I’m left reflecting on questions about how I got here, what I’ve just done and experienced, and what I am going to do going forwards. The last two of those I don’t have an answer for yet, but the first one I know.

just done PBP in 2015. Sam and I had gone to high school together, sitting beside each other in several bands as we both played trumpet, though I hadn’t spoken to him since maybe 2003. At the time, the concept of riding your bike for 1200km seemed completely absurd and beyond plausibility. But I read his trip report on the club website with much interest, much like one might cozy up with a novel about Hillary and Norgay trying to climb Everest.

https://www.manitobarandonneurs.ca/app/download/10830671149/PBP+Sam%27s+Story+2015.pdf?t=1453  779573

After several months of hemming and hawing, I signed up for my first 200k in May of 2018. I had never ridden in a group before (nor more than 125km at once...), so it was a bit of a crash course in bike handling, etiquette, and how pacelines and echelons works; but experienced riders like Candy Badger, Mark Gray, Dwight Willoughby and Rob Smith were very patient with me, teaching me as the ride went on. I could only keep up with them until Ste Gen though – they were way too fast – but by that point I knew I could finish, so just plodded on by myself for the remainder of it, finishing in a bit under 10 hours. There was suffering... but it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it might be and after a day of reflection I signed up for the Great Falls 300k, finishing that in just under 16 hours two weeks later. I had to dig a lot deeper to finish that ride, so that was it for me that year.

At that point, I had a vague notion that this was something I wanted to do more of, so I decided I needed to ride my bike more. I bought a trainer and rode my bike regularly through the winter for the first time, so when I did the 200k and 300k in April of 2019, they were so much easier than the year previously. So much so, that I decided to try and tackle the full series that year and signed up for my first 400k and 600k. I spent most of my time on those rides riding with Rob Smith as we rode at a similar pace. He was trying to get his series done so that he could go to PBP that year. My increased experience with long rides, coupled with talking to someone who was actually going to do this thing, started to make it somewhat possible to conceptualize riding your bike for 1200km. I told myself that if I was actually able to finish a 400k and 600k ride this year, that I would consider registering for PBP that summer. In the end, I wasn’t able to finish either the 400k or 600k though, DNFing on both. However, both attempts taught me a lot of valuable lessons about preparation and the mental headspace you need to be in for these long rides. They also taught me that I needed a better bike fit – I was regularly running into issues with a pinched nerve in my neck after these long rides, and Rob had mentioned he’d had good luck with getting a fit by James Dyker at Alter Ego. This ended up being a great decision, as for the past year or two, I’ve never had major issues with this again. Though I think increasing my core strength and sleeping with a flatter pillow at night also helped.

2020 came... and so did our second child Elliott, followed by the first wave of COVID literally a few days later. I had been training regularly indoors all winter and was in the best shape of my life. It was at some point that winter when I’d finally decided I was going to tackle PBP no matter what in 2023. There wasn’t an exact day or event that lead to this conclusion, it was just more I started the winter considering it, and by the end I’d made up my mind. COVID restrictions delayed the start of the rando season, but it still happened eventually. The 200k and 300k came and went uneventfully, but then it was time for the 400k – completing this was still new territory for me. After a PTSD-inducing flat early in the ride, where Claudio Stasolla and Rob Smith killed thousands of mosquitoes while I frantically tried to change my tube as quickly as possible (I still ultimately counted over 100 mosquito bites on my ass because neither of them were willing to slap my ass I guess...), I was feeling pretty good. Until fatigue from working a bunch of overnights that week caught up with me coming into Morden and I died. I gave up and got a hotel to go get some sleep and called Karen Kwok to see if the family wanted to come out and rescue me... I mean, spend a day at the Discovery Center there... yes... but by the time I’d laid down for a few minutes I was already feeling a lot better. Looking at the closing times for the subsequent controls, I came up with a new plan where I’d rest for about 2 hours in Morden, but then continue onwards.

And so I did. And after digging very deep and riding in the dark for the first time, I limped back to the start a bit before 1am. I recall aggressively eating a quarter pounder immediately after this, but then there is a large memory gap for the next day or so. There was a lesson learned there about never making a decision to quit until you’ve at least eaten and rested for a bit. The 600k came and went relatively uneventfully (well, other than riding for several hours through apocalyptic rain that destroyed both my lights and my bottom bracket) and with that, I was a super randonneur for the first time.

By this time, I’d started approaching my preparation for PBP systematically. I read everything I could find about the event, watched all the YouTube videos that I think existed about it, and started making notes in a Word document about all the ideas I had, or potential problems I realized I needed a solution for (lighting? Is it better to start Sunday night and have 90h, or start Monday morning but only have 84h? Knowledge of the French language? Normal weather conditions at that time of year in that part of France? Etc.).

2021 and 2022 brought more successful brevets, completing my series each year, and collecting more experience along the way with things like weather (cold, heat, wind, pouring rain), equipment/gear, bike fit, nutrition, etc. Doing the full series every year for 4 years before PBP was a deliberate decision to try and build experience leading into PBP, and in retrospect, one of the best training decisions I’d made. It was a great way to build the sort of experience needed to deal with all of the various unpredictable things that come up on really long rides and are typically the reason you DNF – it’s rarely a matter of physical capabilities. There were many long hours spent riding with people like Weldon Penner, Dan Perry, Cody Claydon, Bradley Kulbaba, Claudio Stasiola, Shaun and Zach Hildebrandt, Dave Ristau, Gerry King, etc. and that was worth a lot too – there are many things to learn by talking to other riders, or even just watching them and what they do during these rides. People have all sorts of experiences and perspectives you would never even think of.

Those years I’d tried to complete an 1000k brevet as prep for PBP as well, but ran into issues on both. In 2021 it was physical and mental fatigue, having done the 400 and 600k back to back right before the 1000k, and in 2022 it was my old arch nemesis heat (and I was only saved by a friend of mine serendipitously being out in Roblin for a wedding that weekend). I still think trying to get an 1000k under your belt before PBP is a good idea... or at least going out and riding 100-200k the day after finishing a 600k.

Another potential problem with riding PBP was simply hills. The average gradient at PBP is just under 1% (12,000m of climbing in 1220km). There’s almost nothing over 7%, but you’re almost always climbing at 2-5% or descending, especially once you get west of about Villaines. This is very different than Manitoba, where the largest hill on many rides is an overpass, or maybe a small piece of gravel you ride over. I had very little experience with actual climbing, so in 2022 I went all in and joined a supported trans-Pyrenees ride, which featured 21,000m of climbing and 900km of riding (2.3%) over 8 days... as well as some truly massive climbs (like

The   Tourmalet – 18km at 7.2% From the summit of The Tourmalet, looking back at where I've come

average gradient). By the end of this ride, I’d really figured out how to climb and was quite comfortable with it. It was also nice as I got a sense of what riding in rural France was like, and what sort of food and resources are available in small towns there.

(In retrospect, the one part of Manitoba that has fairly similar terrain to the parts of France PBP happens in, is the "30km between Wasagaming and Moon Lake, in RMNP. This stretch sits at "0.9% average gradient, and the style of hills and steepness is pretty similar to what I encountered in much of France. If you want to get a sense of what PBP is like, do the Dauphin 1000, or Moon Lake 600, and see how you feel on the second/third days when riding this stretch of road. Consider though that essentially the entire thing will be like this rather than just 30k. And also consider that this year, the "170km stretch between Brest and Loudeac on the return averaged 1.2 -1.4%, so almost 50% more climbing than even that stretch in RMNP.)

