Audax rides

Ride Report – Paris-Brest-Paris 2023

Now that the dust has settled I thought I’d give a ride report a go, even though I know I won’t be able to really do it justice or come close to conveying what it was actually like. So, I’ll start at the beginning.

I travelled to France by car/ferry on the Friday evening, a sweaty trip in a shit-heap Vauxhall Meriva with broken aircon and pathetic headlights, the latter which meant that I had to find a car with good headlights going at a pace the Meriva could handle without blowing up and stick to it like glue. Arrived at hotel in Plaisir near midnight (it’s hot and humid), Saturday I get up for the 6/10 breakfast buffet and about halfway through someone comes up to me and asks if I’m doing PBP… I had no cycling paraphernalia whatsoever with me and I don’t really look like your typical slender cyclist. I confirmed that I was and asked how he knew; “I can tell by the way you’re eating”. I drove to Rambouillet for a lunch meet with @WhitleyJay , @Amcharl and another pal from previous Audax adventures and it is here when it hits how much of a big deal PBP is; it was mental, bikes everywhere, cyclists everywhere. I know, a given but still a bit of a shock to the system when it’s your first time. Pop over for registration, pick up my bits and pieces and it’s all very straightforward, back to the hotel to chill for a bit then a massive pizza and a pint for dinner.

Sunday morning, D-Day. 8:30pm start meant I had all day to fret and fidget (no chance of napping) but also I needed to sort out food for the day and for that night on the bike, the plan was to carry enough to see me through the first good chunk of the ride. France being France your options are limited on a Sunday and I had no fridge. So cue a couple of supermarket raids first thing to grab a cool bag, some ice, variety of pasta salads, fruit, some bread, ham and cheese. Back holed up in my hotel room it was all getting a bit Pantani in Rimini, minus the crippling depression and cocaine, just a fidgety mess trying to eat and drink and questioning everything about my bike set-up. Car packed up and rolled out to Rambouillet at 6:30pm, got there with bags of time and made it to my starting wave at 7:30ish. Waves rolling out at 15 min intervals, some 150-200 in each wave I would guess. I was in with a bunch of Filipinos who were in great spirits, including one guy in a banging pink and yellow Tomassini with gleaming Campagnolo bits and a handlebar-mounted boombox blasting out Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, it was a vibe!

Out we roll, with dusk rapidly approaching almost everyone opted to throw on their hi-vis gilets from the start. Nervy, twitchy group. Wasn’t really inspiring confidence and I found myself near the back of it. Couple of Danish guys next to me decided to nail it and get ahead of the nervy bunch, I jumped on and worked with them for about 15k before they pulled over to faff with lights. The long, gently rolling roads produced quite a sight: hi-vis and twinkly red lights as far as you could see, never-ending, like lemmings. I kept catching wheels and rolling with a few group until about the 50k mark, then a whippet of an Italian kid pulled alongside and said: “I like your speed, I’m going to ride with you”. Alright, Thomas. It’s your funeral. We rode as a pair, his youthful exuberance leading to him absolutely nailing it every time he hit the front, promptly followed by shouts of “piano, piano!!” from me. The support from the locals at the side of the road was incredible and really took me back, I’d never really experienced something like that. Clapping, cheering and endless shouts of ‘bon courage!’. We were still 30k from the first control and I was running out of water so I pulled over to some people on the side of the road who were offering water. I had no idea what the deal was, if I had to pay or what, then it happened in flash: I stopped, just as I took out my bidon a local took it from my hand, opened it and filled it with a jug, closed it, put it back in my hand and pushed me on my way with a hearty ‘BON COURAGE!!!’. Splash and dash, 15 seconds max! Thomas and I kept rolling a little too fast and made the first control, Mortagne-au-Perche at 120k. Music, grilled meats, a blaring tannoy, bikes and cyclists everywhere! I lost Thomas but just as I was filling up my bottles I heard my name, @amcharl who had started a few waves before me. In the melee of getting my bike I lost sight of her but we found each other straight away on the road. “Feel free to push on if you want to” Amy said. Absolutely not, I’d gone out too hot and the pace in any case was excellent so I wasn’t about to shoot off on my own into the night. We rode along, at times just the two of us, more often than not pulling a few small groups and occasionally catching wheels. Well into the small hours and no hint of it getting cold, at all. Exceptional riding conditions. We continued riding strongly, quieter roads and less support given the time of night until we rolled into the second control at Villaines-La-Juhel. Carnage. Hundreds upon hundreds of bikes and cyclists everywhere. We needed real food so after getting our stamp we jumped in a queue for what looked like underwhelming baguettes until a volunteer pointed us in the direction of the restaurant across the road. We popped over and were met by children (like 10-12 years old, at 4:30am!) on the way who guided us to the buffet and helped us order, once settled up they carried our trays of food over to the vast but rather empty dining hall. Spag bol was inhaled and we met another friendly face, @Ruserius . We had a quick chat and he rolled out before us, when we stepped outside the arse had absolutely dropped out of the temperature, we layered up and rolled out.

