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.