My Solitary Paris-Brest-Paris

This is my recounting of the 2011 Paris-Brest-Paris bike ride as I remember it.  This may not be what actually happened. Extreme sleep deprivation made the memory of the ride seem surreal and dreamlike...maybe I didn't ride at all and just imagined it?

I think I started reading about the 1200 kilometer Grand Randonee called Paris-Brest-Paris (PBP) sometime in 2006-or maybe a little bit before.  At the time the distance seemed incomprehensible in the time allotted to complete the ride.  But I couldn't help but be intrigued.  The more I read, the more I wanted to be a part of it.  Over the next months and years I started riding longer distances.  Indeed it was hard-and there was a lot to learn.  I rode my first 200K brevet in 2008, became a "Super Randonneur" for the first time in 2009, and qualified and signed up for PBP in 2011.  I've come a long ways from day dreaming about riding in France-to being on the verge of actually doing so.

Well...to make a long story short, I started and finished PBP.  My first 1200K.  I rode the whole route (except for walking up a few of the steep hills near the end).  I started in the second wave of the 84 hour group at exactly 5:19 AM on Monday morning, August 22, 2011.  I was late getting done-finishing in 86 hours and 6 minutes (frame no. 8285).  I did manage to get my card stamped at every control-even as the wore out volunteers were packing everything up right behind me and souvenir hunters were scooping up the route signs before I had a chance to read them.  I'm satisfied that I finished, but determined to get back in 2015 and do better.  If nothing else, I acquired an immense amount of information that will help me next time-and God help me...there will be a next time!

I wasn't 100% when I left for France.  For reasons detailed in earlier posts in this blog, my world was turned a bit upside down starting in July after a successful qualifying campaign.  That being said, I was confident I could do the ride.

While I worried about the bike riding, my wife Brenda did a great job of taking care of the travel arrangements.  I left from Seattle on the 17th of August and arrived in Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines with no problems except jet lag.  Brenda couldn't accompany me due to work commitments.  Instead she arrived in France on Sunday, the day before my ride started.

After bike check and sign in on Sunday morning I began to make my way via the greater Paris public transportation system to get Brenda from Charles de Gaulle Airport.  Unfortunately, due to track closures, language barriers, and a comedy of errors, an approximately 3 hour round trip turned into an all day affair, complete with about 10 miles of walking and an indescribable level of stress, all on the hottest and most humid day of the whole trip. I got to share this experience with the Weible's from Missouri who were going to get a rental car to use as a support vehicle.  I was glad I had their company-or I would have been a bigger basket case than I was!  I manged to find Brenda at the airport, but ended up exhausted and getting to bed way too late on the night before the biggest ride of my life.  Not good!

Despite my exhaustion from the misadventures of the previous day, excitement about the ride never allowed for any deep sleep and I was up and at 'em at 2:30 AM, going over my stuff for the hundredth time making sure nothing important got left behind.  I rode over to the the start with fellow Montanan Ken Billingsley where we found a large group already lined up, including our other fellow Montanan Karel Stroethoff.  Brenda, and Ken's wife Heath, were there for some last minute pictures and video and to send us off with a good luck hug.  It was a festive atmosphere-even as a few rain drops started to fall.

My strategy at the start was to try and hang with a big group of riders and draft along.  I knew the pace would be high, but I counted on expending less energy in the draft of a large group instead of riding on my own.  The plan worked to perfection for the first 78K when the hills became too much for me and I had to let the group go.  From then until the Mortagne I was passed on every incline by dozens and dozens of riders.  The efforts of the previous day, along with the fast start, left my legs powerless.  I could do nothing but spin and hope for the best.

I recovered a bit after a too long rest stop at Mortagne, as the field thinned out considerably.  I was no longer being passed as often, but I knew I was already near the back of the pack.  This is when the rain started.  Sometimes as just drizzle, and other times in a thick dark cloud full of lightning and thunder.  Many times it felt like someone was standing over me with a garden hose on full blast. Twice I found myself delayed at the controls, Villaines-la-Juhel and Fougeres, as I waited out monsoon like downpours.  As one American rider passed me I exclaimed and he agreed-this wasn't fun anymore.