By the end of the season in 2022 I was feeling good. I was comfortable in my cycling ability as well my mental abilities to push through difficulties. But there were still a few weak spots. I hated riding into strong headwinds for long periods of time, I disliked riding alone, and I’d never ridden through the night – something that may need to happen during PBP. Because of the last one of those, when January came along and it was time to pre-register for PBP in 2023, I ultimately chose the 84h start time. With this, you can turn the event into three "400km days, with some sleep in Loudeac each night. This means you can plan to have a hotel in Loudeac to sleep in (rather than on a mat in a control, or in a ditch somewhere), and can have a drop bag in Loudeac with supplies for day 2 and 3 that you don’t need to carry along with you on your bike the whole way. However, it also means that you need to be physically capable of riding 440km on Day 1 and Day 3, with "4000m of climbing each day, in like less than 18-20ish hours of moving time (ie: less than 24h once you include stoppage time).

With that in mind, and just wanting to be as physically strong as possible coming into PBP, I decided to start working with a coach. Dan had successfully worked with Nick Bergen the year before, as had one of the residents at work, and they both had good things to say about him. We chatted and the fit seemed to be good, so I started training with him in October of 2022. (I’d taken almost a full month off the bike after my trans-Pyrenees ride that year, as I’d come to realize that a few weeks of rest and time away from the bike every year was important to keep progressing.) Working with Nick was a great decision, as by early spring I was setting all-time personal power records. The 200-600k this year ended up being the easiest they’ve ever been for me as a result, and in the weeks before PBP I was comfortably cruising at 34kph for zone-2 work (as long as it wasn’t too hot out). I did my 400 and 600k rides solo this year and successfully got over that mental hurdle. And the 200k this year featured a brutal headwind for the last 70km, as did the middle stretch of the 600k... and I was able to push through both.

The one ripple to the plan for 2023 was that I had a conference out in Toronto the date of our 400k... but looking into things, the Toronto Randonneurs group

was actually running their Oak Ridges Moraine 400k while I was out there so I signed up for that, finishing it in a bit over 17 hours total time. This also ended up being a great decision, as there was actually elevation on that ride – about 0.9% average gradient, so very similar to a single day of my plan of attack for PBP.

Speaking of the plan. I’d made a spreadsheet with all the various controls and distances in it, and extensively played around with numbers for speed, stoppage time for each control, and sleep each night, to get a sense of what the event would end up being like. Based on my average moving speed for that 400k in Toronto, I figured a conservative assumption was a 27kph moving average the first day of PBP, and then 25kph for days 2 and 3. I’d heard that the controls can eat up a lot of time if you plan to eat/sleep/do anything there other than get a stamp, due to lots of time standing in line. So I budgeted 30min of stoppage time per control, with the assumption I would get most food outside the controls and eat it on the bike, and then have a large meal at my hotel each night and each morning. This would leave me with around five hours of sleep each night and have me finishing late in the evening on Wednesday in about 64 hours total. And if shit hit the fan, I would still have until 5pm on Thursday to finish.

This plan almost fell apart back in January though. Once I’d confirmed my pre-registration on January 28^th for a 5am departure time (wave W) in the 84h group, I started looking into a hotel for the nights in Loudeac and for the days before in Rambouillet... and quickly realized they’d essentially all been booked already! Inquiries on the various Facebook groups for PBP, and through some Canadian rando clubs lead me to a company (JFT cycling) that was reselling hotel rooms in Loudeac, and still had one left, which I immediately snapped up. That same company also offered a bag-drop service to Loudeac which solved that piece of the puzzle too. Rambouillet was trickier and ultimately I could only get a hotel there the Sunday night before my Monday morning start, meaning I’d have to stay in Paris proper and then find my way out to Rambouillet somehow Sunday morning for check-in.

By the end of July, everything was set and done. I’d finished my series, converted my pre-registration into a registration, sorted out all the surprisingly complicated logistics of flights, trains, hotels, bike transportation, and was in great shape starting a taper leading into the event. Everything I could do to prepare was done, and I was just biding my time, waiting for things to start.

Part 3: Murphy’s Law

We arrived in Paris on Wednesday, August 16^th. This was mostly deliberate, as I wanted enough time before the ride started to adjust to the time change, and in case any issues came up with transporting my bike with Air Canada. Afterall, on a previous occasion back in 2019, Air Canada had completely lost my bike somewhere in Seattle, ultimately just providing me with the cash value to replace it. On the off chance that this happened again, I wanted enough lead time to sort out the logistics of getting a completely different bike in a foreign country.

I say mostly deliberate, because we were actually supposed to arrive in Paris on Tuesday, August 15^th. We got to the Winnipeg airport late Monday morning to catch our flight to Montreal and then to Paris. Unfortunately, shortly after getting through security, it was announced that the plane had mechanical issues and the flight to Montreal would be cancelled. Oh no wait, they changed their minds and it’s just delayed by 4 hours. This was problematic as it meant that we would miss our connecting flight to Paris. Air Canada staff were very helpful and managed to rebook us on a flight from Montreal to Paris that departed later in the evening, and we then commenced the process of entertaining two young children in an airport for 4 hours.

Three hours later, an overhead announcement was made that the flight to Montreal had been cancelled outright. No further comments were made. None of the other people in the same situation as us reacted. Somewhat confused, I wandered up to the gate agent to clarify that the flight had in fact been cancelled... with

the implication that we would be unable to catch our connecting flight, which they confirmed. So we wandered into the Air Canada service line again (ahead of the rush this time, as many people took a long time to figure out the consequences of this for whatever reason). While waiting, we got email notification that we had automatically been rescheduled for a flight leaving Winnipeg tomorrow morning, and would then transfer through Toronto to Paris. This was less than ideal as by now we just wanted to get out of Winnipeg and make some sort of eastward progress. The Air Canada agent was again very helpful and managed to schedule us for a flight to Montreal that would leave around 9pm, gave us vouchers for a hotel to stay in Montreal overnight, and then got us a seat on a plane from Montreal to Paris the next day. Given this at least got us out of Winnipeg that night, we went with it. The only problem was that all of our checked baggage had been spit out onto the luggage pick-up area. So I had to leave the departures zone, pick up all of our checked luggage, re-check it, and go through security again while Karen and the kids waited inside. The agent at the over-sized luggage drop off did a double-take when he saw me and my bike for the second time that day.

After a painful day in the airport, and the new flight to Montreal being delayed by an hour, we finally arrived in Montreal a bit after midnight. The hotel was... questionable, but somewhere to sleep. And then, after another entire day at the airport (in Montreal this time), we caught our flight to Paris uneventfully and were off.

After a seven-hour “overnight” flight with a questionable amount of sleep and two exhausted children, we landed in Paris early in the morning on Wednesday. We got our luggage and were waiting for my bike at the over-sized luggage area. And waiting. This is not unexpected as it usually takes a while for the oversized bags to come off the plane. There were a couple other Canadians waiting with us who were also waiting for bikes – they were also doing PBP! But then their bikes came, and they went, and we were still there, and my bike wasn’t.

Completely heart-broken at this point, I made my way over to the luggage services area at Charles de Gaulle and started filling out the paperwork for missing baggage. The AirTag we had left in the bike bag showed that the bike was still in Montreal - I knew that the most likely thing was that it would show up at some point in the next few days, but still, I felt terrible. On the taxi ride to our hotel, I started making inquiries into whether anyone in Paris had a bike they could lend me, or if they knew somewhere where I could rent or even buy a bike.

