Qualifying and Training for Paris-Brest-Paris 2015

In the world of randonneuring – an obscure sport, originating from France, of long distance cycling – the big event happens every four years.  It is a 1200 km ride, from Paris, to Brest, and back, aptly named Paris – Brest – Paris.  Since encountering this sport, in the mid 90s, each P-B-P year has consumed perhaps seven months of my life.  After four successful PBPs, my luck ran out, in 2011.  At that time I assumed this would be enough (AND that, sadly, I was getting too old and slow, if not for this sport, at least for P-B-P).  But then 2015 arrived and I found myself again consumed by the desire to qualify to return to France.

Qualifying consists of completing a “series” – four events (200, 300, 400 and 600 km), in the allotted amount of time (equivalent to a 15 km/hr minimum speed).  P-B-P takes place in late August.  One must qualify by early July.  For those of us residing in the northern hemisphere, this generally means one must start preparing in the winter.

For me winter means running.  Qualifying for P-B-P therefore involves segueing from running to cycling.  This is NOT how most randonneurs approach it.  They start riding fairly seriously in the winter, increasing the distance as the randonneuring season arrives.  For me, after having discovered long distance running (midway through my randonneuring career), a lot of it is about avoiding burnout.  I feel fortunate to have the two sports.

My approach would be to do nearly my usual amount of running, throughout the winter and spring, while easing into cycling near winter’s end.

In late January I ran three half marathons in 14 days.  On February 15 I ran the Birch Bay Marathon.  The year had begun!

In early March the randonneuring season began.  March 7 was the 100k (this is NOT a qualifier, but is a good ride to do, none-the-less, to ramp up to the longer rides). The ride began at a park near my house, so it was easy to bike to the start.  It was a gorgeous day, the course was NOT obscenely hilly (unusual for Seattle International Randonneurs).  I rode it on a fixed gear.  The ride finished at a pizza place; this added a nice social touch.

On March 14 was the “spring” 200k.  There was LOTS of rain in the forecast.  As luck would have it, the ride began near where I live, so I was able to bike there.  Everyone was sporting serious rain attire.  After three hours it miraculously stopped raining.  If someone had told me, at that moment, that that was the last rain I would encounter, on ANY of my randonneuring events this season, I would have told them they were stark raving mad.  I would have been wrong!!  This ride was reasonably hilly.  It took a lot out of me.  With about two miles to go I actually stopped, put some electrolytes in my water, and took a very brief break to restore my spirits.  I finished with a minute to spare.

Next came the first of several gutsy feats: two marathons, six days apart.  This first was in Oakland, CA; the second was the Yakima River Canyon Marathon.  I had NEVER done two marathons this close together before.  Throughout the entire second marathon my legs reminded me of why it is prudent NOT to run two marathons so close together!

On April 5 I rode a 200k on fixed gear.  It ended in Bainbridge.  I felt quite tired, at the end, and could NOT refuse Duane Ishihara’s generous offer of a ride home from the ferry terminal in downtown Seattle.

Two weeks later it was time for another gutsy feat.  April 19 was the Wenatchee Marathon.  It went well.  The next day the Redmond Cycling Club had a 40 mile ride, starting/ending in Leavenworth, finishing via Tumwater Canyon.  It too went well.  The next day just involved killing time in Wenatchee (though I ran five miles in the park).  The next day was the 300k of Northwest Crank Brevet Week.  The winds were favorable; the weather was gorgeous (though a bit hot by midafternoon).  The course was not obscenely hilly.  I finished with over an hour in the bank.  I returned to Seattle feeling inspired.

Then came the 400k on May 2.  The weather was good.  There was sun.  It was even warm in the afternoon.  It wasn’t obscenely hilly, though there were some wicked hills near the midpoint (just before some additional climbing on the east flank of Mt. Baker).  There were friendly volunteers and good food at the midpoint turn-around.  I left feeling inspired.

Then the sun went down and the temperature dropped.  It was fortunate that I had read the forecast and brought just enough clothes to make this tolerable.  The Garmin showed that it hit 30 degrees.  One expects the cold to keep one awake, yet I struggled to do so during the long night.  At the control in Mt. Vernon – Haagen’s Foods – I had some Pepsi with caffeine.  The got me to the Centennial Trail, but then I struggled again.  I made it to Arlington and had some coffee at the 7-11.  Nothing happened!!  This was a bit of a shocker because I never use caffeine!  I struggled along the remainder of the trail, at one point taking a break to lay on a bench.

