Greg Olmstead's 2007 PBP Ride Report (click here for pics)

I love the French, for the simple reason that they love me, and the 5300 other people on bikes throughout their countryside.

The week started out a little rough. When I landed in Paris, my bike case wasn't there and wasn't going to be there until the next day. It seems that a 5 hour layover in Chicago wasn't enough time for my bike to change planes. In any case, the bike was delivered to the hotel the next day as promised, and I quickly set to work getting it ready. The next morning I took it out and found that most everything was working. I didn't put my headlight on its bracket until it clicked, so the headlight fell off after a speed bump and wasn't quite the same after that. Fortunately, I had a backup which became my only light during the ride. The day before the ride, there were a bunch of people riding the first 30km of the route, but I chose to ride the 3 miles to Versailles instead. Group rides can sometimes turn into hammer fests and I didn't want to get caught up in that. As it turns out, one of the riders hit some road furniture, fell, and fractured a wrist. It really was sad to see someone get so far and then not take the start line.

I signed up for a 10:00pm start, and got to the gymnasium at about 7:30. There was already a line forming to get in to become part of the early waves of riders. But they still had to send off the 80 hour riders and the 90-hour Special bikes. So there was a lot of standing around and slowly shuffling forward. The time went by quickly because I was standing next to a cycling club from Italy who thought me (6'9") and my bike (74cm Zinn) were just too funny. We had a great time talking about all kinds of things. I should have traded my RUSA jersey right then and there, but they were not tall and I wouldn't have gotten a jersey that fit; and they would have been swimming in mine. But the Italians had the best cycling jerseys. I really wish I could have found a tall Italian to trade with. I did bring 30 RUSA lapel pins to hand out during PBP and gave several to the group I was standing next to and they all put them on and wore them proudly.

I was in the third wave, at 10:10, and there might have been 3 more waves after me. When my wave left, I deliberately hung back to let other people get ahead of me. I didn't want to ride in a bunch and have people all around me, limiting my options for avoiding road hazards. It worked fine, and I was able to get around everything without any trouble. It was also raining when we left. So, I had the Showers Pass jacket on, but my waterproof helmet cover and rain booties in my bag. The riding was fast as the rain eased up. To the point that I put the jacket away and wore my thermal vest. As I rode along, I handed out more pins to people standing on the roadside clapping for me and others. Before I left, I used Google language tools to translate a few key phrases and "une cadeau pour vous" (a gift for you) worked wonders.

As I was riding, I could tell when the next wave was passing me. I'd be all by myself and there would be the sound of a beehive behind me, then one, two, three, and a pace line would fly by. Then you'd get the fast riders not able to hang on to the pace line, then more people. This happened 2 or 3 times before the first checkpoint.

I remember riding along at night and the conditions were perfect. I looked off to my right and saw some starlight, and saw the same off to my left. But straight up ahead it was pitch black. I knew this mean that we were riding into a storm. But sometimes the road bent one way and the I thought the storm was going to miss us. But then the road bent back and the collision course resumed. I regret not taking my own advice and getting back into my rain jacket. Over the course of about 2 or 3 minutes, the skies just opened up and started dumping rain. I got off the road and put my jacket on and my helmet cover, then pressed on to the first checkpoint. This being my first PBP, I didn't know what a control looked like. I saw a bunch of people pulling off the course into a parking lot. I did the same. I found shelter in a tunnel where I put on my booties and my kayaking gloves. I had to take off my glasses because the raindrops collecting on the lens impeded my vision. Now that I was covered up and bottles topped off, I head out back on the course. Turns out that the parking lot was some locals trying to generate a little cash by siphoning riders off the course before the official control. So I passed through the first control and kept riding to Villaines.

Riding at night in the rain is a bit of a downer. As you descend down hills, the rain hits you in the face, every drop stinging. You can look down towards your front wheel to ease the pain, but your field of vision decreases. You really just have to take the pain to keep riding safely. Anyway, I kept riding to Villaines, where I got checked in, grabbed stuff out of my drop bag and then headed out again. Before I left the parking lot, I gave to a spectator one of three RUSA water bottles I brought with me as gifts for local kids.

During the night and rain, there weren't that many people on the road cheering you on. But after I left Villaines, there were plenty of people. Even though the rain had subsided, it was still heavier than a drizzle and you'd do well to have an umbrella. In any case, I decided that I didn't care which French people got the pins I was carrying and that the sooner I got rid of them the lighter my load would be. I also brought 15 California Triple Crown patches that I determined to give to volunteers at the controls. Each time you sign in at a control, you meet 2 volunteers, so I figured my 15 patches would last me 7 controls. After I left Villaines, I gave away pins to every family I met that had young kids. There were a lot of families, so I was relieved of all my pins within a couple hours.

