PBP 2003 - The 1200K Paris Brest Paris Audax ( 1220k actually..i.e.760 miles ! )

Paul Welch and Bob MacDowall

10 pm, Monday, August 18th - a warm dark evening at Guyancourt Sports Stadium, 7 miles SW from Versailles, Paris. My friend Bob and I were surrounded by 3000 other cyclists, all keen to get close to the start, keen to complete the "PBP", keen to be in one of the leading groups of 500 riders, keen that there would be someone to ride with if they slid off the back of the peleton; although it takes a long time to slide off the back - 500 riders stretch a long way in a peleton!

Tension and adrenaline were tangible, there was lively chatter in many different tongues and friendly greetings were extended to strangers. Riders tried to keep close to their companions as the melee funnelled through to the starting area and safety belts flashed as bike lights were turned on. Everyone was anxious now to get going on one of the great adventures of a bike rider's life…the "PBP".

I briefly thought how I'd got here - several times over the years I'd considered trying to qualify, but even the qualifying rides are demanding; and this year was the next opportunity as the PBP is only held once every four years. I daren't miss it this time, I'd noticed I was getting older and cycling getting harder!

Everyone at the stadium had needed to qualify in the same way, by completing Audax rides this year at distances of 200K, 300K, 400K and 600K. My toughest ride had been the long distance Welsh 600K from Chepstow to Anglesey and back, a wonderful ride of actually 390 miles; I was the last to finish, in 41 hours, and just managed to qualify with 12 minutes to spare! (The finish marshals clapped me in at midnight - but only because they were tired and wanted to go home !).

By good fortune the Willesden Cycling Club had invited us to ride the PBP with them and share the costs of a Minibus. We couldn't believe our luck when Tracey, their organiser, then phoned to say we would also be welcome to share in the back-up from their support team led by Diane, his wife. This included being fed at key control checks and having sleeping facilities prepared for us each night, planned for 280 miles and 480 miles at Loudeac, and then for 680 miles at Mortagne-au-Perche.

With such good planning and support and with 5000 miles of cycling in my legs, I felt I had a good chance of completing the ride. Bob was much stronger anyway and I was confident he would be OK too.

That's what I briefly thought as we got closer to the start. I just hoped my left knee would hold out, it had a tendency to hurt sometimes after 300K, and I hoped my new saddle would help as I could not sit on my other saddle for the last 12 hours of the Welsh 600!

A whistle blew, there was a great roar of enthusiasm and a mass countdown filled the air - "10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 Allez!" It was 10.15pm and Bob and I were on our way in the second group of 500 riders, just 760 miles to go!

Great crowds, friendly and encouraging, lined the streets as we headed out of the Paris suburbs. A leading motorbike headed our peleton for 15 miles. We filled the roads as far as could be seen to the front and the rear, 4-6 riders abreast, and were given priority at every junction. We crossed roundabouts and main roads whilst vehicle traffic was stopped to let us by - no drivers seemed to mind the hold up - in fact, they just tooted horns, flashed lights or clapped us through.
I hit a pot-hole after 8 miles, my pump fell off in the middle of the road, so I pulled over to the side, then my chain slipped off. Cyclists were hurtling along at "evens" - I needed to get my pump - if it caught a wheel there'd be a pile-up. Like King Canute I raised my arm, somehow worked my way to the centre of the road through the bikies and retrieved the pump amidst international cries of "silly bloke" or something similar!

In 2-3 minutes I'd lost about 100 places and panicked a bit; there's no need to, however, as there's always someone behind, and almost always some other riders in front that you will catch up; so after a while you realise it's best anyway to go at your own pace and ride with who ever's there at the time. For now there was still a great stream of riders to tuck in to and soon Bob and I were back into a steady pace, still riding at "evens", riding in echelon and really enjoying the thrill of the start.

After 50 miles we'd got into open country, there were very few street lights and villages were quiet and some distance apart. The sky was like black velvet, the stars bright as pins and way into the distance was a long line of twinkling red rear lights; and behind, if you dared to look carefully because of the speed, was a long line of twinkling white front lights, truly a memorable sight.

By daybreak at 5am we had ridden 100 miles and were still riding comfortably in a group. We arrived at Villaines La Juhel, our first main control at 8 am after 140 miles. What a spectacle! The street was closed, hundreds of bikes lined the railings set up as temporary bike-stands, crowds were clapping and cheering riders as they rode under the "Welcome" banner, and once inside the Control Centre friendly marshals greeted and checked us in. Our control card was stamped and signed. Our electronic check-card was fed into the computer reader and our position on the course was immediately logged onto the Website so that family and friends anywhere in the world could follow a rider's progress instantly.
On the other side of the street were the catering and recovery areas - excellent food and drink, good toilets, first aid resources and sleeping facilities, but lots of riders and lots of queues!