When the sun rose I was gradually resurrected.  Still, I finished 25 minutes in the hole and was not given credit.  I reasoned that I’d handled the distance OK, so would continue with my plan to attempt the SIR Tahuya Hills 600k, at the end of May.

The weekend after the SIR 400k I went down to Oregon for a double header.  On Saturday I did the Covered Bridges 200k.  I finished with an hour in the bank, in spite of getting lost trying to exit the metropolis of Scio (this was a harbinger).  The next morning I got up at 0:dark:00 and drove to Eugene in time to pick up my packet for the marathon. 

The marathon went well, although my legs indicated they had NOT forgotten I had biked 200k just several hours earlier.  So, things went a bit slow.  At the 18 mile mark a very pleasant female groupie gave me chocolate, then ran with me a bit, then gave me more chocolate, then gave me a kiss!  This was my 66^th marathon, and don’t get me wrong – I enjoyed the attention – but I don’t know if I have 66 marathons left in me for more chocolate and a kiss.  In any case, Barbara Tatge has nothing on me.

The end of the month arrived and I attempted the SIR 600k.  We were again blessed with great weather.  Early on I settled into my usual position: dead last.  I don’t mind biking alone; just knowing I’m part of an event is helpful.

The day one route is somewhat hilly and then there’s Skate Creek.  This is not a killer steep climb, along the southern flank of Mt. Rainier, but it does go on for a while.  On the way up I developed pain in my right knee.  It had been showing up for several weeks, most notably on a 45 mile somewhat hilly training ride I did occasionally, on fixed gear.

I made it to the crest and expected the knee to recover a bit on the descent into Packwood.  I was surprised, during the descent, when a woman on a bike slowed down to chat with me.  She had just climbed up to lodge on Mt. Rainier.  She noticed my 1995 SIR jersey and told me her husband, Tom Lawrence, had just done the climb with her but taken a different way down.  Of course I remembered Tom from my early days of randonneuring!  I stopped at the inn, in Packwood, and said ‘hi’ (and even had him sign my control card!).

Then it was off in a westerly direction on US 12.  This was a flat stretch and the headwind wasn’t excruciating.  Occasionally there was a slight hill and my knee reminded me that hills were now quite painful.  As I neared Morton I didn’t see how my knee was going to handle the Tahuya Hills on day two of this ride.  

I started to hatch a bail-out plan.  I had a room reservation at Centralia (right next to the control).  This was NOT the official sleep control but that was too far into the ride for me.  I would fill up with water at Morton and push through the hills to Centralia.  Then I’d call it quits at my room.  In the morning I’d bike to Olympia and catch the express bus north.

As I pulled into a mini-mart, to get water, I saw Bill Gobie, a fellow SIR rider, seated inside.  I stopped to chat and learned he had pulled the plug.  He said that Millison was driving down to retrieve him.  He suggested I give myself a break and accept a ride also.

So I tweaked my plan and decided I’d take a ride to Centralia.  But Millison and his wife, both very pleasant people, suggested I come back to their place in Olympia for some hospitality.  I succumbed to the arm twisting (rather rapidly!).

In the morning Bill’s wife picked him and me up and took us back to Seattle.  All in all, considering how far away from the start I was when I pulled the plug, this had been a surprisingly successful bailout.

Now I was left to deal with the reality of how my PBP qualifying attempt was going: I’d failed at the 400k and at the 600k.  It seemed like I’d reached the end of the road.  Then I noticed there was a 600k the very next weekend, down in Oregon!  I’d only ridden 162 miles of this 600k, so recovery wouldn’t be an issue.

The next weekend I went down to Oregon and stunned myself by successfully completing the Kings Valley 600k! 

There was an SIR 400k the very next weekend.  That was too soon, however – that wouldn’t give me the necessary amount of recovery.  Plus, it was gratuitously hilly.  This would put my back against the wall: a few weeks later there was a 400k out of Tumwater (Olympia).  It was the last weekend, anywhere in North America, that one could find a 400k.

The weekend arrived with a forecast for high heat.  The route was a narrow figure 8, going down to Vancouver, WA and back.  There were some hills, before getting to Vancouver.  One, Green Mountain Road, the organizers had referred to, in a pre-ride write-up, as “puketastic.”

