Lake of Rocks

The next day was spent in rest and relaxation. I wrapped my bars with new tape, and got my junk somewhat sorted. In the afternoon I took ride a into Dampierre to see it in the daylight. The chateau was particularly impressive, as I had ridden by it twice the previous night without noticing. I saw painted on the roads proof that the Tour de France had passed through about a month previous. In the evening I had a small meal and sat out on the porch of my hut with a beer or two, and watched the sun go down on this very pretty corner of the world.

The next day was check-in, where you submit your bike to a safety check, and get your number and control card. My appointment was not until the afternoon. It had started raining overnight, I delayed leaving the hut as long as I could, but ended up riding to the train in a light rain. It was a nice ride though, with everything so green, and fresh air from the rainstorm to fill the lungs.

Soggy line for the bike check

Registration pick-up in the barn

The start/finish was located at the Bergerie Nationale (National Sheepfold) in Rambouillet, and the rain turned it into a big muddy mess. I had brought rubber shoe covers, and they were trashed by the end of the day. I was glad to have my wool jersey. I tried to catch up with some of the other Montana Randonneurs but never could connect. There just wasn't much to write home about today. I retreated to my hut and turned in early. Tomorrow was the big day and I needed all the sleep I could get.

Chateau de Dampierre

Does This Train Stop in Saint-Remy?

Boarding the Metro back to Gare du Nord, I was again feeling pretty worn out. It had been a long day of walking, I hadn't eaten much, and still had a long way to go. I needed to get something to eat, retrieve my bike and bag, get the train to Saint-Remy, then, assemble the bike, and ride the four miles or so to the AirBnB with a giant bike bag on my back, all before I could rest for the day. And it was well past 7 already.

-----

The Five Guys Burgers in the Gare du Nord was a nice, greasy taste of home after my previous night's disappointing foray into French cuisine. As a bonus, you can get a beer at fast food places in France, and a beer and a burger was just the fortification I needed. I was not looking forward to lugging that bike around the station again.

USA! USA!

But I had planned this stage of the trip pretty well. I knew what train line I wanted to be on, so I bought my ticket and scouted the best route from the luggage lockers to the platform. I stopped at a little Carrefour market and picked up a few breakfast things for the next day, and went to collect my bags. The scouting paid off, and so with a little effort, I was standing on the platform, ready to board the next train to Saint-Remy-les-Chevreuse.

Without getting to technical, because Saint-Remy is the end of the line and fairly rural, not every train goes all the way out there. Most are serving the Paris-metropolitan area, and then coming back. So at first I wasn't worried that Saint-Remy wasn't coming up on the board.

After a while though, as many trains and ever more precious time passed, I grew concerned. Was I on the right platform? Yes, I think so. It's making the right stops, just not all of them, never going far enough down the line. I must have waited 45 minutes before I noticed a posting on the wall that finally solved the mystery. The line was closed past Orsay for maintenance. But there was a bus service that should take me from Orsay to Saint-Remy. Only 15 minutes to wait now, for the next train to Orsay.

By chance another randonneur showed up on the platform, a woman from Japan I believe, also traveling alone. So we tried at communication a little, but I don't think much aside from the basics survived translation. The trains were still busy with commuters at 9 at night, so we went to the end of the train where there is space for large luggage to stow our bikes. I found a seat facing the rear where I could watch my bike, among a garrulous group of women.

-----

The buses were waiting for us at Orsay, just as promised, and so with another obstacle overcome I arrived in Saint-Remy. My new Japanese friend had a ride waiting, which I was quite envious of. I set up shop under a street light, and got to work assembling my bike.

If you read the previous chapter on the bike, you might remember that I had made a few modifications to allow the bike to rinko, a system originally developed in Japan to 'fold' a full-size bike up for transport on trains. Now was the true test: had it survived the trip over?

Ready to roll at Saint-Remy

As the bike started to come together, things were looking up. I found one part, a fender stay, had been bent. Easy enough to straighten out. Just needed to put on the chain, pack up the bags and go. Finally, something going to plan!

