The crowd at the baggage carousel at Charles de Gaulle airport outside Paris was enormous so I stood back and the crowded thinned as people got their bags. After a half hour it was just Emily and I, watching the same random loose shoe go round and round with no sign of my bright blue bag. Welcome to PBP 2007.

The chipper Air France people told me my bag would turn up and sent me on my way. Unlike the four other people on the same plane who didn’t get their bikes, mine came in fine. But unlike the four other people, I was missing everything else one needs to go for a bike ride: clothes, food, and just about every small bike nut and bolt I thought would be safer in my checked bag.

After some waiting, we took the airport shuttle to the hotel and got our first taste of the French suburbs. I’m told things are much more “French” when PBP is not in town, but to me it looked like a condensed version of New Jersey. Malls, Malls, and more Malls were all within walking distance. The stores were basically the same and besides the language, people were pretty much the same. I immediately set out to buy a replacement crankset, pedals, and all the other stuff I would need to get my bike (Daisy) riding again. Surprisingly enough, the two local sporting goods stores had just about everything I needed, and the amazing selection of cheap bike stuff in the supermarket filled in the gaps. (You can buy a crank remover, tubular tire, or generator light set in the supermarket! Cheap too.)

Meanwhile our Hotel, Campanile, was being overrun by hundreds of American cyclists, mostly from the west coast. I have never before seen such a collection of cool bikes as I did in the hotel. Everything from classic steel to carbon was shoved into a medium sized room until not an inch of walking space was left. Looking at the unique and innovative ways serious long distance cyclists position their lights, handlebars, etc, was one of the highlights of the trip. Almost every bike had a good idea, a cool homemade accessory, or just a comfy handlebar. Emily and I took pictures for ideas in future projects.

Meanwhile my bike, wrapped entirely in green reflective tape, was causing a stir. I was shocked at how many people would ogle and poke at Daisy, then make some comment about how it was a fixed gear. This was not limited to Americans – in the days before the ride start I was frequently surrounded by French, Germans, Italians, and others who wanted to talk about Daisy. The language barrier seemed to make little difference and either the group would nominate someone to be a translator or just keep up the barrage of questions and comments while I was left to make hand motions and point. This was another highlight of the trip.

(At one point an Italian family cornered me and when I said I only spoke English, the Father of the group pointed at his teenage daughter and demanded that she translate. Clearly she had only taken a few English classes in school and having to actually use what she was taught was going to be an unexpected quiz. Sorry about that!)

Saturday morning and a hundred-odd euros latter, Daisy was ridable again. Only being able to find a 52/42 crankset, I was in a much higher gear then I would have preferred. I was without fenders and bags, but at least I could ride with a group to a real bike store several miles away. I ended up buying a cheap 18t freewheel and putting it on the other side of the hub with the intention of using it with the 42t ring in case a 52x19 fixed gear proved to be too much. I quickly regretted putting it on as it forced me to fend off accusations that I was really planning to do PBP on singlespeed.

Surprisingly enough, the big bike store turned out to have fewer small parts than the supermarket. I was able to buy a few more wool arm warmers, but atlas, they didn’t have any wool leg warmers. Then, just as I started getting used to the idea of minimalist Daisy, my bag magically appeared at the hotel Sunday morning. In retrospect, I would have never finished without the stuff in that bag.

Sunday was the first day of rain. They canceled bike inspection and we went straight though to pick up our documents. Once again, we got to see interesting bike after interesting bike. I never get tired of looking at bikes and this was bike utopia.

We woke up late on Monday to sporadic light rain showers. When we were dropping off our drop bags we ran across our friend Cris Conception. He told us that a group of NERds (New England Randonneurs) were meeting at a hotel a few miles away and would then go to the start together. So at 5pm I changed my clothes for the last time in a week and we headed over to see them. Bruce and Glen, their wives, Cris, Emily, and I all had a nice dinner and set off. While on the way back we got to watch the 80-hour (very fast) group head out. Fun.

