Ride Report: Mnjikaning 400k brevet

Written by Tiago Varella-Cid

Brevet complete 17 July 2021

With recent pandemic restrictions it’s been uplifting to see the return of various cycling events. And although I’m not that excited at the prospect of racing XC or gravel races in TT formats since the social aspect of racing will be missing, it seems that brevets will more or less run the same as we are limited in numbers anyway.

While riding the Kissing Bridge 300 brevet on the solstice, Jocelyn De La Rosa and I agreed to align our schedules for the Mnjikaning 400 since we are well matched in drive and fitness.

In the days leading up to last Saturday, I watched the forecast intently since rain was forecast, and while a little rain doesn’t bother me, the prospect of 10mm of rain would mean dialling in gear to prevent feet from being soaked for over 16 hours.

I remounted my fenders, added a set of mud flaps, packed some extra wet lube and organized my waterproof breathable clothing for the morning with dry weather options packed in a saddlebag along with extra food to fill the space.

Waking up at 4am wasn’t an issue since I was stoked for a committed day of riding and I rode out into darkness ready for whatever foul weather was going to be thrown my way.

At that time, there was a hint of humidity but no rain so I enjoyed a casual ride to the starting point arriving about 5 minutes before departure. As expected, Jocelyn was there, as was Mike Henderson who I’d ridden with in a small group earlier this spring. Sergiy Tsymbal was also there, and I don’t think I’d seen him since our first ever brevet together several years ago where we both jumped in to the world of randoneuring by starting with the 3 Lakes 1000km. I’ve followed him since on Strava so knew he would be completely competent for a 400 also. Victor was there also as well as Rémi Parent who I hadn’t met yet so it looked like a good-sized group.

We left at 5am, or maybe a minute afterwards, and began weaving eastward for a while towards the zoo as the sun started to come up. 

Early morning start

The pace was light, as was the mood and conversation and we were all relieved not to be riding in the rain, even though a check on the weather network app showed rain would develop later that morning.

Nearing Udora

By the time we arrived at our 1st control in Udora at 97.5km, Victor had dropped back to a pace he preferred, but he joined us at the general store as we slugged back coffee, refilled water bottles and ate some food. The rain still hadn’t arrived so I packed away my light rainproof jacket and went down to a base layer long sleeve, which worked perfectly. I wanted to keep stops to a minimum but also didn’t want to be anti-social so waited till everyone was ready to ride, which was enough for most of the group except for Victor who was a few minutes behind schedule.

We rode on, enjoying roads that felt more rural, with little traffic and headed towards Lake Simcoe. 

As we reached the lake I was keen to maintain a strong pace and suggested a rotating paceline for the five of us that remained. 

It wasn’t as smooth as I had hoped as Rémi wasn’t quite familar with the format and he dropped back although he rejoined later on at a train crossing. 

We made it to the 2nd control 166.5km at the Mnjikaning Weirs at 11:08, which was somewhat of an anticlimax but it close to a Tim Horton’s and we’d save time instead of riding into Orillia. 

Mnjikaning Weirs

That break took much longer than anticipated since it was a very small Timmy’s and service was slow, but by now it was clear that the rain that had been forecast had vaporized and we were blessed with cool temps & overcast skies.

We set off towards Kinmount and established a good pace each taking 2km pulls.

I think at that point the terrain was quite smooth and we had a generous shoulder with gently rolling terrain so our target pace was somewhere around 33km/h.  To a degree we were willing to ease the pace for good of the group, but Serg recognized that we wanted to push and reasoned that he was fine going alone so we went ahead. 

One of many osprey nests

We saw multiple Osprey nests along the way, often with juveniles looking around, but I once saw a larger mature bird flying in and managed to capture a shot as Mike rode by.

I observed that some of the group was struggling so I took a longer pull that brought us within a few km of town and moved off the line so we could take an easier pace. With barely 3km to town Mike caught a gap on the edge of the asphalt and immediately had a double flat. We had just passed a parking lot at an ATV trailhead so we stopped there to fix the flats as a group since I had a full frame pump and an extra tube.

It didn’t take long and before long we rolled into town for our 3rd control 14:30, took a few photos at the railway station, and went our separate ways to gather a coordinated lunch of vegetable fried rice, water and coconut waters, and then shared a lunch on picnic tables by the river.

Serg arrived while we were having lunch, and Mike later mentioned he had seen Victor’s bike as he left so we were all within about half an hour of each other after, having lost some time to the punctures.

Mike decided to hang back as he wanted to ride solo for a while which I fully respect, so Jocelyn, Rémi and I rolled out after lunch. 

As we left town it finally felt like the cross headwind we hand been fighting eased up and we took it easy for the first bit to digest.

We arrived in Bobcaygeon in what seemed about an hour later so stopped to take some photos of the canal, when I realized I had forgotten or lost my phone. A quick call led to an answer from Mike who had seen it on our picnic table and was about 5 minutes away so we relaxed, took our shoes off and waited for Mike who arrived to a very positive welcome. 

Our foursome was back and we were off to the next control.

Ar Kinmount

The stretch between Kinmount and Lindsay was my least favourite as many of the roads were riddled with potholes. We rode a pace line and called out potholes while choosing the best line. When I say potholes, many of these were large enough to cook a chicken, but there were in clusters as numerous as a commercial hen house. On one stretch we had been riding closer to the centre of the road. This wasn’t a problem on the flat roads where we could see oncoming traffic, and my Garmin Varia would warn of any rearward approaching traffic.

As a car came into view ahead I motioned and moved to the right until the car passed and then checked my left shoulder before moving back to the smoother and more spacious line we had been following for a while.

It looked clear as no one was riding beside me so I moved left but then heard a crash behind me.

Rémi had been half wheeling and caught my rear tire. Unfortunately he didn’t veer left but instead fought to stay straight pushing his front tire against my back and once the contact disengaged he went over the bars.

Mike crashed into him since there was nowhere to go in that instant but fortunately Jocelyn steered clear.

It didn’t look good for Rémi who took some time to get up, but despite some nasty road rash and cuts on his hand he was coherent, conscious of details and eager to continue. Mike had hit his helmet and had some relatively minor scrapes when compared to Rémi but was OK.

A couple of cars stopped and one even offered Rémi a lift to town but he declined despite our encouragement that it would be a sensible thing to do.

After some time, some first aid, and a check that their bikes we were OK we set off again, and although Rémi had been hobbling after his crash he was OK to ride.

We arrived at our 4th control at 300km at 17:44 in Lindsay, and Mike went to pick up some extra tubes at a local bike shop while I went to a Shopper’s and got some bandages and peroxide, along with water for our bottles.

We spent a chunk of time getting Rémi patched up and tried to reason with him that riding wasn’t the best idea since he should seek medical attention, but Rémi was resolute to continue and it’s difficult to tell a older man what he should or shouldn’t do. If I was Rémi, I would have thrown in the towel, but I suspect his tenacity or stubbornness is greater than mine.

We took a break at a coffee shop that Mike recommended which allowed Serg and Victor to catch up, but it felt like the time was passing and we wanted to push on.

Mike hung back once more and we wished him well and set off as a group of three with Rémi, Jocelyn & I. We took a steady pace for Rémi’s sake but the 5th control was only 40km away in Blackstock.

We were about half way to the next control when we almost had another crash as Rémi once again connected with my rear wheel. Some screaming and a locked up wheel brought us to a stop. My fender had gotten quite bent against the friction of the tire, but with some care and effort we manage to bend it back to a ridable state.

This time Rémi’s bike wasn’t so lucky as he snapped his rear derailleur cable in that incident. Having not learnt from the first time about the perils of half wheeling or riding too close, left me somewhat frustrated with Rémi, but also sympathetic that he was struggling. I came to the realization that perhaps our pace was too much for Rémi on that day, and it’s a lesson worth noting to ride within your ability, or ride with others who you know and trust.

After that we arrived at 20:04 to 5th control, which hadn’t been far from Lindsay, which illustrates how much time was lost due to first aid, bike repairs etc.

We had hoped to find perogies there but only frozen ones were available so we opted for the local pizza place. I decided to order a large pizza since even though we’d only need a slice or two, I figured the other guys wouldn’t be far behind and having some food ready would help them save time as the sun was setting. As the boys rolled in we offered them dinner and took off.

We had managed to keep a moving average of slightly over 28km/hr till that point which is a decent pace for over 300km.

Rémi had declined on the Pizza and was ahead of us by about 20 minutes, so we were free to ride at our desired pace and gave chase just for the fun of it and pushed into the sunset enjoying perfect temperatures during the golden hour.

As a rouleur, I throughly enjoyed the rolling hills and took the lead for some stronger pulls, while Jocelyn set an excellent pace on some of the steeper climbs. It’s rides like this where we appreciate a well-established partnership that has developed over many a ride.

We passed Rémi as the night was drawing its blinds while he walked up one of the steeper hills. Knowing he had gotten that far, we left him to finish at his own pace and cruised to the finish arriving at the final control at 22:46 well in time to catch the train.

Mike rolled in with minutes to spare so we all enjoyed some spirited conversation on the train ride back to Toronto.

Despite the crashes it was still a great day.

Reading Rémi’s strava post it turned out that he fractured his collarbone. That man is TOUGH!

The Day I Became a Randonneur. Ride Report: Much Ado About 200km

By Fred Chagnon, ridden on 17 July 2021

Today was the day — the day I would try to complete my first 200km brevet; an organized group-depart event with the Randonneurs Ontario club. Earlier this year I didn’t think I would be able to make this event, which was a shame because it was the only brevet that starts in my resident city of London, Ontario. I was scheduled to participate in Race the RockStAR, an annual multi-sport adventure race up in the Haliburton Highlands. But it’s cancellation freed up this weekend which turned out to be serendipitous. 

Ride start with a great turnout

However, pulling in to the Tim Horton’s at 6:45AM, I was in a bit of a state. Sure I was excited about the prospect of completing my longest ride to date, and my first official ride with this club. But it was raining, and that was wreaking havoc on my psyche. I had attempted this route before once, back in October 2020, and the all-day rain had played it’s part in preventing me from finishing that solo run. I did not want a repeat of that when other more experienced riders were present. 

While I unloaded and packed my bike, my wife, Kim ,went in and bought me breakfast — two farmer wraps, one which barely saw the light of day, and the other which I packed for later. Kim told me that there were several “bike people” congregating inside, so she bid me well and left me in their capable hands. 

I sat among the crowd of folks wearing brightly coloured vests amid rain gear. While I introduced myself, many of them were reuniting after not having seen one-another for some time; this being one of the first brevets since the pandemic lockdowns had been lifted. Being in a group was putting my mind at ease. After a group photo, we departed as a group, 12 in total, and were on our way. 

Group depart

The ride within London was wet, but we stayed collected as a group for the most part. I chatted briefly with Brenda and Tim, both of whom had just completed a 400km ride the previous weekend. I met Xinghua who, along with Jersey, had driven in from Oakville earlier that morning. However, it wasn’t long before the lead pack started to peel off ahead, becoming nothing more than an array of blinking tail lights on the horizon ahead of me. Ride your own ride, Fred

Headwind and rain through St. Mary’s
I queued up an audiobook to keep me company; Ready Player One by Ernest Cline, expertly narrated by Wil Wheaton. The book was periodically interrupted by navigation cues from RideWithGPS. 

As I pedaled into the wind and rain along Prospect Hill I eventually lost visual on the group of taillights, but I was aware of a single headlight that was slowly gaining on me. That turned out to be Ben, who had just the day before, made the 220km ride from Amherstburg into London with the rain in his face. I assumed without asking that this also meant that he’d be making the reverse trip home tomorrow — over 600km on the weekend. You’re made of strong stuff Ben. 
As the two of us pulled into St. Mary’s the headwind picked up. It was as if the small quaint town was exhaling, doing whatever it could to prevent us from arriving. After the climb on the way out of town I was gassed. My bike felt like deadweight underneath me — as if I was pedaling my old Honda Shadow motorcycle. As Ben continued on his very consistent 20+kph pace, I fell back to something more manageable. Ride your own ride, Fred. 

Deja Vu all over again

Somewhere around Rostock I pulled over. The rain had stopped and I wanted to lose my rain jacket. While protecting me from the rain, it was acting like a giant sail, making it very hard to ride into the ceaseless headwind. Since I was stopped, I thought I would check the batteries on all my electronics. My Garmin fenix watch was the most important; it’s job was to record the ride for proof of completion (and bragging rights). Over 90%, so it was going to last. I had a Garmin 200 I was using for visual navigation — it was about 75% so was ok for now. My Android phone was running RidewithGPS for audio navigation cues, as well as audible — 56%. I decided to plug it into my external battery for charging. 

USB port disabled…

USB port disabled. Despite having my phone sealed in a bag secured to my top tube, the rain had found a way in and the phone was wet enough to refuse getting charged. I tucked the phone away in my much safer top box, and told myself to figure it out at the first checkpoint. 

Checkpoint 1: Millbank – 94km – 12:15PM

The first checkpoint on the route was Anna Mae’s bakery; a small bakery in Millbank at the 94km mark. While the rain had stopped, the wind certainly had not, making the ride into Millbank a mental and spiritual battle. 

Anna Mae’s

My last visit to this place was during a full lockdown, so the bakery was closed. Today, it was open….well….kind of. The pandemic restrictions in Ontario were due to be lifted the following Monday. As I sat on a bench eating the other wrap I’d purchased earlier, I listened to the restaurant patrons bemoan the fact that the bakery was not yet open for indoor dining. This didn’t deter any of them from lining up, however. The more the line grew, the more I knew I wasn’t going to be using that washroom to fill my bottles and empty my own reserves. It seemed that, for a second time in a row, I’d be leaving Anna Mae’s empty-handed (and full bladdered). 