Earlier, out of the corner of my eye I had noticed a man jog by. As I finished up with the bike, I noticed that he was now walking toward me. Uh-oh.

It wasn't so much that I was afraid of this stranger. There were still people around, in the station and buses coming and going every five minutes. It was mostly that last thing I wanted was another delay.

Turns out, I should have been afraid. He was a talkative fellow. He spoke good english and had many questions about the bike, where I was from, and how the bike disassembled, among other things. On one hand, I was anxious to get going, knowing that by this time my hosts must be wondering where I was, or gone to bed. But on the other hand, I can't resist a chance to talk bikes. Besides, he turned out to be an interesting guy and shared a lot of good local information, which was nice to know. Pierre was his name.

By the time I said au revoir to Pierre and got going it was after midnight. I spent awhile going down the various roads leading away from the station till I was sort of confident I was going in the right direction. One or two cars passed me as I rode, and one gave me a flash of the headlights. I figured that the bike bag was probably hanging down over my taillight. Nothing to do but try to hike it up and keep going.

I was quite relieved when the sign for the AirBnB appeared in my headlight. It wasn't far but had taken another hour on the bike to achieve my destination. As I pulled into the driveway, the anticipation of a warm bed and good night's sleep was all I was thinking of. The lights in the house were out. They had gone to bed. I couldn't blame them.

I leaned the bike and bag up against a shed. A little dog in the yard was not happy to see me, but wasn't making any noise either. But as I set to looking for my hut, the dog decided he'd seen enough and started barking. At first I didn't care. I even hoped it might wake the house and they might come out and show me the hut. After a few minutes though, I began to have doubts. Was I at the right place? There were a few other houses along the driveway. Uh-oh. Maybe I should retreat and take stock.

A little explanation might be in order. I had booked a little hut at a fishing 'resort' just outside of Dampierre-en-Yvelines. I had passed the gate to the office a little way back up the driveway. I knew that was the right place, but the gate was locked. I'd assumed the next closest house belonged to the owners. But did it really?

I schlepped my junk back to the gate, and assessed the situation. Stating the obvious, I had spent far too much time in Paris. I knew where I was, but not sure where my hut was on the property, and I didn't feel right lurking around at 2 am. In Montana, that would be a good way to get shot! But the night was warm and I did have an amply padded bike bag at my disposal. I decided it was time for the first ditch-nap* of my randonneuring career.

I actually was able to catch a few hours rest there by the gate, curled up on the bike bag with my backpack for a pillow. But after awhile, arms and legs were going asleep frequently, and I started shivering. It was still a good four hours before the gate would open. How to warm up? Jump on the bike of course! As long as things are totally out of hand, why not?

I rode up over a little hill just a little ways back toward Dampierre, and to a place called Maison-de-Fer, (Iron House) then on along the road, generally Westerly. There was a nearly full moon and I could see some animals out grazing in a field of stubble. What sort of European wildlife could they be? After a bit I rolled through a roundabout on the outskirts of Les-Essarts-le-Roi. This was a handy find, because Les-Essarts was where I needed to ride to, to get the train to Rambouillet, which is where PBP will start. Cool.

I pulled off outside a Peugeot dealership, and called up their complimentary wifi. I sent off a few emails and pictures while watching a little herd of hedgehogs grazing the landscaping. Cool.

Back on the road to Dampierre, I round a corner. There's stubble on my left and tall corn on my right. Suddenly, I'm startled when a big pig standing on the side of the road squeals and darts off into the tall corn! That must be what I saw in the field earlier. Cool!