We had hoped to get to the stadium in time to be in the first wave of the 90 hour group, but the line was already half way down the street when we arrived. After an hour of waiting we inched up to the spot bike inspection station and finally to the first control where our cards were stamped. Although our cards said 10:10 it would be another twenty minutes before we were finally moving.

At 10:30 we were off. Riding down the street at night with several hundred other cyclists is something that cannot be easily described. Think rush hour on a freeway where all the cars are moving fast, but very close to one another. The rain got harder and globs of riders would pull over to bus stops and overhangs to put on rain gear while others sprinted to get ahead of the crowd. Pretty soon the snake of taillights had made it to the flat countryside. All that could be seen was miles and miles of light with the dark outline of fields on either side.

Not long after we started Emily and I ran across Spencer Klassen. Spencer is a great guy who, like us, also rides a fixed gear on long rides. We first met him last year at BMB. Since then, Spencer had completed the Arrowhead Winter Ultra – a 135 mile endurance ride in the backwoods of northern Minnesota in the middle of winter on a fixed gear. The coldest night on PBP would still be 50 degrees warmer then what he is used to.

We ended up riding with Spencer for about the first 80 miles or so while the crowd thinned out a bit. We talked about the Furnace Creek 508 (a 508 mile endurance ride trough death valley) and with the flat farmland around us together with low light and the cool temperatures I started to forget where I was. At one point a field mouse ran out from the bushes and my first thought was, “What is a field mouse doing in the middle of the desert?”

It felt like we were going fast, but still seemed to take a while to reach the water and food stop. By the time we got to Mortagne it was raining harder then before. I wanted to push on so we wouldn’t lose our momentum. We were out in less then 15 minutes – not bad for a PBP stop.

I don’t remember much about the ride to Villaines except that it was raining a lot and I was starting to get sleepy. We were right in the middle of the 90-hour group by the time we pulled in. Unlike the other controls, the Villaines control was right in the center of town and occupied a full, narrow block. Half the block was used for bicycle parking on either side while the other half was a walkway. There was a of congestion with people trying to find bike parking and walk around. There was a lot of activity, complete with someone talking quickly in French though a loudspeaker.

Although there was hundreds of cyclists at the control, there was almost no wait to get our cards stamped. Emily went off to the bar to buy some croissants while I found a wall to lean against and take a short nap. We ended up spending a fairly long time at this control, which in retrospect was a bit of a waste as most of this time was spent walking around rather then sleeping. After finding the drop bags and changing into dry clothes, we were off.

When it comes to drop bags, some riders can’t live without them while others think it is against the sprit of the sport to use them. Emily and I shared two drop bags and filled them to the brim with spare cloths, batteries, and food. (Actually I seemed to have accidentally packed both my ziplock bags of bike food into the same drop bag, but thankfully that wasn’t such a big deal.) Yet despite all the spare stuff I brought, I used almost none of it. Perhaps if it wasn’t raining all the time I would have appreciated more frequent changing of clothes, but as it was the drop bags were only a distraction. Actually I've been using drop bags less and less on the normal series and I guess I should just using them altogether.

It was early morning when we left Villaines and the light shining though the mist and farmland reminded me of Vermont. Actually, most of places we rode through reminded me of Vermont. I think PBP and BMB have more in coming than just being long rides.

Villaines marks the start of the real rollers, and there was a fairly long climb out of the control. While this region of France may lack the short, steep climbs we have in New England, it has no shortage of hills. The hills are just steep enough to get out of the saddle and provide a bit of a workout. Normally I like these sorts of hills, but soon my knee was starting to hurt and three more days of climbing like this was not going to make it feel better. I should add that in two years of brevets never have I felt any pain while cycling. Thankfully the descents were neither long nor fast, and riding a fixed gear was not a major disadvantage in regards to speed.