No time for lineups… Onward!

I heard the approaching buzz of a freewheel behind me. “Little bit of wind, eh?”. I laughed before even turning around to greet the newcomer. Similarly dressed in a highly visible vest, bike packed for all kinds of adventure, this understatement came from Richard (Dick) Felton. Dick and I had connected briefly online prior to this event, resolving to ride together. However in the flurry of the morning departure I had lost track of who was who and wasn’t sure if he ended up in the lead pack. I was happy with the prospect of sharing the road with someone.  
My phone also started accepting a charge, so I secured it away in my top box and crossed my fingers. Dick and I left the checkpoint resolving to find another place to solve the water bottle / bladder issues.

With a blue sky in front of us (and not the stormy kind of blue), it was shaping up to be a nice afternoon as the two of us headed out to close the back half of the route. 

Where there is headwind, there must also be tailwind

The moment we made that turn southbound the world went eerily quiet. I’d had the wind in my ears for a solid five hours, and now it was right at my back. Dick must have noticed this too as he commented that “there’s nothing wrong with our bikes after all!”.

Dick was a great riding companion. We traveled at a similar pace, and when the road conditions permitted it, I got to hear all kinds of tales. This was a guy who was now in his mid-seventies, and took up ultra endurance running and cycling only after retiring at the age of sixty. And in that time he’d run in over one-hundred distance running events, and countless randonneuring events. He’d even been to France four times to compete in the Paris-Brest-Paris event. This 1,200km (750 mile) signature event occurs every four years, and is attended by amateur randonneurs who qualify by completing a 200, 300, 400, and 600km brevet within a single calendar year. The next such event will take place in 2023 and Dick figures he’s got one more in him. While Dick wishes he’d have started much younger, he stands as an inspiration to anyone that it’s never too late to make a turn to a healthy and active lifestyle. 

Checkpoint 2: Stratford – 140km – 2:40PM

The ride into Stratford was glorious. We’d long passed the high-point of the route, so most of the road before us was filled with sweeping descents and a tailwind that made for easier riding. The sun was out too — it was turning out to be a glorious day for riding. 

The route took us along Lakeside Drive which follows Victoria Lake and passes the Stratford Festival Theatre. As we approached the Boar’s Head pub, the site which marked the second checkpoint on this route, we saw no evidence of any fellow randonneurs. Like all eateries, the bar was closed to indoor dining, so we decided to make our pitstop at a Foodland up the road. 

When we stopped, I opened my top-box and checked on my phone. Battery was showing 10%, and it refused to charge. I sent my wife a flurry of texts indicating my estimated arrival time in London, and that my phone was likely going to die. I skipped taking a Checkpoint 2 photo. Once the messages were sent I swore as I put the phone away. 
“Don’t worry, there’s no need to get angry.” said the angel on my shoulder. (Actually, maybe that was Dick). 

While the Foodland didn’t have a bathroom (at least not one they would let someone who looked as though a clown had thrown up on a construction worker make use of), I grabbed some raspberries and a large bottle of water I used to fill my own bottles. Upon depart, the bathroom issue was still unresolved, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be handled discreetly once we were out in the country again. And so it was. 

The long ride home

At around the 150km mark Dick and I were introduced to another rider in our group approaching from behind. James was from Cambridge, and had missed the group depart. I didn’t catch the reason why — maybe he made the same mistake I did and set his ‘Monday-to-Friday’ alarm for a Saturday morning wake up. Whatever the reason, he’d started an hour after us and caught up. After a brief chat James resumed his regular pace and disappeared into the horizon. 

Sustaining an even tempo of about 20kph, Dick and I eventually made it back to London. As we approached the arrival at Tim Horton’s he motioned for me to take the lead. Recognizing this was my first completed brevet, he probably didn’t want me to feel like I was being pulled in by a ride sweep. So I made the final push to finish strong. 

As I rode into the Tim Horton’s parking lot, I spotted our SUV. Kim, along with our youngest son West, had been there for an hour and a half! Having lost the ability to track my movements live after my phone died, they arrived early and had kept themselves entertained with a Nintendo Switch. These little adventures don’t work without some degree of support and I’m always so thankful for this from both Kim and the kids.  

Fred and Dick. Proof of life. 200km complete!

I introduced Kim to my newfound friend. She mentioned having seen the other members of our troop, who tasked her with the duty of taking our picture upon arrival, before they themselves departed. And so she did.  

I had done it! I had completed my first 200km brevet. Like a runner who has completed their first triathlon and wears the mantle ‘tri-athlete‘, I could now proudly call myself a ‘randonneur‘. Lessons learned from this ride: 

  • Randonneurs are tough as nails. Also very friendly. 
  • In case of rain, pack your mobile phone like it’s going to be underwater.
  • Ride your own ride…
  • BUT…if you can find someone who also rides your ride, so much the better.
  • Even when it’s raining, pack sunscreen.

Darn It to Heck! Udora-Uxbridge-Utica 200km Ride Report

Ride report by Cameron Ogilvie.

Title: Darn it to heck

(For when your transgressions are insufficient to warrant more severe punishment)

I’m normally an early riser, but when my alarm went off at 4am I was in the wrong part of a sleep-cycle. But in my confused state, I was able to get my act together almost in time to make it to the start, or so I thought. I hadn’t been able to find my vest, but with the forecast and temperature, I thought I’d be ok. Additionally, thanks to the “Active-TO” road closures, the official start wasn’t the one I thought, nor did my bike computer offer any help. (Quite the opposite) Thankfully as it so happened, my ride to the start rolled right past the official start, so barring some confused Garmin bleeping of “make a U-turn” and “recalculating” which lasted far too long and was taking me on a confused mishmash in the lower beaches, I gave up following its cues and headed north to Kingston Road to get back on track.  

So away I went, but all alone. I wasn’t very late to the start, and being my overly ambitious self, I thought if I pressed hard, I would be able to catch the group doing the 400km (which was my original plan). Sadly, after the 30km mark where the 2 routes diverged, I realized that it would be a fool’s errand attempting the longer distance solo, so thank you to the Toronto chapter VP for enabling me the registrational freedom to choose at the last moment (by registering for both).

It was by this point that the rain started. I had fastidiously checked the weather modeling the night before and had noted that the rain would be mostly in the south, and with an early enough start I would hopefully be able to avoid most of it. Sadly, I wasn’t speedy enough to escape the rain before it had made a mess of Twyn Rivers Road. If you haven’t enjoyed Twyn Rivers Road before, it features a 30% gradient descent landing you on an open-mesh bridge. Needless to say, traction in the dry can be problematic. I gingerly took the descent and continued on my way unscathed, but somewhat damp.

As my ride continued north, the rain stopped, the roads were dry. The northbound stretch of this route crosses through the Rouge River Park many times on its way to Reesor Road on its way to Goodwood. The route to Goodwood is very well known to me and seemingly all the other cyclists in Ontario, but due to the chill from the cool air, the threatening rains, there wasn’t anybody else to be seen. On arrival at the Goodwood control, I ran into the other rider on the brevet. Sadly, we had both made good enough time that the Café at the control hadn’t yet opened. I decided to take my requisite picture and press on.

Control 1, not open…

As I continued north to Udora, the roads were empty, and the winds were light. It was almost surreal how alone I felt. This portion of the route offered smooth enough roads and before I knew it, I had arrived in Udora. It is a tiny little no-stoplight town that wasn’t much more than a few houses, a gas station, and a general store. Again, I had arrived BEFORE the shop was open. Thankfully this time, I only had to wait a minute before they did. I was in need of something to eat at this point so I went for the “healthy” option of 2 butter tarts. They were surprisingly good considering they were not freshly made.  Either that, or I was in enough of a dark place emotionally from the long solo ride, dark skies, and chilly weather. Whatever it was, they brightened my spirits and away I went.

Almost open at control 2

The route to Uxbridge was almost a straight shot without much elevation change. Just some little rollers through typical Southern Ontario Farmland. As for the Uxbridge control, I took my geo-locational photo featuring the Uxbridge post-office mural in the background and pressed on. (After some more Garmin induced confusion… I really should have studied the route a little harder)

Uxbridge control

The journey home from Uxbridge was where my mostly enjoyable ride started to feature some more of the lovely “character building” experiences that you MUST expect on every Brevet. The rain started as the temperature hit about 15C. Not ideal for my clothing choice and forgotten vest. That said, my feet got swamped, as well as the rest of me as the rain came down. It was at this time that my power meter decided to go a little crazy, perhaps due to some water ingress. If it wasn’t for the cold and the grit, I wouldn’t have been so “happy” about my current situation. My legs were still feeling reasonable, but I was nowhere close to setting any records on this route. The cold was just too much.

The route south out of Uxbridge goes through some lovely terrain and a descent that seems to last forever. The forest smells and occasional blast of WARM air out of the woods was most welcome. The descent out of the highlands was lovely, but I was so cold and wet that my hands and wrists were starting to complain. It was of course at this point that I arrived at Whitevale Road. If you haven’t experienced this road, you are in for a “treat”. The potholes are impressive, as are the multiple construction and detour signs on the route. So, what did I do? I ignored all the warnings and pressed on, following the route with stubborn belligerence. Problem one: loose gravel, and potholes large enough to lose a small child. Thanks to the relentless construction and development in the area. The “use at your own risk” signs are always fun. After getting through the worst of that, I arrived at problem two: Whites Road has been “improved” into essentially a highway with medians and guard rails. The route is completely interrupted at this point, so I had to “portage” over the median to get back on route. Shortly thereafter, I arrived at problem 3: detour signs leading to a COURSE gravel road which I again ignored and pressed on to the road blockage. Concrete k-stones blocked my path, but in true Randonneur fashion, this is just part of the fun. Again I portaged over the blockage to continue the route.

The Whitevale portage

It’s at this point where my opinion about the route differs greatly from the route designer. I think the route should have gone south and re-tracked the start, but the route takes you through perhaps some of the worst trafficked roads in this part of the city. Character building of course. Thankfully my legs were feeling quite sprightly at this point and thanks to an increasingly strong wind out of the Northeast, it was easy to keep pace with traffic. Additionally, a good chunk of this portion of the route now features separated bike lanes. I wasn’t completely thrilled about this portion of the route, but it wasn’t much trouble thanks to increasing temperatures and the helpful wind.  I arrived at the finish with little fanfare and only city traffic to greet me. I took my completion selfie and rode the remaining distance to home.

Back where I began

In summary, this route is not without its charm. Perhaps a little too much character building for me on this wet and chilly day, but maybe when the fall colours peak on a sunny day I’d consider it again, but only if I could arrange for some company. 

Coureur de Bois Ride Report by John Cumming

July 3-5, 2021

Coureur de Bois had been on my to-ride “bucket list” for a decade.  Fellow Huron randonneur Terry Payne rode Coureur de Bois in 2011, and his descriptions of a challenging ride with beautiful scenery, horrible roads, and ambiguous cues convinced me that I had to do it one day!  After doing my first 1,000 (Lake Ontario Lap) in 2015  and doing 1,200’s in 2018 and 2019, I realized that a 1,000 is actually much more challenging than a 1,200:  With top-notch support and organized controls, the Granite Anvil was a “picnic” compared to LOL!

In addition to Terry Payne’s yarns of Coureur de Bois, my motivation for doing the ride was fed by the romance of the fur trade and French Canadian history that was taught to all children in Canadian Schools in the 1960’s (before the realities of certain events and the treatment of indigenous peoples tainted our perspectives).  Perhaps more than a lot of English-speaking Ontarians, I had a fascination for rural Quebec which evolved while I was a summer student in the Gaspe in the mid-1970’s.   Bicycling along the shore of the St. Lawrence River on my CCM Gran Tourismo 10-speed during that wonderful summer was, in fact, the only real cycling I’d ever done in Quebec! 

Until a week before the Brevet, I expected that I might be the only rider signed up for Coureur de Bois 2021.  (If it had worked out that way, I am certain that my ride would have ended in dismal failure).  But on June 25, I was delighted to receive an email from Peter Grant indicating that he and JungAh Hong also intended to do the ride.  Peter explained the history of the CdeB route:

“The route has been used since about 2005 and has been updated after each ride with input from our riders as well as notes sent by Quebec riders.  There is a lot of Route Verte, particularly approaching and leaving Quebec City.  There is more than 20km of bike paths around the city of Quebec. 

   Some the paths on the south shore I have ridden before on a cross Canada ride.

  I remember that there were areas were bike paths were the only option for cycling, but that they could be confusing.  That was true of the area where we will cross the Chaudière River just after turning west bound and leaving Quebec.”

It was a relief to know that I would not be dealing with the ride alone!  I told Peter and JungAh that I would be arriving in Ottawa the day before the ride, and JungAh suggested we get together for lunch, to discuss last-minute logistics.  Peter, JungAh and I were joined for lunch on a sun-drenched roof-top patio by Vytas Janusauskas, who rode the inaugural CdeB in 2005.  We were cajoling Vytas to join us on the ride, which he said he would do if we paid a high enough fee!

After lunch, I headed to my Orleans Air BnB (from which I had intended to bike to ride-start the following morning).  Guy Quesnel, with his usual top-notch organization skills, had arranged for car parking close to the official start, so a pre-ride to the brevet starting point wasn’t necessary and getting prepared to ride became even easier. 