At this point, I am thoroughly enjoying this early morning ride. I get back to Dampierre but I still have a few hours to kill. So I continue riding, take a left and head toward Versailles. There is a little light showing now on the Eastern horizon. It's a fairly hilly road, climbing in steps. I can hear a highway but I never see it. As I get near the city, traffic is picking up a little. I finally figure that it's time to backtrack to Dampierre. But when I get there, I've underestimated the time it would take, and I still have a bit to wait. So I climb back up the hill where I started, and bide my time at place overlooking a small field. I'm just in time to listen to the dawn chorus of birds, and hear what I assume are the wild boar calling across the forest that covers the hill. Way cool.

Do you know how in the movies, when the good guys are sneaking up on the bad guys' hideout, and they imitate bird calls to signal each other? And sitting there, you think to yourself that nobody would fall for that, because no bird sounds like that? Well, the birds in France sound like that.

-----

To wrap up this tale, I showed up at the gate just as the first fishermen were arriving. Of course the hosts were totally gracious about the situation, told me I should have knocked and got them up. Which is what I should have done. But instead I drifted off to sleep after another 24-hour day in France, dreaming about an experience I wouldn't have traded for the world.

*In randonneuring, there is a time-honored tradition of taking a sleep break on the side of the road whenever and wherever you're feeling too sleepy to go on. At PBP, cyclists taking a ditch-nap is a very common sight, especially as the ride wears on. In the USA, someone is likely to call 911 if they see you ditch-napping, so it's more rarely practiced stateside.

Cycles Alex Singer

There was one more place I wanted to visit before I left Paris. Among rando nerds, the Alex Singer shop is famous as the last remaining bike builder from the glory days of randoneuring. But evening was settling in and it dawned on me that if I wanted to visit when they were open, I better hustle.

Another short Metro ride deposited me in Lavallois, the neighborhood where Cycles Alex Singer is situated. Again I wandered in various directions until I found the right street, Rue Victor Hugo. Mercifully, Lavallois is a quiet and relatively new part of Paris, and the streets somewhat grid-wise.

When I did find the shop, thankfully they were still open. I'm afraid I made a bit of a fool of myself, fawning over the shop and the beautiful bikes. Olivier, the third-generation owner, and his family were so gracious though, showing me the workshop and the bike they were entering into the builders' competition that was running concurrently with PBP.

The 'Concourse de Machines' bike at the shop.

I wanted to ask a million questions, and could have spent hours looking everything over. Communication was proving difficult though, and by now I was beginning to worry about how late it was getting. I bought a few things, a cap and a jersey, and promised to be at the finish, one way or another.

-----

I took a bunch of photos here, but they got corrupted, bummer. The Cycles Alex Singer site has many though if you're interested. <=Link 

Paris en Poche

The Locker. It's a big locker.

I was able to get about 10 solid hours of sleep and woke up feeling more or less refreshed. The trials of the day before seemed a distant memory, I was ready to do some sightseeing in Paris. After getting a shower and finishing off what was left of the mini-bar, I checked out and headed back to Gare du Nord to stow my backpack with the bike. My sense of direction only slightly improved from yesterday, what should have been a 10 minute walk probably took an hour. No worries though, we're on vacation, and we have all day! I walked by a couple breakfast places I had wanted to try, but they were all really busy again, so I just kept going.

Having made the drop and finding my bike safe and sound right where I had left it, it seemed Paris was my oyster. I didn't really have an itinerary so I started walking roughly south toward the Seine and all the famous landmarks that lay in that direction. Soon though I realized that I had underestimated the size of the city, and that hopping on the Metro was probably a better way to get around. I had been avoiding it a little, just a bit of trepidation. But of course it is awesome. Clean, cheap, and fast.

At the Louvre

At the Louvre.

First stop, Les Halles. Just a big mall. Back underground to the Metro, I pop back up on Rue Rivoli, and walked down to the Louvre. I spent some time on the grounds there watching all the other tourists and marveling at the architecture. Continuing through the Jardin de Tuileries, I stopped a minute at a picnic spot overlooking the Place de la Concorde, under threatening skies.

From there, a walk up the Champs Elysee produced my best souvenir of Paris: a chestnut from the famous trees that line that most famous avenue.