The rain continued all day, on and off through the next few controls. Because I rode alone, and because not a lot of people that I was riding near spoke English, a lot of time was spent thinking (and maybe over-thinking) about the ride. Imagine my surprise when I met up with a local rider, Dion Dyer. He was resting on the side of the road as I passed him; he recognized me, jumped back on his bike, and then caught up with me. We were several miles from Tinténiac, I think, and we talked about taking a short rest there. When we got there, my rear derailleur was mushy so I went to the mechanic. He said he needed to replace the cable. It's such a big bike that he didn't have a long enough cable and had to go to his shop for one long enough. Dion said he was going to go to the restaurant. About 45 minutes later, the mechanic comes back and delivers the bad news that he doesn't have a long enough cable. His assistant suggests using 2 cables and clamping them together somewhere near the chainstay. All of this is done in French, which I couldn't follow. Anyway, when they gave my bike back to me, an hour had passed. I went to look for Dion buy couldn't find him or his bike, and so I pressed on.

Outside of Tinténiac, I started to get drowsy. I had been awake for 24 hours and riding for 18. Off to the left there was this huge bus shelter. It was an 8'x8' shack with three walls. I went inside, leaned my bike against one wall, stretched out a bench and drifted off. I was completely protected from the wind and rain, but not the cold. I awoke shivering but my drowsiness problem was taken care of for the time being. I pressed on to Loudéac. But nightfall was setting in. I had hoped to make it to Loudéac before dark, but that wasn't going to happen.

The rain was still off and on, and the riding stayed the same. The only thing that changed was that the foliage overhead started looking very ominous and creepy. I'm sure my lack of sleep contributed, but I started seeing witches' faces, snarling dogs, and other menacing images in the roadside bushes and trees. No lollipops or rainbows. Just the stuff of nightmares. Light started playing tricks on me, so that I could swear that the rider ahead of me was riding under an aqueduct, only to find a tiny house by the time I got there. This continued unmercifully until I got to Loudéac. When I got there, I looked around for a place to sleep, and couldn't find anything. I eventually made a pillow from my vest, laid down in the hallway leading the restaurant, put my wet jacket over me, and fell asleep. Again, I woke up shivering. before the ride I made index cards with instructions for what to do at each control. But I was so tired at Loudéac that I ignored the instructions to load up on carb fuel and take on Clif bars. So, I left Loudéac with 3 bottles of carb/water mix on my frame, 1.5 bottles of carbo pro syrup (instead of 3) in my jersey pockets, and 200 miles of riding before I could get back to my drop bag for more carbopro 1200.

After about 5-10 miles I started to get really hungry. I knew I had to ration my carb mix over the next 100 miles. So that meant eating food along the roadside. One of the things I noticed previously is that there would always be a crowd of bikes next to Tabac shops, Restaurant Bars, and boulangeries. These cyclists must know something I don't so I stopped at the next spot where other bike were parked. There was this tent set up where they were serving soup, sandwiches, coffee, soda, etc. I had a bowl of broccoli soup, a croissant, and a coke. What a terrific meal. I pressed on and about 5 miles later a bakery was opening for the morning. I popped in and had an apple tart and a coke. I felt like a million bucks. It was then and there that I decided to change from a carbopro 1200 only diet to a roadside dining diet. If found myself stopping for a baguette and cheese and cokes to get me to Carhaix.

When I got to Carhaix, I slept on the floor again, but because the sun was coming up, it wasn't as cold as in Loudéac. I ate a bunch of baguettes and cheese (I don't eat beef or pork, so the baguettes with ham and cheese never interested me). While leaving Carhaix, a guy in a recumbent pulled up to the sidewalk that I was using to exit, blocked my path, and came to a full stop. I couldn't clip out fast enough and tipped over, taking off most of the skin from my knee in the process. I was wearing knee warmers, so the damage wasn't visible, but the pain was very real.

The trip to Brest wasn't bad, lots of long climbs and then downhills for your effort. On the way into Brest I stopped on the side of the road and slept on a rock wall. I took out the contents of my jersey pockets to make it easier to lie comfortably on my back. When I woke up, I forgot to put back my one remaining bottle of carbo pro 1200 syrup and headed out. I had about 100 miles to go with no carbo pro and so I had to fill up with food at Brest and again at Carhaix, and any roadside restaurants I could find that were open.

I found a gym mat at Brest where I laid out and slept for about an hour. When I woke up, my feet were tingling. I chalked it up to them being 'asleep' because I didn't take my shoes off. But the tingling never went away. It got more noticeable as the ride wore on, but not too painful to do anything about. On the road back to Carhaix, we went through a little town called Sizun. I went into the market and asked (as I always do) if they had a baguette with chicken instead of ham. I was told that they didn't, but the girl who made sandwiches took me over to the deli case, and explained that if I bought a package of sliced chicken and a package of sliced cheese, she'd use them to make me a baguette the way I wanted. The baguettes are about 2.5 feet long, and so she cut it in half. So I had one baguette outside the store and put the other in my jersey pocket for later. It only took 395 miles but I finally got a chicken and cheese baguette.