While “killing time” on Friday afternoon before ride day,  I received an email from Vytas informing us that he and his wife Colleen had decided to provide drop-bag and meal procurement support at the two planned overnight controls!  Only true randonneurs will fully appreciate what a significant commitment and “godsend” this offer presented.  Peter, JungAh and I had anticipated that we would be arriving at each overnight hotel after near-by restaurants were closed, facing a mere few hours of sleep on an empty stomach.  But with Vytas and Colleen procuring meals, ready and waiting in our hotel rooms on arrival, life would be good!  Even better, I could plant a few cans of beer in the drop bag for my favourite form of day-end “carb loading”!! 

Refueling, with Vytas standing by

From anticipating a “solo” ride with no support and unknown weather a week before, prospects for the ride, and the weather forecast, were definitely getting rosier!   

I arrived at the ride-start parking site about 4:15 am and began to get my bike ready.  There was another car at the far end of the parking lot, with what appeared to be another cyclist.  I was completely focused on my own tasks so I didn’t walk over to see who it was.  Guy Quesnel, and Peter and JungAh arrived a few minutes later.  Guy informed us that we would have a fourth registered rider, but I didn’t recognize the name when Guy pronounced it.  It was only when the “mystery rider” rolled under the light of the street lamp that I realized it was Serg Tsymbal, who I had ridden with on several brevets.  In classic “rando” style, Serg had driven down from Kitchener the evening before and slept in his car!

Getting ready to ride! Saturday 5 am

So four riders set off promptly at 5 am, with two days of “no rain but strong North East Winds” in the  forecast.  Peter stormed out of the gate, setting a brisk early pace as we weaved through the streets of Ottawa suburbs into the countryside.  I’m never very good at remembering specific details once the ride itself starts – geographic features, weather and road conditions, and hazards and highlights all blend together as the kilometres accumulate. 

It was apparent that both JungAh and Serg were excited to be approaching their first-ever visit to Quebec.  Serg wondered whether we’d be able to do a short detour to see “Montgomery Falls” (I explained it was “Montmorency”, and that I, for one, would not be joining him to see the falls!).  Aside from his jacket, Serg had brought no additional clothing, having anticipated that “Quebec is warm, right?!?  It’s not Manitoba!”  His plan was to catch a few hours of sleep on convenient park benches under the temperate Quebec night sky.  But with the brisk cool winds off the St. Lawrence River blowing in our faces, Serg readily accepted the offer to share the hotel rooms which I had booked for each night.  Serg continued to talk about “Montgomery Falls” being higher than Niagara, and I realized that his mis-pronouncement probably sounded no more absurd than my own efforts to pronounce place names, or menu items at control stops!  Montgomery Falls it is.

The Open Road

It was about 8:30 am when we crossed the bridge at Hawkesbury into La Belle Province!  Apprehensions that we would encounter legendary bad roads were not immediately realized.  (As Peter had indicated, much of the route in Quebec follows “La Route Verte”, which Vytas described as “roads dedicated to cycling because they are so bad that car driver’s wouldn’t want to use them!”).  While we eventually did encounter some pretty bad roads, we also encountered some wonderful new sections of pavement.  Overall, I won’t make an assessment on the state of roads in Quebec vs. Ontario, although JungAh, Serg, and Peter may have a strong opinion about it.  As for the drivers in Quebec, we experienced a full spectrum of behaviours ranging from ultra-polite to aggressive and hostile.  Unfortunately there was more of the latter, with a number of dangerous close encounters and verbal (unintelligible, to us) taunts.  This was a big surprise and disappointment for me, given all I had read about Quebec’s push to be a haven for safe cycling .

Morning Smiles

For the most part, we rode traditional randonneur “accordion style”, sometimes as a group but often separated.  Three of us were carrying Spot Trackers, which greatly facilitated Vytas and Colleen’s control support efforts.  So when we arrived at the Travelodge in Trois-Rivieres at 10:15 pm, the Pizza and Salad we had previously ordered (along with the aforementioned drop-bag of beer) was hand-delivered to our rooms by Vytas & Colleen!

After a few hours of sleep we were back on the road at 5 am, contemplating whether we might find any quick breakfast stop before the next control at St Stanislas.  Thinking the control closed at 07:28, I raced ahead of the others, only to note as I rounded the corner into the tiny hamlet that the control card said 07:48!  The others rode leisurely into town a few minutes later, ahead of the control close time.  Of course, the only gas station / variety in town was closed, and breakfast would be further down the road.

As we pushed on toward Quebec City, Serg and I gradually rode ahead of Peter and JungAh.  Having to stop at a traffic light part way up a >10%  incline, I was forced to dismount and walk.  Serg, with a much lighter load and superior biking skills, was able to keep riding and got ahead of me.  I had to work hard to catch back up to him as we wove through the streets of Quebec City.  An extremely steep descent towards the ferry terminal was an excellent test of new V-brakes recently installed on my ancient LiteSpeed.  Extensive reconstruction and detours on the bike path along the waterfront slowed us down – I expect this section will be wonderful for the next running of CdeB, after the construction is complete.

Serg and I arrived at the Ferry Terminal at 14:13 and easily found the kiosk for bike tickets.  We were delighted that the Ferry was just loading when we arrived.  Standing in the queue, I checked the “Follow Riders on the Road” on the Randonneurs Ontario website.  It looked like Peter and JungAh were close behind, but we could not see them as our Ferry left the dock.  Although Peter and JungAh were back only a few minutes, waiting for the next ferry (which was itself delayed!) put them further behind.  While JungAh and Peter waited on the north shore, Serge and I were being pushed southwest, along beautiful bike paths in Levis, by a strong tail wind under a hot afternoon sun!  We easily maintained a 25km/hr moving pace and arrived at the second hotel in Becancour (across the river from our first night stay) at 21:35!  Again the custom food order (2 subs apiece, along with my remaining beer) had been deposited by Colleen & Vytas in our hotel room fridge.  Aided by the sleep-inducing qualities of a cold tallboy, Serg crashed quickly.  I couldn’t “turn off”, and waited for JungAh and Peter to arrive more than an hour after us.  Unlike the hot sun and tail wind that Serg and I had enjoyed, JungAh and Peter had to deal with post-sunset cold temperatures and unhelpful still air.

662 done!

With much less sleep than Serg and I, Peter and JungAh were once again ready to ride at 5 am.  We covered the 72 km to Sorel by 8:06, conscious of the 8:44 control close time and 9:00 scheduled ferry departure.  Riding beside JungAh towards Sorel under the early morning sun,  I asked if she had any idea what “coureur de bois” was all about.  It surprised me that she had no idea what the name referred to – but then, in perspective, I realized I knew nothing of her South Korean history nor the folklore of Serg’s Ukrainian heritage.  I tried to explain the “Coureur de Bois” to JungAh.  I also tried to teach her a song which I understood to have been popular with the Coureur de Bois, helping them to pass the hours as they paddled along.  The song is “Mon père n’a plus qu’vingt-neuf poulets “, and it had been an “earworm” which I had been humming to myself for over 700 km!  

As I began to sing it out loud, JungAh took out her phone to capture my poor singing, which you can watch here.  Whether paddling a canoe or pedaling a bicycle, the song is a perfect anthem for Randonneuring …

Marchons au pas accéléré

Et allongeons la jambe

Et allongeons la jambe, la jambe

Car la route est longue!

(Very roughly translated,

 “Step up the pace,

and stretch out your leg,

because the route is long!”)

We arrived in Sorel with sufficient time to enjoy a “grande” A&W breakfast before racing to the ferry terminal.  Under bright sunshine, we enjoyed the crossing back to the north shore, and the ride south west toward Blainville.

When I had been sharing my plans for Coureur de Bois with family and friends in the days before the ride, a family member asked “don’t you have to tow a canoe full of beaver pelts, to make it a real Coureur de Bois ride?”  While my heavily-laden bike sometimes made it feel like I was towing a canoe, the one experience we got to share with original Coureur de Bois was the “portage” – We encountered several serious sink-hole-induced road closures, where we were obliged to carry the bikes over treacherous paths.  If I had been on my own, I probably wouldn’t have scouted out a way through these road blocks.  Input from Peter, JungAh and Serg “saved my bacon”.

A Coureur de Bois “Portage”

I should also mention my Garmin 1030.  A recent software upgrade, complete with enhanced map display and directional chevrons, was supposed to make navigation easier.  But on the bi-directional segments of the Coureur de Bois route, I still found the Garmin (or me interpreting the Garmin, or both) to be error-prone.  On more than one occasion, Serg kept me from heading back toward Montreal as I heeded my 1030’s prompts.  Whatever brand of bike GPS you use, you should spend as much time together as possible to be sure you understand each other’s limitations!

As my Garmin announced completion of each 100 km “lap”, I was pleased to see that Serg and I were more or less sticking to a 24 – 25 km/hr moving average.  Vytas and Colleen texted me, indicating that JungAh had encountered problems and was thinking she might dnf.  If they had to go back to pick up JungAh, they might not be at the finish to give us our drop bags (a trivial concern, as compared to retrieving a stranded rider).

After being worn down by some bad roads, ferry delays, and what she experienced as hostile treatment by Quebec drivers and some people she encountered at controls, JungAh had a flat at 893 kilometres, and discovered that her pump was malfunctioning.  In her own words: 

“This was my first time in Quebec except Gatineau, and I was surprised to receive such poor treatment for speaking English. I love the little chats with locals during my ride which didn’t happen during this ride. As soon as I started talking in English, their face just changed. Now I know better what to expect. I better start learning French …I just laughed at myself how I never get flats on the road but it somehow happened during my biggest ride just 100km from the finish. I guess my pump got too much rain over the years. It was rusted inside and leaking air.”

 Unfortunately, Serg described his first impression about Quebec as being very close to JungAh’s.

Vytas and Colleen were able to rescue JungAh and drive back to the ride finish shortly before Serg and I arrived.  We pedaled into the parking lot at 11 pm, ahead of threatened rain, to enthusiastic smiles and clapping from JungAh, Vytas and Colleen, and Guy.  Peter was still out on the road, dealing with darkness and a short cloudburst.  He would successfully complete Coureur de Bois exactly three hours after our arrival.

Riders who have completed PBP will tell you about the incredible range of emotions encountered as you approach the finish.  For me, the Coureur de Bois finish also produced a complex emotional reaction: pride, of course, in completing a challenging course. And a sense of awe in travelling though the history of a country I love.  But also a feeling of sadness, that two relatively recent immigrants (and randonneurs extraordinaires!) had a less-than-positive experience.

For me, this ride would have ended very poorly without Vytas & Colleen’s support, Guy’s coordination, Peter’s insights, and the enthusiasm and support of three fellow riders.  I hope that JungAh gets back to Quebec soon (with a working pump) to experience good folk and French Canadian joie de vivre, and I hope that Serg one day gets to see the beauty of Montgomery Falls.

John Cumming

July 2021

Ride Report by Fred Chagnon: You can dampen my map and my phone, but not my spirit!

Ride Start: London, ON

It was still dark, and already raining when Kim and I set off for the departure point; my bike strapped to the hitch rack of the SUV, and all my gear in the back. I couldn’t help but think that I should have done this yesterday when the weather was cool but dry. This was not just a casual bike ride that I could decide to do another day, however. When you register a ride through a club like Randonneurs Ontario, the date is logged and there’s insurance involved. And besides, battling through discomfort is a core tenet of the randonneur.

Kim steered us through the drive through where I picked up two farmer wraps; one of which I ate immediately, and the other I stowed away for later. I thank her for the ride and told her that if I could maintain a pace of about 20kph, I’d be about 10 hours. She initialed my brevet card, we said our farewells, and I set off just before 8AM.

My trusty Trek Chechpoint AL3

The Long Road to St. Mary’s (0 – 40km)

It was only about 500m up the road that I hit my first snag: I wasn’t getting any audio cues from my mobile device. I pulled over and pulled my phone out of my pocket. The marked route was there, as planned, but it seemed the data I downloaded to my device in advance of the ride failed to include audio cues. This meant that I would have to keep my phone mounted on the handlebars in front of me, which presented two issues: extra battery drain, and exposure to the elements. 

The first issue I was prepared for — I had a spare battery pack that I could use to charge the phone, so I could sustain the extra drain that would result from having the screen on. The issue of rain, well, it was supposed to stop around noon anyway, so we’d just have to see how that went. 

About 90 minutes into the ride, I had just passed through Prospect Hill, well north of London. The audiobook I was listening to was interrupted by the robotic ramblings of something else on my phone. At first I thought that my navigation app had decided to start using audio cues, but that delight was quickly dashed. The rain had soaked through the buff I was using as its makeshift rain-cover, and the water had activated talkback mode – the accessibility option for the visually impaired. After struggling to disable this feature for several minutes I finally screamed “Turn Off Talkback” to the Google Assistant. Decades of experience working with technology, and it was proving to be my undoing today. 

I decided to stow my phone in my rear trunk bag to keep it dry. After another 15 minutes of riding however, I had a nagging feeling that it wasn’t going to record the ride that way. Not wanting to lose the digital proof of the ride’s existence I pulled over to confirm. Sure enough, when I unlocked the screen, the navigation app had not yet resumed recording, as a result it cut off a small corner of my route. “Please let that not be the difference between 199 and 200kms” was all I could think. I confirmed the nav was running properly and put the phone in my inside pocket instead.  