We continued to roll super well, as dawn approached we were in a groove and the kilometres seemed to just melt away, I distinctly recall my Garmin showing average speeds for 10k laps of 26, 28 and one even just a smidge under 32km/h. Granted it was probably mostly downhill but in any case it felt like we were making swift progress without unduly taxing ourselves. Fougeres control at 293k was a bit of a shitshow, not sure what it was about it but it was thoroughly underwhelming so after a bit of faffing and a sunscreen application we continued on our way. The French were out in force on the roads again, every kid that stuck his hand out got a high five from me and it’s difficult to get across how much of a buzz you get from randoms giving you genuine support on the side of the road. We continued for another 60k or so until we reached the next control 354k, Tinteniac, it had just gone midday so the priority was to find shelter. Just as I was trying to fund my bearings I heard my name being shouted, eventually I clocked that it was @WhitleyJay sitting in the shade, looking a little worse for wear. By all accounts it had not been a great first 350k for Jay, super nervous bunch with touches of wheels and generally pretty poor riding form so he’d opted to ride solo most of the way. We chilled, chatted and hydrated and then back on the bikes and into the afternoon. Spirits lifted all-round and Jay taught us his new-found favourite riding position, mostly deployed on the gentle climbs: Meerkat mode. Sitting almost bolt upright with hands on the pads. It was a hit and there were many instances of triple Meerkat for the rest of the ride. The kilometres begin to blur at this point but we were having an absolute blast. Legs were more than beginning to feel it and my arse was sore but I didn’t care much at this point, the roads were class and conditions could not have been much better as we hit Quedillac (not a control but facilities and refreshments) and we started to discuss where we should stop for some proper rest. Loudeac at 435k seemed like a good idea. We got there and had questionable food from a kebab shop then thought as we were making such good progress and all felt reasonably well, we should push on to the next place we could sleep, Saint Nicolas-du-Pelem at 482km.

Just before we got there I stopped at a fruit and veg shop, I was desperate to eat something fresh so my raid yielded an avocado, some cherry tomatoes, little plums, bananas and a couple of nectarines. We arrived at what we’d decided would be our sleep stop at around 8pm and again it was an assault on the senses; Amy hit the nail on the head saying it felt like being deliriously spaced out at a festival at ungodly hours. We didn’t know what the deal was with beds so asked if we could book some for 9:30pm which led to some puzzled looks, there were loads of beds apparently. We ate some bland chicken and rice then I went for a shower that gave me flashbacks of Feltham youth offenders institute and then to the cot in the gym hall, these were barely 30 cms apart and there must have been 300 or so of them, one fella close to me was passed out with a sheet, knob and bollocks peeking out for some air. Snoring on all sides, and this was with the hall largely empty. We’d agreed on a 2am wake up, I was fretting about whether I’d actually be able to sleep but there was no need, earplugs in and face mask on I was out almost immediately for a solid 4 hours. We got ready by our cots and walked out into the frigid, fried-saucisson air. I grabbed three saucisson baguettes, we scoffed then and then Amy noticed she had a flat. Expedient change of inner tube and just after 3am we were on our way. “Let’s roll real easy for a bit, yeah?” Nope. Somehow, it was Power Hour. I don’t know what was in those saucisson baguettes but the 33k to the next control at Carhaix were absolutely devoured, countless lemmings passed yet there were countless more ahead. Carhaix at just before 5am was another bewildering sight, bodies strewn everywhere, you genuinely had to watch your step or you could easily trip over a head/foot/hand. We continued our progress through the night, some nice Meerkat climbs and the odd bit of fruit from my musette was very welcome relief from all the bread, cereal bars, pasta, rice, etc. A nice long climb on the way to Brest and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it spectacular sunrise at the top of the climb, we stopped for a quick rest and a couple of photos before the long, fast descent. Some way down we bumped into @hollow__legs and his better half again (I forgot, we’d bumped into them in the dead of the first night somewhere and I shouted ‘Matthew!!!’ instead of the obligatory DAS, shame on me), both snuggled under a blanket sipping something warm. We continued, Brest over yonder which we hit at around 9am. That was just over 36 hours for me since setting off from Rambouillet which given the length of time we’d stopped both overnight and at the various controls felt like excellent progress. In the run-in to Brest we’d made a tentative plan to go to the nearest Maccy’s and stuff our faces but once we’d reached Brest and looked at the logistics it just didn’t make sense. Boulangerie it was for yet another baguette, coke, donut, packet of mini donuts and a coffee. Coffee in the morning after all that had been consumed has consequences, thankfully the boulangerie had facilities and all was well.