Also, on the ride back to Carhaix, I started riding with this guy from California  who was very sleep deprived and a little confused. He told me that a few minutes earlier he was asking another rider why so many bicyclists were riding to Carhaix, and why was he riding to Carhaix. I explained that he was riding in PBP and that Carhaix was the next control. I told him that he and I would ride to Carhaix together to make sure he got there safely. Then I strongly recommended to him to sleep for 2-3 hours. It seems like a lot of time to rest, but he needed it to clear his head and stay safe. The last time I saw him was in the control, after checking in, looking for a place to sleep.

I didn't sleep in Carhaix, just a quick meal and then back on with the rain gear before heading out to Loudéac. The ride from Carhaix to Brest to Carhaix was maybe the best weather of the ride, but once we were back at Carhaix, the rain set back in. Right before I left I noted that it was odd that both times I would be reaching Loudéac would be in the dark. Again the night played tricks with my eyes and I had to pull over in some village for a catnap. I sat on the ground, leaned up against a wall, which was not comfortable, but did manage to rest my eyes. I began to figure out that sleeping while sitting rests the eyes, it doesn't do much for recharging the body.

I rolled into Loudéac really exhausted and could find a place to sleep in the self-serve food area sitting at a table. Again, this sleep was me sitting at a table with my head resting on my forearms. Very uncomfortable and very unsatisfying. My feet were hurting even more, but decided to press on to Tinténiac after my nap. The ride to Tinténiac was bizarre. Lots of screaming downhills in the pitch black and in the rain. My headlight would show me where the shoulders of the road were; the red taillights of the riders ahead of me would show me where I was going to be in 3 seconds' time, and then I'd try to shoot for somewhere in the middle. Because the brakes didn't work well in the rain, you'd just have to let go of the brakes and try to stay in the middle of the road at 25-30mph. Looking back, I'm glad that there were no lane lines painted on the road or reflectors in the center; they would have only become hypnotic.

When I got to Tinténiac, I asked for a place to sleep. While I was peeling off my clothes before my shower, I took off my socks and found the source of my foot pain. Because my feet were wet for 3 days straight, the bottoms were blanched, bloated, and cracked. It looked like someone dragged me out of a river. There was nothing I could do about it so I proceeded with my shower. I took a shower, and slept in a single bed that had a big wool blanket. The room had 4 beds, all of which were empty. So I was the only guy in there for my 2 hour nap. That was such an awesome sleep; it seemed to last only a couple seconds. When the staff woke me, I felt completely recharged. I got back on the bike and was big ringing it through the next couple controls. The horizontal rest must have relieved the pressure (and pain) on my feet, but that returned as I logged more miles. I met up with some friends at Mortagne, and they were headed down for a nap, and I decided to press on.

The road out of Mortagne was pretty calm. My foot pain and my doubts of finishing were increasing proportionally. I just remember telling myself to keep my head down and turn the pedals and try to block the pain of a thousand daggers plunging into my feet. In order to make the cutoff times, I needed to really hammer the pedals, which hurt even more. I'm lucky that the road became pancake flat as it headed toward Dreux.

At Dreux, I checking into the Red Cross to see what they would do. I thought for sure that they'd be appalled at the condition of my feet. They were very nonchalant, which told me that my condition was commonplace, and no big deal. Painful to me, but no big deal. I left Dreux and headed for the finish. The pain got worse, but the miles were ticking off, so I decided to hang in there. After Dreux, a guy from the Campanile hotel rode up next to me: Jim from Davis, CA. Jim and I had had several meals together in the days leading up to the ride, and he's really nice guy. He rolled up next to me and we chatted and commiserated. He slowed down to talk me through my pain and made sure that I was distracted enough to keep up a pace that would see me to the finish line in time. Quite coincidentally, someone took a picture of Jim and me crossing the finish line. http://picasaweb.google.com/rob.hawks/ParisBrestParis/photo#5103549112562069042

By the time I got to the finish, I had to stand in line to get my card swiped. I couldn't even stand, so I sat on the edge of the tables and scooted along until I reached the volunteers. The final business having been taken care of, I got on my bike, rode back to the hotel, put my stuff away, climbed in bed, and slept for 12 hours. When I woke up, my feet looked to be back to normal.

89 hours and 8 minutes, unofficially; 30 lapel pins distributed along the roadside; 15 California Triple Crown patches handed out to contrôle volunteers; 2 RUSA water bottles handed out; maybe 5 hours of sleep. All in all a successful ride.

Me and my rig.

My new Italian friends - notice the beard of the rider in the middle. You know this guy is fun to hang out with.

Italian friends, part deux.

My daughters' plush dolls in Villaines.

Unnamed French village.

Cannot describe how happy I was to see this bridge.

Climbing out of Brest to get to Carhaix.

My trench foot, at the Red Cross in Dreux.