However, we noticed during that taxi ride that the last ping from the AirTag was over 8 hours ago, which is odd, as you’d expect more recent pings if it was still somewhere near other people. And looking more closely at exactly where it was at the Montreal Airport, it was next to a departure gate. And the time of the last ping was close to when the flight from Montreal to Paris after ours would leave... though had occurred 40 minutes after the scheduled departure time. Some quick google searching showed that second Paris-bound flight had actually left from that exact gate, and that it had been delayed by 38 minutes! In addition, my parents were on that plane (they were coming out to France to see me off at the start), and it was due to land in maybe 10 minutes!

10 minutes later, we get a new ping from the AirTag at Charles de Gaulle airport. I messaged my parents and they went to the oversized luggage area... and they found it there! No word ever arrived from Air Canada or the airport that the bike had arrived, so I have no idea what would have happened if it wasn’t for the AirTag we’d placed in the case. Later than day, my parents brought it to our hotel, and I was reunited with my bike. Exhausted from both travelling and the emotional roller coaster, I went to bed early, deferring reassembling my bike to the next day.

And that was definitely the right decision to make. As I started assembling the bike in the courtyard of our hotel the next afternoon, I quickly realized that the guide pulley, and the screw that attaches it to the rear derailleur were completely missing. Somehow they had fallen out of the bike box during transport and were now gone forever.

This is obviously a problem as the bike is unrideable without a guide pulley. And while a new guide pulley would in theory be relatively cheap and easy to source, the screw for it would probably be more problematic. Google Maps told me there were multiple bike stores within walking distance (we were in central Paris), so I departed on a mission. The first bike shop was completely closed due to August holidays. The second bike shop had a set of pulleys which I bought, but no screw. The third bike shop I went to also had no screw. Somewhat exasperated at this point after walking 4km in 34C weather, I asked them if they had any idea if there was anywhere in town where I could find this screw – they suggested Cycles Laurent. Google Maps (on my now almost dead phone) showed that this would be a bit of a walk... but I really had no alternative at this point.

Thirty minutes later I staggered into Cycles Laurent presyncopal and dripping in sweat, all hope invested into this last chance. The worker at the store had a somewhat skeptical look on his face as I told him that I have a problem and needed his help – he replied that he also has problems. Not a promising start. I hash together with some mangled and saltatory French that I am in town to ride in PBP and I somehow lost the screw for my guide pulley, and was wondering if they may have one to purchase. He sighs, and says something in French to his colleague that I don’t understand. His colleague responds to the effect of “check the stash of broken derailleurs.” This is promising. He goes into the back, and a minute later comes back with the screw I need! He wasn’t going to charge me for it, so I decided to buy a jersey from them instead. I eventually make it back to the hotel, several hours and the better part of 10km of walking later. I finished assembling my bike, took a nice long cold shower, and celebrate by drinking the entire bottle of champagne that came with our hotel room.

Note: this was a mistake. I am too old to do that now and woke up so hungover. The last time I’d had more than three drinks in a night was probably a decade ago. This made the VO2 intervals I did for my training ride at the Hippodrome in Paris the next day very difficult. 3/10, do not recommend.

Part 4: In the Zone

The events during the actual ride are unfortunately the hardest to tell, because the story breaks down. There was simply too much that happened during those three days for my brain to make sense of things. And things are further complicated by the fact that near the end, I wasn’t even certain what was happening around me anymore due to sleep deprivation and some degree of resulting psychosis. But let’s start with the more certain parts.

Upon unpacking I realized I’d forgotten to bring my sandals, leaving me with only my SPD shoes to walk around town in. This was a nuisance as I needed to get lunch, supper, as well as buy breakfast for tomorrow morning (the hotel laughed when I asked if they would have any food available at 3:30am). This ended up being a very busy afternoon with essentially no down time from when I arrived, until when I went to bed shortly before 8pm.

At 3:15am my alarm went off. I’d actually managed to sleep quite well and felt basically fresh despite the early hour. This was highly unusual as I normally sleep terribly the night before big rides, so I took this as a good omen. In addition, the somewhat maladaptive anxious-excitement I’d been feeling the past few days had transformed overnight into a feeling of calm and focus – I was in the zone. When I was younger, I never had any problems getting into this mindset; but since COVID, I’d been having more anxiety in general, and wasn’t sure I could still do it – apparently my brain still remembered how.

I scarfed down three of the croissants I’d bought the day before while (unironically) listening to DragonForce, and strapped the fourth to my saddle bag as an on-bike snack. I’d had high hopes of weaning myself off the 5­10 cups of coffee a day I normally drink before PBP... which of course I never even bothered trying to do, so I had some instant coffee I’d brought, then hit the road.

We were supposed to be at the start for around 4am – the only problem was there were no instructions on exactly where at the start we were supposed to go (Bergerie Nationale is a large area). However, given that there were several thousand people starting this morning, and hundreds of volunteers around, I didn’t expect this to be an issue, and it wasn’t.

Over the next hour there was a lot of standing still in a group, then walking a bit, then standing again. We had our bike/light/reflective vest check, then made our way towards the actual start line, where the ~250 of us in wave W queued up. I was at the front, and looking back behind me hundreds of cyclists stretched back into the night, all wearing neon-yellow reflective vests. If the weather had been cold or rainy, this would have been an absolutely miserable process.

My parents had gotten up at a very early hour to come see me off, and we talked for a bit as we were waiting to go. However, my mind was fully focused on the imminent start of the ride, so I wasn’t really able to have a meaningful conversation. There was a small stage at the starting line with an MC cranking out loud music and talking about various things that I don’t remember anymore. I do recall that it was someone in our waves birthday, and he had all of us sing happy birthday to them.

We counted down the last ten seconds until 5am on the giant electronic clock, and then we were off. The first 10k were moto-paced at “30kph” (reality: random speeds between 15-35kph) to help dissuade people from riding recklessly... however, it was immediately clear to me that this not successful. I came into the ride having no interest in riding with the front group, as I had wanted to generously pace myself. However, many riders were either too excited or too inexperienced with riding in a large group, and frankly their riding terrified me and I wanted to be nowhere near them. The riders at the front seemed to be safer and more predictable, so I decided to stay up there. Part of rando is knowing how to be flexible and when you need to deviate from your game plan.

The first two hours of riding passed in a blur of darkness and red taillights at a frantic pace reaching 40+kph at times. I only start to have snapshots of memories again as the sky started to lighten and dawn began. Golden fields, yellow vests, a touch of mist, and continuously passing recumbent and tandem bikes (the special bike wave had started 15 minutes before ours). “Don’t forget to eat. Don’t forget to drink. Don’t forget to stretch. Don’t go into the red.” I continued to stay near the front as we settled into a ~30-34kph pace, which was feeling sustainable. If there’s any parts of Manitoba that the first few hundred km of PBP remind me of, it’s the stretch between Notre Dame and Manitou - fields of crops and gentle rolling hills. But, no canola. And the roads don’t just go in a straight line, and the fields aren’t all perfect squares. And the land is left somewhat wild along the roadside, so trees provide some shelter from any wind or sun.

On the way out, Mortagne at 120km is just a food/service stop, not a control. As much as I’d love to stay in the zone and just keep going straight past there, I knew it was unwise to not take at least a quick breather to refill bottles and whatnot. My motto on these rides is to “be kind to yourself” – if there is any uncertainty about what to do, always defer to the option that involves pushing yourself not as hard. We arrived in Mortagne in a bit under four hours, and I knew I needed to keep my stop time as low as possible – even an extra 10 minutes of stoppage time equates to undoing several hours of an extra 10-20 watts of work – and in 11 minutes I was back on the road again. There had been no communication or talking at all in our paceline about anything, let alone plans at or after Mortagne, so I’d just assumed I was on my own at this point. However, within a few minutes, myself, a Swiss rider, and an American had come across each other and started riding in a paceline. Over the next kilometers, we picked up more and more riders and soon the spicy-W-train was back, and we were flying through the French countryside at 32+ kph.