St. Mary’s to Millbank (40 – 95km)

Pictures never quite capture fall beauty…

The ride from St. Mary’s had me pretty settled in. I had music, my phone was charging, and the fall colours were beautiful. But the rain was constant. In fact anytime I thought it was settling down Mother Nature would betray me with a gust of strong spray. Eventually I turned south into a strong, cold headwind. I was averaging only 15 kph until I could finally turn back north-east toward Milverton. It was only a few short kilometers, but that battle was draining. On this route, checkpoint 1 was Anna Mae’s Bakery & Restaurant. It was just a few kilometers ahead, but every time I looked at my nav screen it felt like it was getting further and further away. To keep my mind occupied, I began to list the things I needed to do at this checkpoint: eat, drink, pee, change sock, picture, brevet card stamp. 

I let my find conjure up images of the apple fritters I’d heard the bakery was famous for, and maybe something warm to drink, oh and a butter tart for the road of course!

When I finally pulled up to the bakery I wasted no time snapping a selfie. I’d logged 94.6km, and declared victory on reaching CP1. 

Anna Mae’s Checkpoint 1, 94.6km

I removed my helmet and my wet gloves. I fished my brevet card out of my inside jacket pocket and found it was sopping wet, and completely useless. So too was my paper cuesheet. If this were a real brevet event, that would have been grounds for disqualification! I cursed myself for not thinking to pack these articles in the map protector I own for adventure racing events. Nevertheless, I donned my mask and proceeded to the restaurant entrance. 

It was closed. There wasn’t a soul in sight. It was a Sunday afterall, and Google confirmed that the restaurant doesn’t open on Sundays. Why I failed to work that detail into my plan is another thing I’ll chalk up to rookie mistake.

I walked my bike around the side of the restaurant and leaned it up against a bench. I pulled out the farmer wrap I’d bought earlier and ate it while I considered my options. I had food, and plenty of water. I’d taken note of my arrival time at CP1, and the fact that I had no witnesses was likely a non-issue, given the situation. Honestly the only problem I needed to solve was that I needed a washroom.

I removed my shoes and my wet socks. I used a buff to dry the insides of my shoes as much as possible before putting on some dry socks and replacing my footwear. So involved was I in this costume change that I failed to notice the patrol roll up next to me. The officer had clearly been watching me for awhile. 

“You picked a hell of a day for a bike ride” the officer said. 

“No bad weather, just bad gear, right?” I said, unconvincingly.  

“Where are you coming from?” he asked. 

“London” I replied. 

“London?!? That’s a long way back” he said. 

“Should be about 200 kilometers by the time I’m done” I told him. 

“Well you probably do this all time time”, he said, “But if you’re going back through Stratford, try to avoid highway 7, it’s pretty busy today.” I nodded in agreement. I knew my route didn’t touch the highway. “I bet you were hoping for a hot coffee and a pie, eh?” he laughed. 

“Actually, it was their little boys room that had me most excited” I told him.

“There should be a port-a-potty behind the building” he said. He wished me well, and he was gone. I packed up and mounted my bike. I looped around the building, and although there was evidence of a construction operation, there was no port-a-potty. This is normally an issue I could solve with a little discretion, but cycling bibs make that discretion more difficult. My spirits were lifted as I resume my ride. Despite my full bladder, I was fed, I was rested, and my feet were dry. On to CP2.  

Millbank to Stratford (95 – 140km) – Toil and trouble in the Bard’s backyard

My elevated mood was well timed because the afternoon was filled with a series of climbs and descents. I always tell myself that climbs are the price we pay to ride the descents — but today the descents were equally unwelcome. The hard rain just hits harder and cuts deeper as you pick up speed. And so the combination of effortful climbs with grueling descents forced me back into a game of mental endurance. “Embrace the suck”, my aikido sensei would say. And so I did. 

At around 130kms, the Bluetooth earbud I’d been wearing finally started alerting that it’s battery was low, so I pulled over. The earbud’s case stored a little bit of energy, allowing them to recharge when stored. I swapped the dying ear bug for it’s fully charged partner. While stopped I checked my phone and saw my battery was at 35% so I decided to charge it from my portable battery pack. When I plugged it in, nothing happened. I removed the cable and tried again – still nothing. I checked to see if the battery was capable of charging my headlight and confirmed that it was indeed issuing power. Tried the phone again, and this time I saw a warning message that told me the USB port had been disabled because it detected water or debris. Not good, but not something I could deal with by the side of the road in the pouring rain either. I was still 10km outside of Stratford so I resolved to evaluate my options over a pint, which would only happen after I used their washroom (yes, even now this was still a going concern). 

Bad news

The route in Stratford was brilliantly mapped: a picturesque cruise along Victoria Lake that took you right through the theatre district. I imagine on a day that wasn’t pissing it down, where I wasn’t suffering from extreme battery drain anxiety, and worried my bladder was going to burst, I might have even stopped for a picture to take it all in. It was 4:30 in the afternoon by the time I arrived at the 2nd checkpoint. CP2 was marked at the Boar’s Head pub, a British style pub noted for it’s bicycle friendly patio. I pulled into the patio and parked my bike beside two others clearly packed for touring. I hoped I’d be able to swap stories with these individuals, whoever they were. 

Control 2, Stratford — The Boar’s Head 140km

I made a beeline for the washroom. I took a free stall and removed my soaking wet clothing. Once I was relieved, I just stood in place with my eyes closed for several minutes. It might have been five minutes before I finally began to re-assemble myself. I went to the bar to make my order.
“Can I make an order for the patio?” I asked. 

“Oh, hon, the patio’s closed. It’s raining outside”. she replied. 

You don’t say? I supposed I earned that. Honestly this is just an issue I have leaving my bike unattended. I accepted that I’d be eating inside so I sat at a table where I could see my bike parked. I ordered a cider and a bowl of chili. As I waited for the order to arrive, I tried to charge my phone again. Still nothing. The battery was at 10%. 

The waitress arrived with the cider. I took a long swig and sighed deeply. Then I called Kim. 

“Where are you?” she asked, after we greeted. 

“I’m in Stratford, at the second checkpoint” I said. 

“That’s amazing! What time do you think you’ll be back in London?” she asked. 

“I think I need to call it here. Can you come pick me up?”. I explained the issue I was having with my phone, and that I had no cuesheet to fall back on. Also, I really didn’t like the idea of having no means of contact in case of emergency. 

I used what was left of my battery to stop my trip recorder in RideWithGPS, which triggered an upload to the Strava social network, followed by a quick update to Facebook to report on my accomplishments of the day. 

I had one realization that dawned on me while I waited in the parking lot for my rescue ride. For all the challenges I had with technology this day my bike was absolutely perfect. Not once did it skip a shift, make an odd noise, or even an unwelcome grind. I reflected on how much of a mental load it can be for a day like today if you’re not completely confident in your ride, and bike-related mechanicals were the furthest thing from my mind. Someone must take very good care of that thing. (You bet I do!)An hour later Kim arrived. She’d brought a dry change of clothes for me to change into. As we drove home and I related to her my highs and lows of the day I couldn’t help but think about the endurance it would have taken to spend another few hours pushing through the rain, especially as daylight started to recede. A dryer day would have seen completion of the route, I have no doubt, but I have no regrets about knowing when to admit that enough is enough. It’s critical to have a lifeline for events like this, and I was thankful for the rescue.

Live to ride another day, whenever that day may be. 

Scugog Circle 200k Permanent — Ride Report

This ride took place on 8 June 2021.

bright and early with sombre skies at the Rouge Hill GO Station

I tend to like starting my rides very early. Even for a 200km route I will book a 5am start. The roads are quiet, the sun is coming up, and often, but not always, the winds are weaker.

For this ride I knew I was going to have to deal with rain, but I also knew that it would be rather hot (a high of around 30°C), so I didn’t bother bringing any rain gear. I counted on being wet and warm. This turned out to be true. It rained heavily from about 6am to 8am as I rode between Markham and Leaskdale. It was quite enjoyable and refreshing, though on the downside I spent the rest of the day in wet shoes and shorts.

The wind was projected to be moderate, but constant, coming from the NW. That meant I could only count on a tale wind from Zephyr to Lindsay (roughly 50km). Most of the rest of the ride would be with a crosswind or headwind. The wind must have been fairly weak because I don’t remember it being a particular help or hindrance at any time.

I brought a half loaf of bread so that I could avoid making stops for food. It was heavy pumpernickel. I sprinkled it with coarse salt. It was crunchy. I learned this culinary delight from my travels in Russia. It was a hot day; I needed the sodium. COVID-19 restrictions were still in effect; I also needed simplicity. Black bread with salt in Lindsay and then again in Blackstock. I can’t confirm that I gained any performance benefits from the salty pumpernickel. All I can say is that I never felt hungry.

snappity snap
on the road to Lindsay is Corn Country. No passport required…

I saw two snapping turtles, the first at Pefferlaw River and the second on River Road on the south shore of Lake Scugog. I saw an Osprey as I passed a place called Osprey Farms

the blue camel. Every time I do Scugog Circle (and this was my 8th edition) I take a photo of this guy

The most memorable part of this ride was the struggle. I knew I could finish it, but I wasn’t sure how close I would get to the 13.5 hr cut-off. I am not really at my normal level of fitness. I did a fair amount of running in the winter, but then that stopped (basically because of depression) and I was sedentary for at least two months. I did a lot of reading, writing and drawing to cope, but physically I had become quite diminished. My legs were not very happy to be pushed into a 200km commitment. But I persevered and finished it in 11hours and 50minutes.


2020 Ontario Randonneurs O-12 Award by Ken Jobba

When I first read of the new “Ontario Randonneurs O-12 Award” in the 2020 Award Dinner Blog, I thought that it was a worthy challenge.  And set my mind to completing the O-12 with all rides in Ontario. 

I was not completely naive about this goal.  I had completed the Frosty 200 from Tillsonburg in January 2018, so I had some experience and confidence about completing mid-winter 200km rides. 

Fortunate for me, Timothy Ormond had requested a Permanent, The Gentle Start 200, for the end of January.  It would be great to have someone to ride with.  Unfortunately, Tim had to bail out at the last minute due to family priority, but, undaunted, I set out from Oakville in late January on the first of my O-12 rides.  It was below freezing, but the roads were dry.  Two memories stand out.  When I reached St. George, my toes were freezing cold even though I was wearing warm wool socks and neoprene booties.  I recalled reading about wrapping toes in aluminum foil to preserve some heat.  So when I stopped at a St. George sandwich shop, they obliged me with some aluminum foil which really did help.  And my second memory of this ride was stopping at The Trail Eatery for a delicious, sugar loaded, slice of pecan pie that got me to the finish. 

Tim and I got together to ride The Six Nations 200 Permanent in February.  It was very cold, and we had to battle a very strong wind riding west to St. George.  I had learned from my January experience about cold toes, so I had inserted some Toe Warmers in my cycling shoes.  They made all the difference.  And I had brought some extras with me that I was happy to give to Tim when his toes were going numb with cold.  Still a bone chilling trek until we made it to St. George.  We stopped into the re-named Tansley’s Coffee Emporium to get warmed up knowing that we would soon be turning around in Paris with the wind at our backs.  We actually felt reasonably warm with bright sunshine and no longer fighting the wind heading back to Oakville. Don’t know that I would have completed this ride without Tim. We finished with broad smiles.

Ken and Tim, still smiling at the end of a very cold 200k in February

COVID-19 reared its ugly head in March, and the OCA imposed ride restrictions.  I chose to ride the Grand River 200 as the route passed through Ancaster, where I live, on both the out bound and in bound legs.  With permanents, we have the latitude to start/end anywhere along the route.  So I started the ride in  Ancaster and stopped again at my home mid-ride for food and drink avoiding stops anywhere else.

COVID-19 precluded any sanctioned rides in April and May, but I wanted to continue my string of monthly 200’s.  In April I cycled 200km on my rollers.  But I didn’t think that really qualified, as the rollers offer little resistance – I averaged 40km/h.  Being hard headed, I did another 200km on my trainer. That was a worthy effort.   And in May, I rode an unsanctioned 200km ride from my home on a route that I have proposed, The Grimsby Circle 200.  The thing I remember about that ride was dense fog for about 30km in the early morning.

Finally in June, we could again resume sanctioned rides but with appropriate restrictions.   I cycled the Niagara Plateau 200 out of Brantford.  It’s a flat, out and back route to Port Colborne with no places to refuel on the route.  Otherwise a nice ride, save for the extended, drenching rain on the last half of the return leg. Still, finished a happy cyclist.

July was my favourite ride of the year.  And the hottest.  A scorcher.  Much Ado About Nothing out of London.  I had ridden this route a couple of times before with the Huron Chapter to take in a play at the Stratford Festival.  Good memories.  I carried a picnic lunch that I enjoyed at the park surrounding the Festival Theatre in Stratford.   Despite an early start, there was no avoiding the heat.  The heat max’d out at 39C on my bike computer.  Drank lots of fluids.  Kept the pedals turning.  And made it back to London before the late afternoon thunderstorms.

Ken in a July scorcher

By mid-year, I determined that I did not want to repeat any routes on my quest for the O-12.  August was Tour of the Valleys.  For September, I chose St. Thomas-Paris-St. Thomas except that I started in Paris which is closer to home.  I was almost completing a 200’s in under 8h’s, and set out with that objective in mind. Just kept rolling, except for the one and only flat I got on the way back to Paris.  No mind, still finished in just over 7-1/2h’s.  Best ever time.  Surprised myself.

Rode another sub-8h permanent in October – Frosty 200.  Normally starts in Tillsonburg but I began the ride in Port Dover which is closer to home.  Nice riding in Norfolk & Oxford Counties and along the roads that skirt the Lake Erie shoreline back to Port Dover. 

