres, I had to stop for reasons other than the terrain - the feeling in my feet was like the soles had come off, and that they had chafed raw. I stopped, in the sun. I knew what was coming. With some apprehension, I realised that my feet had been wet and cold for over 40 hours. At the hygiene stop, I realised I had not brought a spare pair of socks with, so didn't bother taking them off. Now, what if I had the beginnings of trenchfoot? I took my socks off. It turned out that I actually peeled my socks of my feet. Oh my word, they didn't look good at all! The balls and heels of both feet were totally suspect. There was nothing for it but to dry my feet, and to dry my socks. After 45 minutes, in proper sunshine believe it or not, they fortunately looked MUCH better, and my socks were dry. I put them on inside out, and continued significantly more comfortably than before. That could probably have started becoming particularly messy should I have left them on for just one more day.

5.6 The start of the fourth evening
I continued tackling the hilly terrain, coping rather than riding comfortably, getting to Villaines (1009Km) just before nightfall. I ate, and then had a two hour snooze. I was so tempted to sleep more, but picked myself up, and got back to my bike to continue to Montagne (1090Km). I ate again, and about 10Km of hills later, realised that I left my helmet (Bell), my glasses (Oakley) and my helmet light (Petzl) behind, in my state of semi-consciousness, when I left. I decided not to go back to fetch them though as I was too tired, which was of some concern to someone like me who has had experience in the safety benefits of helmets, not just once, but twice in previous bike accidents! There was no way out but to continue without them. Fortunately a helmet is not compulsory wear in PBP otherwise I will have been disqualified. I wasn't keen on getting bugs in my eyes though!

By this time in the ride, the sides of the road look like a battlefield littered with bodies, some in space blankets, others pretty looking like they had just fallen off their bike and fell asleep exactly where they fell. I couldn't help wondering how some of them could sleep without even the meagre assistance of the space blanket, as I would have been frozen solid doing that!

5.7 Wanting to bail: Part 2

I now left for Dreux (1165Km) in the dark, and found it just that much too hilly. About 20Km in, the pain in my left knee was too much (I had been crying out in pain for hundreds of kilometers by now every time pedaling resumed after a period of freewheeling), and physical and mental fatigue seemed to now attack me simultaneously from all sides. Everything just seemed too steep and too sore, and 20Km into this stage, I felt I couldn't go on as is right now, the lowest of my lows. I stopped on the side of the road, took out my space blanket, and fell asleep for two hours just as twilight was being announced. I hoped an ambulance would come by and take me out of my misery, but it didn't. If one did, I'm afraid I will very well have climbed into it with no problem, thereby forfeiting my ride. I woke, and the sun still hadn't quite risen properly - it clearly takes ages for the sun to rise at these latitudes, being twice as far north of the equator than I live south of it! 

Fate however seems to work in my favour more often than not, and with no ambulance in sight, I had no option but to get back on my bike. There was a steep climb to begin with, and I simply kept turning the pedals. I thought the luxury of two hours of sleep had by now totally blown my chances, so I now simply kept turning the pedals to reach Paris at whatever time I could outside the cut-off.

5.8 Onwards again, and then a miracle happened
As I crested the peak, something extraordinary happened. A 20-something Italian dude passed me, said hi (or rather ciao), clearly in quite some pain too, and only going slightly faster than I was. In a short while, that slight speed advantage saw him way ahead of me. I was fuming inside. Can't I just turn the pedals slightly faster, maybe in a higher gear? Look at that dude! By my estimate, there was only about 120Km to go. The route had seemed to have flattened out a bit, either playing more to my general road-riding strengths or in relief of the previous hundreds of kilometers of hills!

In an all or nothing move, I shifted onto the big ring (I had been riding in the small ring for over 250Km trying to save my knee), shifted up, and started what I love doing, albeit in a lot of pain - building up speed in a high gear. I had no energy, but somehow that Italian had inspired me, and I continued to increase my speed. I got low on the bars, and was soon sustaining good, long extended bouts of 30km/h+. Indeed, for the remaining ~60Km of this penultimate stage, I must have averaged way over 25km/h with over 1000Km in my legs already, compared to probably 15km/h in the previous few stages. Now where did that come from?

I was inspired by this performance. I got to Dreux, and knew there was now only 65Km left to the finish. There was three hours to go, no time to stop to eat or refill water if there was to be any hope of finishing in time. By my calculations, all I needed was to sustain just over 20Km/h for three consecutive hours, with no mishaps, and I could still finish in time!