The ride to Fougeres and Tinteniac was pretty uneventful, or at least I can’t remember anything important happening. As we left Villaines we rode with Jon from Seattle. Jon’s philosophy on these rides is to avoid Americans. After all, we do all the qualifiers and most other 1200s with Americans, so why not use PBP as a chance to talk to people who aren’t from the US. Good idea.

Fougeres and Tinteniac were not as crazy or crowded as Villaines, and we spent [wasted] time checking in, getting real food, and looking at bikes. The food at the controls was not only tasty, hot, and filling – it was cheap. As Americans we’re used to paying a steep premium for food at special events. But, what we saved in euros, we lost in time. The lines were never long but we took our sweet time when it came to shoveling it in. One could argue that the break was good for my limbs and shorter stops might lead to more pain on the bike. But on the flip side, we would soon need every minute we could get.

Tinteniac was one of the better controls. Perhaps it was because they had these delicious cheese and bread sandwiches for only 2 euro. Or perhaps it was the menu translated into English listing such delicacies as “Crudeness Salad” and “Potato Vapor”. Each control is run somewhat independently, and it says a lot about how thoughtful the Tinentiac staff was to try and translate their menu for the sake of all the native English speakers. Thanks guys!

At Tinteniac we ran into Cris, Bruce, Glen, and later on, Ken – all people we have spent time riding with in Boston. These people are not ridding buddies; these are my comrades. We probably have spent less then a day riding together when you add up the hours, but when each brevet is an adventure and you quickly feel a certain bond to those you have ridden with. Our group left Tinteniac for what should have been a nice easy ride to Loudeac.

For a while the Sun came out and it warmed up. At one point I stopped to apply more “Butt Paste,” only to have to sprint to catch the rest of the group. Bad move. The ride was less than half way over but my right knee was now seriously hurting. Catching onto a pack of fast moving Germans might have helped me catch up, but it was not helping the cause with regards to my knees.

Once I caught back on I had a chance to spend some time riding with Ken Sacks. Ken and I have ridden together on many Boston rides but have not chatted much so I was glad to get a chance to talk to him. It seems nearly all endurance riders in the US have some type of technology job so talking about academia with a professor of Classics at Brown University was a nice change. (Ken ended up drop out after witnessing a horrible bike/car crash outside Brest. I hope he gets a chance to return in 2011 as he deserves to finish the ride.)

Suddenly it was night. The need for sleep descended on our group quickly. It started to rain. Cris dropped back. We stopped in a small town center so Glen could take a nap. Emily and Bruce found a bar that was staying open late and went inside for some coffee. I would’ve preferred to keep moving, but not wanting to go on alone I just stayed outside the bar and just laid down on the sidewalk. (I don’t drink coffee so I didn’t want to go into the bar with Emily.) I think I might have dozed off for a few minutes before the bar owner came outside and became concerned seeing my lying on the sidewalk. He rushed me inside as I tried to explain I don’t drink coffee and I was not about to have a beer. Thankfully Glen had awoken and we were just about ready to leave so I made it out of the bar before things got ugly.

Soon our group disbanded. Emily and I found ourselves riding alone as it approached midnight. Suddenly something clicked in Emily. Beneath her pretty smile and casual riding style lurks the power and drive of a heavyweight boxer with the focus of a laser. Whether she realized it or not, Emily decided that she needed to be in Loudeac, and she needed to be there fast. All I could do was try to hold on.

We picked up speed until we were traveling faster then anyone else on the road, and were passing weary cyclists left and right. I felt like we were gobbling them up. Gobble, Gobble, Gobble. There was no stopping Emily. She had energy to spare, which explains how I found the power to keep up. An hour and 50 cyclists later, we were in Loudeac.

Loudeac was not worth the rush. After riding through a maze of metal barriers we found ourselves in the middle of a war, and PBP riders were on the losing side. No one spoke English at the sleep station, but it didn’t matter – clearly all 400 cots were in use. The cafeteria looked like a refugee camp. It was hot and stuffy, with the line for food going out the door. Every inch of floor space was covered with cyclists trying to get some sleep. Some were in space blankets while other were just passed out cold. Medical crews carried person after person out on stretchers. Emily watched as one unlucky rider passed out and fell over backwards in his chair, hitting his head on the floor behind him. The emergency workers got another stretcher.