I biked to the start, from my room in downtown Olympia, a seven mile warm-up.  I discovered I had no pump!  Luckily Albert was there, with his van, and loaned me a pump from his stash.

The group took off with a vengeance and I was soon all by my lonesome.  I did catch Ron Himschoot leaving, as I arrived at the control in Kelson.  “We’re about to find out what ‘puketastic’ means,” I said.  “Oh, I *know* what ‘puketastic’ means,” Ron responded, with a hint of sorrow in his voice.

On Puketastic Hill I caught up with Peg and we suffered our way up together, in the high heat, on a climb that seemed like it would NEVER end.

There was a majestic view from on top, stretching east to the Cascade foothills, and south and west to the Columbia River.

I lost Peg on the descent, and then I double flatted.  The second was shortly after the first, and both were in locations with almost no shoulder to use to work on the bike.

When I got going again it was extremely hot.  It hit 98 in Vancouver.  By about 8:00 p.m., at the control coming out of Vancouver, I encountered Ron, Peg, and Albert.  I hung with Albert for a short distance, though made a terrible navigational error near Woodland.  I chose to follow the GPS instead of the cue sheet.

When I finally got back on course, it was clear that I would have to stay very focused to finish on time.  I took maybe three ditch naps, during the night, and one around dawn.  The rest of the time it was pedal to the metal.  I finished with about 15 minutes to spare.

I had done it.  At 63 (nearly 64) years of age, I had qualified for Paris-Brest-Paris.  Now I waited to see if I could get in.  I didn’t have to wait long.  By Tuesday RUSA had the data up.  There were still a few positions available, in the late starting corrals of the 90 hour group.  I was in!!!

Now to stay in shape for another seven weeks.

Two weeks later was STP.  I had not ridden it in one day since 2008.  I left my house at 3:30 a.m. and finished just before 10:00 p.m., some 208 miles later.  Compared to my randonneur rides, it was very nice to have company on the route!

Five days after STP there was a night start 400k out of Tumwater.  The ride started simultaneously with a 1000k ride.  I felt like kind of a light weight, planning to ONLY ride 400k.

A bit after dark a cable broke.  This was a brief test of my resolve.  I replaced it, using the light on my helmet, and continued.  During the night I took at least three quick naps in the woods.  Around dawn I approached the Astoria Bridge.  The route didn’t actually go over the bridge.

A bit later I took a nap, behind a post office, in the small town of Chinook.

In the afternoon I went into a restaurant for lunch.  This seemed slightly decadent but I was up on the clock, so decided to indulge.  Also, an army travels on its stomach.

Then it got warm.  At Montesano I had my traditional hot weather snack: Ice Gatorade and an ice cream sandwich.  A bit later, in Alma, I took a nap on a bench on the main drag.

Then I pushed to the finish (which seemed like it would never come).

I finished with an hour to spare.  Albert was handling the control, at a pizza parlor.  He was a gracious host, while I ate my pizza and drank a beer.

Then it was to bed for me, at the Motel 6 where the ride had begun.

In the morning I was up early.  I headed to downtown Olympia, where I ran the Lake Fair Half Marathon.  When I finished I felt like kind of a monster.

A week later I ran the B&O Half Marathon on Saturday and pre-rode the Brevet Weekend 200k on Sunday.  It was a hillaceous course, with ~8,800 feet of climbing.  Ridiculous.

The following Saturday I rode the Brevet Weekend 300k.  It had lots of gratuitous hills, was hot, and a group that was faster than me insisted on adopting me.  When I finished, with 1H40 in the bank, I was really beat.  There’s a reason I ride at the pace I do.

And then it was time to taper.  Two weeks until PBP.

Le Petite Voyage à Oregon en Train

(Note: Ce voyage a eu lieu dans 40 heures au total. Je voyageais par Amtrak.)

Le Pac-12 match de volleyball. 

L'arène Matthew Knight, le campus de l'université de l'Oregon.  20 nov 2015.

SET SCORES		1	2	3	4		TEAM RECORDS
Washington	(3)	19	25	29	25		26-2, 16-2 Pac-12
Oregon	(1)	25	21	27	21		14-13, 8-10 Pac-12

L’équipe Oregon a créé une avance tôt dans chaque set.  Ils en ont gagné le premier. 