There was no choice, but to do it. I rushed out from the control, got back on my bike, pain crying out from absolutely everywhere, and got back in my big gear. I started pushing. There was some wind, and I was battling to hit 30km/h this time, but I knew I was doing ok as I was going above the minimum speed required. I also knew that the faster I could go on the flats, the more of a buffer I could build up for emergencies. Then there were a few short steep hills (emergencies), and I wondered how many there could be, and that in spite of the huge efforts of the last few hours, I could still not finish in time if too many of these hills still existed between me and Paris! I held my cool, and simply did the hills in close to granny gear (my poor knee!), while back on the flats, I built up speed time and time again. I had to carry on trying. The chase was still on!

Soon, with the smell of fresh hay ever so rich in the noonday air, there was only 4Km left, with 35min to spare. I began to recognise the streets in the town we started from 90 hours ago, and there were traffic lights everywhere back in Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines, all working to stop the flow of my bike. I stopped at every one, mindful of the penalties that could be issues if you violated the traffic rules - a minimum of 1hr penalty for each violation I think!

6. The Finish
Soon, I saw the traffic circle marking the beginning, and the end of the ride. I overcooked it a bit coming around the corner though (I must have been blind, tired, knackered, stuffed, or maybe just over-enthusiastic), and skidded past the end shute with the tail coming out slightly. I corrected, and manoeuvred myself back to the shute entrance, all to the applause of those ever-faithful French spectators.

And sooo, finally, there it was, the end, completed with only 19 minutes to spare! The rush was over, I had done it! With special thanks to that young Italian dude!

I rushed inside, hoping that my time estimates were right, and to get my brevet card stamped asap. By the analogue estimates, I only had 13 minutes to spare. Who cares, by digital or analogue measure, I had made it. I wanted to cry. Finishing within the time limit was all but impossible a short 6 hours ago! And here I now found myself having earned my medal.

Ultimately, it's done, and I could not be happier for having made it. Thank you to that Italian for igniting the fire in me when there was nothing left to burn! I've got a date with PBP2015. It's got to be better than this!

7. Epilogue
With a provisional time of 89h41, I am now an official member of La Société Adrian Hands, a club for all those finishing after 88h55 but before 90h, in memory of the late, great randonneur, Adrian Hands. While the ethos of the club is the savouring of the full 90h allotted, I'm afraid mine was all about survival this time. Maybe next time I can do better justice to Adrian, where, with a body in better condition, I could most certainly spend more time drinking that awesome Breton milk!  

Three weeks later, the fingers in my right hand still tingle, no doubt as the nerves continue to repair themselves, while my knee is still sore. I keep to an almost 10Km ride daily, just ticking it over while it heals. Interestingly, I hadn't even noticed my fingers had gone somewhat numb until after the finish, a shower, and a solid 13 hours of sleep! Waking up afterwards felt like zombiedom all over. Indeed, it took two days to feel reasonably ok again!

7.1 22 September Update
I went off to the post office to fetch a parcel in the mail. There I found, along with a hand written note wishing me a strong recovery from Yvette Pendu representing Audax Club Parisien, a box containing my helmet and my helmet light, identifiable because of the ride number attached to it, and because the light was attached to the helmet. My glasses were not in the box, and the only reason that could be was because there was no means of identifying whose they were!

I could not believe it. This touching humanness is still so alive and well in us should we just choose to use it, having the power to make an incredible impact on anyone who happens to be at the receiving end of it! Again, the incredible warmth of the French I had experienced on the ride had come to the fore, a small incident which makes up one of the lasting memories of the ride, at least until next time in 2015!

8. The Lessons Learnt

• I should have had the French manual translated in order to better understand the mechanism of the controls, instead of assuming it was all blurb and that it would all be easy to work out. I wasted a lot of time and caused unnecessary suffering by taking the easy way out
• I should bring better quality rain kit (heavier)
• I should make sure I bring maybe two dry base layers for those frozen nights. As an African, I was not used to the kind of cold that the Europeans seemed quite comfortable with. I can do heat, but I suffer in cold.
• There was a lot of time wasted at the controls where I sat around. For example, my ride time was about 60hrs. 30hrs were therefore spent either sleeping (7hrs), getting the brevet card stamped, eating, chatting, going to the toilet and clearly generally faffing about! Controls are dangerous things!
• From the last 100Km, there is always something to give when you think there is nothing. You just need to find a catalyst to get it all started
• As for physical preparation, well, having started a year in advance will have given me a much bigger aerobic base, but working with what I had, I could certainly have done it in a much better time. Getting mumps certainly didn't help matters!