I lingered at the Arc de Triomphe for a bit, watched the tourists take their selfies and the Randonneurs from Malaysia get a group photo.

I walked over the Pont Alexander III to the Eiffel Tower and hung around there for awhile, decided the line was too long to go to the observation deck, watched the tourists milling around again and left.

Tourists, Tuileries, Obelisk, Arc

By this time it was late in the afternoon and my coffee and pastry was wearing thin, but I still wanted to see Notre Dame, or what's left of it. So a walk down the Seine over the Pont au Change brought me as near to it as gendarmes would allow. I got a Croque Monsieur and a Coke, then crossed the Petit Pont to the Quai de Montebello where you could at least see the cathedral. It was quite sad to see the melted and slumping scaffolding still in place. You don't get to 900 years old without a few bumps in the road though, and I had the feeling that I was witnessing some history in the making, albeit unhappy.

-----

Looking back I have to say, that although the skill of the architects, builders and gardeners was evident, and on the whole beautiful, lacking historical context I'm afraid a lot of Grand Old Paris was lost on me. I really wish I had taken more time, and had more time, to explore and learn about what I was looking at. I feel like I really missed out on a lot. Next time.

People watching is universal and always interesting though, and there was plenty of opportunity for that.

A photo shoot going on. very Paris.

At the Arc de Triomphe

Planes, Trains and Velomobiles

My flights to Paris were uneventful and on-time. I had only one connection, in Minneapolis. By coincidence, my path through Minneapolis crossed with Merrill and Sunni Bradshaw, friends from Arlee who were flying home from visiting family in La Crosse. We'd arranged to meet, but a tornado kept them grounded for a few hours, so our plan to grab a beer in the sky lounge were thwarted.

Upon landing at Charles de Gaulle the adventure began. The plan here was to pick up my bike, then take the train to Gare du Nord, in the heart of Paris. I would stow the bike in a locker there. Unburdened and carefree, I would then enjoy a leisurely half-mile stroll to my hotel, taking in the sights as I went. I would have all of that afternoon and the next day to see Paris before returning to the station to catch the train out to my AirBnB near the start of the ride.

Reality had other ideas. I found out how big Charles de Gaulle airport is, and how heavy 48 pounds can get. A smart traveler would have availed himself of one of the luggage carts that abound in airports. I am not a smart traveler.

Didn't take many pictures the first day. Sorry.

Soon though I found the train station. Now, ticket in hand, nothing but a train ride stood between me and Gare du Nord. And also a turnstile. Which turned out to be less than obvious to operate. My best attempts at nonchalance produced no clue so I was forced act like the hapless tourist I was, and a merciful passerby showed me how to get through.

OK, now then, to the Train! And look, there is a woman standing in the door of a train waving me on and saying “Paris! Paris!” How good of them to provide guides for us hapless touristes!

Turns out, she's a beggar, and isn't too impressed that I hadn't changed any money to euros yet. Oh well, at least I'm on the right train. I hope.

-----

Gare du Nord. One of the largest and busiest stations in Europe. From the internet I had a vague idea of where the luggage lockers are. Vague won't cut it though, the place is huge. I don't dare leave the bike sitting unattended to search, but by now I am pretty tired. Up an escalator, to another floor, still underground, no lockers. But there is an information booth. The man inside speaks English and so at least now I have directions.

Up the stairs to street level. Here are the platforms for the 'Grande Lignes,' the fast long-distance trains. At the far end are the lockers, I'm told. Just a couple hundred yards to go. By now I'm used to the bemused looks I've been getting all through the airport and the station, lugging a big red bag around. But I feel exhausted and I think I must look it by now. As I start across, I happen to catch the glance of a short guy in a driving cap. He points to my bike bag and says, “Help?”

I'm leery to say yes, but I'm also desperate for relief. I'm sure this must be some kind of hustle. But he is insistent on helping me, and so against my better judgment I let him carry the bike to the lockers. We talk along the way, about what's in the bag, Montana, Trump, and PBP; me holding onto a strap, just in case. He seems too nice to be a crook, and I figure there's no way he's outrunning me with a 50 pound bag anyway, so I let go of the strap.

