Paris-Brest-Paris, better known as PBP, is a long-distance cycling event covering 1,200km from Paris to Brest and then back again. It started off as a race in 1891 to demonstrate the reliability of the bicycle. From 1931 it has been run as a brevet by the Audax Club Parisien, and is now held every 4 years. 2019 was my turn and I had 90 hours to complete the course…

There are plenty of articles out there that explain the what and the how of PBP – bike setup, training, tactics, route, controls, etc…  And an array of wonderful stories about camaraderie, suffering, crashes, kindness, hallucinations, etc…

I’m not sure I have much to add to the canon, and it’s all a long time ago, so it feels a little like a blur now. Rather than give a blow by blow account, I’ll just throw in some photos and anecdotes.

Naturally, I stayed in a Chateau before the start, a few kilometres outside Rambouillet (I have a reputation to uphold, but it also helps with enticing The Dutch Wife out to support me).

Found the little London Bus on the ferry over – everyone needs a mascot! In reality it was to hide a mudflap hole I had drilled at the wrong end of the mudguard…

The night before the start trying out the official PBP jersey – obviously ordered the wrong size, or I was a little overweight (probably both…).

Decided to ride 1,200km on a fixed wheel Condor Tempo (called Calvin), as it wasn’t hard enough already! 48Tx17T which gave a gear ratio of about 76″ – PBP is quite a relentlessly lumpy ride, so I decided to gear up for the downhills to make them a little more comfortable. I’d also found this a nice cruising ratio for flat terrain which I had trialled on the Fenland Friends 600km qualifying ride. So why make it harder? I was in a race with Tom Deakins to the coveted ACME Fixed Wheel Trophy!

It’s difficult to do a ultra challenge without bumping into Jeremy Gore whom I had first met on the Engadin Ski Marathon back in 2013. It was his second attempt after he had failed at his first attempt during 2015. To be fair, he had a lot on his plate that year including the Transjurassiene Ski Marathon, the Comrades Ultramarathon and a few other crazy events…

The madness at the start – thousands of cyclists everywhere including this happy bunch – Raymond, Graeme and Andy. The 90 hour groups sensibly start in the evening – I was in wave M which set off a couple of hours before dark. Having queued in the wrong queue for most of the evening (nothing was obvious – classic PBP), I eventually queue-barged my way to the front of the Ms, much to the annoyance of some Americans who started shouting at us! Off to a good start…

At Mortagne after about 100km – I had no idea what was going on – bikes and people everywhere. Nowhere obvious to fill up water bottles, riders were already tucking into the beers around an outside bar. Eventually grabbed some pain au chocolat and coke, and carried on my merry way.

More Coke and pastries – got to Villaines, the first proper control at 5.30am after riding through the night. At about 200km from the start, it’s too far to ride in one go (for me), so I had a little stop halfway at a pop up bar. A lovely old French rider came up to me and complimented me on how steady and well-paced I was riding – it transpired he had been sitting on my wheel for about 40km! Bumped into poor old Nick Wilkinson (also riding fixed wheel) who had been suffering with stomach problems since the start – he would later abandon.

With Jan Swanwick at Tinteniac, about 360km into the ride and about 17.5 hours after I started. I had done many of the qualifying and pre-qualifying rides with Jan – a very strong and determined rider. We were both fairly new to Audax at that point and I had learnt a lot from Jan, except how to smile it seems! Things were going pretty well up to this point…

The next stage to Loudeac, the wheels started to come off. We had been riding into a nagging head wind all day and it seemed to get worse after Quedillac (a mid point stop). I also started to get a slow puncture on the rear wheel. I always seemed to be on the front as well. At one point, I decided to stop to check my tyre, so I stuck my hand out to indicate I was pulling off to the left, and I heard multiple people shout out behind me “He’s stopping!”. I was aware there were one or two people behind me, but when I looked back, there must have been at least 10-15 people who had been sucking my wheel for the last 20km…! From then on, the “wheel sucked” would become the wheelsucker… I shamelessly followed some Italians all the way into Loudeac.

A rider at Carhaix in his PBP chrysalis. Not for me – as per my reputation, I booked a couple of B&Bs en route. The clever bit was getting the Dutch Wife to go by train and check in first so that I could waltz in at any time of the night and get a couple of hours kip. The first B&B was between St Nicolas-du-Pelem and Carhaix – about 500km into the ride.

