Photo: Ready to go. Thank you to Patrick Stalherm for meeting me at the start and taking this photo.

Prologue

This story started four years ago. I had just finished my first Paris Brest Paris (PBP) in a surprising 69 hours. Much quicker than I expected. Within days I started to wonder if I could do it quicker next time even though I’d be four years older.

A lot has happened in the world since then. Against this backdrop I gained a lot of experience in endurance cycling across Europe, all recorded in the pages of this blog site.

I couldn’t decide between riding PBP 2023 nice and slowly, taking in the atmosphere, enjoying the festival and finishing just inside the 90 hour limit or trying to beat my previous time. After London Edinburgh London I agreed to ride PBP with my good friend Mike which meant a ride somewhere between these two extremes.

Then fate intervened. On the 18th February this year Mike had a fall on his bike and fractured the ball socket of his femur. At that moment his PBP was over. At that moment I lost my PBP buddy. Soon after my decision was made.

PBP is not a race. The rules are fairly simple. Ride your properly equipped bike along the mandatory course until Brest then ride back to Paris, checking in at every control point, in less than 90 hours. Along the way is an amazing festival of cycling and humanity as thousands of French people and Bretons in particular line the route to cheer you on. Many provide food, drink and shelter from their homes. None of this is official, they just have a passion for the event and meeting riders from all over the world. I could have taken my time and stopped far more often but I couldn’t get the thought of an improved time out of my head. I can’t deny what I am, competitive, so that was the way to go.

Leading up to the event I began to wonder. Could I complete the course in 63 hours as a 63 year old? 63 has no logic or reference to my capability, it was just an arbitrary number that would make a good story. As I planned my timings to achieve 63 hours I realised just how hard it would be. I realised it wasn’t realistic so any time between 63 and 69 hours would be my personal success.

I had a few set backs before my 17:30 start on Sunday 20th August:

• Friday: I assumed I would be sharing the driving with my companion, but it didn’t work out that way. I drove all the 1,200km from home to Rambouillet in one day. I arrived more tired than I expected.
• Saturday: On opening the boot of the car I discovered I’d forgotten my helmet. After collecting my race pack it was off to the local bike shop to buy another. Not surprisingly they were doing a roaring trade.
• Sunday: I was keen to watch the Lionesses in the World Cup Final. I teamed up with an Englishman and a Scotsman in Rambouillet to find a TV. Rod asked a woman in a bar who turned out to be the Mayor of Rambouillet. We did indeed find a café showing it. Unfortunately we lost and I also missed the Audax Randonneur Italia Team photo.

Paris Brest Paris

I made the start procedure in good time. It took about an hour to pass through the bike check, then get the brevet card stamped and shepherded to the start line. Each group is about 300 riders, released every 15 minutes, so it takes a while to get 6,500 riders underway. A great opportunity to talk to riders from all around the world. I even managed a few words of Welsh reading the slogan on the back of the Audax Cymru jerseys.

At 17:30 we were off. Just like four years ago the way was lined with supporters shouting “Allez allez” and “Bon courage”. It was a controlled start which meant we were not allowed to overtake the motorbike at the head of our group going at 30km/h for the first half an hour or so. I found myself in the second group of riders. I’m way too old to keep up with the first group tucked behind the bike.

That evening I rode a while with the two Welsh riders I’d spoken to at the start and an American, each of us swapping places at the front. Each of us except the one rider who refused to take a turn, just wheel sucking our group. So annoying.

I ended up in various groups and some solo riding throughout an uneventful night. I had a schedule that would get me to the finish in 63 hours. By daybreak I was 2.5 hours ahead of the schedule, which gave me that time in the bank for sleeping. 2.5 hours wouldn’t be enough for the sleep I’d need so I’d have to add more to the bank on the way to Brest. Despite the headwinds in the afternoon I reached Brest at 21:30, 28 hours after I’d left Paris. That was a fantastic result but as I left Brest at 22:00 I was now less than two hours ahead of schedule but still no sleep. I realised then that 63 hours was too ambitious, but I still wanted to beat my 2019 time of 69 hours 5 minutes and 4 seconds.

Two weeks before PBP I rode a training ride to see if I could still ride 600km without sleep. I did, so I felt my limit could be 700km, which was the distance to the next control at Carhaix.

What happened next between Brest and Carhaix was to define my PBP. An extraordinary experience.

I discovered my no sleep limit wasn’t as far as 700km. In fact I learnt my exact limit. 635km. At that point I was in danger of falling asleep. First the blurry bike computer screen, then the head nodding. I recognised the symptoms. I promised Jan I would try for the time but that would come second to finishing safely. I knew I was in trouble so I looked at the map on my computer to see a town 2km away. I doused my face in water to keep me awake until I could find somewhere to sleep for an hour.

Then began an extraordinary course of events.

At Le Faou I spotted a restaurant that was closed after service but a small group of people were at a table. I parked my bike and asked if I could sleep on their terrace. “Absolutely not” was the reply. “Come inside with your bike and sleep on our couch”. I was staggered. Jean Louis, his wife Yaima, their son and one of the waitresses were having their post service meal. Jean Louis spoke excellent English and Yaima spoke Italian, French and her native Spanish so between English, Italian and a smattering of French we chatted about my ride and why I needed to sleep. I told them they saved my life. Jean Louis convinced me that the best thing to have before my sleep was a small beer. I drank it and fell asleep in seconds in the impromptu bed they made for me.