Having reached the halfway point I felt pretty good about things, yes I was sore, particularly my arse, but not concerningly so. The way back to Carhaix was hilly, relentlessly so. There was a secret control in the middle somewhere and it was just before this that Jay was stung by some Massive Unidentified Flying Thing in the chest. We reached the secret control shortly after and sat in the shade, it was hot. Jay took an antihistamine and I asked if there was a First Aid person or some such, no dice but there was a pharmacy in the village. We trundled over. “Do you speak English?” NO. Ok, here goes. Made ourselves understood and Jay was given some hydrocortisone, keep an eye on the sting and if it gets bigger or redder you need to see a doctor. Roger that, over. After suitable rest and drenching of caps in water we continued on the relentless rolling terrain. That section was utter bullshit and we didn’t hit Carhaix until about 4pm. We raided a supermarket shortly after the control and ate some well-deserved Magnums amongst other things and set our sights on Loudeac. I wasn’t feeling quite so chirpy now but well enough to keep the legs turning; there were some absolutely class long, flowing descents which we made the most of. Another secret control somewhere and then with daylight just about gone we made it Loudeac just after 9:30pm, another bland dinner and on to find a bed in a gym hall. No shower this time, just going straight to sleep in the bibs I’d been wearing for the last 300 sweaty kilometres. Nice. We’d once again agreed to rise at 2am, the only difference being that this we hardly slept. I got maybe just over an hour of actual kip and when I took my eye mask off Jay was sitting bolt upright, fully dressed and dead-staring through me. Uh-oh. We trundled out and into the cafeteria for some breakfast and then it was The Power Hour, part deux.

We smashed it through the small hours into Quedillac where after 842kms I finally deemed it time to put on a fresh jersey unlike some people (ahem, Jay) who rode the entire thing on one jersey. We continued at a decent pace, quicker than I thought we had any right to given the lack of sleep, previous days efforts, yada yada… until we reached Tinteniac (867kms) just after 7:30am. This seemed a bit of a bogey control, we weren’t really feeling tip top but we rested, ate and just before we were about to roll out I needed the loo, but queues were too long and it didn’t seem all that urgent so I said fuck it, let’s roll. It was not a wise decision. Shortly after this we got split, I had to go into a ‘try not to shit myself and find a toilet / acceptable field ASAP solo time-trial mode’ and lost Jay and Amy, at some point later, whilst still prairie-dogging, Jay flew past on a train, I caught up and we chatted, he said he’d stick with the train and go for making sub-80… Now I’m no genius but even I in my diminished state quickly worked out that this was going to be a mega tall order given where we were and the wave that Jay had left on, but alas, I wasn’t going to be the one to piss on his chips so off we went with his train into the distance, meanwhile the poonami clock kept ticking and I was running out of time, like Jack Bauer but less axis of evil nuclear warheads and more impending shit shotgun. A Carrefour, a lifeline! I made a beeline for it. There was a queue for the bog, of course there was. I was in no mood to wait so I banged on the door and pleaded with whoever was inside to pretty please hurry the fuck up. Mercifully, they did. The situation was diffused just in time and the hero of the day was not Jack Bauer but the unexpectedly luxurious 4-ply roll, what a touch, literally and figuratively.