Dans le deuxième set, Washington a rattrapé Oregon et a en fin gagné.

Dans le troisième set, Washington a rattrapé Oregon. Ensuite, ils ont créé une avance, mais Oregon a réussi à lier le score à 24. Oregon n'a pas été en mesure de gagner, cependant, faisant trois erreurs du service.  Washington a en fin gagné.

Dans le quatrième set, Washington a rattrapé Oregon et a en fin gagné pour gagner le match.

Pour le match, Oregon avait plus d’attaques réussies, une meilleure pourcentage d’attaques, plus de passes d'attaque réussies et plus de récupérations.  Comment est-il possible qu’ils ont quand même perdu le match ?  Washington avait 28 contres, Oregon en avait juste 14. 

Voici quelques photos d’Eugene :

https://www.flickr.com/photo attaques réussiess/8169895@N03/collections/72157659135381433/

Notes :

L'arène Matthew Knight a couté $227 million.

Senator Morse et moi allions au même lycée.

21 nov, 2015

Un peu d'exercice:

https://connect.garmin.com/dashboard?cid=1543368

Portland Center Stage

Ellyn Bye Studio

"Sex with Strangers"

J’avais assisté à plusieurs pièces du théâtre à Portland Center Stage mais toujours dans la grande salle.  Ellyne Bye Studio était le meilleur choix pour cette pièce.  C’est plus petit et plus intime.

Il y a juste deux acteurs pour l’histoire.  Il y a des thèmes de la confiance et du compromis artistique.  Il y a des thèmes aussi des relations sexuelles entre deux personnes qui viennent juste de rencontre l’une l’autre, et aussi de l’influence de technologie sur le monde de la publication.  Je croix, pourtant, que l’histoire peut exister sans ces deux derniers thèmes.  C’est-à-dire que l’histoire pourrait avoir lieu dans un autre temps.

À regarder ce piece était une expérience très engageante.  Les rôles étaient très bien faits et il y avait une bonne quantité de la tension et du drame.  Il y avait des moments de la colère, de la joie, de l'amour, de la réconciliation.  Il y avait beaucoup d'humour.

Après la conclusion, il y avait une session des questions et des réponses, avec les acteurs.  Je les trouvais très drôles et très sympas. 

Voici quelques photos de Portland :

https://www.flickr.com/photos/8169895@N03/albums/72157659274798163

Paris-Brest-Paris 2015: My Ride

There are three start time groupings for Paris-Brest-Paris: 80 hours (the fast riders), 84 hours (the pretty fast riders), 90 hours (the rest of us).  Most riders choose a 90 hour start time.

The 80 hour riders departed at 5:00 p.m. Sunday.  15 minutes later were the tandems and misc., which probably included recumbents and elipcycles. 

After that came the 90 hour riders.  Beginning at 5:30 p.m., and for every 15 minute thereafter, through 8:00 p.m., a corral of ~300 riders was sent out.  I was in the 7:30 p.m. corral.  I definitely got a feel for what it must be like to be in the stock yards (although the slaughter part, however unpleasant, was a bit more metaphoric).

Three or four kilometers after we had started the entire corral was in front of me (though generally someone remained in view).  At about 8:20 p.m. one of the official motorcyclists came along side me and slowed to talk.  He said something about the next group arriving soon but was rather vague.  I ventured a guess: should I turn on my lights? He said ‘no’ - he just wanted me to know that they were fast (as opposed, I assumed, to MY speed).  This ticked me off a bit; I was happy when he continued on his way.  Sheezes, I paid just as much for this event as they did.  Besides, they should be good enough riders to be able to pass me safely (which of course turned out to be the case).

The first control, Mortagne, is at 140 km.  On the way out, however, it is only an optional food stop.  I stopped but didn’t go inside.  I filled my water bottles, ate a bar, and continued.

Riding on the first night (i.e. this is looking fresh!)

I arrived at Villaines (220 km), the first real control, at 7:13 a.m. Monday, with nearly three hours in the bank!  In general I was to find the lines at the controls nonexistent.

I pushed on to the next control.  There were always other riders around.  Monday was sunny and warm.

I arrived at Fougères (309 km) at 1:47 p.m., 2:17 in the bank.

The afternoon I had several naps by the side of the road.  These generally lasted somewhere between 5 and 9 minutes.  I only took them when I was becoming drowsy to the point of losing efficiency.