Only two left to go, but weather could start to become a real impediment to finishing.  No bother, I was determined now to get the O-12 one way or another.  Fortunate for some reasonable conditions for the Niagara Ramble in November.   On the morning of the December ride, Castle 200, I wondered if I ought to postpone.  There had been snow the previous day.  And very strong winds were forecast, but at least the temperatures would be above freezing for most of the ride. And I knew that weather was likely to get worse later in the month.  So I set off prepared for a long day in the saddle.  I encountered some snow, slush and icy roads on the escarpment above Grimsby.  Bike handling skills from trying out cyclocross in the last few years were put to use.  And those winds – sustained at 40km/h with gusts up to 70.  Felt like I was hardly moving at times going south to Port Colborne.  Blown from there to Fort Erie, but then virtually no respite from the energy-sapping wind until the last northbound leg down back to Grimsby.  Even got blown off the road once by a strong gust, but manage to stay upright.  Otherwise, just a tough slog but happy to endure with the end of the O-12 at hand.

Did it!  Set out to complete the O-12 with an All Ontario set of different routes.  Never had in mind that all but one ride would be solo, but that’s how it worked out with COVID-19 restrictions.  Keys to success: Determination.  Perseverance.  And most important, Love & Enjoyment of Cycling. Thanks to Randonneurs Ontario for setting this challenge.  Great motivation in the year of COVID19.

We don’t have any patches for the O-12, so here is a virtual one. (I used the moon to signify months) Congrats Ken!

Paris-Brest-Paris 2019, a Ride Report by Matthew McFarlane


Mes Amies!
Erin and I are in France! It’s been a wild adventure getting to this point. Everyone expects the ‘red-eye’ to Europe to be challenging, but add on
the stress of such a long bike ride and a transfer in Iceland and it’s a bit
exhausting. 
France
When we arrived on the afternoon of the 16th, my bike didn’t show up. I was gutted. We waited around in the airport for a couple hours. Waiting, wishing, hoping. It didn’t come. Reports were filed and we got on the
train for the two hour trip to Les Essarts-Le-Roi bike-less for a cycling
event.

We spent the rest of the night on the phone and email trying to find my
bike. Turns out there wasn’t even tracking on it. The airline and the
airports didn’t even know where it was. Not even which country it was
in. I finally got a hold of someone who told me they found my bike and it would be in Paris at 1300 in the 17th. I went to bed stressed, exhausted,
and a little relieved.

In the morning I was trying to confirm my bike was Paris bound to land at 1300, when I found out that it was still in Canada. It wouldn’t make it to Paris for another 28 hours (time change / flight schedules / etc) and Paris is still a 5 hr round trip train ride. More panic. By this time I had slept, eaten, and had been watered. I was feeling gutted, but was trying to find a solution.

Dick, the man who’s done PBP and who rented the house here in Les Essarts, took to social media and texting friends. There were requests made for available bikes, rental bikes, no-longer-riding-the-PBP bikes. A few little leads but nothing fantastic. One of the texts was a note that four years ago, four people had their bikes stolen from their hotel and they had gone to a local bike shop and bought bikes to be returned after the event.
With this information Erin and I headed to a nearby town with a bike shop.

I went in and started google-translating with the 22 year-old manning the repair stand. I tried to rent a bike. I showed him the text. Florian’s face wrinkled. We google-translated more.

He tried to explain that I could borrow the bike for a week and return it. No deposit. No payment. Just ride it and return it. I had no idea what to say.

He pulled a bike off the wall, asked if it would fit, and started setting it up for me. We were floored. My saddle and pedals went on. The derailleurs adjusted.

I ran around the store, buying cages and bottles and bags to carry my stuff. In an hour we were out the door. A Triban RC500. A full load of bikepacking bags and determination. I had a bike. A bike that fit! I was over the moon. So thankful for the people in that shop. So thankful for Florian.

I spent the evening packing and repacking the bike. I cut down to the minimum stuff needed to survive the next few days. It wasn’t that hard. I didn’t have most of my stuff. I had bought a raincoat. I had bought a helmet. I had my fingerless gloves. I had my knee warmers. I hoped that would be enough. Dick warned about low night time temperatures heading into Brest. I was determined.

I went for a test ride. Erin said I came back with the biggest smile on my face. I had a bike. I rode in France. The PBP was a possibility.

The next day I headed to Rambouillet for a tech inspection in the pouring rain. I needed to get my loaner bike through inspection. The bike was brand new, with brand new tires and brakes. I wasn’t worried about that. I had poor strap-on lights with a pocket full of extra batteries. This was my worry. The inspection man inspected the bike. He tested my brakes. Then he pointed to my lights. I turned them all on, trying to show they’d be bright enough for the event. Bright enough to ride 10 hours through the night. He looked at them and smiled. I had passed tech. More relief.

I had a few hours to ride back to the house, dry out, sleep, get changed, and then line up in Rambouillet at 1800.

I lay down for some rest that afternoon. For the first time since I landed in France I actually thought about the event. All my thoughts so far had been just trying to find a bike, just trying to ride. Getting through one obstacle then the next. It was now almost time to ride. Only 1200k to go.

The Ride
The ride is a big ride. The first time it was held was in 1891 and it’s been occurring ever since. It’s now run every four years from the outskirts of Paris all the way to Brest on the Atlantic ocean. It’s 1200km long. It has over 11000m of climbing- Everest is less then 9000m. And if that wasn’t enough. You’ve only got 90 hours to complete it. Just under 4 days.

The 2019 edition of the PBP had about 7000 entrants. You can enter for three different time limits. 90 hours for the touristes, 84 hours for the randonneurs, and 80 hours for the vedettes. Having no idea what it would take to ride 1200km or 11000m of elevation or both, I entered the 90h group. It is by far the largest group.

Carey and I rode slowly to the start. We had a 14k ride through a few little villages to get to the Chateau and the start of the ride. The sun was shining. It was now a beautiful day and the weather over the next few days looked to be fantastic.

When we got to the start line there were so many people. The crowds were huge. There were ordinary bicycles. There were tandems. I saw fixed gears and even a fat bike. Everyone was cheering. I had never been involved in anything like it. Carey and I lined up in the “I” group and just watched in amazement at all the people.

My first stop was Chateauneuf-en-Thymerais. This is a little town before the first control. The sun was setting, I was already getting hungry, and the procession of cyclists was flying through. On the edge of town was a little tent. A grandfather was cheering the riders on and slowly pouring water into everyone’s water bottles from 3L jugs hauled from the house by the grandchildren. Bon route! Bon courage! The town had a couple stands set up. I bought a jambon-fromage and an ice tea and munched at the side of the road watching the event. It was great. I ran into Carey again and we took off into the evening.

The sun set over rural france. We streamed through small village after small village and into the first control. Mortagne-au-Perche. There were hundreds of bikes with number plates on them. People going in every direction and the smell of grilled meat. I was hungry. I threw my bike aside and found a counter with a guy selling sandwiches. It was perfect.
Over the past 120k I was starting to deal with my riding position on the Triban. This was expected and mostly ignored. I knew the bike wasn’t going to fit just right and I took the time to drop the saddle a touch and rode off into that dark.

This was my first night shift. The first time I realized how bad my lights were. The first time I realized just how much I was in the dark. I rode along only see a small dim spot in front of me and glad for the moonlight over top of me. There was no traffic. It was quiet with just the hum of bikes passing bikes. It was great. and dark.

One of the things that started to stand out to me that first night was how much the French people love cycling. I’d be riding along at 2 – 3 – 4 in the morning and I’d come up on a family standing at the side of the rode cheering us on. I’d see couples with the trunk of their car open and a pot of coffee or a case of water. I’d see kids, grandparents, clubs, and whole villages out cheering us on. It was incredible. I hit Villaines-La-Juhel just before first light. Control card. Water. Food. I don’t even remember what I ate, but I ate. and lots. The sun was about to rise, and I found new energy. I had 240k to ride before my first sleep and I had the warm sunlight to get me through.

Fougeres, 306km. Lasagna. Melon. Banana. Of course a croissant. Tinteniac. 360km. A man was playing a clarinet. A woman playing an accordion. I bought some fruit for the afternoon.

Finally. Loudeac. 440km. A night and a day. 24 hours of cycling. I’m tired. I found a dormitory, paid 5E, and asked the man to wake me at 10. He wrote 2200 down on a little board and asked me to confirm the correct time. He smiled and left. The dorm had clear panels in the ceiling and I was warned four years ago that it was hot and bright, and I’d have trouble sleeping. I was out moments after I got my shoes off.

10pm. Ready for the night shift. My second night. I knew it was going to be dark again. My lights would plague my night. Just as I was rolling out of town I spotted and RV with a big Canada flag on the hood. It was the other Huron Chapter Randonneurs. They had just bedded down. I ate half a cold pizza with a big smile of my face. The perfect fuel for a night shift in rural France!

La Harmoye. A party set up in the middle of the night under the tower of another church. Saint Nicolas-Du-Pelem. 488km. Carhaix 521km. People sleeping everywhere. It’s hard to navigate the controls for the bodies. Last stop before the Atlantic!

After Carhaix I was getting drowsy. It was 5am and I still needed to descend to Brest. In the dark. At 4’C. I was wobbling all over the road. I remembered my space blanket and found a little spot in the grass. I set the timer on my phone for 12 minutes. I was asleep instantly.

I woke. confused. I checked my phone. My timer didn’t go off. I had no idea how long I had been sleeping at the top of that hill. I rolled my blanket up. Lashed it to the side of my saddle bag and descended, shivering, to Sizun. Sizun was beautiful. The sky had started to lighten, and the village was full of cyclists. I spotted a cafe that was open, found a wall to rest my bike, and tried to warm up with a chocolat-chaud and a croissant and an apple treat. The waitress had a big smile on her face and kept bringing me wonderful things to eat.  Merci, merci! I was almost in sight of the ocean. I had almost made it. I remember texting Erin. I was excited. Cold, but excited

I cycled on until I made it to the bridge at Brest. I couldn’t believe how emotional an arrival it was. I’m not, by nature, a terribly emotional person, but I was just floored at how far I had come and where I was standing.
Brest. 610km. It was 9 in the morning. I had the day in front of me. I was on my way home! Sizun. Second time in only a few hours. This time, two pieces of pizza, a macaron the size of a canadian donut, and some saucisson-sec for later. Carhaix. 693km. This time I notice the bunting hanging across the road celebrating the PBP.

I knew tonight was going to be long. I wanted to get as far as I could to maximize my daylight and minimize my lightless night-time riding. I found a nice warm field in the sun and had a 20 minute snooze. I tested my timer first. It was a wonderful cat-nap.

Loudeac. 783km. My knees were in a fair amount of pain by this time. I raised my seat a touch.
I found a couple of women at the side of the road. They were making crepes. Had coffee and water, and were cheering people on. Incredible hospitality.

I was shooting for Tinteniac. If I could sleep there, there was only 350km or so to go for the last day. I made it to Quedillac. There were lights on, and I saw a sign for food. I still had 25km to go to Tinteniac, but I was hungry. I go in. Ordered soup, bread, and who knows what else. Two dinners worth. That’s when I saw it. A sign for beds. I didn’t even know there was a dorm here. I asked the man if they had any beds left. They did. 4E later, I sunk into a six-inch block of foam to wake at 3am and the last day!

Tinteniac. 869km. Soup. Pork. Rice. Fruit. Coffee. Pie. A big smile on my face. My knees were feeling better after my sleep. Then I fell. Out of the blue. I wasn’t moving, I was in the bike lock-up area and all of a sudden I was on my side with my bike on top of me. Two guys ran over and helped pick both me and my bike up. I was fine. I had just landed on the grass. I had just lost my balance.

A family was trading coffee for postcards. Giving their address out on little pieces of paper.

Fougeres. 923km. Shortly after I ran into a guy I met my first time through Sizun. Pete and I rode together for a bit. We had started fifteen minutes apart, days ago. We had both realized that we were very close to breaking 80 hours. 80! We picked up speed.

At the side of the road a few families had got together and set up a stand with treats, coffee, water and fresh crepes. They were telling stories of previous PBPs and watching all the riders come through their little village.

We run into a man at the side of the road with a giant basket of plums. He had just picked them and was offering them to anyone who rode by. Merci monsieur!

Villaines-La-Juhel. 1012km. Picking up speed.

We pull into a man’s driveway. He has tables, chairs, and tents setup. My knees and ankles ache. I’m limping badly. He’s got some treats for us and gave me some drugs. I had never heard of it before, but Pete’s from the UK. They had that brand there. He said it they took it for headaches. I took the kind man’s medicine.

Shortly down the road I get a flat. I had some CO2 cartridges in my bag, but Pete had a pump. So I borrowed Pete’s pump and set to work in the early evening changing my flat. Before I knew it, I had an audience of five or six people and a dog. The one man kept helping me while the rest asked me about my ride, where I was from, how it was going. They invited me back to their place to use their floor pump instead of Pete’s little pump. Soon after, a man on a motorcycle and a woman with a camera show up and start taking pictures and notes. I wonder if my tube change made the local news?

Mortagne-Au-Perche 1097km. I’m hobbling now, and probably losing speed. I get my card signed, grabbed a sticky bun and headed back to the bike.

Dreux. 1174km.  I’ve got 50km to go, and the sun was setting. These last 50 were the longest of the ride. The last 50 are always the longest. Pete was sore and falling asleep. I was in so much pain, every pedal stroke hurt. I actually found riding reasonable fast with a fast cadence was the most comfortable, but it was a speed I wasn’t strong enough to maintain. We were riding around in the dark trying hard to find Rambouillet.