I'll never know what, if any, the hustle was, because he didn't get anything off of me. Instead, he gave me change for the locker, (I still had not hit an ATM, and wouldn't have had coins anyway,) a map of the train lines, and a handshake and well wishes. Pretty poor crook, I'd say.

-----

 

The walk to the hotel was no more straightforward but much less interesting. I got lost, although I don't know how you can get lost when you never knew where you were in the first place. But I did learn some things about navigating paris which would come in handy later. I learned:

• Parisian streets are haphazardly named and just as haphazardly signed.
• There is no such thing as a 'block' in Paris.
• My GPS was going to be no help in the street-canyons of a city.

I eventually found the hotel. After checking out the room and showering, it was dinner time. The cafe suggested by the charming woman at the front desk was packed, so I wandered down to another likely looking spot. Here I learned:

• The pace in French restaurants is glacial
• You can have a bad meal in France
• Don't go to dinner alone at a bistro in Paris, unless you like feeling extremely awkward for two hours

The Hotel Taylor on the Left, cool arch leads into the rue Taylor.

Backtracking to the hotel through the evening streets of Paris, I was feeling very tired and a little lonesome. But also excited and looking forward to the coming days. Surely things would go better tomorrow! Back in my room, I fell into the very comfortable bed and, having been up almost 24 hours, slept like a rock.

The view out of my hotel window.. If you squint you still can't see the Eiffel Tower.
But it was a really nice room. The bed was so nice.

PBP video

Please enjoy my Montana randoneuring colleague Lane Coddington's PBP video.
As usual ha has done a wonderful job editing and shooting this video. He also deserves a little shout out for saving my ride. I ran into him at the penultimate control on my way to the dormitory for some shuteye. I was under the erroneous impression that I had a lot of time to spare and was planning to take a relatively long sleep. In truth I only had just a little time and he helpfully pointed this out to me. So aside from being a great videographer, great riding partner and all around super dude, he also is able to do math while in a state of advanced sleep deprivation. He also lent me a tube. So thanks Lane, merci beaucoup!

The Bike

Bike and buddy on Pistol Creek. Gray Wolf in the background.

Several people have asked about the bike I rode. The truth is it's really nothing special, but then again, it is in some ways. For one thing, I've done a ton of work on it to make it into the quintessential 'Rando Bike'. So I'm pretty proud of that. On PBP I saw all kinds of bikes ridden well and successfully. I came away with a much broader view of what could work for this kind of riding. But I still like my bike best. Here's why.

When I got back into cycling as an adult, I had two criteria in mind when choosing a bike. One, I wanted to be able to go fast. Fast is fun, and I also wanted to see if cycling in my rural area could be a viable way to get around. Two, I knew the roads available to me would be predominately gravel. So with that in mind I took to the internet to research.

I read Sheldon Brown pretty much in it's entirety. I read some forums. I found Grant Peterson and Rivendell. I read a lot on Jan Heine's blog and subscribed to the magazine. (Just FYI the proceeding persons are famous bike nerds) A lot of love here for old French bikes with room for big tires. This is also how I was introduced to the legend of Paris-Brest-Paris.

Time to go shopping. A very short search turned up a basket case of an old Peugeot on Craigslist that seemed to fit the bill. I offered $50, $25 over asking price to secure the bike sight-unseen, as I was not the first bidder. I started collecting parts and when spring came I built a set of wheels and bolted it all together. It went through several modifications, little refinements as I became more confident in what I liked and wanted. It went from 700c to 650b wheel size, and a few gearing changes. It is about as fast as it gets for gravel. I use it all the time to get around the Jocko Valley, and beyond.

WARNING: BIKE NERD CONTENT AHEAD! 

Near Chevreuse I think. Randonneurs also refers to hikers in French.