I arrived at Tinténiac (363 km) at 6:11 p.m., 1:45 in the bank.  

In the early evening the first of the 84 hour start riders overtook me (incl. two very large and very fast pace lines).  They had started at 5:00 a.m. and hadn’t taken long to catch me.

I arrived at Quedillac (389 km), an optional food/sleep stop and decided to sleep.  I asked to be awaken in an hour but awoke after 45 minutes and was on the road again.

This stretch was tough going: hilly, dark, no fog line, occasionally iffy pavement, hard to distinguish where the edge of the pavement was.  My morale slipped at this time and I pondered quitting (though did not have any particular good excuse).

Now the very fast riders started showing up, on their way back.  This is a mixed morale boost, but did help to keep me awake.

I arrived at Loudéac (448 km) at 2:12 a.m., 0:12 in the hole.  Sleeping at Quedillac, and slowing in the darkness, had eaten up my time reserve.  I ate quickly and pushed on.  Heading out of town I noticed a train station (and made a mental note!).

There was a secret control at St. Nicolas which I hit at 6:48 a.m. Tuesday.  By now there was light in the sky.  The long night of riding was behind me and I started feeling better about my endeavor.

When morning comes to Morgantown

I arrived at Carhaix (526 km) at 8:50 a.m., 0:47 in the hole.  I ate quickly and pushed on.  This was the final segment to Brest but it required going over le Roc Trevezel (563 km), the most conspicuous climb on PBP.

Approaching Le Roc, there was a steady stream of riders heading back to Paris.  It was inspiring to see them (though I tried to keep my eye on the pavement in front of me).  On my descent from Le Roc (elev. 332 m) I spotted the tandem of Toshio and Makiyo Goto.  I called out and I *think* Makiyo heard me.  This was another morale boost.

As the route nears Brest, there is a slight loop, so eventually one no longer sees the riders headed back to Paris.  Finally we crossed the Pont Albert Louppe (608 km).  I stopped to take a photo and chatted a bit with a woman rider from Scandinavia.  It is always a profound moment to cross this bridge.

Once across the bridge, there’s some congested riding, on busy city streets, though also some escape from it via bike lanes.  Eventually I was at the control, Brest, (614 km), at 2:40 p.m., 0:13 in the bank!  I had covered half of PBP, in 43H10.

Toshio and Makiyo Goto

 The cafeteria had a line.  I needed to eat and wasn’t sure if I’d pass any opportunities on the way back to Carhaix.  It was frustrating to wait but the line moved fairly quickly and the volunteers loaded my tray with food.  I saw Mark Roberts and chatted a bit.  At the table where I sat to eat I saw Fatima (from the Seattle Randonneurs).  She was struggling with her morale.  I encouraged her to push on.  She was still there when I left.

I was diligent on the ride back to Carhaix (which includes going over Le Roc for the second time).  I only stopped three times on this stretch: once for my only ditch nap of the day, once to tweak something on the bike, and once to simply sit on a bench, to eat an apple (from the lunch at the Brest control) and take a break.

After closing the loop, I was surprised by how many riders were still heading OUT to Brest.  Perhaps all (or most) were 84 hour riders, meaning they didn’t need to reach Brest until 11:30 p.m., so they were fine.  If, on the other hand, they were 90 hour riders, probably most would be DNFing soon.

I arrived at Carhaix (698 km) at 9:30 p.m., 0:21 in the hole.  I was a bit surprised (and disappointed) to be in the hole because I’d ridden prudently and there is 15% more time allowed on the return.

This control was completely out of food.  I decided that would be a time saver!  My big meal at Brest would probably serve me well.  I mixed a bottle of Perpetuem and Hammer Gel.  Then I went to the sleep area and asked to be awakened in an hour and 15 minutes.

It was a major shock to be awakened a bit after 11:00 p.m.  It took a great deal of focus to get on my bike and back out onto the road.  Although this was my third night of riding, the darkness seemed somehow darker than I recalled it.  Perhaps this was because by now I was very near the back of all riders.  Occasionally a rider would pass me but, in general, this was a new and particularly lonely experience.