The next control would be Fougeres (293km). It’s early afternoon I’m riding solo, and it’s getting hot out, but thankfully not unbearably hot. Much of this stage passed by in an unremarkable thumb-smudge of afternoon sunniness, monotonous countryside, indistinguishable small towns, and rolling hills. I was also starting to pass the occasional rider who had departed in the Sunday night waves – they were already hours behind the time the Fougeres control would close for them... but they were still going. Maybe halfway to Fougeres, I was passed by a few riders on a climb... who I then caught up to again immediately on a small descent (I’d noticed by this point that I’m faster at descending than most other riders – some combination of weight, aero, and hubris I guess)... and with that I’d joined a spicy paceline again, going "32kph. These riders were mostly French and European and spoke comparatively little English compared to those I’d ridden with earlier. But thankfully most of the communication that needs to happen when riding in a group transcends words and is successfully transmitted with body language and occasional grunting.

Soon, it was mid-afternoon and we were in Fougeres, two-hours ahead of target pace. Now it was definitely hot out. Looking back at temperature records, it was 34C out at this point. This is well outside of historical norms for this part of France at this time of year, but in keeping with the predicted forecast I’d planned for. And of course, because it is France, none of the controls have any air-conditioning at all, so it is just as warm inside as outside. I go into the dining hall and it is a sauna with no air movement. I’d had some idea to eat a larger meal here... but they only had bananas available. So I quickly ate some bananas in the toasty hot dining hall (at least it’s out of the sun) and was back on the road again by myself in under 30 minutes. I am so thankful that I discovered maltodextrin-based drink mixes earlier this year, as that way with one bottle of water and one gel per hour, I was getting about 400 calories and "120g of carbs. Without it, calories would have been a problem at this point.

(Note: brand-name maltodextrin-based powders are expensive. And it is relatively cheap and easy to make them yourself from bulk. So I had planned to bring a few bags of this with me to France... however, a few weeks before leaving I had the realization that flying with several kilograms of unlabeled white powder in Ziplock bags is probably a terrible idea... so I ended up buying the expensive stuff to bring with me).

Tintenniac was next, in only 61km. I have very little recollection of this stage, other than I was starting to regularly pass riders from Sunday night now. It was still >30C out, and I pulled into the control there at about 5:30pm feeling hot and tired. I was close to the tail-end of The Bulge, as the control was hopping with over a hundred riders around. After eating a bit and doing the usual control activities, I took ten minutes to just rest and cool down a bit before continuing – total control stoppage time was 40 minutes on this one, so I was doing a better job. All that was left for the day at this point was to get to Loudeac (435km) where my hotel was – that meant that a nice big hot meal, cold shower, and sleeping in a bed was only 82km away! Because I was still two-hours ahead of target pace, I decided I’d just use that extra time for sleep, meaning I’d get ~7 hours – sweet!

The sun started lowering in the sky... and directly into my face for the next two hours - should have brought a cap or something. Much of this stage was a long false-flat at 1­2% into Loudeac. And by then, I’d definitely caught up to The Bulge. I was passing a continuous stream of hundreds and hundreds of riders composed of people who had started Sunday night. However, I was riding much faster than them, and there was no one to form a paceline with. It was during this stage that I got to play first-responder for the first time. I came over a hill to see maybe twenty people standing in the middle of the road, a few parked cars, and someone lying on the ground – yeah... I slowed down and an older guy was lying in the middle of the highway with obvious signs of head trauma. Most people were just standing there staring, but at least one person seemed to be on the phone with emergency services at least. Putting my bike down I went to go assess him – he was heavily concussed and unable to speak any intelligible words, just staring blankly at you when you spoke. Apparently, a gust of wind caught him off guard and blew him over? (I hadn’t noticed even a breath of wind all day). However, he didn’t have any obvious other major injuries so we helped get him out of the middle of the highway and onto the ditch. Thankfully, his level of consciousness quickly improved and he was soon able to remember where he was and whatnot, so once I confirmed that someone had actually called for help, I went on my way.

Arriving in Loudeac a bit before 9:30pm revealed an absolute zoo. There were maybe 500 riders, most of whom were at least vaguely delirious or shell-shocked appearing; many standing in the middle of a walkway, staring into space with precisely zero situational awareness as you tried to get past them. I got in and out as quickly as possible then eagerly rode the few blocks over to my hotel to eat then sleep.

Except, things got complicated once I arrived. The receptionist was confused, and it took them 15 minutes to figure out that I actually had a reservation. There was also no food ready, and all they had was some bread and cheese you could order up to your room. My drop bag was also not there - a couple of phone calls and I found out it’s actually at the control, but someone was thankfully able bring it to the hotel for me. I made my way into my room and immediately noticed it’s a sauna. And that there is no air-conditioning despite being advertised as having air-conditioning. Thankfully it’d cooled down a lot outside so I could at least open the window. I had a shower and was left sitting on my bed wasting time, waiting for the food and my drop bag to arrive.

Eventually both did come, but by then it was already midnight and two-hours had been wasted. My room was still uncomfortably hot, and it took me until about 1am before I eventually passed out into a fitful sleep.

Part 5: Beyond the Zero

My alarm goes off at 4am, a bit over three-hours after I fell asleep. I am groggy and tired and completely not rested. I’m also hungry after slowly falling behind on calories all day yesterday and then not being able to have a large meal before going to bed last night. This is not how I’d hoped to start the second day and I have essentially zero interest in getting back on the bike. But I’m going to anyways. The first task is just to sit up, and that’s relatively easy - just keep doing one little thing at a time. Eventually I’m up, dressed, and walking downstairs with the bike to get some food.

I know I need to eat a lot to catch up, but I have minimal appetite – the next concerning sign. I force myself to eat, just go slow, have some yogurt, have a coffee. I’m able to get some semblance of a meal down, but not as much as I know I need. Reluctantly I get up, go outside, and get back on the bike. It is 5:08 am, so only 8 minutes behind schedule. It is dark, I am by myself, and there are relatively few riders on the road around me now unlike last night – The Bulge moved on while I slept. I feel like ass, but I am experienced enough that I know this feeling should improve after about 30 minutes of riding. Just go slow.

As I make my way out of Loudeac I immediately notice that the terrain has changed. There are more hills, they are longer, and they are steeper. And it’s not just the fatigue and low-mood playing tricks on me – the elevation profile confirms it. As I’m climbing yet another hill, a small group of riders passes me in the other direction, yelling something at me in French that I don’t understand as they pass. I keep climbing, but I have a bad gut feeling about this. Am I going the wrong way? While the route is quite well-signed, it would still be fairly easy to

miss one, especially in the dark as you’re tired. This feeling of disquiet grows and I eventually stop and pull out my Google Maps... confirming I had made my first wrong turn of the event and was going the wrong way. God Damnit! I turn around and continue.

It’s 30 minutes later now and I still feel like ass. It’s also colder out this morning (14C and damp) than it was the first one, but that is OK with me – yesterday was too hot. The darkness takes longer to pass than it did yesterday as there is no excitement anymore, just vague discontent that I am only averaging 20kph because of all these stupid hills and calorie deficiency – I am supposed to be averaging 25kph today. My maltodextrin powder which saved me yesterday is also completely unpalatable today, making me want to gag a bit even thinking about it. But I still force myself to have a sip every once and a while.