Emily snagged a sliver of floor and curled up to take a nap. After nearly 35 hours without real sleep I desperately wanted a nap, but couldn’t find any floor space myself. Outside was not much better – people had already taken all of the area under the overhang of the building. I finally settled on a spot on the other side of the cafeteria. The asphalt was wet and the cold wind was blowing, but that hardly mattered. I crawled into my emergency bivvy sack, used my bag as a pillow, and quickly fell asleep.

I could go on about Loudeac, but it is safe to say it was not the highlight of PBP. Emily and I left about two and a half hours after we arrived.

The ride to Carhaix was not fun. While the hills are not steep, they are not small either. The previous short stretches of flat farmland had become wooded areas separated by narrow rolling roads. There was no shortage of cyclists, many of whom had been lucky enough to get cots in Louduac and now had the energy to pass us on the uphill or could float by on the downhill. To make matters worse Emily got a flat -- her second of PBP. I gave her my spare tire and started questioning if we’d make it to the next control in time. My other knee had decided to join the party and was hurting as well, though not nearly as badly as my right knee.

As the sun started to rise we came across the first “secret” control. I was thankful for the break but at the same time was worried this would only eat away at the precious few hours we had to make it to Carhaix. I tried to hurry up but between the pain in my knees and our collective lack of sleep, we were going nowhere fast. To make matters worse, we started to see a number of riders who were headed back to Paris. Nothing is more discouraging than seeing rider after rider fly down the hills in the opposite direction, knowing they were more then 75 miles ahead of us.

The real trick to distance riding is to make it through the night. Once the sun rises, things will get better. Sure enough, by early morning the sky began to clear and the roads regained some sanity. The hills became shorter and the twists and turns were fun. We were still low on time but at least we’d make it to Carhaix on time.

Carhaix was my favorite checkpoint. By the time we got there, the sun was shining and things looked good. We were only fifty miles away from Brest. I found a nice spot of warm pavement to lie down on and take a quick 15 minute nap while Emily used the bathroom. It felt great. We ate breakfast, tweaked the bikes, and took off. Somehow I hadn’t noticed my saddle was a good 2 cm too low until Carhaix. The low saddle height coupled with the fast spinning down hills probably explains why my knees started to hurt in the first place.

The ride to Brest was also enjoyable. For a while we rode with a French cyclist and had fun trying to translate back and forth. (Well, Emily translating.) After what felt like a long descent out of the control, we came to a long gradual climb that snakes through the woods and around a stream. We were still going relatively slow and once again I started becoming concerned about making it to Brest in time. The pain in my legs subsided for a bit and I wanted to push forward as fast as we could. Unfortunately Emily was not doing as well and I’m sure my dire warnings about running out of time were not helping.

The closer we got to Brest the stronger the headwind would become. At this point headwinds were a nice change from all the other obstacles of the ride and I didn’t mind. Besides, we’d be getting great tailwinds on the return, right?

Finally the previous few hours of climbing had paid off. We were now on the ridge of a small mountain. Miles of uncultivated fields lead off into the distance to our left while the rocky crest was on the right. The road flattened out, and we had a breathtaking view. The headwind didn’t let up, but it didn’t matter – it is for times like these that I love randonneuring.

We passed a large transmitter facility, and it was downhill from there to Brest. Of course, the strong headwind was still at work but the ride was fun. After a while we finally came to a more populated area and were led down a bike path that connected to a pedestrian bridge crossing the bay and leading into Brest. To the right was a larger suspension bridge for auto traffic. It felt like crossing into San Francisco. Once in Brest proper, we rode in somewhat heavy traffic before climbing one of the steeper ascents of PBP into the control. But the sun was shining, half the ride was over, and I felt good.