Such incredible kindness, a credit to them and the spirit of PBP.

There was more to come.

As we chatted after my sleep Jean Louis made me a double espresso. I needed it. I would soon learn just how much I needed it.

Somehow we started talking about the Breton language. As a rugby fan Jean Louis said he recognised some of the words in the Welsh national anthem. Imagine the look on his face when I started singing Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau.

As a parting gift he presented me with can of Red Bull to help me on my way.

They were such a lovely family. When Jan was young she used to holiday in Brittany. We’ve recently agreed that we’d like to spend some time there visiting the places she is so familiar with. I discovered that the restaurant is part of their hotel so when we go we know where we will be staying. At the Relais de la Place, 7, Place aux Foires, 29590 Le Faou, Brittany. If you are ever in the area I can recommend it. I am certain you will receive a wonderful welcome and fantastic service. I know we will when we return one day.

As I left Jean Louis warned me there was quite a climb to come. I felt really good. Thanks to him I climbed at a good pace.

10 minutes into the climb…

… in the distance I could hear a car coming down the hill. From the engine noise I could tell it was going at quite a speed. As it took the right hander it was going way too fast to make the corner and sped across the road straight at me. Thanks to the double espresso I was very alert and managed to swerve to avoid it. If it had hit me I wouldn’t be writing this blog, I’d probably be dead. With his double espresso Jean Louis saved my life for a second time.

From then on in my time didn’t really matter. I was alone but alive. I carried on to Carhaix, arriving 04:41 in need of some more sleep along with many other riders, many of them still on their way to Brest. I reflected on how close I came to disaster.

For the rest of the return to Paris I napped for between 10 and 20 minutes at each control, except at Gouarec (732 km) where I treated myself to an hour and half sleep on a camp bed. Bliss.

Throughout the second full day I rode mostly alone making sure I high fived all the children at the side of the road that were so enthusiastically supporting the riders. Throughout the ride I didn’t buy any water, just refilling at the numerous free water and food stops set up by families along the route.

At Quedillac (842 km) I grabbed a shower, fresh kit and a kip at the ARI bag drop. They noted I hadn’t accessed my bag on the way out at 400km. Because then 63 hours was still on the cards I didn’t waste time accessing my bag.

Leaving Fougéres (928 km) it was so depressing having to pedal so hard against the headwind on the descent. I’ve never had to work so hard to go downhill. Ten minutes later on the flat I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was my Dutch friend Bart, riding with Sven and a few Italians. They were a saving grace. “Take my wheel” Bart offered. I took it gladly, especially in the climbs. Just focussing on his rear wheel made the climbs go so much quicker. I have no guilt taking their help. I’ve met Bart and Sven many times across Europe over the last four years. They are, respectively 20 and 30 years younger than me. They are so strong they book into a hotel, have a meal and enjoy four hours of sleep and a shower whilst I ride through the night. We often finish with similar times but they get substantially more sleep than I do. As we progressed the group got bigger and bigger, so many of us were grateful for the ‘taxi’ ride. Thanks guys.

After the next control at Villianes-La-Juhel (1,108km) they went to the dormitory, I headed into the night alone.

Soon after leaving Mortagne-au-Perche (1,099 km) at daybreak I was able to return the favour. I met Stephen from North London. He was struggling a little. I felt strong so I offered him my wheel. He took it all the way to Dreux (1,177 km). It was great to repay in part the kindness and help I’d received on the way.

At Dreux I stopped just to get my brevet card stamped, grab a hot chocolate and get on may way. Stephen needed some rest so I restarted alone.

With only 42km to go I just wanted to finish. I felt really strong so pushed on, crossing the line just before midday on Wednesday in 66 hours, 16 minutes and 4 seconds. Right in the middle of my 63 – 69 hour range and nearly a full 24 hours inside the 90 hour limit. I finished a happy man.

Just as in 2019 I shared a beer with someone I rode with. I waited for Stephen to finish (68h 11m 42s) and he kindly bought me a beer to say thanks for helping him out.

We all owe Audax Club Parisien (ACP), the six thousand volunteers and the many families along the route providing us with food, water and encouragement a huge thank you. They were amazing. Merci beaucoup.

66 hours is as fast as I can realistically expect but more importantly I am still alive, thanks to a wondeful Breton family. I think I’ve got it out of my system. In four years time I hope to ride with Mike for his first PBP, my third. Then we’ll be riding slower, sleeping more and taking in the festival spirit.

Unless of course…

Epilogue

Having slept for most of Wednesday afternoon/evening/night I got a message from my good friend Christian who’d finished Wednesday evening. Shall we meet for lunch? Great idea. Except he had a problem. A flat battery. When I got to Rambouillet he was about to try the jump leads from his friend Frank’s Renault. Frank joked that it needed a French car to get a German car going. It didn’t work. I joked that perhaps we should try connecting my BMW to Christian’s BMW. Perhaps BMWs don’t trust ‘French’ electricity. It worked first time! Christian was a happy man.

We had a lovely meal in the Cheval Rouge in Rambouillet. It was great to chat for a couple of hours. Such a nice man. He parted for Germany, I parted for bed to get some more sleep before completing my own triathlon: drive 1,200 km, cycle 1,200 km, drive 1,200 km.