It was literally painful to be out on the road at that hour.  I was aware that I was moving very, very slowly.  My legs felt very beat up.  Loudéac seemed an insurmountable distance away (78 km).  Now all I could think of was to somehow make it to St. Nicolas, the optional food/sleep stop.  I was not having trouble staying awake but knew that my very slow pace was caused by extreme mental fatigue.

At 10 minutes after midnight I came upon a secret control.  I was happy for the brief interlude, but then it was back on the road and more creeping toward St. Nicolas.

At around 2:15 a.m. I arrived at the optional food/sleep stop at St. Nicolas.  The 36 km had taken me nearly three hours (with my only stop being the secret control).  Here again they were out of food.  I found the dormitory.  When they asked when they should wake me, I told them I was going to abandon the ride, so they did not have to wake me.

It was a bit cold on the cot in the large sleeping room.  I was only given a somewhat heavy sheet to use to cover myself.  I discovered empty beds around.  From the one next to me I took a sheet.  Adding that sheet to my original sheet made me warm enough.  I fell into a deep sleep.

I awoke a bit before 6:00 a.m.  There was light in the sky.  I was restless, so off I went.

My legs felt surprisingly sore and beaten up.  I rode in a more relaxed fashion, savoring the experience. 

Descending into Corlay (745 km) I had my one amusing mechanical experience.  The downhill to the stop sign, at a busy highway, was the end of the line for my rear brake cable.  When it snapped it became obvious that I could NOT stop in time for the stop sign.  Fortunately there was a gravel area off to the right, where I found enough distance to bring the bike to a stop with only one brake.  I replaced the cable and continued.

In the heart of Corlay I spotted a Boulanger Pattisier with a small park in front.  It was time for several pastries and a beverage.  I could not have been this relaxed if still on the ride.  Pushing myself that hard was a level of effort which was now behind me.

Then I continued, covering the 35 km to Loudéac without additional incident.  When I got to the control, all of the volunteers were busy packing up.  It was 10 a.m. and I was nearly six hours in the hole!  I intended to announce to the control staffers that I was abandoning.  Then I’d surrender my car (which would eventually be returned to me, by mail).  Alas, the data sensor and the card stampers were long gone.  There was no one to give my card to.

I retraced my route slightly to get back to the Loudéac train station.  The somewhat run down looking building appeared as if it might not be open.  How wrong I was!  When I opened the front door … the place was full of cyclists, busily packing their bikes into boxes!  I joined in.

Paris-Brest-Paris 2015: Some Notes

I knew this would be my last PBP; that influenced how I mentally approached the event.  Most of the qualifiers I had finished with not too much time in the bank, so it was foreseeable that if push came to shove, time would very probably be too scarce.

The start/finish had a new location (though still within St. Quentin-en-Yvelines), the new national velodrome.

The National Velodrome at St. Quentin-en-Yvelines

This worked out quite well for packet pickup.

Packet pickup inside the velodrome

The new venue also provided the necessary space (including outside) for handling the large number of returning riders.

Directions for returning riders

The mix of countries’ participation this time included a huge increase in riders from Japan, Korea, China, India, Thailand and Taiwan.  These riders often had very colorful jerseys and in spite of their suffering (including from what was, to them, cold temperatures), always looked impeccable.

Drew Buck, the Brit famous for always showing up in some period piece (with matching very old bicycle) was on a Raleigh from the 1930s. This time he was not to finish, however.

There were several people on elliptigos.

There were at least six enclosed bikes (i.e. the ones that look like small cars).

This year the organizers had taken the start to a new level, sending riders out in 15 minute pre-selected waves.  Here I am, about to depart:

Random French groupie offers me advice.

(photo courtesy of Eileen Kirkpatrick)

The weather was ideal for most riders.  Not too much sun, never hot, a bit chilly only on one night (Tuesday), no rain until Thursday morning.

There was a rider with one arm and a rider with one leg plus prosthesis.  On the climb over the big hill, a bit before reaching Brest, the man with one arm was right behind me.  At the crest he did not hesitate: he descended like a bullet!  I do NOT want to think about how hard it is to control a bike using only ONE hand.  Nor do I want to think about how sore that one hand must get.  I used TWO hands and the left one was so sore I would often merely set the side of the hand on the handlebar.

Brest was the first control where I encountered a significant line at the cafeteria.  The next control, Carhaix, was completely out of food.  The next food stop (not technically a control), St. Nicolas, was also completely out of food.