We didn’t spend much time in Brest before turning around and heading back to Paris. In the short time we were stopped, the wind had changed direction and our fabled tailwind would be nothing more than a strong crosswind. Oh well. (The fact that the wind changed direction in late afternoon isn’t exactly surprising, and I was somewhat expecting that to happen as we came into Brest. This is the price you pay for being slow.)

Not long out of the city Emily started getting tired and wanted to stop for a short nap. I was feeling surprisingly energetic and didn’t want to squander my energy so for the first time in 600 kilometers we said our goodbyes and agreed to meet at the next control. I was eager to make it back to Carhaix.

On the big climb back I just settled into the drops and tried to hold a constant speed. After a while I looked back and realized I had company – Noel Howes from Seattle. I can’t say enough good things about the Seattle folks I met at PBP. As a whole they were all very friendly people with a true randonneur sprit. You can identify a Seattle riders all have: their nametag on the back of the bike, custom reflective gear, and long mudflaps on their fenders. Very considerate cyclists.

Noel and I rode together for nearly 45 miles to the control. It is rare that I find someone (besides Emily) who rides at the same pace, and it was nice to have someone to chat with as we passed back over the mountain ridge and down the other side of the mountain. At one point we stopped in a small town while Noel adjusted something on this bike. A bunch of locals saw my bike and quickly formed a circle around me while they bombarded me with questions in French. I tried to tell them I didn’t speak French, but that didn’t faze them. Then from the back I heard a translation – Noel speaks French! Once the interrogation was over we set off.

I think it was a little after 11pm by the time we finally made it back to Carhaix. We were within the time limits, but I was not going to build up a sleep buffer at this pace. I got some food and waited for Emily. (At the table I overheard a few others riders talking about this amazing woman riding a fixed gear riding a Raleigh Pro. It is never uncommon to overhear other riders talking about Emily.)

Emily arrived about 20 minutes later and we ate a quick dinner together. We ran into Cris who was hanging out with Julie in Bruce’s support van. Cris informed us of a rumor was going around: because of the rain, PBP officials had decided to add 2 hours to the closing times of all the checkpoints, but we’d still have to make it back to Paris within 90 hours. He also told us that Carhaix had a sleep station that wasn’t crowded so we headed over to try and get the first real sleep of the ride.

We only slept for an hour but it felt great. The cots were comfortable and they had these thick wool blankets, a corner of which made a great pillow. When I was awoken an hour after going in I was pretty confused at first and kept pointing at my watch thinking that the volunteer was asking me what time it was.

Emily and I left around 1:30 am for the long ride back to Loudac. Once again, we were short on time if we were going to make it within the limits we had to hurry. I was not sure if the 2 hour extension was true and besides, I want to be able to say I completed this thing without any added help. By this point my knees were really starting to hurt.

[For the record I disagree with the decision to change the closing times because of simple rain or overcrowding. Part of the sport is making it to the controls and the end within the time limits. While there is nothing wrong with being flexible and giving people a little slack, adding a blanket 2 hours to all the controls goes against the spirit of the sport -- it gives the faster people more time to sleep and isn't fair to the countless others who have struggled to make it in within the time limits or DNFed when they didn't make the cut. Long distance cycling without time limits is touring. Distance cycling with time limits is Randonneuring.]

Emily and I quickly caught up with a group which slowly whittled down to just us and a few Canadians from British Columbia. They were really nice guys, and chatting kept us all awake. I’m sorry that I didn’t catch their names.

Our group was not going fast – around 10mph as far as I could tell. It would rain sporadically, sometimes fairly hard. It was dark. At times, going through the twisty roads over short hills in the forest gave the ride a real fantasy story feel. After several hours we came across a small town with a bar that was staying open all night severing hot grilled food. Emily and our Canadian companions wanted to stop, but I decided to keep going. While food would have been nice, I wanted to take the original time limits seriously. Besides, I didn’t think we were too far away, and if I got back to Loudeac with enough time to spare, I could take another short nap.

