A Heroes' Welcome

 

I'm sure I've forgotten a few things about the ride. A lot of things aren't worth telling. However, one thing I won't soon forget was the inbound control at Villaines-la-Juhel. Upon arriving you are greeted by an MC announcing your name, to cheers and applause from a large crowd! On top of that, in the cafeteria, they have school kids standing by to carry your tray to a seat of honor in a large dining room.

Rolling into Villaines. So many people on hand, having a good time.

Here it seems like the whole town has turned out, there's music and a bar, and the cafeteria is open to anyone. It's a proper party. What a boost to the spirits of a weary rider! I hated to leave, but I didn't know anybody, and the sun was now setting. I needed to keep moving if I was going to get any rest that night for the final push to Rambouillet tomorrow.

Between Villaines and Mortagne I only stopped in Mamers, where the local cycling club had set up an aid station in the old marketplace. The imposing and ancient-looking Halles of the market, all lit up in the middle of the night, was a dreamlike setting for what must have been my 50th bowl of potage.

Potage is a thick, roughly pureed vegetable soup. It's easy to drink from the bowl in a few gulps, and seems to have everything you need to keep going. I got it at one of the first controls by accident, and then had it at every subsequent control. It was never very delicious, but always satisfying. I also noticed that many of the French riders insisted on a bowl too, so I came to believe that I had found one of their rando secrets, which no doubt added to it's allure.

I had been riding pretty much on my own since Brest, and with each passing hour there were fewer bikes on the road. Not to say that they were rare. It was just that you could at times start to feel lonely. Well, when I pulled into Mortagne, I finally found where everybody had gone. This control was packed.

The mood here was a strange mixture of excitement and exhaustion. Before going in, we had to make way for woman rider being carried out into the medical area. It looked like her legs were gone and she was unable to bear any weight. Inside, riders were splayed out everywhere in the cafeteria and in the hallways. But there were also many riders who were awake and were excited to be so close to the finish. I was wandering around, looking for the dormitory before hitting the cafeteria, when I thought I heard someone call my name.

I looked around. My mental state wasn't the best, and it was entirely possible I was just hearing someone asking for a cigarette in Dutch or something. But it wasn't a Dutch smoker, it was Lane! I was great to finally see a friendly face. He was on his way out but wanted the scoop, so we found a spot in the crowded cafeteria and discussed our respective situations.

He had recently started having terrible pain in his achilles tendons. Now unable to put out much power, he was worried about finishing in time. Because of this, he was not resting at Mortagne, but riding straight through the night.

Lane also was concerned about my time. He had warned me that the times printed in the card were wrong before we started. Having much time to think while riding, I had calculated the times myself over and over and over, until I was thoroughly confused. I concluded that, one, how could they possibly print the wrong times in the book? And two, to be safe, I would aim to finish before the earliest closing time I calculated to be 90 hours from my start time.

However, my resolve to do this was wavering. I had been goading myself on for days now. Frankly I was sick of that guy. I wanted to sleep so badly. If I hadn't run into Lane here, it's pretty likely I would have slept too much and finished late.

I walked him out to his bike and finally got a spare tube from him. It was another cold night and I did not envy what he had to do. I might not get the five hours of sleep I wanted, but at least I could take a couple and warm up. We wished each other good luck, and he rode off toward the finish.

 

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Sleeping was not possible this time though, and I left the dorm early Thursday morning. It was still dark, and still cold. I downed a cup of coffee and a pastry and set off. Right away I got in with a group of San Francisco Randonneurs who were setting a good pace. I was just getting around to introducing myself, when a rider just behind us screeched to a halt at a wide open left turn and started yelling something, in Spanish I think. There were taillights straight ahead, off in the distance, but we quickly understood that he was trying to warn us we were going the wrong way!

The last sunrise of PBP 2019.

The San Franciscans were taking a bit of time discussing the situation; I had recently started to doubt their leadership, so I took off alone, in the right direction. Ahead the sun was coming up behind a wooded hill, warming the horizon. The road traversed open fields and wetlands, where mist was rising to form thin wisps of fog that hung here and there. A morning chorus of birds was tuning up. It was the perfect setting for some wistful thoughts. I had enjoyed the experience completely, and was going to be sad to end it in a few short hours, challenging though it had been.