Oh, did I mention that I had purchased a ticket to eat BEFORE the start, and … .ah … they were OUT of food when I arrived, nearly an hour before the end of the serving time window.

There were no lines at the three dormitories I slept in.  I also took maybe 6 to 8 total naps at the side of the road.

On two different occasions I saw fixed gear riders taking their feet out of the pedals and putting them on top of the fork crown for a descent!  One, a woman, greatly impressed me when she put her feet back onto the pedals at a fairly high speed!  I will NOT be trying THIS at home.

Very few riders had fenders.  They would have had no problems until Thursday morning; from then on it rained fairly hard.

Almost everyone wears a helmet now (NOT required!!).

As the ride wears on, it becomes more common to encounter slower riders, who are weaving.  The occasional nice person, when passing, pauses to chat a bit, to help the person wake up some.  The occasional nasty person, when passing, says something snide.  There is SOME comradery in the sport, but it’s not universal.

The turnaround point, Brest, is as welcome a sight as always.

Riders cross a car free bridge into Brest.

I ran out of mental stamina after Carhaix (on the return).  This was disappointing, but an inescapable reality.

Things fall apart for me at around 700 km.

I limped on to Loudeac (the next control) where I joined about 10 other riders catching a SNCF bus to St. Brieuc to begin the return to St. Quentin-en-Yvelines.  With a bit of time to kill at Saint-Brieuc, several of us visited a pub across the street from the train station.

Martin (from London) at pub in Saint-Brieuc

For a day or two after the end of the ride, there were cyclists, generally near hotels, packing up.

Removable handlebars do not have to go inside of

tight bike box. (packing by Andy Speier)

So ends my 20 year affiliation with Paris-Brest-Paris, incl. four completions (the final one on fixed gear) and two DNFs.  It's been a wonderful experience but now I am ready to step aside and let the youngsters take over.

----------------------------------------------------

Kings Valley 600k

I got an early start driving down to Newberg, OR.  I left my house in Seattle at 12:45 in the afternoon.  This was a full two hours before I had left, a few weeks earlier (also on a Friday), to go down for an OR brevet.  This earlier departure paid off.  Traffic was only horrendous through Fife.  Later, when I crossed the Columbia on I-205, it was stop-n-go for about nine miles, but by then it was the heart of rush hour.

Ron H had contacted me a few days earlier.  He'd found a room at the Notel (not far from the start/overnight/finish of the 600k).  After I'd been there for a few hours, I figured Ron (who as it turned out wasn't able to leave Seattle until after work) had had a change of heart/plans.  Another reason I drove alone was because I had a sore knee and it was an unknown parameter going into this ride.  I figured if I DNFed VERY early (as Ron H would suggest!), it wouldn't be necessary to wait around until 3:00 a.m. Monday (which was when Ron planned to drive back).

Eventually I hit the sack.  About 1:00 a.m. I found myself awake, so decided to check e-mail.  While sitting at the computer, who should arrive but Mr. Brevet himself (Ron).  He hadn't been able to leave work until 7:00 p.m. (though that had meant he dodged a LOT of traffic).

We woke to sun (as forecast).  We got to the start early enough to do some schmoozing.  Mike Bingle was there (doing the 200k, which shared some of the 600k course).  He mentioned having done the OR spring 200k (his 22nd consecutive, going all of the way back to the early Marvin Rambo RBA days).

The veteran Del Scharffenberg was also there (also doing the 200k).  Why were all of these heavy hitters doing the 200k?  What did THEY know?

And then we were off.  It was flat, or gently rolling, for a while.  Then eventually we were working our way into the Coast Range.  At one point a cue said 3 miles to the summit.  Once there, the route descended.  But NO, we hadn't actually crossed the Coast Range yet, so we had to go back up.  Near the actual summit, the heat was oven-like.  This was due to exposure to the sun and shelter from the wind.  Sigh.  Sweat poured into my eyes (and burned!).

On the way down there was a control.  This would be the last time I'd see other riders until the next day.

Nearing the coast, the wind picked up, mercifully giving a break from the heat.  We hit US 101 at Lincoln City and headed north.  But then, for reasons NOT known to me, we ended up having to climb once again, back up into some big hills.  In terms of distance, this was totally unnecessary.  So, the climbing was definitely gratuitous.  We went all of the way up to the elevation we would later cross the coast mountains at on our return!  This is the sort of thing I dislike about randonneuring.