The rain let up as I rode through the night, mostly alone, but sometimes in the company of some French riders, and for awhile with fellow American Scott Ebbing from Ohio. I met Scott on our bus tour of Paris a couple of days before and it was really nice to have a familiar voice to talk to-for however short the time was.  I finally got to my planned overnight stop at Loudeac at about 7 AM.

After a change of clothes from my drop bag, a hot meal, and a 45 minute sleep break in Loudeac I was falling behind even further and had to push up the pace on the out-and-back to Brest.  I was making good time on the way to Carhaix when a wrong turn sent me 3 or 4 kilometers in the wrong direction.  I knew something was amiss when I stopped meeting cyclists on their return from Brest.  The mishap put me in late to Carhaix with no time to rest. 

When the outbound route rejoined the inbound route on the climb to Roc Trevezel on the way to Brest, the biggest hill on the whole ride, I encountered the awesome site of the bulk of the 90 hour riders, who had left the day before I did, on their way back.  It looked like a rolling party on wheels and I was waved to hundreds of times.  Even though they were headed the other way, I felt like I was part of something really big, instead of being on an isolated bike ride with a few dozen stragglers.  It was one of the few truly fun moments on the whole ride.

I rode well after Roc Trevezel and managed to get into Brest exactly one minute before the control closed.  Unfortunately, I was completely spent.  It would be the last time I would be on time the rest of the ride.  After a sandwich and Coke I laid my head down on the table for a few minutes until the control workers chased me out-they wanted to tear everything down and go home (understandably).  I was half-way done, but in terrible shape as I headed back toward Paris.

The remainder of the ride was impacted by serious sleep deprivation.  Waves of fatigue would roll over me at different times and I would actually find myself dreaming on the bike-very close to falling asleep.  This was scary and there was nothing I could do but pull over, find a driveway or wide spot and lay down, using my camel back for a pillow.  I took several of these little cat-naps-usually for about 10 or 15 minutes.  I did take a little longer nap on the lawn at Tinteniac, probably a half-hour before a control worker woke me to see if I was alright.  Good thing or I probably would have kept on sleeping.

The fatigue and drowsiness hit me hard day and night, but the night riding was especially hard.  In my mental state riding through the wooded areas of Brittany felt like riding in an endless dark cave. It was spooky and hard to navigate-especially on the roads with little or no center line or fog line.  It definitely slowed me down even more. I even got lost for a while between Brest and Carhaix-along with a French guy who was weaving all over the road. Getting into a town was so welcome as it felt just like exiting the cave.

Through all the second half of the route other riders would seem to appear out of nowhere, ride with me for a while and then disappear. Another weird experience was riding with one group of riders, and coming to a town or intersection only to find I was riding with someone else.  Very few of the stragglers spoke english and in my state I could not work out even the most rudimentary french.  When I did encounter some english speaking riders somewhere between Carhaix and Loudeac I'm afraid I chatted like a canary.  I hope I wasn't too annoying, but I was feeling pretty lonely at that point and needed someone to talk to.  But just like the others, those riders seemed to disappear into thin air.

Without a doubt the toughest section was between Villaines-La-Juhel and Mortagne.  This was in the middle of the third night.  The road was pretty deserted, and I needed to take a couple of short sleep breaks to keep from nodding off.  Sometime before daybreak I hit a big bump and started to feel my back tire going down-a classic pinch flat.  I've never had to change a tube in the dark, let alone with severe sleep deprivation.  I did get the new tube installed, but also managed to get my chain all tangled up in the derailleur when I tried to reinstall the wheel.  It took a considerable amount of time to get it sorted out.  I was awful glad to get moving again, only to discover that my rear end had decided it had had enough!  Excruciating saddle sores would be my constant companion the rest of the way.