Crossing the Pont Albert Louppe at Brest, just before the halfway point. Starting in the early hours, it was a freezing night and a cold climb up over the Rock – daybreak and I started to see riders returning from Brest already. A bad case of the dozies was rescued by a pop up crepe bar just as the 2 routes diverge before Brest – absolute heaven but I did feel a little guilty gorging myself there in both directions.

Halfway (600km) in 38.5 hours!

First smile at St Nicolas-du-Pelem on the return? 740km into it…

Bumped into Allen O’Leary in Loudeac on the way back, and Andrew Preater (off camera) who had disappeared off, kindly, to fill our water bidons – took him what felt like 30 minutes and we were starting to panic a little! The mechanics pumped up my rear tyre, again, and I couldn’t help pointing out, humbly, that I was riding fixed… Probably needed a little psychological lift at that point and the incredulous noises and looks certainly helped!

Leaving my second hotel after being looked after by The Dutch Wife who had adopted one of the hotel’s kittens. Remember being a little stressed as my stuff ended up all over the hotel room and I couldn’t find anything, but a fresh pair of shorts lifted my spirits.

Finally got fed up with the tubeless rear tyre losing air and got the mechanics at Tinteniac to stick in an inner tube for the very reasonable price of 25 Euros – not sure I would have had the patience or dexterity to put one in myself at that point.

So hot at Fougeres and I found my new favourite refreshing drink when the temperature gets up above 30 degrees Celsius.

Caught up with Jan, Graeme and Andy on the way into Villaines – I was sitting in a Finnish “train” and shouted Tallly-ho as I passed. Arriving into Villaines has to be one of the greatest highlights of cycling, let alone PBP – the crowds are 5 deep, high fiving all the cyclists as they come in – an amazing atmosphere right in the middle of town.

Only problem was that it was difficult to remember where I had put my bike, but with the help of the locals I soon found it.

Suffering in the heat at Villaines.

Between Villaines and Mortagne I stopped at a cafe in the afternoon with about 200km to go to grab a Coke and these Germans shouted “Where are you from?”, I said from the UK, and they thrust a beer into my hand – a real party atmosphere, we had loads of time left, what could possibly go wrong now?

Andy, Graeme and Jan in “high” spirits at Mortagne. For some reason we decided to sleep on the floor for a couple of hours – Graeme acting as the big spoon to my little spoon… On waking, I couldn’t locate my glasses and I eventually found them stuffed down the front of my bib shorts – to this day I have no idea how they got there!

Memories of Dreux, the last control and coldest place on earth, is this supposed to be a Paris-Brest pastry? I felt strong on the hills coming out of Mortagne but soon got a case of the dozies and stopped at a bar for a couple of coffees to breathe some life into me. Climbing up a hill about 15km later, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself and thought “what could possibly go wrong now?” At that moment I realised I had left my passport, wallet and brevet card in the bar… No choice but to turn around and retrace my steps – fortunately everything was exactly where I’d left it.

The route to Dreux followed a river and it got pretty chilly overnight, but my main concern was my neck which had become really painful and I was finding it difficult to keep my head up and look where I was going. I had to stop quite a few times to stretch it and rest it, and got to Dreux in a pretty foul mood, which I promptly took out on one of the poor women serving coffee who just seemed to ignore me and serve everyone else – not my finest moment…

The route from Dreux to Paris had been changed from the gpx file I had, so I had to rely on Graeme, Jan and Andy to point the way as I couldn’t really see where I was going without physically lifting my chin up with my hand. Something not helped by people stealing the direction signs as souvenirs.

Eventually we rolled into Rambouillet where we were greeted by The Dutch Wife riding ahead of us blowing bubbles! She later admitted she didn’t recognise me because I Iooked so strange on the bike… A final comedy offroad bit in the Bergerie and we were done – 86.5 hours after starting!

The final thing we had to do was get our Brevet cards stamped and receive our medals. The wonderful woman who stamped my card, put the medal around my neck, took my hand in both of hers, looked me in the eye and said “You have done an amazing thing” – cue floods and floods of tears as I realised it was all over!

One beer and I was out for the count! On the ride back to the hotel, I turned my rear wheel 180 degrees to ride freewheel and my wheel wouldn’t turn properly – this is the moment I realised I had ridden from Mortagne to the finish with a broken spoke… I had no idea!

A Paris-Brest pastry that doesn’t look like a turd…!