Eventually, I arrive in Carrhaix after riding those 80km at only 22.9kph average speed, about 45min behind pace. I really need to go to the bathroom and am directed to a line of portapotties. Opening door number 1 reveals a giant pile of poop all over the toilet seat. Wonderful. Behind door number 2 is... a giant pile of poop all over the toilet seat. Behind door number 3 is... a heaping pile of poop (*in* the toilet at least) because the portapotty needs to be emptied. I choose the lesser of evils, then make my way into the food hall (thank god for hand sanitizer).

AND HOLY SHIT THEY HAVE SOUP!!!

This day suddenly became a lot better. I decide I’m going to take as long as it takes at this control to feel closer to normal. I sit down with my gigantic bowl of hot vegetable soup, slurp it back, and am happy. Then I work my way through a plate of hot pasta with mushroom sauce, and cup of coffee, and I feel much better. The nausea is gone.

As I leave Carrhaix and start the 90km to Brest, it’s obvious I’ve caught back up to The Bulge, as I’m once again passing a (literally) continuous stream of riders. It is still hilly and a bit cool and cloudy, and I have accepted that I’m just going to go slow today, and if I’m behind pace, so be it. Still not a big fan of the maltodextrin drink mix though, which means I will need to take in more solid calories along the road and not just at controls. Which also means more stoppage time. I make my way up “The Big Hill” which is 18km long, but only "2% average gradient. At the top is a gentleman playing harmonica and singing, and offering riders free coffee and brioche. This seems like a good place to stop, so I hang out for a bit, eat half a loaf of brioche and take in the sights and sounds for a few minutes, then continue.

I’m continuing to pass hundreds of riders, mostly from Sunday evening starts, with no one going close to the same speed as me to form a paceline. I’ve managed to make some positive progression on the calorie situation with all the brioche and am feeling pretty good by now. Near Brest, a rider that I’ve passed reacts to me passing them, and grabs my tail. It’s a Korean dude who started Sunday night and looks exhausted, but managed to find a burst of energy to jump on with me. Based on when they would have started, they must be pretty close to their time cut off for Brest, so OK, you hang on, and I’ll pull you into Brest, let’s do this.

We get into Brest a bit after noon and I congratulate the guy. He’s obviously happy/excited, but doesn’t have that much English, so I never learned his full story. I also need to keep moving because I’m like 90 minutes behind pace now. I’ve come to terms with the fact my stomach only wants to eat hot meals today though, so I eat a solid meal at the control and am feeling good right now. However, the first signs of sleep deprivation are starting to leak through. I’m definitely somewhat disinhibited, as witnessed by the fact I just reached into my bibs and put chamois cream on at the bike rack, rather than in the washroom... and in doing so flashed some older French rider... who I then small talk with for a bit. I recognize this is not normal, but also don’t really care.

Leaving Brest to go back to Carrhaix takes a different route than going to Brest. And this 93km stage is by far the hilliest stretch of the whole event, averaging 1.4% gradient. It’s also sunny out now and fairly warm (28C), but I’m off. I pass by the Atlantic Ocean, and the iconic bridge in Brest, but only take pictures very briefly as I’m focused on riding again. This is entering new territory for me – I’ve never done a ride longer than "620km before. I had been worried about this stage due to the mental hurdle plus all the climbing, but quickly come to realize the terrain actually plays to my strengths. The hills are relatively steep, but also short – they only take 3-5

This stretch leaving Brest was also jam-packed with local families cheering riders on. Every hundred meters would be some locals sitting in lawn chairs offering words of encouragement, or a class of school children screaming “ALLEZZZZ!!!” I teared up a bit at this too... which actually on further reflection is kind of odd. Huh, I must be starting to get some emotional lability from sleep deprivation too.

By around 5pm I had arrived back in Carrhaix and was continuing to physically feel pretty good. Despite some early warning signs about sleep deprivation, I didn’t feel tired either. I’d also made up 30min of time over that last stage, so was now only 60min down. The food hall in Carrhaix was quite hot though, and the lines were very long. I was tempted to leave, but knew I needed another proper meal again, and didn’t know where else I could get one any faster. After waiting in line for about half an hour, it’s finally my turn to pay... and some random guy in line behind me faints. He seems fine and given the context it’s most likely some combination of vasovagal syncope and heat stress, but everyone is just standing there staring at him. And more importantly no one is ringing through my order. So I get to play first responder for the second time, quickly chatting with him and confirming he’s fine. This seems to get everyone out of their stupor, and people start doing things again. Like ringing through my dinner.

I take off into the evening for another hilly stage back to my hotel in Loudeac – 85km, and 1.2% average gradient. I was still feeling really good physically at this point and didn’t feel tired at all. The terrain still played to my strengths, so I kept going hard up the hills, then descending quick down them. I was definitely in the heart of The Bulge at this point, as the density of riders was frankly insane. Whereas before it was a steady stream of people, this was just a constant coagulation of exhausted riders bumping their way down the road. No one paid any attention to where they were going. They didn’t ride in a straight line. They didn’t look where they were going. They would ride on the wrong side of the highway. And literally everywhere you looked there were people sleeping in ditches. Like hundreds and hundreds of people, just passed out in the ditch.

With the sheer volume of riders around you, you also started to notice some weird things. Like the guy who had a trumpet with him. Wait. That’s actually really weird. Was there actually a person with a trumpet, or did I just imagine that? Now that you mention it, there’s lot of really weird things. Like it’s not normal for people in fluorescent yellow vests to be sleeping in ditches everywhere you look. Am I imagining this? No, I convince myself that this is normal given I am riding PBP, but on some level I am still somewhat concerned that this isn’t real. I also have a few weird transient ideas of reference that things are happening, or people are doing these things, *just for me;* but those pass quickly as well.

By the time I pull into Loudeac it’s 10:30pm, and the control is once again completely swamped with riders. My vague issues with reality testing and ideas of reference due to sleep deprivation resolved within an hour or so and I was still feeling really good physically and not tired. As a result, I made the decision that I was going to just take a quick nap at my hotel then keep riding through the night, which should put me on pace to finish sometime around 62 hours total. By the time I’ve eaten a meal, showered, and gotten the bike ready for Day 3, it’s a bit after midnight, and I immediately pass out upon laying down in bed.

Part 6: The Slithy Toves

I wake up a few minutes before my alarm goes off at 2am, and I feel alert. Nowhere near as groggy as yesterday.

And I feel like I could eat. So I head downstairs with my bike, eat a proper “breakfast,” then hit the road.

It is dark, and a bit cold, maybe 12C. There are still lots of riders on the road, though not like it was last night, and there are people asleep in ditches everywhere. Including in some questionable places, like with their heads less than a foot away from the edge of the road. My recollections here are few and far between like every other time I’ve ridden in the dark. I remember looking up at the stars at one point.

5am comes along and it is noticeably colder, especially in the valleys between hills where the fog is collecting. I’m uncomfortably cool for the first time and have to do-up my jersey and vest zippers, and would almost prefer something on my arms. As the sky starts to turn grey on the horizon the fog deepens and I can barely see twenty feet ahead. Glasses mist over. Red lights rise ahead, front lights fade behind. Just the sounds of my breathing, drivetrain purring.