I bought some breakfast (pasta salad, mango, can of coke, two bananas) and picked up a few bit for Amy, we’d re-group at the next control now that Jay and his train were gone. As I was eating my pasta a Korean fella popped up next to me having got his breakfast: half a roast chicken, big portion of chips and a can of lager. What. A. Flex. Relieved and refuelled I powered on to Fougeres and met Amy, as well as forlorn Jay. What happened? I got my maths all wrong, smashed it with the train for 40k and now I’m smoked. The man that at some point the day before had confirmed that 6+2 = 9 got his maths wrong… colour me surprised. Almost 1pm by the time we rolled out, it was hot. The further inland we went the hotter it got and there were still a fair few lumps in the route. Mid-afternoon heat was relentless so we made a few more stops along the way including a nap on the grass somewhere, fuck knows where. About 260kms from the finish now and a sharp pain hit the back of my knee. It was that classic pain you get when you’ve hyperextended your knee but I hadn’t done that at any point so it was a bit of a mystery. Regardless of how it came about I was fucking hobbled and told the guys I had to stop. I’d already been popping ibuprofen for some time to manage other niggles but I took one for this and prayed to all the Gods I don’t believe in that it would kick in. We stopped, got some more ice cream, I then lay on my back and rolled my his-vis vest into a thick sausage, wedged it behind my knee and brought heel to bum in an effort to ‘create space’ in my knee. Amy also shared the wisdom of lowering my saddle a tad, which I did. We rolled slowly and thankfully the pain eased from constant to just the odd burst every now and again. We made the control at Villaines-La-Juhel (1,018k) at around 6:30pm and were once again escorted by children to the dining hall. More spag bol, cheese, bread, coke, etc. It was stiflingly hot in here. I was by myself for a few mins and this older gent sitting just off to my left asked me how it was going. In my best French I told him it was rough, very hilly on the way back from Brest, the heat, etc. he said he knew… he knew. He’d done it 8 times, retired in in 2005. Wished me bon courage and then we his mate arrived he nonchalantly said that he’d done it but ‘only 5 times’. Only. We needed sleep but indoors wasn’t an option, far too hot. I suggested we roll out and catch some sleep at the first suitable grassy bit we could. This happened to be less than a kilometre from leaving the control. We tried to nap for 45 mins but at least for me, no joy. It was Everglades kind of humid, I was drenched just from laying there

Weary we rolled out into the late evening, so hot and humid that Jay opted for the fetching bibs and hi-vis vest only combo, quite the look. We were making decent progress but I was dog tired at this point and needed more food, real food. We stumbled on a place doing pasta late into the night, must have been close to midnight, I changed it up and got a carbonara, it was infinitely better than the pasta at the controls. Even after this I was seriously flagging, everything was hurting and my hands were numb. We rolled into the penultimate control at Mortagne-au-Perche at 1am and I was like a zombie, I couldn’t face any more cereal bars but knew I needed fuel for the run-in, I spotted baby food pouches at one of the stands and stocked up on them. We set our sights on the final control at Dreux but I was really struggling, running on fumes and with about 40k to go to Dreux I spotted a roadside refuge and made the call: I’m dangerously tired and need a nap, you guys roll on. I didn’t even wait for their answer and made myself comfortable on a lounger having put all my layers on. I slept 30 mins and felt miles better. Just about ready to go when the urge struck again, only this time it was DEFCON 1, cocked pistol and immediate response required. There was a volunteer guiding cyclists to take the turn where we were and not carry on straight, I caught his eye and asked if there was a toilet nearby in hope rather than expectation. Of course, ask the lady serving coffee and she’ll show you inside. This was some kind of halfway house or something but in I went and there was an unoccupied toilet. Jackpot. Having narrowly avoided shitting myself yet again I felt a little better about the world and hit the road. Joy was short-lived, everything fucking hurt. With 25k to go before Dreux just before 5am my front light gave the ‘less than 10% battery warning’. My battery pack was drained. For the first time during the entire event, no lemmings anywhere. I was solo, on some desolate lane, my left knee blowing up with every turn of the cranks and my front light dying. Fuck me sideways. If I pedal at any kind of pace I’m in agony, but if I don’t go that front light will definitely run out of juice before I reach the control. Fucking Sophie’s Choice right there. I let out a primal scream into the night followed by a delirious, maniacal cackle at the absurdity of it all. I chose this. You actually chose to do this, to take paid time off to do this, you absolute knobber. I hobbled and made it to Dreux, not quite sure how to be honest.

More food was needed and I had some sort of lasagne with greens, cheese, bread and a bottle of coke. I had barely finished when I plonked my head on the dining table and passed out for 30 mins. I picked myself up and stepped into the dawn, just a little climb and some gently rolling lanes to the finish line. I rode fairly quickly just wanting it to be over, I just wanted off the bike. Started to see a few local hitters heading out for loops as I hit the outskirts of Rambouillet, all pumping their fists at me and shouting ‘Bravo!’ and ‘Bon Courage’. A lady with two kids in the back of her first gen Renault Kangoo (great, great car) overtook me pounding the horn and screaming encouragement at me saying ‘15k, allez allez!!!’, the kind of excitement I expect she has only exhibited in 1998 and 2018 when Les Bleus won the World Cup. Incredible scenes. Finally I made it into Rambouillet: exhausted, delirious, absolutely fucked, and also a teeny weeny bit proud.

It might not be the prettiest or most imaginative route, the food is bland and whatever else you might want to accuse it of, but it is quite simply EPIC. Never again though… at least not until 2027.