Feel free to skip all this.

Wheels are 650b Velocity A23, Offset rear. Spoke lengths all within 2mm so I can carry spares to fit anywhere. Miche rear hub comes apart with allen wrench to allow spokes on drive side to be replaced easily.

A generator in the front hub makes power for lights, and soon I will have it wired to charge phones, gps, etc. I made what's known as a slip ring in the head tube to conduct power to the tail light., eliminating wires on the outside of the frame.

Tires are Compass 650b x 42mm. I have drunk the kool-aid on these. They are great tires. Most important part of this bike, or any bike, IMHO, are good tires.

 

Gearing is 44/26 front, 13-26 8-speed rear. I will probably gear up slightly for next year to 46/28. I am using 180mm TA cranks. I have very long legs for my height. Downtube friction shifters. Suntour Cyclone rear derailleur. Suntour ? top-normal front deraileur. I really enjoy the simplicity of this setup. But I'm weird. I really love mechanical things and I think a bicycle is one of the most elegant and beautiful machines mankind has produced so I am a bit biased. I have an intense dislike for cluttered bikes with 50 things zip-tied all over the place.

Saddle is a Gilles Berthoud Aspin. The most expensive part on the bike. Very high quality leather saddle. The selling point for leather is that it conforms to you over time and becomes very comfortable. This has been true for me. I had no saddle problems on PBP. I use a boot dressing called Sno-Proof on it about once a year. Sno-Proof smells great, like pine pitch and is not greasy so it doesn't make the saddle tacky like oilier dressings. I like to be able to move around a bit on the saddle and don't like textured seats.

Pedals are Time ATAC. These are mountain bike pedals. They suggest for randonneuring that you wear a shoe that you can walk in, and that means mountain bike shoes. I only switched from flat pedals to clipless this year. I like the ATAC system and clipless in general, but I am having problems with toe numbness that I never had before on flats. So this might change.

I carry a tool kit under the saddle and a couple spare tubes. The handlebar bag I made, as well as the front rack. The bag has a MOLLE-like system on the outside so I can have bear spray and a water filter handy when I'm riding around the mountains of home, then change to side pouches for more civilized riding. The lid has a sleeve for keeping a cue sheet (list of turns) visible. The sling in front holds your (possibly wet) rain gear, dries it on the go. It is a prototype, two years of riding has exposed some flaws which will be adressed in the next version.

Handlebars are Nitto/Grand Bois Randonneurs. Got a good deal on them, they are OK I guess. I haven't really experimented much in this area. They seem to work, my hands are OK after PBP, so I'm happy with them. I have the so-called Italian Road Bike Mirror, which I like OK, wish it was a little bigger, but not dorky big. I use it a lot here, in France I was ensconced in bikes and the drivers there are so awesome in regard to bikes I didn't really need it. Levers are Dia-Compe. They are the old style that are not ramp extensions.

As it was for PBP.

OK enough already. Way more than you wanted to know I'm sure. Oh, one more thing. To pack it down small for transport I made some modifications that allow me to rinko the bike. Now it's possible to disassemble it relatively quickly and make it into pretty much the smallest package possible. It's all the rage with bike nerds. Just say the magic word and...

More pictures if you are interested in some of the work I've done on this bike. I'll stop now I promise.

Part of the slip ring conducting power to tail light

Brazing, brake bosses added and bridge moved

Truing stand I made, 650b wheel in progress

The Runup

My first attempt at Paris-Brest-Paris is in the books. I say first, because I sincerely hope it won't be my last. The bottom line is I finished the 1,200 km (762 mile) course in 88 hours 45 minutes, which is inside my 90-hour time limit. I have my finishers medal and will have my name added to the big book of finishers going back to 1891. I could have ridden it faster I suppose, but doing a fast time was never the goal. In fact, doing PBP at all was not even on my mind in June.