Then it’s Tinteniac at the grey-part of dawn, where I get a bowl-full of coffee, soup, and hamburger steak and potatoes. Apparently the perfect thing for breakfast. Stomach is less angry at me today in general and is tolerating maltodextrin-drinks again. I can tell I’ve been on the bike too much these past two days because I struggle to walk when I’m off the bike now. Not due to pain or stiffness, but due to balance, like with sea-legs. I’m liable to fall over if I’m not careful, and have to hold onto the railing to not suddenly sway while standing. Even doing that I lose my balance once or twice while in line.

I’m cold now from not biking and waffle over whether I should put my rain jacket on when I start again. Decide to do it, but then immediately regret it 15 minutes later. Have to stop and take it off. The sun is on my side of the horizon now and the fog starts to break. No time for pictures, I’m in a flow state (or delirious) and all that exists in my world is riding. Shortly after leaving Tinteniac I notice a French rider from the wave after me and we’re riding at similar speeds, so we start riding together. A couple other riders briefly hang with us, but they all seem tired and can’t keep up for long.

Left Achilles’ starts to hurt though. Like problem hurt. It’s worse with standing, harder efforts, and pedaling while in the aerobars, so I deliberately slow down and have to leave my French friend. End up in Fougeres and it’s late morning and sunny. Time off the bike and a Tylenol make my Achilles feel normal, and I start riding again. Soon I’ve run into French dude and we’re back to riding together... but nope, Achilles comes back with a vengeance. I slow down and he slows down too – no don’t do that. “Vous allez! Je ne pas rapide! (Gesture at ankle).” He understands and is concerned whether I’ll be ok. “I will be ok. It’s only 300km. Allez, Allez!” and laugh and wave him forwards, so he smiles and goes on his way.

In my head I can get through 300km of anything, but my Achilles has other ideas. I’ve never had problems with it before, but it is loudly proclaiming dissatisfaction with this situation. I start to wonder whether I’m simply causing pain versus actual damage. And how much damage I’m willing to do to myself to finish this thing. Start reflecting on the natural history of Achilles tendon injuries and in a worst case scenario how I’d feel about having

to seek medical care for a complete tear while in France. Consider whether stuffing some leaves or something under my heel might help. Or maybe I can splint the ankle in plantar-flexion with some sticks and zip-ties.

Pain is worsening and is so much worse with climbing. Unfortunately there are still endless hills. Unbearable. Thinking more about it, I think some of the toe flexors span the ankle joint too, so maybe if I flex my toes when I pedal that will help. It actually does, but only for maybe 15 minutes. Now it’s even worse. Do I need to just quit at this point? I still have over 24-hours in hand, and maybe 250k to go, so I could always stop early, take the rest of the day and night off completely, then ride the last bits tomorrow. But I’d promised Sophie and Elliott that I would be back by Thursday... I still need to get to the control at Villaines at least though. I guess I can limp there at like 10kph. But now I can’t pedal at all with the left leg, it hurts too much. So I spend the better part of an hour with my left leg unclipped, pedaling only with my right leg.

As this is going on my shifting is deteriorating, probably from chain stretch. It still works, but the front derailleur is sad and sometimes takes 5 minutes to change gears. And the rear derailleur drops the chain a bit while shifting sometimes.

Then while climbing a hill at like 7kph there is a loud clunk and I physically can’t pedal forwards. I unclip rapidly and avoid falling over to my right. The chain has dropped completely so I put it back on and get back on the bike. I try to pedal but now my jersey has somehow gotten stuck on my saddle, so I have to stop again and unhook it. I get on yet again, and there is another loud clunk and I can’t pedal at all.

This is a sign. I should take a rest for a minute and just think and focus. I am so far down into my own mind I am being stupid and not paying attention. Looking at my chainring I finally realize what’s happened. The chain has somehow ended up on both chain rings at the same time – it starts on the big one, then does a “zed” going back on itself for one link, then starts on the little chain. That’s fucking weird. Try and pull it off but I can’t. It’s stuck really good like this. Try with two hands but it’s still not working. Stare at it for a few seconds, then decide to use the old hack of just kicking the stupid fucking thing, and it gets unstuck. The shifting is... even somewhat worse after this, but still not a huge issue. Take a minute to collect myself. I just need to get to Villaines and then I can rest and make some decisions. That’s about two hours of riding. I can do that. But I’m in a really bad mental space, so it’s time to put on some tunes. And I’m off.

The music makes a big difference and things start to feel much better. The ankle hurts less too – that’s suspicious. How much of this was just in my mind? But this is taking a long time. How far away is Villaines? There’s just climb after climb after climb... and this particular climb is fucking hot. And long. Holy shit. I’m almost there though, just keep going. This is the second time I’m hearing this song... that means it’s been over two hours... but finally there is Villaines. But where is the control. Why is the control so far away from the sign saying I’m in Villaines? Oh there it is. But wow is it busy. It’s full of local people. It’s loud, someone is saying something on a microphone, there’s music, I can’t focus. Where do I put my bike. I’ve been here before why am I lost. Oh there’s a spot. Careful getting off the bike. Oh it’s hard to stand. Right take things out of the saddle bag. Where am I. Where am I going? Right those stairs are familiar, go there. What am I doing. Control. Need stamp. Almost fall over. There go that way. Get stamp. Volunteers staring at me with concerned faces. “Are you ok?” Smile. Yes I’m ok. Food. That way. I know this routine. Croissants. Coke. Organina. Sit down. Drink Coke...

...Oh. This is not normal. I’m really hot. My faculties start to come back a little bit and I take in my surroundings. It’s really fucking hot out. I am really hot, too hot. That’s the problem here. I continue to drink cold fluids and continue to feel better and my thinking and concentration improve. I legit really need to cool down a lot and ASAP. I chug my drinks and stand up to go outside to the water station where I can soak myself and lie down in the shade. I can stand and walk again without balance issues at this point. I completely douse myself in cold water, then lie down in some grass in the shade and close my eyes. I tell myself it’s ok if I fall asleep here for a

bit if I need to. I drift off for maybe a minute, but then I’m wide awake again. I can’t fall asleep, so I just keep lying there to cool down and rest, but eventually I’m shivering and it’s time to get going.

It is absolutely boiling out, why hadn’t I noticed this earlier? Like more than 35C. I know the early signs of heat stroke in myself very well, having had issues with that on a number of occasions. I get into a really bad mood and start to get a headache... oh right. I’d taken Tylenol earlier for my Achilles, so I never got a headache. And then I’m just less aware of everything due to sleep deprivation.

I continue on, being cautious to regularly douse myself with water now. I’ve lost several hours today due to my Achilles and needing that extended rest in Villaines, but whatever – I’ll change my goal to finishing in under 70 hours. It’s late afternoon and I’m in some treeless French countryside, riding into a faint headwind... that is if anything acting like a convection oven and just heating me even more rather than cooling me off. But I’m on top of things this time and being careful to stay cool. My Achilles is also not hurting much now either. Thanks to that extended rest in Villaines? Or change in mental state? I have no idea but I’ll take it.

I pass through town after town and they all seem the same. Hundred-year-old buildings. Town names are all four words hyphenated together, one of which is usually “saint.” No people, no cars, no signs of life. Just sun and heat. Some early thunderstorms look to be forming around me, and there was supposed to be a risk of them today... but they don’t really look like they’ll turn into anything that will rain. They do provide some reprieve from the sun though.

Soon, I’m in Mortagne and its supper time. The control is also not that busy – this fits with my observation that there have been fewer riders on the road recently – I’ve gotten ahead of The Bulge. It is still scorching hot out, and I am sitting in a scorching hot dining hall in Mortagne eating scorching hot pasta. And I am OK with that - I have become one with heat. I don’t think either of us particularly likes it but given our shared circumstances we have come to a truce for the time being. I’m feeling physically good, and not tired (somehow?). I briefly chat with a rider sitting near me – he had just gotten into rando this year, apparently after being convinced by a friend. He’d missed the 200 and 300k rides, so ended up just doing four different 400/600k’s instead!