I was back down to the coast for sunset (and an info control).  Then I followed the Little Washtucna Road to climb back over the coast range.

Eventually I was out of the mountains and came to the Casino at Grande Ronde.  There is a minimart/gas station there, so I had a snack and continued. 

My pedaling went fairly smoothly during the night.  To my surprise, I NEVER became drowsy!  

I made it back to the room, in Newberg, at about 4:30.  It was fairly light out.  I believed the control closed at 5:20.  Imagine my delight when I looked at the cue sheet and it said 6:20!!!!  So I got about an hour of sleep.  I had some breakfast and then I told Ron (who was almost, but not quite, ready) that I needed to hit the road and that he would catch me shortly.

When he caught me, later, en route to St. Paul and Salem, he said a brief word ... and then passed me like I was standing still.

I had a nightmare of a time getting out of Salem.  I did about six extra miles (I think) and lots of unnecessary climbing.  Then I was back on route, following the Willamette River.  Looking at the cue sheet, NOW, I see a horrendous error!!!!!  Sigh.  Another thing to dislike about randonneuring.  And I think the Garmin could have been more helpful but was NOT.

I somehow managed to arrive at the first control, Independence, just before cut-off.  I finally saw a few other riders, leaving.

From there the course took us to a very short ferry crossing of the Willamette River.  The temperature was already scorching so another rider (who would leapfrog me this day) and I both were pleased they sold ice cream bars on the vessel.  This was one of the few things I could get myself to eat in this heat.

From the far side I set out, for what would be a mostly flat stretch, to the nadir of our loop, Waterloo.  I thanked God that my last name was NOT Bonaparte.  The other rider, whom I had not seen since leaving the ferry, somehow arrived at the control AFTER me.

Waterloo was a fairly nondescript place.  It did have a nice park.  Not much retail was apparent.  The store which was the control did have ice cream sandwiches and cold Gatorade.  No public restrooms.  That always sort of offends me.  But the young woman behind the counter was quite pleasant and even said something about enjoying all of us cyclists stopping in.

Now we headed north from Waterloo, into the headwinds.  They seemed to roar at times, probably something that only happens on very hot days (like today!).

And now it was time for my second nightmare of the day.  Nearing Scio (the last control before the finish), there was a 7.9 mile section on Richardson Gap Road.  To give myself psychological assurance that eventually I would actually arrive at my turn, I zoomed out, on the Garmin, until I could see the next road.  And then I pedalled, and pedalled, but the little dot that represented ME did not seem to move.  For a while I thought it was because I had zoomed out so far.  Eventually I realized the device had frozen.  I rebooted and the course would not come up!

Eventually the road I was on started to bend in the correct direction (which didn't feel particularly good because it had become incredibly steep).  I walked the bike.  At least there was shade.  Eventually I came  upon Ridge Drive.  Yeah, you don't get to a road with a name like that without a lot of climbing.  Or, in my case, a lot of unnecessary climbing.  I headed the correct direction.  Then I saw a young woman getting out of a car and I asked her for directions to Scio.  I was indeed headed in the correct direction.  And, I had indeed done some unnecessary climbing.

After Scio the cue sheet said Stayton would be the last place to get provisions.  You guessed it: time for another ice cream sandwich and a large bottle of cold Gatorade.

And now it was the final push.  Looking at the clock, hors delai looked possible.  Finishing on time also looked possible.  Eventually the route crossed I-5.  The sun had finally dipped below the horizon.  I changed to clear lenses.  It was too hot to put the official SIR reflective vest on.

The route touched Champoeg State Park, then got on SR-219 to cross the Willamette River.  After crossing what seemed like a never ending series of bridges, there was a sign that said "Welcome to Newberg" but WHERE were the bright lights!?  The course worked its way back to the start via a few backstreets.  And then I scrambled to find a place that was open so I could get a receipt.  I found a Circle K: 22:43!  Heck, I should have still been out on the course.

I sat on the curb, nursing my bottle of cold water (purchased to get the receipt) and reflected on the ride.  During the ride, perhaps even before, I decided this would be long enough for me, that I didn't want to go to PBP and torture myself over an even longer distance.

Now it is two days later, and even though my body still feels bruised and battered, I'm again wrestling with doing the final qualifier (I still need a 400k).  Such a stress free existence we lead!