I got to Mortagne early in the morning.  They were still there to stamp my card, but again everything was closing down.  I found a terrific bakery in town to get a couple of croissants for breakfast.  Also in Mortagne (or was it the next town-I can't remember) I got some salve from a pharmacy for my aching butt.  That helped but I stopped at another town pharmacy a few more kilometers down the road for more Advil.  A few mega doses of that numbed the pain just enough to keep going.

On the ride to Dreux the sun came out and it was very pleasant.  I rallied a bit at this point as the Advil took hold and the road flattened a bit.  In a town just before Dreux a volunteer flagged me around a corner and cheered me on to hurry up-Dreux would closing down in a half-hour!  I sort of time trialed the rest of the way, entering a deserted parking lot at the control.  I was greeted by two enthusiastic girls who spoke terrific english.  They led me to the control.  When I entered the building I was met with a round of applause from the volunteers still hanging around.  Apparently I was the last rider to get a brevet card stamped at this control.  I was really touched by the reception-it meant a lot after what I had been going through.

More riders appeared ahead of me on the final stretch from Dreux back to Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines .  I think some of them had bypassed the Dreux control.  One French rider on a recumbent was proudly carrying a direction sign on his bike.  The signs which marked the route were becoming harder and harder to find as souvenir hunters gathered them up.  Lucky for me I came across Tom Reeder from DC who was keeping an eye on a French rider with severe Shermer's Neck (a condition where the neck gives out and you can't hold your head up anymore).  They were riding slow-as I was at this point-and Tom knew the way back to the finish line.  We slowly rolled into the finish-me about 2 hours late.  There were still some folks hanging around and they were still there to accept my card.  I was glad to be done.  In a couple of hours I was in an almost coma like sleep back at the hotel.  I don't think I've ever slept so sound.
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Just few comments about the ride:

• It was way harder than I ever imagined.  I go about 6'5" and 200 pounds.  Hills are my kryptonite.  This route is nothing but hills.
• French drivers are awesome.  They won't squeeze past you on the narrow roads.  They'll ride behind you for a long time until the on coming lane is clear-no yelling, honking, or throwing things.  It was amazing.
• Imagine a country with no cyclist hating rednecks...that's France!
• Riding through some village in the middle of the night and having someone standing along side the road cheering us on.  It was so amazing.  I felt like a rock star!
• Others offered coffee and snacks.  I stopped at a few of these and it always hit the spot.  I wished I had the time to stop at more of them.
• My brain played all sorts of tricks on me.  I had a strange sense of deja vu the whole trip-that I had ridden this route weeks before.  It was a really strange feeling.  I also had the sense that I was just going in circles instead of in a relatively straight line west and then back east.  After a while every village looked the same.
• The 84 hour start was a mistake. I've never been fast, but I've never had any trouble with randonnering time limits.  My previous 600K's and 1000K were finsihed with hours to spare and with plenty of sleep.  But time just seemed to evaporate on PBP. Next time it's the 90 hour start-no matter what my form is.

• Despite my fatigue at the finish I recovered well enough for Brenda and I to have a wonderful time touring Paris the next day.  We even hiked up to the top of the Arc de Triomphe-though my thighs were screaming.  It was also difficult sitting on the plastic seats on the boat tour, but I made it through.

Back from France

Just got home this evening after PBP and a few days with our daughter in Portland. I rode PBP, finishing in just over 86 hours. Severe rain on the first day, severe sleep deprivation after the second day, and severe saddle sores on the 4th day conspired with heavy legs throughout to keep me from finishing in under 84 hours. I'll get a full ride report up soon, the feeling has to return to my hands so I can type better. Stay tuned.

France here I come. Ready...or not?

The time is very short-I will be departing for France from Seattle on August 17. I'll begin riding PBP on August 22 at 5 AM (about 1 PM Mountain Daylight Time) Anybody who wants track my progress can do so by clicking HERE and typing in Frame Number 8285

My last home brevet was completed on August 6, 2011. The Tobacco Root Mountains 300K was successfully ridden by Ken Billingsley, Karel Stroethoff, and myself. Ken and Karel rode very strong. Their fitness is without question. Both are poised to have great PBP's. As for me...the less said about the ride the better. I didn't feel well, I didn't climb well, and I finished almost two hours behind my colleagues. I guess if there's any silver lining it's that I rode with a full PBP load and still finished with over four and half hours to spare.