I hit the road again and I’m still feeling good. There is some climbing for the next 20-30km, but after that there are really no significant hills at all until the finish, and there are only 120km left. I have this in the bag. I am by myself and the evening is approaching. I am thinking about how good I am at riding my bike and how awesome I am. That’s kind of weird, I think this might be a sleep deprivation thing. I tell myself to just keep being cautious and don’t take risks. Shortly after this I make a left turn going fast at the bottom of a descent, but take it too wide, clipping the edge of the curb on the right and almost crashing. Yep. Sleep deprivation. Be careful.

Around this time I start to notice that my head and torso are feeling really heavy. My postural muscles have become exhausted and I’m struggling a bit to keep upright on the bike. Fuck that I’m not DNFing due to Shermer’s neck with under 100k to go. With only a few hours of riding left it should be possible to push through, and I eventually find a new position that depends more on my triceps to stay upright.

Night continues to approach, and soon it’s time to put the reflective vest and lights on. I’m riding strong and cruising at just under 30kph on the flats. In the distance behind me I see a collection of lights approaching quickly – it’s a group of riders going pretty hard. As they pass me, they seem to be going at a pace I could probably maintain, so I join on to them, and yes, this is sustainable. It is a bunch of French and European riders again, including the French guy I’d ridden with for a bit earlier in the day! I hang at the back for a while to get a sense of what they are doing and their riding styles, but then take a few turns at the front. We are going fast, and this includes a few hard pulls at ~300w/40kph. I wonder if maybe this isn’t the smartest thing to do in the dark when I am tired but decide to continue with them. I feel more awake now from the adrenaline of going hard.

We arrive in Dreux, the last control, and I still feel really good and energetic even. I get my stamp, eat an apple pastry and Coke quickly, and message my parents to let them know I only have 42km left, as they wanted to meet me at the finish. Then I’m off into the night.

And I immediately go the wrong way at a roundabout; but recognize it and just do a circle and continue in the right direction. The signs leaving Dreux seem to be hard to see, and sometimes I’m paranoid that I’m missing them. People have stolen signs near the end in previous editions of PBP so I wonder whether I should switch to navigation with my Garmin. Soon, I’m riding down a very dark and quiet road, and a cyclist passes me going the other way. I stop immediately this time to check Google Maps, and yep, I’ve missed a turn. I turn around and go back the other way. Other riders are also circling around in this area, seemingly lost, but a German rider is calling out to them which way to go. I ask him if he’s sure that’s the right way, and he says yes, so the group of us follows him. They are all going too slow for me though, so I take off ahead. But as I’m watching them in my mirror they yell, and I realize I’ve missed a turn again. This is getting ridiculous, so I load the map in my Garmin and start navigating with that.

I pass the group of riders again and keep going, but this time the German rider keeps up with me. We take turns pulling for a bit, but there’s no conversation, only silence. Eventually he drops back after pulling again; but oddly, I don’t see his light behind me. I slow down to look back and no one is there.

There’s nowhere he could have gone... so did I hallucinate him? I think so, but I’m not sure. Maybe I actually noticed the direction signs but didn’t consciously process them, and then hallucinated this whole thing as a way to tell myself which way to go? I’m not completely convinced, but I wonder now if I’m reaching my limit and going a bit crazy. But there’s only 30km to go, so I keep going. My triceps are starting to fail in this new position and every time I go over a bump I feel like my left elbow is going to dislocate.

The night is dark and quiet and there are relatively few riders on the road. I am still ruminating on whether I am starting to go a bit crazy, or maybe I’m just paranoid that I’m going crazy. But if I’m paranoid that suggests I’m going crazy... hmmm... I pass through a small town and there are more lights, and my thinking seems to improve a little bit given the increase in sensory input. But then it’s dark again, and my thoughts go even more squirrely. As I pass other riders I worry that maybe I’m hallucinating them as well. I laugh to myself a little bit, but I’m also a little bit worried that none of what I’m seeing is real. I catch up to a group of three French riders, and I decide that maybe I should just follow them for a bit given my mental state. But soon I am worried that they are not real either. I’m not sure if I should continue following them or not. There are lot of shadows around me being cast by my light on the side of the road. That one from some grass looks like a rabbit... it’s probably from a shadow rabbit. When people get really sleep deprived they often start seeing shadow people... I probably shouldn’t look at any more shadows in case there’s shadow people there. That’s dumb, there’s no such thing as shadow people. But what if I look and I see them, because of my mental state? So don’t look. Just don’t look at the shadows. You don’t want to see something and get terrified. But now all the hair on my body is standing on end because I’m unwilling to look at any shadows because I’m afraid I might see shadow people, and I know they will be terrifying. (Just focus on the riders in front of you) ... the backs of their knees look funny. That’s not what normal knees look like. These people are hallucinations for sure. Their knees are actually portals that lead somewhere, and that’s why there’s three riders, because there are three portals. (this makes no sense, you’re actually getting psychotic from sleep deprivation. Just go hard and get ahead of them, and finish this thing ASAP). And I’m on my own again in the dark silent night ...there’s some more riders, they’re probably not real either. (maybe go take a quick nap on the side of the road). No, the forest here is too terrifying, too many shadows. It’s not safe. You know what, what’s probably happening is that part of my brain is actually asleep right now and that’s why I can’t tell what’s real anymore, or make sense of anything. Yeah, Aaron is just sleeping right now. Everything will be OK once Aaron wakes up again. Wait if Aaron is sleeping, then who am I right now, who’s

thinking? (this is insane, you’re being ridiculous, you just need to finish this thing and go to bed)... Maybe I should talk to some riders and tell people about what I’m thinking. No that’s a bad idea, if someone finds out about this they’ll have to report me to a hospital or the government or something and then they won’t let me finish the ride. I’ll just keep going and keep to myself. (no, talk to someone, or sing out loud, or do something that provides sensory stimulation). No I’ll just keep to myself, you shouldn’t talk to hallucinations... If my parents are at the finish line, how will I know they are my real parents and not shadow parents? (that’s ridiculous, they will be your real parents)... an older French rider catches up with me and talks to me. This guy’s real because I can hear him talk. I don’t understand the conversation yet I’m still having it. But then suddenly he’s gone too. Was he a hallucination... but there’s the finish line. And it’s bright and I can see things. And there’s music.

And it’s over.

Part 7: Meditations

The number of people who are both interested in randonneuring and have read Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon is likely very low. This is unfortunate, as the themes of that novel, as well as the completely overwhelming and disorienting nature of reading it for the first time, are the closest things I can think of to compare the experience of riding PBP to.

I am not a writer, but I am a person who rides their bike too much. And on these long bike rides I have ample time to reflect on any random topic that decides to float into my mind that day (this is one of the great things about them) – like what makes something a story. This was not a story. A story has a purpose, a lesson, a moral, etc. it’s connecting data together in a way to make a point. There was no point to PBP. It was just an overpowering, disorienting, cacophony of experience; compressed into much too short of time and combined with enough sleep deprivation that you were left wondering what just happened. There was no meaning to it – it was just jabberwocky.

I’m sure that with enough time though, my mind will start to make it into a story. As part of the process of justifying what I’ve done to myself, I will forget some parts and invent other things, and eventually it will turn into a narrative with a point or moral. That’s probably already happened here to some extent, even though to be as honest to the experience as possible, it should just be a long description of observations.