The remainder of leg was long and hard. While the hills are not mountains, I still needed to climb out of the saddle and spin fast down the other side. Not fun when your knees and upper thighs are in great pain. The course is arrowed, but the markers are not always easy to see, so I wanted to stay within sight of other riders. Still, I was going fast enough to pass a number of people, many of who looked to be in worst shape then myself. Riders drifting back and forth across the road, unable to ride straight were a common sight.

Loudeac was better the second time. I made it in a little after 6am – a mere 10 minutes from the official closing time when you consider the extra hour I received by starting in the third wave. I went right for the cots and this time I managed to get one. I asked to sleep for a little over an hour and was out like a light.

When I awoke it was still raining. Emily had arrived but she didn’t have time to sleep. We had a drop bag in Loudeac which I used to grab some food. I considered taking my sandals but decided against it, a decision I would end up regretting for the rest of the ride.

We left Loudeac but it wasn’t long before the lack of sleep caught up with Emily. We once again split so she could take a quick nap under the covered entranceway of a building. With my legs in pain and my speed slowing, I knew I didn’t have a minute to spare if I wanted to make it to the controls on time.

The ride to Tintenic was slow and long. I don’t remember much except for getting the chance to meet Phil Chadwick. Phil has been a regular poster on the fixed gear mailing list for years and besides being an all-around great guy, he has done some pretty serious endurance events on a fixed gear. He was riding PBP fixed, although in a much lower gear – something like 62 or 63 inches. I was very envious of that gearing.

I got to Tinenic within the time limits and about 20 minutes before Emily. My body was not feeling great but my mind was clear. If I kept going without spending time at the controls or off the bike, I just might be able to make all the checkpoints in time and get back to Paris within 90 hours. Emily, who could easily catch up, wanted to stay and eat so we said our goodbyes and I was off.

The ride to Fougeres and then Villaines was slow and painful. The further along I went, the more my legs would hurt. The more I hurt, the slower I went. The only thing that kept me going was the voice of Pamela Blalock in my head repeating “No one from New England ever DNFs”. I don’t know why I think Pamela said this, and furthermore, people from New England have DNFed on every PBP since 1995. Still, I didn’t want to be the guy that trained for two years, spent thousands of dollars to come to France, and then gave up because of some stupid leg pain!

At times I would stop for a minute or two to adjust my saddle height or something that I hoped would alivate some of the hurting. It never did, but it was nice to be off the bike. I’m embarrassed to say it but I even tried flipping my wheel to use the freewheel I had previously snubbed. I had a lot of fun coasting down a short hill but I didn’t make it ten pedal strokes before needing to flip the wheel back. Thud. Thud. Thud. When you have not ridden with a freewheel in months, 2/3rds of the way through PBP is not the time to start. Perhaps if it had been a much lower gear I would have been OK, but as it was, fixed was going to be better for my knees then an equally high freewheel gear.

I made it to Fougeres within the time limit and for once didn’t waste time. I got my card signed and I was out. Five minutes tops. I wanted the ride over, and I was not about to waste time eating real food when I was loaded up with delicious bike Gu.

The closer I got to Villaines the more it seemed like I was off course or something was wrong. Between the rain and darkness nothing looked the same. I didn’t remember any of the hills. At one point a Japanese rider asked me if we were still on course. He didn’t seem happy with, “Well, I hope so.” Thankfully, we passed though a small town with a bunch of teenagers shouting and pointing down the road. I couldn’t tell if they were supporting us or just annoyed at riders stopping in their front yard.

Villaines wasn’t much better the second time. The only food left at the bar was “biscuits” at 0.25euro. I bought four packages not knowing they were nothing more then a 4-pack of thin cookies. Finding a spot against the wall I ate eight cookies and slept for a few minutes.

