PBP: Day 3 Loudeac to Saint Quentin en Yvelines

    We woke abruptly at 4 and mumbled to each other about whether to sleep another hour.  Our decision was made for us as new riders were brought into our cots at 4.  As we got out, they got in, fully clothed, shoes still on.  We had to pack and organize quickly in the dark and were back out into the rain at 4:20.  We had a quick breakfast at Carhaix and hit the road with a large group that we held with throught he dark hours of the morning.  At dawn we hit a secret controle and pushed onwards.  We were largely covering terrain we’d already seen.  At Tinteniac we caught up with Mark Thomas, the president of RUSA and several others of the stronger 90 hour riders that we knew.  They were heading out as we came in and gave us words of encouragement about our progress.  We had a quick, rejuvenating bowl of soup and loaded back up.  On the stretch to Fougeres the rain stopped and we started getting into a good rhythm.  We came into the control with a large group of 90 hour riders and tried to make quick work of it, hoping for a real meal a little further down the road.  We stopped just after the controle for omelettes, potatoes, green beans and coffee in what was, for me, the most restorative of our meals.  After the meal we headed up a long climb out of town and onto a long stretch of high rollers.  As the food kicked in and the sun came out we worked up solid rotation among us and got the pace up as fast as we’d ridden yet.  As we got up to speed we came up on an old French guy riding a Cannondale with Shimano sandles.  He hoped the train and immediately rotated in, giving a solid pull.  He kept with us as the miles ticked off all the while pushing the pace.  He said his name was “Andre, my last name is in English ‘ox’”, which seemed very appropriate.  He was 60 and had raced in his youth and was obviously still very strong.  Joe had his computer on and said that we ticked of 40 miles at between 25-30 mph.  In that time we also picked up an Italian named Francesco who sat in the whole way to Villaines la Juhel, only once coming around only to drop back quickly again.
We came into the controle riding a high from our strong pace since Fougeres.  On the way in Francesco asked if he could ride with us to Paris and said he would wait by the door for us to finish the control.  We made quick work of getting food and chatting it up with the other Americans we saw and headed out to the bikes with high hopes of hitting Paris early.  As I headed out, Francesco was waiting anxiously with his wife and daughter at the door and followed us out to the bikes.  As we got rolling I heard the announcer call out our names and mention the “quatre Americans” which further had us rolling on a high. We rode at a strong pace while the sun was out and Francesco was quick to join the paceline on the first rotation. After an hour the rain started and we worked through the high rollers with our heads down.  The rollers got bigger as we approached Mortagne and the sun faded.  We got in around 9:30 just as darkness had settled in and the scene was that of a zombie movie.  Gone were the smiling faces of Villaines, faces were pale and eyes stared 100 yards ahead.  We stopped for a full meal and a quick rest with feet up against the wall and debated pushing on in the dark.  Andre was there, he was staying the night but was already disqualified from the event for drafting his support car (which had happened before we met him).  He told us that we were the highlight of his ride and paid us high compliments on our riding technique.  Francesco came and said that we wouldn’t join us to Paris, he also would make a night of it there (not surprising has he had his wife, daughter, and warm clothes!).  We couldn’t fathom the idea of taking off, them putting back on our wet clothes and so pushed on at 11.
Out of Mortagne we had a series of dark descents and climbs that went very slow.  At one point we had a group of 10 riding with us, all either Americans or Aussies but they broke up as we made several small stops to adjust clothing for the fluctuating temperatures of the climbs and descents. The terrain gave way to a long flat section, nearly 50 K, of near total darkness.  We tried everything to keep from falling asleep: singing, different pacelines, telling jokes.  Billy flatted in the middle of nowhere and we made a stop for the change and struggled to get back on the bikes.
The road was littered with riders that had pulled off to sleep; every lightpost, bus stop and park bench seemed to have someone beneath it.  At one point we came upon a rider swerving widely from left to right and we yelled loudly at him to wake him up just before riding off the road and into a guard rail.  We all were struggling to keep awake and fought hard to make it into Dreux for the last cotnrole. We arrived at about 2 to find the fewest bikes we’d yet seen at a control and the emptiest food hall.  We choked down food but we were all too tired to eat, and too tired of eating the same things.  After a quick rest we remounted and made the final push back to Saint Quentin en Yvelines.  The last bit was unremarkable other than we survived it.  The sun was coming up as we approached town and we caught several riders ahead to roll in as a group.  We had thoughts of a sprint finish, but we couldn’t muster it.  Rather than cross a line, we came around the final roundabout and were ushered through a set of barriers and back to the stadium for the controle.  We walked in, and with little fanfare, had our cards swiped and our books stamped: finishing time 7:13 AM.  We were handed a ticket for a free drink and ushered away.  When we went to collect our celebratory beer we were handed a can of warm Kroenenburg, the Natty Lite of France.  We struggled to get it down and we each left with unfinished cans. We sat briefly next to a 60 year old Frenchman who had ridden the last 7 PBP’s and finished 6.  He told us that this was by far the hardest he’d done and likely the hardest in 50 years due to the weather.  We took some pride in that, and rolled slowly to the hotel to collect our things and head home.