With the chateau in sight, the end came soon. We congratulated each other. I realized that I wasn’t able to ride the 14km back to the house – I was in too much pain. The trains had also stopped running. I started asking around for a cab, a taxi. The first man I asked said that he could call a taxi, but it wouldn’t come. I looked at him and asked if I should then ride back to Les Essarts, and he told me that he didn’t recommend it. I found four other older Frenchmen at the bike lockup area. I asked them for a taxi, and the one man stuck up his finger and told me to follow him. We met a big, smokey man in an alley. He didn’t speak a word of English. I asked if mon velo et moi could get a ride to Les Essart and he nodded. In minutes I had said goodbye to Pete, pulled the front wheel off my bike, and was speeding down the highway in the back of a van.

When I made it back to the house, Erin was waiting and helped me out of the van. I soon collapsed into the couch at the house. I had done it and I was exhausted.

Exhausted. Broken. Unable to walk. 1224km. 11008m of climbing. 23 437 calories burned. 79 hours spent. About 7 of those sleep. I was ready for a break.

Even now the thing that stands out in my head is the generosity, friendliness and hospitality of the French people and their love of cycling. I have never felt so welcome standing in a strange town dressed in lycra and smelling a bit off. The food, the cheers, the encouragement and the smiles. The high-fives from the kids, and the constant calls of Bon Route! Bon Courage!

I now know why people keep riding the PBP.

Stories
One of the fun parts of PBP is all the stories you hear. During the ride, after the ride, and years later when the stories get told over and over again. Some of them get shorter while some of them get longer!

One of my favourites I heard the day after the event was when a bunch of us got together for dinner.

Tiago was riding through the night when his light started wobbling. At first he didn’t think much of it. As he rode along it started getting worse. It wouldn’t stay focused and centered on the rode in front of him. He reached down and tried to straighten it. It kept wobbling. He tried again. Tried to straighten it. Tired to tweak it. Nothing. It just kept getting worse and worse. He was having a hard time seeing the road. All of a sudden it let go completely. His light shone straight down. There was a spot lighting up the road right underneath him and he couldn’t see anything in front of him. He caught up with a few other riders with bright lights and managed his way to the control and the bike shop to get his light fixed up.

They found the problem. He had lost a bolt out of this light mount. They dug through bins and searched the shelves. Finally it looked like they had found the bolt they needed. It threaded in, but it turned out to be too short. The girl that was working there suddenly had an idea. She said that she had that exact bolt in her knee. Her prosthetic knee had the bolt needed. Tiago couldn’t believe it. She was offering the bolt out of her knee to fix his headlight mount. He refused. He couldn’t take the bolt out of her knee. She said she had an extra. He refused again. They dug through the bins a few more times until they bodged the light mount back together.

A bolt out of her prosthetic knee. For the love of cycling.

There are countless other stories. Everyone has them. Carey crashed the day before the ride and broke both his wheel and his rib and still completed PBP in less then 89 hours. Incredible! If only I was half as strong.

My friend Pete was riding along and his knee kept getting bigger and bigger. The more he rode, the more swollen his knee got. He had stopped in a few clinics at the controls, and there was nothing they did that seemed to work. The pain kept getting worse as well. Sitting in one of the controls, this Japanese man came up to him and said “You don’t need French medicine, you need Japanese medicine.” Before Pete knew it, the man had pulled a metal can out of his pocket and was spraying something all over Pete’s knees. He didn’t even realize what was going on, and before he could say anything, the man had walked off. Shortly after, Pete looked down and realized he couldn’t feel his knees anymore, and the swelling was going down. Japanese medicine!

Lastly are the stories that involve hallucinations. It seemed that everyone had one, and they all seemed to be hilarious. One man had Gordon Lightfoot bring him in. Another saw the flags of the world along both sides of the road. Someone saw trees growing. One saw monkeys in the trees, on the bikes. Everywhere. I wasn’t so lucky to experience any of these, but I love to hear the stories.

Paris-Brest-Paris 2019, a Ride Report by John Cumming

John Cumming

My Paris Brest Paris 2019 Adventure …

Here are a few random thoughts and recollections from my PBP.  While there were over 6,000 participants from across the globe in this event, the experience is unique for each rider (because of different start times, ride approaches, and equipment).  I should also point out that my recollections are strongly affected by randonnesia, a condition that affects randonneurs doing long brevets with very little sleep. 

Before the ride …

                  I flew to Paris with fellow randonneur Carey, arriving on the Wednesday morning (My start time for PBP was 17:30 Sunday evening).  This gave me several days to get adjusted to the time zone change, get my bike assembled and gear organized, and to “test” my bike in the surrounding countryside.

                  I was privileged to share a VRBO rental with a fine group of Ontario Randonneurs,   in the small town of Les Essarts-le-Roi (about 13 km from the PBP Start location in Rambouillet).  The VRBO had been arranged by Dick Felton, a PBP ancien.   Dick’s PBP knowledge, enthusiasm, and encouragement were key to the success of several randonneurs over the coming days.

PBP HQ in Les-Essarts-le-Roi: Carey, Darcy, me, Matt and his wife Erin, Tim and Brenda
Bicycle assembly

     From Wednesday evening through Saturday, I bicycled over 150 km to explore Rambouillet, meet up with other Randonneurs arriving for PBP, and to try out local restaurants.

Getting Excited – Checking out the Start Location for PBP
Meeting up with Fellow Randonneurs (Dick F is on the left)

      Saturday (the day before the ride start) was taken up with the official bike inspections and pick-up of ride documents.  This was the only day of foul weather during my entire trip.  Carey and I pedalled into Rambouillet in pouring rain, and stood in long queues of drenched cyclists.  (Unfortunately we missed the scheduled Team Canada photo, because we were chasing down a possible bike rental for Matt, whose bicycle had been “lost” by Iceland Air!!).  While cycling back to Les-Essarts-le-Roi, Carey’s bike “slid out from under him” on a very “greasy” downhill, and he landed hard on his side.  Of course, he was more concerned with the state of his bicycle than his own health, and after a roadside repair in the pouring rain he was satisfied that he and his bike were fit for the PBP ride.

The Ride Itself …

     At 3:30 pm on ride day, I rode to PBP start location with Dick.  It was absolute chaos, with thousands of cyclists trying to figure out how the ride start was to occur.  I was in the “G” group, starting at 17:30.  The “F” group, starting 15 minutes ahead of us, was composed of all the “specialty” bicycles – tandems, recumbents, fat bikes, folding bikes, and velomobiles.  It was quite a spectacle as they paraded in front of us towards the starting arch.  (You can watch the departure of this group here)

Group “G” about to Start

                  I was pleased to run into Ben Schipper (from the Netherlands) and Matt Levy (from the US) who I had ridden with on last year’s Mac & Cheese 1200.  They were also starting in G group.  (I would cross paths with Ben several times during the ride)

After a few announcements (unintelligible even to French riders I expect), we departed the cobblestone entrance to Rambouillet castle and were on our way.  With pleasant evening temperatures and excellent roads, it was exciting to be finally riding in PBP.  I quickly caught up to many of the “oddball” cycles ahead of me, and was soon met by the waves of “fast” riders in groups H, I, J, etc.  As night fell, the long string of red lights in front of me (and white lights in my rear view mirror) was quite impressive.

                  My fellow Ontario riders (Carey, Dick, Matt, Darcy, Tim, and Brenda) were starting in groups 1 to 1.5 hours after mine.  While I had signed on with Carey, Darcy, and Tim & Brenda for a Support Camper Van (driven by Brenda’s daughter Hanna and her boyfriend Mathias), my earlier start limited my ability to make use of their great support (and the van bed and shower) at the controls. 

                  I’m told there were significant cross-winds on the first day of the ride, which impacted the ability of the fast riders to maintain peletons and apparently led to many early “DNF’s”.  I have absolutely no recollection of being bothered by the wind.

A few comments about my bike and gear…

Early in the ride, I realized my bike’s derailleur was not shifting down to the three lowest gears.  I could have taken a few minutes to diagnose the problem, or queued up to see a bike mechanic at one of the controls, but being constrained to the upper gears didn’t seem to bother me.  Although there are 12,000 metres of climbing in PBP, it is all very gradual (I don’t think I ever saw more than a 7% incline on my Garmin).  Climbing without the low gears felt good, and I think made me ride stronger throughout the whole course.  Aside from the derailleur problem, I had some very minor issues with brakes (squeaking brake pads) and headset (loosening and creaking).  But overall I was thrilled with how my y2k Litespeed held together, and delighted to have no flats.  I was amazed to see so many riders stopped along the route, repairing flats or other mechanical issues, especially in the first 200 km of the ride.

                  As is usual for me, my bike was heavily loaded (probably 5 kg or more above the average bike weight).  A base layer, rain gear, change of jersey & shorts, went completely unused.  Similarly an assortment of Clif Bars, Gels, and M&M’s just came along for the ride.  Two USB Power Packs went largely unused, with my dynamo charging hub handling lighting and Garmin-charging just fine.  My ride would have been easier (and faster) without so much baggage, but I’ll probably never learn to pack light!

Back to the ride …

                  I rode steadily through Sunday night and following day (stopping only at designated Controls and the occasional coffee stands set up by the locals). I arrived at the Loudeac control (445 km) about 9 pm Monday evening.  After a warm meal by the Camper Van, Tim & Brenda, Carey, and Darcy decided they would sleep until about 1 am.  I realized that if I joined them, I would be in jeopardy of not making the Carhaix control (76 km away) before the 5:15 am (for me) Closing time.  So I pushed on into the now-very-cold dark night.  On this stretch I was delighted to link up with Matt – he helped keep me awake, and my lighting helped him navigate some descents (The lighting he had purchased for the “loaner” bike he was riding was not great!).  Matt and I pulled into Carhaix at 2:30 am, and he wisely encouraged me to grab a few hours sleep.  With all of the “beds” at the control already filled, I pulled out my space blanket and “rando pillow” (i.e. inflatable plastic bag from 4L Box Wine) and lay down on the grass beside a few snoring randonneurs.  (My buddy Terry Payne will be delighted to know that I was able to fully experience the “true” nature of PBP!)

                  I awoke two hours later, drenched from condensation on the inside of my space blanket and with the definite feeling that I was getting a cold.  I was soon back on the bike, and heading for Brest 90 km away. 

                  I only took a few minutes to enjoy the beautiful bridge and seascape in Brest, before fuelling up at the Control and turning around to head back toward Paris.  The climb out of Brest was not as bad as I feared when descending into Brest, and it was interesting to observe the waves of cyclists now riding towards me (still on their way to Brest).  I was delighted to see Dick, riding his steady consistent pace, who gave his usual shout of encouragement.

                  Much of the rest of Tuesday was a “blur” – steady riding with occasional stops for coffee, cake, plums, and other goodies offered by the friendly villagers along the route.  (I found it hard to “fly by” people who were so enthusiastic and supportive – especially young kids looking for a “high five”).  I arrived back in Loudeac Control (783 km)  at 9 pm.  After getting my Card stamped, I located the Support van, had a warm plate of Chicken Shawarma served up by Hanna & Mathias, and crawled into the back for a couple of hours sleep (My van buddies were a couple of hours behind me, so I knew I’d be getting up and on the road when they rolled in for their shower & sleep). 

Support Camper Van — a welcome sight at a couple of controls

                  Back on the road after 2 hours sleep on a real mattress.  I think it was Tinteniac control where I again met up with Ben from the Netherlands.  He reported that his seat post had broken, and he was forced to ride standing up for 30 km to the next control!  He confessed that he was worried about our being able to finish in time, noting that there seemed to be very few “G” riders in our midst.  (I would learn later that a Florida randonneur acquaintance was forced to abandon because of a broken seat post.  The bicycle mechanic at the Control didn’t have a right-size replacement!)

With the sun coming up as I rode from Tinteniac towards Fougeres, I was amazed how good I felt physically.  My legs were not complaining, and my butt was perfectly comfortable in my Brooks leather saddle.  Although I didn’t “feel” tired, I knew my lack of sleep was messing with my consciousness.  I kept having the strangest feeling of “déjà vu”, wondering how it could be that everything was so familiar.  (Had I been fully rested, I would have realized that I was cycling the same roads I’d been on just 48 hours earlier, and of course they should look familiar!). 

The ride back into Villaines-la-Juhel (1012 km) was one of my most amazing experiences in PBP: after hours of steady climbs and descents under a hot August sun, I turned the corner to be greeted by hundreds of cheering villagers as I rode through the Control welcome arch.  The entire town was swept up in a festival celebrating PBP – musicians, displays, beer tents, and constant cheering as riders entered or departed the control (This video will give you a sense of the celebration, and how “special” you feel as a cyclist being involved in this).   I truly regretted that I could only enjoy this for a few minutes, before pushing on to finish the final 200 km.

Riding into the darkness after leaving Mortagne-au-Perche (1097 km), I was no longer trusting my navigating skills (even worrying that somehow I had missed a Secret Control).  I was only wearing one layer (plus my reflective vest) and the temperature was down into single digits – I didn’t dare stop and put on more clothing, for fear of losing sight of red lights ahead.  There seemed to be no discernable features or landmarks, and I felt like we were riding around in circles. 