Our Willesden CC support team minibus was round the corner at the end of the street. Bob and I arrived and met two Willesden riders just leaving after finishing their breakfast. We sank into their chairs. The morning was dry and fresh. The support team was great, preparing cereals, cooking eggs and bacon, plying us with tea and coffee then making sure we ate plenty of bread and jam. Life was feeling good, we'd ridden through our first night, didn't feel too sleepy and now only had 180 miles to do during the day before bedtime.

We were now riding in rolling countryside, good long swoops downhill, few dangerous bends or descents, but lots of steady climbs too, mainly of about 1 in 10 to 1 in 8 gradients. There was a slight niggly head wind from the west too. But the weather was good, dry though possibly too hot. The peletons and riders were stretching out now, with gaps opening up. Several times we tucked into useful smaller peletons, normally clustered round a club of 8 - 12 riders and this made the riding much easier, the miles went by steadily and often our peletons would absorb riders battling along on their own - it pays to learn how to ride in a group! On two occasions Bob and I felt we should do our bit at the front, firstly for a French Club and later for an Italian Club. Both Clubs rode smoothly, riders had matching racey bikes and clothing, and the riders were friendly. But each time we got to the front on our British bikes complete with mudguards, dynamos and saddlebags the continentals came to the front again, we think our image spoilt their image so we slipped to the comfort of the back again, the Club's didn't seem to mind and neither did we!

Lunch was at Fougeres, 190 miles covered and no real incidents. By mid afternoon we arrived at one of the many welcoming towns and villages on the route and it seemed all the town turned out to meet us. Townsfolk in tents at the side of the road offered us drinks and fresh fruit at no cost, music played over the tannoy system, and one enthusiast played a bugle as riders went on their way again! By the Tinteniac control we had the last 50 miles of the day to do, and had joined up with 3 other Willesden riders. We were now feeling tired, the hills were hurting and we wanted a rest. Dennis, the "roadman" talked us into riding as a chain gang, a fast (ish) moving echelon of 5 riders taking turns at the front, it seemed daft riding almost "eyeballs out" after 240 miles in the saddle but it worked, and we cheered up as Loudeac got closer. By 10pm it was dark again, 260 miles covered. A group of 20 smoothly moving riders went by the other way - they were the Vedettes, the tough men of the PBP, and had already been to Brest and were on their way back, some finished in 41 hours, a truly inspiring sight and ride!

We got to Loudeac, our first night's stop at 11.00pm, checked in to the control then found our support team and sat down to an excellent pasta, fresh fruit and mugs of tea. Tracey recommended being on the road again by 5 am, we had breakfast at 4.30am, so only got 4½ hours sleep that night, but slept well in our sleeping bags and cold tents.

The second day firstly took us the last 100 miles to Brest, the half way point and six of us rode comfortably together, riding through the national "Parc D'Armorique", enjoying the excellent warm weather again after the very fresh morning start. The countryside was prettier here, more wooded with mini-mountain roads and plenty of hills. The villages were classic picture-book medieval places, well kept and charming, and still we were greeted by encouraging clapping and cries of "Bravo", Bonjour and "Bon Courage". Thirty miles from Brest we lunched outside at a boulangerie in the pretty village of La Feullee, eating fresh jambon baguettes and drinking excellent French coffee. Life was still good.

We climbed and dropped down over the Monts Darree to eventually join the coast near Loperhet. A wonderful back lane then brought us to the valley of the Elorn river and the outskirts of Brest. A superb descent took us onto the old bridge, the "Pont A Louppe", high over the river, and this ran parallel to the magnificent new road bridge, the "Pont de l'Iroise" with its contemporary white lattice work of suspension cables.

Over the bridge we started to climb into the town and there congregated around the town sign were groups of riders taking each other's photos, we were there - BREST, half way round, 380 miles, it was 2 pm on the second day, and we had taken 38 hours. We were on our way back, had 52 hours left for the next 380 miles and still felt pretty good.

I had not been riding as strongly as Bob for a while so after the Brest Control told him to go on with the Willesden riders. By chance I palled up with 6 American riders. They were all friends riding particularly well, steady and at a more comfortable pace for me. They were most welcoming and for 20 miles we rode together, taking turns at the front and sharing tales of bikes, rides and life in our different countries.