The month of July was pretty traumatic, first finding out that my Mom (and loyal brevet volunteer) has pancreatic cancer, and later on dealing with the loss of my 90 year old grandmother. All of a sudden cycling is on the back burner.

Mom is under the best possible care at Virginia Mason Hospital in Seattle and shuttling back and forth from here to there between treatments. She's one of the toughest people I know and will fight hard! Grandma's passing was not unexpected, but it was still hard on all of us, and it did impact my training a bit. I come from a very large family. Dozens of relatives came in from all over the country for the funeral-which mean't some family gatherings and lots-o-lots of food! Given my appetite is on overdrive anyway as a result of all my bike riding, I heartily indulged, and packed on a few extra pounds in the two weeks since the Beartooth Brevet.

So maybe I'll give myself a break, continue training for a few more days with shorter-faster rides on rolling hills like the PBP route features and then see what happens. I will have 84 hours to finish PBP. If I keep moving I'll do it. I'll do my sleeping afterwards.

Beartooth Brevet. On Top of the World!

Brenda and Jackson did a little Paris-Brest-Paris glacier graffiti

With almost exactly one month from the start of Paris-Brest-Paris the time has come to put the finishing touches on my fitness for the event. Last year I scheduled the 200K Beartooth Brevet to take place on July 23, 2011 for just this purpose.

The Beartooth Highway takes a switchback laden meandering trek over the Beartooth Plateau to Cooke City, Montana. One way is about 100K so obviously going back over gets us the requisite brevet distance of 200K (with a 13.5 hour time limit). The challenge of course is the climbing, starting out at Red Lodge at an elevation of 5,553 feet we climb to the west summit of the Beartooth Plateau which tops out at 10,947 feet before descending to the Clark Fork of the Yellowstone River, back up to 8,000 feet on Colter Pass and finally stopping at our intermediate checkpoint in Cooke City before returning to Red Lodge via the same route. The ride is pretty much 65 miles uphill and 65 miles down-with very little flat in between and three significant summits-the east and west summits on the plateau, and the five mile long Colter Pass climb. This is a route that could easily feature in the Tour de France (if it was in Europe), except that it tops out at about 2000 feet higher than any of the Tour’s climbs. Check out the route profile HERE.

Brenda, Jackson, Ernie, and I motored to the small town of Joliet, Montana 26 miles north of Red Lodge to take advantage of the moderately priced Joliet Motel which was a bargain compared to the inflated motel prices of Red Lodge. Brenda brought me to Red Lodge the next morning where she signed Ken Billingsley and me in for the brevet. We departed a few minutes after 7 AM and started going uphill, first quite gradually, but soon in earnest. A series of switchbacks took us up the face of the mountain to the Montana-Wyoming border with an unrelenting uphill grade. Some 20 miles after Red Lodge on one of the switchbacks is a rest-area turnout called Vista Point. Ken, who was five to ten minutes ahead of me stopped at the rest area where dozens of cars, motorcycles, and campers congregate to take in the scenery. With a quick cursory glance I didn’t see Ken or his bike in the parking lot so I assumed he kept going. My plan all along was to stop as little as possible on the outbound segment so I just kept going as well. A little while later a couple in a van pulled up along side me to tell me Ken was back at Vista Point looking for me. Uh oh! Oh well, I figured Ken would eventually determine that I was ahead and he would catch up. There was no way I could afford to back track and lose the precious elevation I had worked so hard to gain. Besides, Ken is a much, much faster climber than I am. I’m still not sure how we missed each other. Ken got himself a couple extra climbing miles by backtracking a bit to look for me-but as he demonstrated later in the day-he was more than up for it.