****

I ultimately finished in 67:37:57, and with the increase in sensory stimulation at the end, all that mental weirdness went away in a minute or two. I was tired but thinking normally again. I met up with my parents, took some photos and chatted for a bit, but then went back to my hotel and crashed.

Maybe five hours later though I awoke fully awake. I rolled around in bed, delaying having to get up for as long as possible. But eventually hunger took over and I went downstairs to eat. I spent the rest of the morning packing up, trying to beat the rain. While I originally had some idea that I would bike back to Paris today, the reality of my Achilles still aching and my rear preferring to let my saddle sores start healing meant I just took the train. Apparently you can take your bike on it after all - or at least the rules for bikes are not enforced – because the entire train was filled with exhausted riders and their bikes. At the end of the line in Gare Montparnasse I got off and rode the remaining three kilometers through central Paris under a light drizzle to our hotel.

The sign of a good adventure is that you’re eager to go home. And know with certainty where home is. A few minutes after I returned, Karen and the kids got back from a walk, and I was there.

Appendix:

At the end of all of that, I am quite happy with how things played out. 67-68h is what I thought my most likely finishing time would be, and I was right in the middle of that. Many of the other assumptions in my game plan ended up being pretty close to accurate too. My average speed was 30kph on day 1 (probably closer to 28kph without all those spicy pacelines), then 24kph and then 24kph again. This meant 14.5 hours moving time on day 1 and 2, and 18.5 hours moving time on day 3 (16.5, 17, 21.5 total time each day). Normalized power was 193w, then 166w, then 151w – the 151w on day 3 in particular I was quite happy about as that’s despite being impaired from my Achilles for a good chunk of it, and because often your day 3 power is your forever power, and "150w is a pretty good forever power.

I’d come into the event in peak shape, with an estimated VO2max (per Garmin) of "64mL/kg/min, an estimated FTP of around 330w at 76kg (hadn’t formally tested in several months prior to this though), and most importantly, the upper end of my sustainable z2 power being around 240-250w. I’d done no rides over 160km since June (though have done many, many >200k rides in my life), was riding around 10-12 hours per week since maybe November, and roughly following a polarized model of training. I was also putting as much effort into recovery between training rides as I was into riding itself. Most other people riding were not as strong as I was – my guess is I was in the top 10% of riders in this regards. Ie: the vast majority of people who do PBP did not have numbers in the same ballpark as me. Again, this was a deliberate tactical decision on my part, because I wanted to have the luxury of spare time for resting if I so chose, to make the mental side of the event easier.

Equipment wise I wouldn’t do anything different. Tubeless 28c GP5000’s at about 65-70PSI, 50mm deep rims, carbon gravel bike (Cannondale Topstone Carbon 105), dynamo hub on the front wheel for lighting, clip-on aero bars, a 9L saddle bag for most stuff, and a 1L top-tube bag for snacks and a battery back/wire for charging things on the go. This was actually quite close to what I’d call the “default” bike setup I saw for PBP: carbon road bike, 40-60mm deep rims, 28c tires, large saddlebag (almost always Apidura) and then a smaller top-tube or frame bag. Very, very few riders were riding anything much wider than 32c. Road surfaces, other than the occasional stretch of cobbles in a town, or short pothole-y stretch, were butter-smooth by Manitoba standards. If you were

going to push me, the one thing I might consider doing is getting a slightly lighter frame, as the Topstone is on the heavy side, and there is a lot of climbing. Maybe a Domane?

Other than the Achilles thing, which I don’t really know what to do about going forwards, there were really no other significant physical problems. The Achilles thing itself was likely aggravated by the sheer volume of climbs that you do (the biomechanics of pedaling up hill often involve more calf usage then when pedaling on the flats) coupled with the amount of walking I needed to do while wearing SPD shoes (the pair I use has a negative heel-drop because of the cleat). Saddle sores were trivial – they were there but never prominent – kind of like how your tongue is always in your mouth, taking up space, but you’re not usually aware of it. I’ve had worse saddle sores after 400ks. I used a pair of Assos bibs day 1, then another pair of Assos bibs on day 2 (which have a completely different shape/style of chamois) after having hand-washed the first-days pair and leaving them to dry in my hotel room, then used this first pair again on day 3.

There were a number of things that surprised me. Probably the most important of which was stoppage time – time spent actually riding the bike was only about 47 hours – 30% of my total time was spent not riding. And that’s despite only getting "4.5h of sleep during the event. Even with being aggressive with time management during controls, I averaged around 45min at each. In Manitoba, the same “style” of taking a control as I used at PBP means I average closer to 15min at each control. Some of this was because I needed to start eating more at the controls from day 2 onwards. But a lot was also just little things adding up – standing in line, walking around, etc. And then there was a lot of time wasted not-sleeping at the hotel. Despite spending 12.5 hours of my total 67.5 hours at the hotel, only about 4.5 hours of that was actually spent sleeping. Obviously the ideal set-up is to have someone meeting you at the controls with an RV so you can just eat and pass out immediately, but this isn’t feasible for me or most people. I’m not sure if planning to sleep at the controls or in ditches would really save that much time over the hotel though. But. If there was one high-yield thing I could do better for next time, it would be minimizing wasting time around sleeping. I’m just not quite sure logistically how I’d implement that.

It also turned out to be easier than I thought to just keep riding my bike forever. Your body starts forgetting how to walk and stand, and starts losing touch with reality, but your legs just keep spinning with minimal difficulty. I understand how people do multi-day ultras now. It’s just “this is my life now” and you ride your bike 24/7. It’s not a zen state per se, it’s just that’s what happens.

The mental fatigue was also interesting. I have lots of experience with working 24-30 hour shifts at the hospital and doing lots of night shifts, and I thought that the mental fatigue would be similar to that, but it’s really not. I think because the cognitive load of cycling is so much lower than working, I never really felt “tired” in the way I would after say a single night shift even. And there were no points during the ride where I was nodding off or having micro-sleeps like sometimes happens after long hours at work. Yet despite that, my brain still slowly stopped working properly, as witnessed by my brush with psychosis from sleep deprivation at the end. The lack of the sensation of significant mental fatigue, while allowing me to push way harder than I thought was possible, also means I can’t rely on its presence as a signal for when I need to rest.

I think I mostly lucked out with weather this year. There was no rain at any point, which made packing much easier as there was less stuff to bring. The nights were also not as cold as they had been in years like 2019, where it hit "5C in parts of Brittany. There was also essentially no wind at any point during the ride, other than a light headwind for a few hours the afternoon of the third day. That being said, I’ve heard many riders complaining after the fact about the wind... so my perspective may be shaped by my experiences riding with the wind in Manitoba, and the fact that I’m likely slightly heavier than the average rider at PBP.

Would I do it again? I don’t know yet. At the end of the event I thought to myself “I’m done with this now,” and I wasn’t sure if it was the end of this chapter in my life, or what would happen. I’ve learned that I tend to hold interests for about five years, and this is the sixth year of rando for me... but even a few days after PBP I had already decided I was going to do brevets again next year. As time moves on, I’ve been thinking about PBP more, and been gradually more open to tackling it again in 2027. Not just because I feel like I have unfinished business with it and left some things on the table - but because it was such an experience. But it was also such a commitment over the years prepping for it; and as such, an ask on my wife and family; and on myself and the other things I should be doing in my spare time. At the moment, I think the best description is still that right now I’m focused on collecting myself and rebalancing life. There’s a lot of things I’ve avoided doing or dealing with because I’ve been so focused on training.