To register for PBP, you must qualify. To qualify, you have to have ridden a “Super Randonneur” series of rides, a 200 km, 300 km, 400 km and a 600 km. Easy enough, except that randonneuring has become popular worldwide. So this year, for the first time in history PBP filled to capacity. 7,600 riders pre-registered! Effectively, since I had not pre-registered, it would not be possible for me to do PBP this year, even if I qualified. Or so I was told.

My goal then for 2019 was a full Super Randonneur series, to get experience with the longer distance rides, and particularly to work on the feeding aspect of things. I had finished 2018 with an abysmal performance on a 200 km ride around the South loop in Yellowstone Park. I got lost (on a loop, in a park with basically only one road) and then ran out of gas and ended up finishing last. By a lot. It was not a confidence boosting way to end the season, to say the least. It left me wondering if I was cut out for long distance riding at all, and PBP, the granddaddy 1200 of them all seemed very far off indeed.

Fast forward to the end of June 2019. The series is a wrap, we had completed the 600 the evening before. I had ridden each one well, and in fact felt better after the 600 than I had after some of the shorter rides. I was staying with with our regional organizer at his home in Belgrade. We were commiserating over a cup of coffee and watching Women's World Cup on TV when he metioned that registration for PBP had reopened. Some 1,600 pre-registrants had not completed their series.

Yellowstone R. South of Livingston. Tip of Absaroka Mtns. on Right, Crazys in the distance. On the way to the 300 km ride

Lane just shy of White Sulphur Springs, on the 300 km qualifier

At first I didn't seriously consider it. I didn't think I could or should afford it, and besides, time was not on my side. I would have just a month and a half to arrange getting myself and a bike to Paris. But on the long drive home it occurred to me that the guys I had been through thick and thin with on our qualifiers, for various reasons, may not do another PBP. Who knows where any of us will be four years on? If I wanted to do this thing with my friends, it would have to be this year. The rest of the drive was occupied with abstract planning and scheming about how I would sell this crazy plan to the family.

Jason and Ken a little farther up the road, somewhere between Three Forks and Harrison. 400 km.

Rainbow and the Tobacco Root Mtns. SE of Twin Bridges. On the 400 km qualifier.

Ken sloshing up the Bridger Canyon. A nice way to start a 600 km ride.

Due East. On 12 somewhere between
Shawmut and Lavina. 600 km.

Proof I was in Molt. Now on to Laurel
for a nap, and back to Bozeman to finish
the 600 km ride.

Sunset on the rims above Billings. On the 600 qualifier.

What about bikes? Just over the hill is the
600 km ride's finish in Bozeman.

You know what they say about plans...

So instagram basically crashed on me as soon as I got to Paris. My sattellite communication unit is very slow. So I have not been able to update as I might have hoped to. Here are a few photos of my trip so far. I am having a great tjme, and the ride will start for me in just a few hours.

PBP the Ride

For those interested, > here < is a short history of Paris-Brest-Paris. Written by American Randonneur of some renown Bill Bryant, it's a quick read and should give you a little taste of what it is, and why anyone would sign up willingly such a ride.

Photos

I'll be posting photos from the trip to Instagram. Check it out. > Insta

Tracking

While in France I'll be trackable at https://share.garmin.com/share/wherescasey - the password is Casey@PBP which you'll need to enter (caps and all) when prompted.

Casey Goes To Paris

By now maybe you've heard that Casey is going to do some crazy bike ride in France. Well it's true, and I'm just as amazed as you are. Paris-Brest-Paris, henceforth referred to as PBP, is what the event is called. It is the oldest cycling rally there is, being run at various intervals since 1891, and currently held every four years. PBP's popularity over the years has waxed and waned, but it is currently at a zenith: over 7500 riders will descend on Paris in mid-August, and ride the 600-odd kilometers to the Atlantic coast at Brest. Then, since they left their clean clothes back in Paris, they will all turn around and ride back.

In subsequent posts, (which I will hopefully make), I will try to explain the who, what, when, where and most importantly the whys of PBP. So please stay tuned.