The air above the tree line is thin, but go-figure, the wind can still knock you over. So you have to hold on tight. It was also quite chilly, though it was beautifully sunny. I would guess temperatures were in the upper 40’s. As I climbed the final few meters of the west summit I passed a gaggle of motorcycle riders pulled over at one of the many turnouts along the way. There must have been at least 20 of them and nearly every one had an encouraging word as I slogged past. It was a neat moment. A few minutes later they all came rumbling by and led me down the curvy technical descent. Motorcycles were clearly the vehicle of choice on the day as we were passed by hundreds.

I pulled off at the Top of the World Store, 38 miles away from Red Lodge, re-stocked my camelback and ate a sandwich I had packed with me. I was joined by a German motorcycle rider who was touring all over North America. While we were chatting Ken came in, relieved to see I was here and not crumpled up on the side of the mountain somewhere. We had lots of conversations at the store with tourists passing both ways, including another cyclist who had started at Red Lodge and was going to Cooke City too.

The ride from the Top of World Store to the base of Colter Pass is mostly downhill, except for a little bump a few miles from the store. We had a pretty stout headwind at this point so I couldn’t hit crazy speeds. Temperatures rose steadily on the descent and I shed a layer of clothes once I reached the Clark Fork of the Yellowstone before making the five mile long climb up Colter Pass.

We got to Cooke City with about 20 minutes to spare under the randonneuring time limit, cutting it fairly close. The ride back has about 2000 feet less climbing due to Cooke City’s 7500+ elevation so time wasn’t a huge concern, barring any unfortunate mechanical or medical mishap.

Last year I attempted this ride, making it to Cooke City, but running out of energy, desire, and time on the way back and having to hitch a ride to the east summit. I had a couple of things going for me this year in helping me make sure a DNF wasn’t going to happen again. First off I had experience. I know the route much better and know where it will be hard and where I’ll get a respite. I also have a slightly smaller gear on my bike which helps keep my legs a little fresher. Mentally I broke up the return route into two 10 mile climbing segments, instead of looking at the entire return route as a whole. After the first 10 mile climb there’s a short downhill and some flat back to the Top of the World Store, then another 10 miles of climbing to the west summit. From there it’s just a couple of more miles climbing to the east summit and the 30 mile uninterrupted descent to Red Lodge.

The strategy was working. I found Ken relaxing at the Top of the World Store where we were soon met by Brenda and Jackson, our dutiful volunteers, who came out to get some pictures on the plateau. Ken said he didn’t even have to wait for me very long-which was encouraging because I’m too big to ever be a fast climber. Most importantly, I still had some gas in the tank.

A swarm of mosquitoes chased us away from the store pretty quickly and on to the switchbacks and eventually the summits of the Beartooth Plateau. I told Ken I was channeling the theme from Rocky as I climbed at a blistering 5 mph. Ken wanted to get in a little extra work, so he pushed himself ahead to the top, then came back down to tell me I was almost there. He made it look awfully easy! Winds were gusty and unpredictable on the barren open plateau with one gust almost blowing both of us off our bikes. It would also be cold going downhill so we put on our jackets.

It’s a very technical descent to Red Lodge with too many twists and turns to allow for super high speeds. There’s also just enough traffic to worry about. A real champ descender could easily keep up or even go faster than the cars, but that wasn’t for me or Ken. We took it pretty easy and safe.

I was a little concerned getting close to Red Lodge because Brenda and Jackson had yet to pass us. I was worried that maybe Brenda had some sort of mishap. But as it turned out, we were just too fast. She had stopped to take a few more pictures, expecting to catch up and pass us, but never did. She drove in just few seconds after we got done, much to my relief. Now I could truly celebrate-12 hours and 40 minutes after starting out that morning.

I’m very proud of this ride. I know of many cyclists who ride to the top and come back down, or ride to Cooke City and stop, but other than Ken and me, I’ve never heard of anyone else going over and back in the same day (though I’m sure it’s been done). It’s a monumental task. I can’t imagine there being many other 200K‘s that are more difficult than this one.