Then we met several riders enjoying drinks in the drive of a house by the roadside. The whole family had set up tables and were offering refreshments, at no charges "just because they wanted to support and encourage the riders", this was yet another wonderful show of the "friendly spirit" that we encountered throughout the ride and at all times of day and night. We stopped too. Patrick, a friend from the West Kent CTC turned up, and after a short break we rode on together as the Americans wanted to rest a short while longer. The sun was hot, the hills rolled on but we enjoyed the next 30 miles together, arriving at the Carhaix-Plouger control for "tea" at 7pm. I still had 50 miles to ride back to Loudeac and now it got tougher. 430 miles ridden in 45 hours, the hills we draining my energy, the night was getting colder and riders were struggling in ones and twos. Finally I checked in at midnight, was welcomed by our support team, had a ravenous supper and crawled into my sleeping bag at 1am. Seemingly moments later I was woken. 5 am already and some of the Willesdens were already finishing breakfast. My first and only teeth clean refreshed me. I downed cereal, scrambled eggs, and coffee and was away on the road again by 5.30am - a dry but very fresh dark morning.

Today, the third day, proved to be the hardest of all. 200 miles again, across the more open countryside of east Brittany and then Normandy, often riding several stretches on my own, and regularly fighting the need for sleep. My knee twinged several times but massage cream seemed to keep it comfortable and kept any pain away. My backside was however telling me I had been on it a long while, and usually it took 10-20 minutes after any stop to find the least painful way to sit on the saddle!

The route back re-traced the route out and occasionally familiar sites would be recognised, but they were taking a long while to arrive. Miles rolled by, but thirst and finding the best things to drink and eat were becoming a problem and I was going slower. The first 100 miles took 10 hours and I only got to my lunch control at Fougeres by 3 pm. The last 100 miles were desperately slow and finally I got to our last night's sleep control at Mortagne Au Perche at 3am - 200 miles and 22 hours in the saddle! So tired was I that I just took off my shoes, crawled into my sleeping-bag fully dressed, even with my riding jacket still on, and lay on the only flat bit of ground - the concrete seats of the sports stadium in the open!

1½ hours later at 5 am my friend Dave woke me. "Time to go - it's only 80 miles to the finish and the other Willesdens have just gone". I said that's alright and I'll catch them later. Persistently and enthusiastically Dave persuaded me to move. I wasn't sure I'd keep awake, didn't think my legs would work and felt distinctly shaky.

It was very cold and dark still just before daybreak. Yet somehow, after 3 Weetabix, a jam roll and 2 black coffees I climbed on the bike. We descended an excellent hill into a cold, misty valley and I wished I'd not just got shorts on. Slowly, there was a glorious sunrise, mist began to fade, the dew in the fields glistened, and I began to warm up. At 7am we arrived at a secret control and hot bowls of soup were on offer. I felt refreshed. The sun encouraged us on and slowly I began to feel fresh again and Dave and I started to set a lively pace between 15-18 miles an hour. We began to overtake riders and clearly some had not had much sleep. One rider was wandering all over the road and going very slow. He said he'd not slept since the start of the PBP, was hallucinating and felt very hungry - we gave him some food, advised him to sleep for half an hour and wished him well. Many riders were in a similar state and clearly our schedule, our sleep and our preparations were now beginning to pay off.

At the penultimate control at Nogent Le Roi we caught Bob and our Willesden mates and, as planned, all agreed to ride the last 38 miles to Paris together. Euphoria was creeping in, the roads were flatter now, and groups of people were again lining the streets, clapping and wishing us "Bon Courage". 5 miles from the finish and with 2½ hours to spare we re-grouped, donned Willesden CC Club colours and took group photos. Then our 12 strong peleton resplendent in Willesden green rode together to the Stadium and the finish. We swept onto the finishing roundabout that we'd left 88 hours earlier, 760 miles ago and with just 10 hours sleep for rest, to be met by a great cheer and much clapping. Tracey took us round the roundabout again for an encore and we were greeted by yet more cheers, (I thought that was perhaps over doing it a bit!), but the emotion, the lump in the throat and tear in the eye was worth it - we'd done it, we'd completed the PBP.

All that was left now was to sign off at the official last control check - where we were greeted with a drink of champagne - what else I suppose!

And finally we could relax - Tracey's wife, Dianne, and our support team, had prepared a picnic of French cheese, bread, meat, beer and wine to celebrate - it was wonderful. We shared stories with friends we met at the finish and later rode back to the campsite' and slept very well that night!

So that was the PBP and there are countless other memories that make it so special: there's the sheer number of cyclists taking part, the wonderful friendship, the mixture of bikes, trikes, recumbents, HPV's, even a 3 seater and a scooter that "rode", there's the respect from the spectators and all the motorists, the memories of the countryside visited, the experience of riding for so long, of being in the saddle from dawn to dusk and into the night, and the encouraging respect from the countless greetings of "Bon Courage!".

There's also the memories of the qualifying rides, of travelling to and from the PBP, the prologue ride, the evening meal with hundreds of other entrants before the ride… and there's the sheer delight in achieving a lifetime's ambition - to ride a 1200K within 90 hours - to do the "PBP".

However, the only real way to know the "PBP" is to ride it yourself - so why don't you ride next time - it's a magnificent adventure.