Passing through a village, I noticed a person up ahead. He was sitting on the edge of an adorable little stone bridge, using his phone. I thought he had a familiar silhouette from a distance, as did his bike, but I couldn't be sure. As I passed by, I realized it really was Jason! I yelled at him and he looked up and spotted me. I circled back, and after a short greeting we continued on together.

As we rode along, he told me the story of his PBP. He had unfortunately had some mechanical problems with his bike. These included having a rubbing brake that was really slowing him down without his knowledge. Eventually he realized what the problem was and fixed it, but not before he had become exhausted from the extra effort.

After finding the problem, he rode onto the next control, planning on resting for awhile then catching a train back to Rambouillet. Instead, he ran into a friend, a veteran randonneur who was there as a volunteer. He advised Jason to ride back slowly and enjoy the trip as a tourist. So that's what he had done, and he had enjoyed it.

"I mean, of course, but I still ate it." Dreux (JK)

After an hour or so of riding, during which I think I yammered incessantly, we pulled into Dreux. The penultimate control. I remember really craving something specific for breakfast, which of course they didn't have. We sat down across from a exceedingly pleasant fellow from the UK named Simon and struck up a conversation. We discussed how amazingly well the event is run by the volunteers. We agreed that the help and encouragement we received from so many people along the way was something special. It might have been fatigue, but I think we were all pretty awed by the experience.

From Dreux to the finish was a rolling celebration. I became convinced that clubs and groups collected at Mortagne so they could ride into the finish together. We were constantly passing or being passed by groups of riders talking excitedly, laughing and having a great time. It was a stark contrast to preceding days, which at times resembled more than anything a death march. Now, everyone knew that they, and everyone else on the road, was going to make it. It was a fantastic way to finish, made the better for being able to finish with Jason and join in the sociability.

The final miles were some of the prettiest, moving from wide open farm fields into the lush green of the Forests surrounding Rambouillet. It was great to find that Lane had finished within the time limit, in spite of the pain. After a few minutes spent in taking pictures and mutual congratulations, the last of the adrenaline washed out and the fatigue set in. Lane and Jason headed back to the hotel to clean up. There we'd wait for word that Ken was closing in, so we could all go back to the finish line to see him arrive. Karel had long since finished, and gone home.

The End (Darcy)

I wandered around the finish area for an hour or so after they had left. I don't think I was ready to end it. After a while I went to partake in the banquet for finishers. Walking into the cafeteria I looked around for someone familiar and spotted Simon. We picked up right were we left off in Dreux, but with an extra helping of awe.

After parting with Simon I also fell back to the hotel. Lane had offered to let me borrow the shower in their room, and I had stashed a change of clothes there as well. Lane's wife Darcy let me in to their room. Lane was in bed, and down for the count. I got cleaned up and tiptoed out. It didn't look like we'd be seeing Lane again that day. Understandable.

I got a snack and a coke and sat out in front of the hotel, watching the comings and goings. I reflected some on the experience, but mostly just sat there in a daze. My phone was never very reliable over there, and I ended up missing seeing Ken come in. But he did make an appearance at the hotel so we congratulated each other, and I told him about my eventful ride. It was nice to hear praise from a man who had just completed his ninth Paris-Brest-Paris.

Our celebratory diner planned for tomorrow, Jason and Ken departed for their hotel in Saint Quentin. I had also been invited by my hosts to dinner, So I set off for Dampierre.

A Pastry named for PBP. It's a wheel, see? (Wikimedia)

After a little delay with the trains, I made it back to my lodgings around eight and went to visit my hosts. They speak French of course, and German, but less English. I'm not sure that in my mental state I was the most engaging dinner guest either. So we did the best we could in conversation. We did have some things in common, being 'country folks'. So we talked mostly about wildlife and fishing, and Montana. They treated me to a fine three course meal, complete with a “Paris-Brest” for dessert.

I'd finished the ride at high noon, and didn't get to bed until about 11pm. But I was feeling fine. I was feeling very lucky I had chanced to stay here. It was a little out of the way, but they were such wonderful people. They had taken me in and made me feel at home the whole time I was there. They put up with my weird comings and goings let me skip out on my minibar tab. The little hut was the prefect setting for me to prepare for the challenge of PBP, physically and mentally. So to the DeWinters, merci beaucoup pour votre hospitalite!