PBP: Day 3 Carhaix to Loudeac

Were it not for the hopelessly uncomfortable sleeping conditions, I doubt we would have woken up.  But sleeping on a floor with only a rain jacket for a blanket doesn’t make for leisurely mornings.  We were up at 9 and back on the bikes by 10 after a short breakfast.  We made 325 miles on the first day and were hoping for another big day to bring us back to Paris well under 72 hours.
The sun was up and the day was spectacular but for the powerful wind that we could see pushing the trees around as we got dressed.  We took off into a powerful headwind and the most rolling part of the course so far.  The rollers went form big to bigger and several could have legitimately been called climbs. We picked up riders slowly and got together a coherent group for about an hour that worked through some of the climbing sections wit 2 strong young Danes who were willing to take their time at the front.  After 2 hours we came up on a slow going but large group and we sat in on the back for a little rest and a picnic.  The terrain turned form twisting forest roads to exposed rollers that climbed up to the top of a plateau.  The group held together and grew to 50+ with a powerful old Danish guy sitting in the front left position driving the train.  Others rotated in and out of the position next to him, but he held strong to the top.  Across the top we headed into a long 20K descent in towards Brest.  The riding was much easier, but the powerful headwind made it less restful than we would have hoped.  Once at the bottom we suffered interminable rollers through the countryside and then suburbs outside Brest.  Finally, we caught a glimpse of the ocean and crossed into Brest over a pedestrian bridge that was scenic but miserable with the strong gusts that nearly blew us over. From there we snaked through the town of Brest, down by the water, and then up a set of painfully steep wall climbs into the controle around 2.
The atmosphere at the controle was jovial as everyone celebrated the half way point.  We enjoyed our first celebratory beer of the ride and loaded our pockets with sandwiches for the return.  We left without eating hoping to find a proper café en route.  Alas, that was an error in judgment as the route took us through suburbia and strip malls and nothing appealed for food.  Blood sugar dropped and spirits sagged to new lows as we rolled on.  Finally, just before the road turned back uphill for the climb up the plateau we found a café where we were able to stop for coffee and pasteries to get us up the mountain.  As we climbed the food and caffeine got into our systems and we all started feeling feeling better.  We passed many riders on the climbs, including a guy riding an antique French two speed, in classic Parisian costume (stripped shirt, beret) with a string of garlic hanging on one handlebar and a bottle of wine in his pannier.  That was a bit demoralizing, but at least he had a 6 hour start on us.  Back into Carhaix we buzzed through the controle leaving around 7 and headed onward towards Loudeac.
On the route to Loudeac the sun fell and the rain came back which slowed our progress significantly.  Rather than fight the lines for food in Loudeac we stopped at a creperie along the way 50 K from Loudeac just as the rain went from drizzling to pouring.  When we went in we found the proprietors and their friends sitting around a single table for dinner and they quickly sat us at another.  We ordered crepes with onions and tomatoes and cheese and they poured us flutes of cider and framboise to help with the “dopage”.  They were cheery and encouraging and lifted our spirits enormously.  While we were there a gregarious Italian came in, ordered, and promptly fell asleep in his chair waiting for his crepe.  We finished the meal with a crepe with pears, chocolate, and icecream and coffees and were wished well by the owners as we headed back outside into the pouring rain.  We’d originially hoped to get back to Tinteniac but we came into Carhaix wet and cold at midnight in the pouring rain.  After only 150 miles we decided to stay the night and try to get cots.  On the way in we set a strategy for the arrival to get into bed as fast as possible.  Steve would arrange for the cots, Billy and I got the drop bags.  Of course it wouldn’t play out that simply.  The cot situation was chaotic and we all needed to be there to claim our spot in the big gymnasium with rows upon rows of cots.  We told them when we wanted to leave so that they could immediately replace us as we left for the morning.  We undressed and repacked in the dark and got onto the simple plastic cots with a single blanket.  The plastic mesh of the cot and the cement floor sucked heat from my body as I lay and it was nearly an hour of fitful sleep before I realized that I needed to keep the blanket between me and the cot and drifted off for 2 hours.