Around 11 pm, I finally pulled over at a poorly lit intersection and got off the bike.  A randonneur from Bellingham Washington stopped and said that I looked a bit wobbly.  He gave me one of his Espresso energy Gels (which thankfully “kicked in” quickly), and reassured me that we were indeed on the right course for the final Control (even opening my Control Card, to show that only one stamp was missing before the finish).  Keeping his red rear light in my sights, I followed him through the pitch black into Dreux, arriving just after midnight.  Wolfing down the fine Control food fare (sausage or pasta – I can’t remember which) and a cold beer, I realized (for the first time really) that I now had plenty of time “in the bank” to successfully complete the ride.  I pulled out my space blanket and rando pillow, and fell asleep beside some rolled-up carpet in a corner of the noisy control building.  Strangely, my son Dave handed me a cup of hot coffee as I crawled under the space blanket (not my only encounter with people and objects not really there, during the ride!)

 I woke up (with the help of my smart phone alarm) shortly before dawn, and set off to ride the final 45 km back to Rambouillet.  (There had, by the way, been a last-minute change to the official route due to some road construction.  Although I had the revised route loaded on my Garmin, I wasn’t trusting it.  I would also find out later that friends back home, following my progress on my Spotwalla Page, were wondering if I was lost!)

Riding towards the Finish in Rambouillet

With a beautiful sunrise ahead of me, I rode the final kilometres into Rambouillet.  The end of the ride was rather anti-climactic.  Unlike Villaines-la-Juhel, there weren’t a lot of people around when I crossed the finish line at 7:41 am. But the “pings” of congratulatory texts from family members, thousands of kilometres away, who were staying up late to know that I had finished, was wonderfully rewarding.  Somewhat less rewarding was the morning meal offered to the returning cycling gods …

I bicycled 1200km for this??!!?

Knowing my Ontario buddies were a couple of hours from finishing, and craving a shower, I got back on my bike and rode the 15 km back to Les-Essarts-le-Roi.  Although I couldn’t recall a single bone in my body complaining during the PBP ride, my shoulder muscles tightened up severely during the short ride back to the VRBO. 

Looking like I need to sleep
My PBP Control Card

After the Ride …

                  Refreshed after a shower and a nap, I joined other Ontario Randonneurs for a celebratory dinner in St. Quentin en Yvelines (a much better meal than at the start of the day!)

Randonneurs Ontario, Post PBP Dinner

                  After one more relaxing night in Les-Essarts-le-Roi to celebrate fellow randonneur Tim’s birthday, Carey and I packed up our bikes, and relocated to a hotel in Cachan, just south of Paris.

Post-Script (and a few stats)

                  The day after flying back to Ontario, Carey texted to tell me that he’d gone to the hospital for an x-ray, and had in fact broken a rib on the day of the bike check!

                  Several members of our Ontario Group did not finish PBP.  Dick Felton, who has successfully completed several previous PBP’s (including 2015, where he finished the ride with several broken ribs and fingers after falling asleep on his bicycle in the last few hundred km’s!) realized his pace was too slow, and abandoned after the return to Carhaix (close to 700 km).  Tim encountered derailleur/shifter problems, and abandoned his second PBP attempt after Fougeres (923 km).  In spite of their disappointment, both Dick and Tim remained positive and supportive of their fellow riders, and immediately began talking about PBP 2023!  Darcy, Brenda, Matt & I were of course ecstatic (and I think somewhat humbled) to have been successful in our first PBP attempt, and Carey, completing his fifth PBP, declared it was “the best ever”. 

                  From unofficial results: of 107 Canadian riders, 25 DNF’d ( “Did Not Finish”), and 6 finished over time limit.  Although actual time is meaningless (i.e. doesn’t matter how much faster you finish as long as you finish in time) my time was 53rd out of the 76 successful Canadians.

                  I did take my GoPro on the ride, and have some “hand held” video that I will try to edit.  I will also receive the official DVD, that I will pass on to anyone who would like to watch.  On YouTube, you will find a number of videos posted by both successful and unsuccessful participants.  One of my favourites is from Adam Watkins, a rider from Bristol England, who rode PBP on a “Fixie”!  Adam started 45 minutes after me, and finished in 87.5 hours ( ~ 2.4 hours after me), so his ride (and the droll observations he makes in his YouTube video) were somewhat similar to my own.  An even more professional short video that really captures the event is this one by Ryan Hamilton.  And the Jan Heine blog article gives a great summary by several seasoned PBP anciens.   Another great ride report was posted by fellow Ontario Randonneur Martin Cooper

                  In conclusion, I’d like to thank everyone (especially my long-sufferring “better half” Jane), for all the support and encouragement along the way.  This truly was a once-in-a-lifetime “bucket list” item for me, and I’m sincerely grateful to have been able to experience it.  It really is not possible to describe the warm reception you receive as a PBP cyclist, nor to fully explain the unique personal challenge that is Paris-Brest-Paris!

Cheers,

John

Paris-Brest-Paris 2019, Ride Report by Charles Horslin

I’d first heard about PBP way back in 2011 or thereabouts, but didn’t complete my first brevet until 2015… I tried to do a whole series that year and thought if I could do that I’d try PBP then. I had to abandon my first 600K in 2015 due to poor fit causing leg issues. This probably turned out to be a good thing since I would go on to finish a 600K in 2016, and then I did the Ontario 1200K (The Granite Anvil). In 2018 I did the Ottawa Devil’s Week (kinda hilly!) and went on to try the Cascades 1200 in Washington State but I had to DNF as I thought I’d hurt my Achilles tendon.

In 2019 I started Devil’s week but chose to skip the 400K since it was similar to the 300K and had just as miserable weather. Then I DNF’d my first 600K due to some painful saddle sores that had started from riding in the rain and afterward I was thinking about abandoning my registration and skipping this whole thing… it turned out that it had been a bit of a rocky road to get to PBP 2019 but I managed to finish a different 600K. I decided to do an additional 600K and a 1000K brevet in early August before going to PBP. Thankfully the DNF earlier in the season probably helped build my resolve and strength. I felt confident in my training and had worked out all my issues with bike fit and saddle sores. I bought a nice pair of castelli rain pants to avoid riding with wet shorts… so naturally I didn’t get any rain on PBP.

I booked a direct flight on Air Transat and put my bike in a plastic bag since I didn’t have any place to store a bike box and I was thinking of riding right from the airport across Paris. When I landed it was overcast so I unpacked my bike and took a train into central France and rode the 35km to my hotel, passing the Louvre and the Eifel tower along the way. I also rode through Versailles and saw the palace but didn’t stop to see anything else. I was surprised at how hilly it was getting to my hotel in Montigny-le-Bretonneux. My hotel was a 20 minute walk from a huge grocery store in the town of Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines, otherwise there was nothing else around. There were other cyclists staying there, including a fellow Ontario rider!

The start for PBP had been at the French National velodrome in Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines but they moved it farther out of the Paris Metro area to a place called Rambouillet which is the home of the national sheep farm. This town was also part of the Tour de France this year so they left all the bike decorations up for us! Thankfully this was the last town on the suburban trains coming from Paris so it was easy to get to. I remember people online saying the trains would be overflowing but there was plenty of room for everyone.

The bike check/registration happened on the Saturday before the ride start (three possible time choices: 90, 84 & 80h) The 90/80 hour groups all started on Sunday evening and 84h groups left on Monday morning. 84h bike check/reg was also on Sunday. Saturday was really rainy so I chose to take the train to the bike check instead of riding as I’d originally planned… I still ended up standing around in the rain for an hour or so as it chaotic despite having signed up for a bike check time. I missed the Canadian/Ontario riders photo so I just got my packet and left town after dropping off my bags for a drop bag service that would provide me clean clothes along the route instead of having to carry all my changes of clothes. I also threw a bunch of granola bars in the dropbags so I could have something besides baguettes to eat on the route. I had worried about finding enough vegan stuff to eat as French food is very meat-centric.

Unlike most brevets, this one doesn’t require the use of a GPS track or a cue sheet since the route is well signed in most places. I had the tracks loaded as I found them useful at night time to alert me to turns and to figure out how far the next control was. They were also useful for riding in the heavy fog we encountered during the first two nights as I could at least have an idea of which way the roads were turning, visibility was probably only 50m or so. I remember feeling really alone during the second night/third morning when the fog was thickest for me.

The weather on the ride was favourable, though I had been training in hotter weather so I found the cold a bit much, I had enough gear with me to be able to adapt to the range of 3-30C temperatures that we encountered. The fog that we rode through was really thick so it soaked every surface with water. There was a headwind on the way out to Brest, thankfully it was not a strong one but it was constant so it did grind me down a little more than I’d have liked. It was almost a perfect westerly wind so the route offered little relief from it. The weather on the return leg was even better without any real winds, rain, or fog on the last night it made for very pleasant riding.

Many people commented that it was a mistake to do a 1000K only two weeks before but I didn’t really notice any problems from it and it allowed me to completely test my bike setup as well as make sure the new cables and stuff all worked perfectly. I had no flats or any other bike troubles to speak of… I did have to turn the barrel adjusters on my front shifter a few times but otherwise it the bike was mechanically flawless. Every control also had a professional mechanic on duty 24h a day which is comforting to know. Tubes, tires and other stuff is for sale at the controls.

Nutrition along the route is available at the controls, which are typically in schools or other community centres. Each control is run by a local cycling club so the food varied a little bit but I could count on plain pasta, baguettes, coke, fruit, coffee, veggies, and sometimes other treats. Vegetarians would have an easier time since there is basically butter or eggs in every French baked good. They sold beer and wine at the controls as well yogourts and other things. Many times there were fruit cups or apple sauce. Some controls had veggie sauce but a lot of times it had meat in it or there was a heavy cream sauce. Others told me the sauces were a bit bland but I think that’s probably on purpose so folks don’t get too much tummy trouble from spices and whatnot. I worried too much about finding food and could have relied almost completely on baguettes but the granola bars I packed were a nice change of pace. Next time I go I’ll make a point of stopping at the grocery stores to get some vegan cheese since that’s a thing in France too.

The control points also have a gymnasium or other room full of cots or mats for sleeping. There is small fee charged for this service and they don’t provide ear plugs or anything. I hadn’t had good experiences trying to sleep in a similar setup in 2018 so I reserved an airbnb in Loudeac for two nights so I could have my own shower and bed. I didn’t get great sleep either night but it was nice to be clean and rest in the quiet for a few hours each night. I had figured if I needed more sleep on the third night I would be tired enough to sleep at a control and I did so in Mortagne-au-Perche where I got the best 90 minutes of sleep I had during the entire ride.

Many riders bring “space blankets” and just sleep on the side of the road but that doesn’t appeal to me… though I did stop and sleep on a nice wooden bench for 20 minutes a few hours after I left Loudeac on the return leg as I was feeling really tired and wasn’t making much progress. I saw many riders weaving and bobbing as they had long past the point of exhaustion… I didn’t want to crash or get too wobbly so it was time. The difference I felt after the 20 minute nap was remarkable and I was able to ride above a 20km/h after this where before I was struggling to keep a 15km/h going.

The countryside in Brittany is pretty hilly, though the grades are pretty gentle and the climbs tend to be long so it isn’t difficult climbing but I required discipline to keep the intensity in check. I also took advantage of my hefty stature to enjoy fast descents that usually followed every climb. At night one would reach the top of a climb and turn a corner only to see a long line of taillights slowly snaking up the next climb a few km away! The only real sections of flatter terrain were the ~100km close to the start/finish, especially the last leg from Dreux to Rambouillet seemed especially flat to me.

The diversity of riders on this ride cannot be compared to anything I’ve ever seen before… people from all over the world come to this ride and this year was the biggest field they’ve ever had. I had the pleasure of riding with people from many different countries and on all sorts of bikes. I saw fat bikes, tandems, recumbents, velo-mobiles, folding bikes and plenty of very sweet road bikes. There were fixed gear riders and folks on classic rigs from all time periods. Some people were riding the bikes on hybrids and carrying knap-sacks. I know people finished on all kinds of bikes so pretty much anything human-powered with a transmission can used for randonneuring. In 2015 there was one dude that finished PBP on a kickbike.

Most of the scenery on the ride was very pretty though it was a bit repetitive at times… every town seemed to have a church on a hilltop and some winding roads going to it. There were lots of beautiful roads though and unlike southern Ontario very few of them went in straight lines for very long. Fields of corn and bales of hay were common sights outside of the cities. My favourite part of the ride for scenery is between Carhaix and Brest, where there is climbing up to the Roc’h Trevezel, one of the higher points in Brittany. The climb wasn’t steep in places but it was fairly similar to climbing up Hockley Valley in Ontario; though it was a bit longer and climbed higher, the grades were never extreme. The views were more expansive than Ontario too; it wasn’t very humid so visibility was good.

My ride started at 18:45 and we got our stamps and were out of the gates going like bats out of hell. The excitement and adrenaline of the mass starts as well as the strong groups made it difficult not to ride a bit on the hard side during the first 100km as everyone bounced and jostled between the big groups. Things settled down after the sun went down and the first stop at Mortagne-au-Perche, 117km into the ride. This wasn’t an official control so one didn’t need to stop but I chose to stop and eat something since I was hungry and wasn’t going to make the next ~100km on granola bars alone. Cokes, pasta and some bread filled me up and there was some fruit salad and other goodies I ate here. I hadn’t expected to find any food or water before this point but did snag a baguette from some people selling pop and sandwiches in a village.

The first official control, at Villaines-la-Juhel was busy as many people were eating and sleeping. I didn’t know there was a separate cafeteria at this control so I ate at the quick-food line and had some baguettes, a bol de cafe and coca (Slang for coca-cola in France). I was kind of tired so I spent a bit more time than I’d have liked at this stop but given the 90h time limit I wasn’t worried about the control times at this point in the ride… next time I might try and build up a bigger cushion for sleeping now that I’ve done this once. This control also had enough rental toilets so there wasn’t a wait to use them.

