The 1995 Paris

The 1995 PARIS > BREST > PARIS

( OR 100 Miles on a bottle of Coke - and then some!) by Graham Brodie. Part II

At 10:15 we rolled of down the closed road in a group of around 500. The atmosphere was electric, the roads lined with crowds of people shouting and waving. It's difficult judging time in a large bunch at night, but after about 25 miles I stopped and tried to eat some cake but failed, fortunately John had given me a bottle of coke which I shook to make it flat (remembering that someone once told me this was the best thing for an upset stomach - how right they were!) and drank.

<<<<Heading out of Paris in a large group late at night.
A great snake of tail lights ahead as far as you can see.>>>>

Controle Ravataillement
- Mortagne Au Perche. (90 miles)

I rode steadily on for another 20 miles and caught up with John and the others who had stopped for food. We were halfway to the "Controle Ravataillement" - a supply control at Mortagne Au Perche -so we rode a fair way together before I dropped off the back and rode on my own to the control.

Not far to go to Villaines - first official checkpoint. On the road to Villaines

Villaines La Juhel (140 miles)

I found it hard to believe that I'd managed over 90 miles on an empty tank, and if anything I felt a bit better than the start. I managed to eat half a pot of yoghurt, drank another bottle of coke, filled my water bottles and rode off at my own pace into the night.Very soon it became light when I started some serious nodding off, so a 20 minute doze (Power Sleep as the yanks call it!) in the hedge set me up for the run into Villaines La Juhel the first proper control.
The place was buzzing, the Bristol crowd were there as were John T & Co. finishing their breakfast. I now had a dilemma. It seemed pointless packing here, as the weather was fine, I had time to spare, just that I had no appetite and couldn't see myself going much further without the bonk! I ate another Yoghurt some rice and drank more Coke and set off on my own again.

I caught up Graham Reed from Plymouth whose bike had been playing up, and rode with him for a few hours before his backwheel started shedding spokes. I left him to sort it out which he did, and he caught me up again before Fougers. As we rode the rolling roads of Normandy it was getting uncomfortably hot (33 degrees ), but there were endless supplies of water being provided by families in all the villages along the route. Many had posters up of their local cycling club stars, but were dishing out drinks, and sometimes food to anybody, indeed they seemed quite disappointed if you turned down this marvellous French hospitality. At Fougeres it was relief to get into the shade of the huge Sports hall. Here I actually managed some food, half an omelette with rice and a bit of fruit salad.

Villagers at the roadsie handing refreshments out to passing riders.

Familes with children, at the roadside.
Giving water and food to passing riders.

Graham Baxters coach was there - I was contemplating crashing out on the coach and getting a lift back to Paris, but as we were now over half way to Brest it seemed a daft place to pack!

I bumped in to several friends at the control and was met with various comments such as "...you still going?" and "....so you're not dead yet then?" That was it - Brest or bust!

It was only about 35 miles to the next control at Tinteniac, but things were really heating up. I'd teamed up with Graham again and we were forced to take cover in a bar after about 20 miles, and drank great quantities of very expensive Coke - but were past caring about the price!

At Tinteniac I managed a bit more food, and was beginning to feel a lot better, and actually looking forward to the ride through the second night. We set off on a long climb out of the town by which time it was getting dimpsy, - time to put on our reflective belts (compulsory!) and lights.

Fougeres - Brittany gateway.

Dave Pilbeam, ??, and John Spooner at Fougeres.

Tinteniac.

Some more riders came along and soon we had a good little group rattling through the dark lanes of Brittany. After a couple of hours we spied lights up ahead and discovered a Bar-Tabac with Cyclists sprawled around including John and the gang. Now regrouped we had a proper peloton to attack the hills to Loudeac. The PBP is anything but flat, and this section proved it. It's worse at night when you can't see the top the hills, and this section seemed to go on for ever. Suddenly the lights of Loudeac appeared and we were marshalled into another old school or similar building and were soon in the warm canteen. I still had a tiny appetite but managed a bit of chicken and pasta, and fruit salad. We all decided to go for an hours kip here, but it was pretty hopeless. There were no free beds, and the Gym was fairly full. I ended up lying on a table in a large food tent, but one guy on the floor snored like a buffalo so sleep was out of the question.

On route to Loudeac.

Mike Steer and I rose from the sleepless den, and set off together as the others weren't ready to leave. We joined up with 4 French chaps who we wrongly assumed knew where they were going, and only a few miles out of the town we got lost. The French boys couldn't agree which way was right and paired up and went in opposite directions. I studied the stars, decided that I hadn't got a clue and we decided the best thing was to retrace to where we could find an A.C.P.# arrow. We found it at the previous junction and saw where we'd gone wrong. Just then a large bunch arrived so we jumped on and were swept off in the depths of Brittany.

Carhaix Plouger

It wasn't long before I was hit by a bout of real tiredness. I was getting mesmerised by all the lights in the bunch, and didn't feel safe at all - so I found a quiet junction and wrapped myself up in a space blanket and kipped behind a road sign for 20 mins.

Back on the road -shivering from condensation I caught up with another group of mainly French and Swedish riders who were actually moving at quite a pace for dark unknown lanes! In addition to this there were now riders returning from Brest with motorcycle escorts which made for some hairy moments. I bottled out after a few miles, had another 15 minutes lying in a hedge by which time it was getting light, and rattled the last few miles into Carhaix Plouger with Brest only 50 miles distant!.

Again the place was buzzing, with returning 80 hour riders now mingling with the 90 hour outgoing ones! Here I made a large mistake. Grabbing a couple of croissants for breakfast I also had a large bowl of strong coffee, (thinking my stomach was now recovered). On the first climb out of the town I started to get groggy. Stopping at a supermarket in Huelgoat I bought some Yoghurt and more bottles of Coke to try and quell it, but on the final drag up to Roc Trevezel I was in a bad way. Marshals waved us in to the secret control, - a sprawl of caravans and tents, and a gentleman walked up to me and said "Du potage Messieur?" at which point I almost collapsed! I bumped into Bill Best from Torrington who informed me that I wasn't looking very well.

Carhaix Plouger

The soup kitchens of Roc-Trevezel.

I wanted to curl up and die, but there was no where available!

Brest in the distance.

The weather was changing now. It was cold at the top of the hill with sea mist rolling in, so on went the long sleeved top before the long breezy descent to Sizun. Here I wandered into a pharmacist and spent many francs on various stomach remedies. As I was feeling weak I stuffed myself with dried apricots and took an overdose of Rennies to counter the acid attack. On the final run into Brest I was feeling very sorry for myself, and wondered why I hadn't packed at Fougeres or Carhaix, where I could have climbed onto a luxury coach and slept all the way to Paris.
Rain was now falling steadily and we had been supplied with extra portions of hills, at the top of each one you could see Brest, and then it disappeared from view as you descended. Descending the final hill to the bridge, the rain stopped and the sun came out, as did my camera for the spectacular view across the estuary. The views from the bridge were fine until you arrived in the city itself, then it was a long long drag up potholed dusty roads to eventually arrive at the control. BREST!

<<<<Over the bridge towards Landernau and a few more miles to Brest.

Half way control only 600K to go!>>>>

I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming, then started to wonder where John T and the others were. I'd guessed they must have passed me in the night but nobody had seen them.

The Control was quite grubby. I bought food tickets and then realised that I felt sick and wasn't hungry again, so sold them back. I discovered one of the worlds most appalling toilets - bad even by French standards - and that was enough to make me depart the City as quickly as possible.

On the way out I met the other lot coming in, uttering various expletives and telling me how they had got lost during the night.

contd.....