I felt very good after the ride considering the difficulty. My fitness is pretty good and the 28 cog on my bike helped a lot-making the ride more doable. The effort should really pay off when we ride in France next month. The Bear's Tooth can be seen in the center of the photo. The whole mountain range is named for this relatively small feature (at least it looks small from here).

The Beartooth Brevet. Time for some climbing.

My 200K Beartooth Brevet is this coming weekend. This is a simple out-and-back from Red Lodge, MT to Cooke City, MT and back. The only thing is-the route climbs up to almost 11,000 feet above sea level. There are actually two summits on the Beartooth Plateau, along with the 5 mile long Colter Pass just before Cooke City. I tried this route last year and came up short-having to shuttle to the summit in the back of a pickup on the way back. I'm determined to get it done this year. We'll leave from Red Lodge at 7:00 AM on July 23, 2011 and see what happens. All the details are HERE.

Bozeman Daily Chronicle Feature!

Out of the blue, Bozeman Chronicle reporter Sean Forbes contacted me to do a story about my brevet series. Sean saw the link to my rides on the Gallatin Valley Bicycle Club website and I guess he was intrigued. A few days after the phone interview Chronicle photographer Nick Wolcott met me outside of Belgrade on a training ride and took some photos. I get in the paper now and then with work related stuff-but that's horribly boring. On the other hand-this was so cool. I think the story was very well done. I've gotten lots of nice comments and compliments. My only regret is I should have worn leg warmers-that was one of my first rides of this cool, wet spring with bare legs..and it showed. Check out the story on the Chronicle's website HERE.

Riding along the Musselshell River...and not in it!

The start of day 2. I'm not as angelic as I appear!

More Photos Here

Central Montana has been ravaged by floods from record snow pack and rainfall this spring. One week before my scheduled 600K brevet, a significant portion of US Highway 12 between Harlowton and Roundup was underwater. Alternate routes, of which there are very few, were being contemplated as my final Paris-Brest-Paris (PBP) qualifying brevet hung in the balance.

Fortunately, the waters receded just enough and the Musselshell River 600K brevet route was open for business on June 18-19, 2011. Now all we had to do was ride the 375 miles within the 40 hour time limit.

Brenda, Jackson, Ernie, and I rendezvoused with fellow PBP hopefuls Ken Billingsley and Karel Stroethoff on Friday night at the quaint Countryside Inn in the quaint town of Harlowton-pretty close to the center of the State of Montana. A cloudy day had given way to a pleasant evening and the forecast for Saturday looked good (just a chance of showers and thunderstorms in the afternoon). As for Sunday…well at this point that was too far off to worry about (one of the strategies for completing these long rides is to not look too far ahead).

5:00 AM Saturday morning showed up with temperatures in the mid-40’s and an almost imperceptible west breeze. The sun was coming up and as promised it looked like a beautiful day. We sped along US-12 toward Roundup along with the swollen Musselshell.

The devastation of the recent floods was all around. The smell along the river was not pleasant with all the stagnant water everywhere-kind of like a wet dog that just rolled in a manure pile. We could see where the water had been over the road, with the river levels just a couple of feet lower now. We didn't see much of Roundup because we stopped at the first gas station in town, but there were flooded properties and the washed out former Milwaukee Railroad grade that appeared to serve as a dike. It was a pretty big mess.
Fixing Karel's first flat in the Bull Mountains along Highway 87

After a short rest in Roundup we had a long stretch on the much busier, but also shouldered US Highway 87 to Billings. Lots of debris, glass, and chewed up tire bits on the shoulder-so inevitably flat tires. Karel got the first flat, somewhere in the Bull Mountains. Later on I got one on the high plains outside of Billings. A sharp piece of steel belted radial was quickly discovered as the culprit. Unfortunately, as with my Cody brevet a few weeks ago, I didn’t do the change job properly and promptly flatted again about a mile down the road. The valve stem didn’t seat right. I thought it would work itself out. It did, by slamming against the inside of my rim and flatting immediately. The second change went better and we were on our way-but I was pretty flustered. It took until the city limits of Billings to finally calm down and start trusting my tire again.