The next control, at 306km, was Fougères and I had a drop bag at this stop. I needed to stop and get my change of clothes to carry with me to my airbnb in Loudeac. I had rode passed the drop bag stop and thus had to backtrack a few km to find it. I probably wasted an hour screwing around here and in hindsight it might have been better to just have one drop in Loudeac but I’d heard too many bad reviews about the American company that ran that service. Other countries seem to run their own drop-bag service but that requires a lot effort as well renting a truck and having a driver so I can’t see anyone doing it for the 50 Canadians that might use it.

Loudeac was at ~450km and I spent a lot longer getting there than I’d hoped but I made it to my airbnb by 9pm, and even had time before that to stop and get a vegan pizza at dominos. Across the street from the control was a brasserie that I walked into since I though the sign also said restaurant, but the bartender said they didn’t have food and he was the one that pointed me in the direction of the pizza. Another patron at the bar saw the Canadian flag and bought me a “demi” of 1664 and they chatted with me, asking about the ride and what I thought of France so far… the bartender complimented my French and the guy that bought my pint quipped that my French was better than his English and everyone got a good chuckle out of that. I had so many little encounters like this one along the way, speaking enough French to converse with people really helped me at controls and being able to chat with folks was such a boost to my spirits!

My interactions with the French people in the controls, at stores and along the route were definitely the highlights of the ride for me. I had planned to stop and enjoy the roadside offerings whenever I could and I ended up spending a lot of time chatting with people along the way. My French isn’t that great since I’ve been out of school for over 20 years but it started to come back and I could have basic conversations about where I was from and how much people’s support meant to me. I have some postcards to send now as some folks wouldn’t take money or donations and only asked for a postcard in return for the coffee and treats offered.

In Loudeac I slept, showered and went back to the control for more food for “breakfast” at 3am and ended up running into Dick Felton who started at the same time I did. He was cold and had been riding through the night… pretty sure he needed the breakfast as much if not more than me! We parted ways after that and unfortunately he would later abandon the ride… I’m sad he abandoned as he was a great encouragement for me to get to Paris as we did two 600K rides together… but I was also glad, in a way, he chose to abandon; in 2015 he fell asleep on the bike and broke some ribs… still finished the ride but was really lucky he didn’t have worse injuries!

The ride from Loudeac to Carhaix was probably the lowest point for my morale, the thick fog had appeared and I was soaked from condensation. My jacket was no longer water resistant in way whatsoever.  My average speed was dropping like a rock and I was starting to shiver as well… I thought about quitting here but there’s not really any place to go except the next control or the previous one… due to the sleep stop, extra time spent eating, and the slow pace leaving Loudeac I was worried about the next control’s closing time and decided the only way to get warm was to work harder. I started going much harder (but still relatively slow) up the hills and would pedal through the descents instead of just tucking and coasting as I had been. An hour or so of this I was starting to feel warmer. I had made up most of the lost time, though I was still a bit late coming into what turned out to be a secret control (it was listed as a food stop) so I got some quick food and used the can, and set off for Carhaix trying to make up more time. The twilight of dawn had started to appear and I was getting quite close to Carhaix so I would be okay for closing time but I didn’t let up the pace as it was still quite cold. I know Canadians are supposed to be used to the cold but I spent most of the summer anticipating a 35-40° heatwave and did a lot of riding in the heat. The lowest temperature I saw on this stretch was around 4C, much chillier than forecast on the French weather service, but they only gave temperatures for the larger towns so of course the countryside would be a bit cooler… the clear skies meant that cold air from higher altitudes just fell right to the ground at night and would only start rising again once the sun had been out for a while. As has been my experience on other overnight rides, the appearance of the sun really drives away the sleepiness and I would soon awaken completely and feel generally quite good as long there was some sunshine.

When I left Carhaix I ended up riding with a group from Southern France, Cyclo Club Mornac Seudre. I had a hard time understanding their French as their accent was a bit different than the standard Parisien one they taught us in school (Why we didn’t learn in a more Québecois accent is beyond me) . They weren’t riding in a very tight group or rotated in a paceline, but it was a bit more organized than most of the “blobs” I encountered on the road so I stuck with them until Brest. They had some strong riders and I did some turns at the front too. I think they appreciated that I tried to talk to them in French and that I helped out a bit, especially on the descents… there was another big guy in their group that was taller than me so we’d lead the charge on the downhills.

Coming into Brest the ride goes over the older bridge beside the highway bridge, and it’s a cable-stayed bridge so it’s kind of scenic. I stopped for some photos here and lost the guys from Mornac Seudre. The streets in Brest were busy as it’s a bigger city and a busy industrial port as well. The route doesn’t quite get down to sea level but it was pretty close!

On the way back out of Brest I’d run into two riders from Ottawa and we rode together back up the Roc’h Trevezel, with JungAh leading the charge… she’s a very strong rider and was pulling not only me and Peter but sometimes a few others up the hill. I helped out a bit when I could and told her to hang on once we reached the top but she couldn’t keep up the 70k/h I was probably going down the big descents, and Peter was starting to feel sick at this point… when we reached the control in Carhaix we ended up splitting up at this point but would continue bumping into each other on the way back to Paris.

I ended up bouncing around between groups and solo riding on the way back to Loudeac and my airbnb. This time I didn’t get any pizza but I had a bunch of food with me so I quickly got a stamp and headed off to my airbnb. Unfortunately I got a bit lost trying to find it and wasted a bit of time riding around town. I got another 3 hours of low quality sleep but I appreciated the warm shower almost as much as the quiet. I returned to the control for some warm breakfast before leaving town.

The next official stop was a food/support control at 843km called Quédillac. I didn’t stop here on the way out but since it was another cold morning and I was feeling sluggish I decided to stop and get some warm food. I had a tough slog getting there and even made a wrong turn and did 1.5km of bonus work. Another rider followed me and I managed to communicate the fact we were off-course to him despite no common language. Another rider blew past us going the wrong way and ignored both of us yelling in whatever languages we knew… they’d realize eventually after a few km of not seeing any riders…hopefully.

I was very close to the cutoff time getting into Tinténiac but I didn’t care… my attitude was to keep riding and they could take my control card from me if I was heading into hors delais territory. I don’t think they do take people’s card unless you are clearly incapacitated or do something so outrageous that you’re DQ’d on the spot. I don’t remember much of the ride to Tinténiac but it was morning on the 21st and warming up nicely. There were sometimes palm trees growing in the towns and people’s front yards… I’d seen them on the way out and meant to stop and take pictures but I didn’t want to slow my roll.  Also along this stretch was a village set up with massive grills cooking sausage gallettes which did kind of smell good and gross at the same time. I did convince them to hook me up with a baguette and coffee though, I explained I couldn’t eat greasy foods on the ride and they understood. I told the guy I’d get enough fat after the ride and he seemed pleased at that approach to recovery.

Fougères was the next stop at 923km and I was starting to feel that finishing under 90 hours was a real possibility. I felt strong at this point and was loving the ride. I’d been leapfrogging some of the other Huron Chapter riders for the entire ride but they’d started 45 minutes ahead of me so it was usually just arriving at a control as they were leaving but we hooked up in Fougères. They had a registered support vehicle and I sat with them on the roadside for a bit, shared a beer with them and then set off for my dropbag. I decided to get some food from the grocery store before leaving town as I wanted something a bit different and got lucky and found some vegan cheese slices. They were top-notch stuff and made the baguettes at the next control very tasty.

Leaving Fougères there was a nice long climb and the afternoon was getting quite warm, probably around 28C. I do like the heat and was feeling great going up this hill. I hooked back up with Brenda from Windsor as we rode together toward Villaines-la-Juhel. It was along this stretch that her husband told her he was going to abandon as the sleep deprivation and a mechanical were just too much to handle. It’s tough to have your partner abandon but Brenda is a strong rider and I wasn’t worried that she wouldn’t finish, I’d just hoped to be able to ride with her for a bit longer.

It was along this stretch that I also met up with Bob Kassel, the guy I rode the granite anvil 1200K with. We did that together since it was the pre-ride and we were the only ones. Needless to say we get along well and had a lot of fun trading jokes and barbs as well as catching up and chatting. I had done a fair bit of solo riding during this ride so it was really nice to have people to talk to! I think my jaw was a bit sore from flapping my mouth for so long!

Brenda decided to try and get a bit of sleep in Villaines-la-Juhel, 1012km into the ride, and I ate in the quick-food section but was still hungry so I wandered outside and ran into Carey from the Huron Chapter. We decided to get some food together and found our way to the restaurant section. This is the control that has young children volunteering to carry your tray to the table for you so that’s pretty cool. I also had some more beer here… I usually don’t drink but this was a sign in French for “local draught beer” so I had to try it… dunno what kind it was but it was a lot better than 1664 or Heineken that they were selling in cans. I ate a ton of food here and they had a full veggie meal that included real ratatouille as well as some other veggies and pasta. I also had another “bière locale” before finishing.

Evening was coming as we set out to Mortagne-au-Perche at 1097km. We had a good couple hours riding with some other folks and ran into a really nice rider from the San Fran area and we stuck together for a long while. Unfortunately I lost Brenda and Stacy before making it to Mortagne-au-Perche, as the climbs and cold were starting to take a bit of a toll on me and my useless jacket. I knew that I would need to sleep if I wanted to finish the ride so I found the sleeping area after getting my stamp, some food, and using the can at the control point. For 3 euro I got a mat in a dark gym and an old wool blanket. I had a bag of dirty kit from changing in Villaines-la-Juhel so that made a fine pillow and I was able to let my other useless jacket dry out a bunch while I got 90 minutes of amazingly deep sleep. I had brought earplugs with me which was great as there was a giant man snoring beside me that was as loud as a chainsaw. I kept pushing the earplugs in until I couldn’t hear him and wasn’t more than a few minutes drifting off. 

The ride from Mortagne-au-Perche to the last control of Dreux wasn’t too bad, the hills were starting to flatten out a little bit and we’d descend more than we’d climb along this stretch. The sunrise was welcome during this time and I once again felt alive basking in its warmth. Most riders were half zombie by this point and it was dangerous to follow too closely… many people couldn’t hold a line and people would just stop in the middle of the road too. Big blobs of riders would coalesce behind anyone doing a decent pace so I ended up with a few followers but no one wanted to work together so I just did my best to stay away from others.

In Crécy-Couve, on the way to Dreux, I got surrounded by a “blob” as we entered town and there was street furniture along the edge of the road. I tried to signal those behind to move over to the centre but one guy whipped around the first flower box and then rode straight into the next one. He looked like he landed right on his head and I was worried for him but he insisted he was fine and got back up and rode on. He ended up passing me a few km later as I stopped to get out of the giant blob after that crash. It wasn’t much farther along this stretch that I came upon a couple ambulances, the gendarmerie, paramedics, and some other people were attending to a rider lying in the ditch. I have to say I became a bit emotional seeing this, realizing it could have easily been me. I don’t know if a car hit him or what happened, since there was a car parked askew on the road. I didn’t stop to gawk or take photos (that’s a trashy thing to do), and didn’t want to pester the emergency workers with questions so I rode on.

The control in Dreux was mostly empty and also running low on food! I waited for some baguettes to be baked and got some cokes and coffee. I was only 30 minutes or so at this control but I did run into Guy from Ottawa here and he was worried about finishing but I tried to be encouraging and told him he was a strong rider and shouldn’t have any problems… plus it was mostly flat Dreux.

There was a big climb leaving Dreux but after that the ride felt pancake flat after all the hills I’d climbed by this point. I had until 12:45 to finish in under 90h and I left the control around 9:45 so I had three hours to cover 43km or so. The last leg had been changed a few days before the start due to unexpected construction so many people didn’t have a GPS track but the arrows along this stretch and the long line of riders made it easy to find the way. Dave Thompson had shared a gps track with turn-by-turns of this new section so I was prepared for this and didn’t have to worry about getting lost. I was feeling so good at this point since I knew I’d make it to the end under the time limit. I used this positive energy and set a decent pace for the last leg, averaging close to 25km/h, which was pretty quick for having ~1170km in the legs… I passed many people and heard one guy say to his buddy that nobody should have form that good after riding that far!

Getting into Rambouillet we came a slightly different way than we left so it was all new scenery except the last 3km. Most of the route went through some forests, including the “Domaine de la Butte Ronde” like a child I snickered, even though I know butte just means hill, not bum. I was taking the laughs any way I could get them! The last bit of the course before the finish line included a section of cobblestones and being on a bike made for Paris-Roubaix I hit them at speed and shuddered like a jackhammer across them. After that it was into the national sheep farm and through a mess of people, camper vans, and whatnot to get to the official timing matts and the tent where I could get my stamp, surrender my control card and pick up my medal.

The first draft of this report was written while still basking in the glow of making it to the end and feeling so strong at the last bit was really encouraging. I made a lot of good choices during the ride and felt like I’d trained properly and planned a good ride. The drop bags and the airbnb were good choices, though I could tweak that aspect of the ride and make it more efficient in the future. I would like to try and do an 84h start so that I can get more daytime riding as well as a good night’s sleep before-hand but there’s a lot less company on the roads so who knows!  It was an amazing experience and I don’t think there’s anything that compares for an amateur cyclist! I didn’t take as many pictures on this ride as I usually do since I was worried about time but I think I captured enough to give the reader an idea of how it is.

Urban Paris