I left a little after midnight with a huge crowd. Amazingly enough, I quickly found Jon from Seattle, the same rider Emily and I had spoken to after leaving Villaines the first time. He was having digestive problems, and seemed to just want to make it back. We passed by rider after rider asleep on the side of the road and agreed that with so little time left, this was a bad time to take a break. Jon told me that the 2-hour extension only applied toward the closing of two controls, not every control. I was glad to have stuck to my goal of making to every control without the extension. Jon also had a copy of the official cue sheet and knew how to read it. This is a good skill to learn.

At one point Jon and I were riding fast downhill through a small town. I was already taking a corner too sharp when I didn’t notice the curb in the middle of the cobble. My front wheel slid against it, throwing me and the bike onto the sidewalk. I slid across the sidewalk, coming close to hitting the metal railing outside a shop. Amazingly enough, Daisy and I were completely fine. I thanked Jon for stopping and he thanked me for waking him up.

My leg pain lessened slightly, and I was riding as hard as I could, trying to make up some time. Soon I had passed a majority of the group and was now leading the pack over dark open fields. I saw a town in the distance and became excited, thinking I had actually gone fast and bought myself some time. But it was not to be. The town turned out to be 25 kilometers from the real control, and I had a big long hill first.

The next 25k were heartbreaking. With my leg pain in full force, the fastest I could ride was still very slow. I kept pushing and pushing, but would crawl along. Phil Chadwick said hi as he shot up the hill. Jon passed me with ease. This was the sort of hill I would fly up in Boston yet here I was fighting with all my strength and running out of time.

I made it to Mortagne around 5:30am. I slept in a chair for a few minutes before taking far to long to find a bathroom, and then left a bit after 6am. The sun was rising, and if I kept going I might just make it.

In contrast to the previous legs, the ride to Dreux was fun. We zipped through a national forest, after which the hills flattened out and it was smooth sailing. After two years of Brevets, I got my first flat in this leg. Thankfully my tire was OK (I had given my spare to Emily days ago) and 15 minutes later I was back on the road. I remember groups of singing Germans going by. With the end in sight, everyone was chipper.

I met Jack Holmgren from San Francisco and we ended up riding together to Dreux. Jack is one cool guy on one yellow bike. It was nice chatting with him and I hope we can ride together again someday.

All the time people would pass me and ask, “Where’s Emily?” to which I would say I wish I knew. The fact was that I hadn’t seen Emily in nearly 100 miles and time was running out quick. Did she oversleep? Have bike problems? (Unlikely.) I decided that if I made it to end without Emily I would wait for her. If she didn’t arrive, I would forfeit the ride take a DNF. We started together and we would finish together or not at all.

Thankfully it didn’t come to that. Emily the freight-train-on-speed left the station and was approaching quickly. Sure enough someone passing yelled out that Emily would catch up soon and a few miles before Dreux there she was.

As far as I’m concerned Dreux is the end of the ride. If you make it in on time then you have a whopping five hours to go 40 flat miles to the end. Still, I wasn’t going to risk it and after getting my card stamped and grabbing some hot croissants, I was out. Emily stuck around to eat, but she could easily catch up.

I left the checkpoint with Cris – we were always only a few miles apart on the road but only seemed to meet at the controls. Soon I ran into Bruce who was not doing well. He was suffering from a bad case of Shermer neck and couldn’t lift his head up enough to see the road ahead. I told him I would ride with him to the end. Meanwhile, Cris went on ahead, only to be bogged down by one flat tire after another. I gave him a spare tube and my pump, and Bruce and I were on our way.

The last twenty miles were just agonizing. Every pedal stroke would send shivers of pain through my entire body. I was starting to get my first saddle sores, as I had stopped applying the “Butt Paste” thinking I was too close to the end to worry about it. Meanwhile Bruce was having a hard time keeping up and I just wanted this to be over. The clock was ticking, and if we didn’t pick up the pace we might not end up making it after all. Bruce was in bad shape, but together we pushed on.

Finally the end was really in sight. We had to endure dozens of red lights, timed perfectly so we’d hit every one. It hurt even more to start and stop but it hardly mattered – I was going to make it.
1268 kilometers (768 miles) and 89:30 later, I arrived. Emily had gotten to the finish about 30 minutes before I did and was waiting to take Bruce’s and my bikes while we went to check in. After 15 minutes of waiting in line I gave my card to a smiling official who congratulated me. It was over. I had made it. On a fixed gear!

After we left the stadium, Emily want to get her free drink and hang out with people she met. I just wanted to go back to the hotel, shower, and sleep. While I never felt unsteady or overly tired on the bike, I was a wreck just walking around. I ended up getting lost going back to the hotel, and rode around SQY looking at maps and trying to figure out where I was. I just laughed to myself. Here I came so far without getting lost once but I couldn’t make my way back to a hotel 1/2 a mile away! Thankfully I found some other people going to the hotel and I followed them.

I used the last of my energy to check in and order a large beer, which I chugged. At this point I needed the calories and the alcohol wasn’t going to make much of a difference. I got our clothes out of our bike boxes, took a shower, and fell asleep. (While in the shower I contemplated just lying down in the bathtub, but somehow convinced myself this was not a good idea.)

Emily actually had to get the Hotel staff to open the door, as her loud knocking couldn’t wake me. She asked if I wanted to go to dinner with some of the Boston folks (I left a note asking her to wake me) but I decided sleep was more important then Mexican food.

So that is my PBP tale. By far the hardest, most painful experience of my life. But one of the most rewarding.

About the bike:

Daisy is an early 80's cheap Asian Raleigh Sportif made from real Reynolds 410 steel. (A cheap grade of stainless that is heavy and rusts.) Nothing classic, valuable, or noteworthy about this bike. I used a carbon cyclocross fork with a disk brake and rim brake. No rear hand brake. The handlebars are FSA Wing Pros with Shimano brake leavers and generic interrupt leavers. (Four Leavers, Two Brakes, One Wheel.) I use a Brooks B-17 saddle, plastic fenders w/ homemade mudflap, a rear rack, and SPD pedals. It is a fixed gear with 48x19 gearing on 700x25 tires which gives me a 69" gear.

For lights I used: A Princeton Tec helmet headlight that fell off and was lost forever the first night, a homemade 3 x 3 watt Luxeon LED light, a the Princeton Tec Corona LED light, and a cheap blinky for seeing signs. Rear lights are generic battery plastic taillights. I always had plenty of light and never changed batteries.

Stuff I had on the bike: Most things were packed into an Arkel Tailrider mounted on the rack. I carried a thermal cycling jacket, an O2 rain jacket, and a thin semi-waterproof wind jacket that I never used. I had two pairs of warm gloves (never used), cycling gloves, an Alien Multi-tool, wrench for bolts on axle, tire stuff, spare tires, a emergency Bivey sack attached to the frame, and a bunch of other assorted crap. I needless carry thousands of calories worth of extra bike food.

I wore the same thing for all 5 days. I used Pearl Izumi bib knickers which worked out fine considering I had never put them on before PBP. I wore a synthetic cycling jersey, wool arm warmers, leg warmers, a cycling vest, and the jackets mentioned above. I never removed my arm or leg warmers. I never removed my wool socks during the ride nor did I take off my crappy old cheap cycling shoes that were falling apart years ago.

Random Reflections at PBP 2007:

- Air France can lose your luggage on a direct flight
- Saying the hills on PBP are small is like saying the food at a steakhouse is healthy.
- I can still pump out 150 miles with very strong leg pain.
- I can ride for 90 hours, 750 miles, with less then four hours of sleep.
- Europeans love fixed gears at PBP.
- Don’t ride fixed gear on PBP.
- Handlebars with flat tops work. (Well, mostly)
- Just get the dessert buffet at the Campanile. And don’t eat there more then once.
- Bring a freewheel remover, even if you don’t have a freewheel.