We were still together as we rode through Billings Heights to Airport Road along the Rimrocks to the infamous Zimmerman Trail-a very short, but busy and narrow switch back descent to the valley floor below. We were able to easily exceed the speed limit and stay with the cars on the way down. A few hours later we would have to go up Zimmerman Trail-that would be a whole different kind of experience!

Ken and I lost Karel a few miles later. One minute we could see him about a quarter of a mile behind us and the next minute he was completely out of site. It was only about 6 or 7 miles to Ken’s house and our next rest stop, so we decided to press on . Karel has ridden 10’s of thousands of kilometers of brevets over the years-we knew he was equipped to take care of himself, and we were close enough to dispatch a volunteer to go find him if necessary. Heath and Brenda and the flag of Brittany-a region of France on the PBP route

Ken and his wife Heath live on the top of a hill off Buffalo Trail Road, north of Laurel. It’s a beautiful area to ride with a nice new paved road and no traffic. We were greeted at their house by my Mom and Dad who had driven over from Belgrade earlier in the day, Brenda, Jackson and Ernie who came in from Harlowton that morning, and Heath, who had the place all decorated with memorabilia from Ken’s five previous PBP’s. Big delicious grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches were served up and life was good! An approaching thunderstorm after lunch. We should have waited it out.

Karel showed up just about the time we thought we should go look for him. His rear tire had developed a slow leak and he had to stop several times to pump it back up.

As we finished lunch, thunderstorms were brewing all around. Ken and I decided to press on-randonneurs are always trying to keep forward momentum as the clock is always ticking-despite some crackling thunder overhead. Karel was working on his tire, but bid us to go on. It almost proved to be a fateful decision. As we turned on Molt Road to head back to Billings the skies opened up and a cold drenching rain came down. There was also a brilliant flash of lightning and immediate clap of thunder that nearly scared us out of our wits. The lightning didn’t strike anything, but looking around on the open plains, we were about the tallest things around (and I’m quite a bit taller than Ken!) Fortunately, the storm was over just about as fast as it started. As we descended back to Billings we dried out pretty quickly.

The climb back up the mile long Zimmerman Trail was not as terrifying as I had been imagining over the last several months. The cars and pickups came by in clumps of 4 or 5 as they were released by the stop light at the bottom of the hill, and they were only going about 20-25 mph so even though they were close enough to reach out and touch I never felt in danger. We made short work of the climb and got back on the high plains to Lavina.

Ken, who was riding a little faster than me at this point went on ahead and I settled into a steady but conservative pace for the 40 or so miles Lavina. There was a lot of standing water in the fields on both sides of the wide shouldered road-providing great mosquito habitat. I had to abandon a “nature break” because hundreds of bugs feasted upon me the second I came to a stop.

Brenda and Mom and Dad set up a control at Lavina which gave us the opportunity to refuel and get ready for night riding back on US 12 to Harlowton. Ken was just leaving Lavina as I pulled in. Karel was a ways behind as he ran over a construction screw just outside of Billings and ruined the new tire he had just installed at Ken’s house. Fortunately, Brenda happened along at the same time and she had his old tire. Karel was having a rough day, but Brenda reported he was still in good spirits.

The ride back to Harlowton was slow as it was uphill and into a light headwind, but it was a pleasant evening, and the only thing I had to share the road with were mule deer. Night bicycle riding can really be wonderful.

Karel who was still a ways back told Brenda he was going to try to press on after Harlowton. He didn’t reserve a motel room for Saturday night-but he did have his van which he could rest in if he wanted. Ken and I on the other hand agreed to set out again at 5AM on Sunday morning to finish off the last 200K. I ate a little snack, hit the bed, and slept fitfully for about three hours-getting up before the alarm went off at 4AM. It was in the 50’s but raining lightly. I wasn’t feeling too great and had no appetite-just nibbling on some junk food for breakfast.

I was slightly dreading the next 57 miles to White Sulphur Springs. We would be riding into the Castle Mountains and there was some serious climbing ahead. After riding together for the first 20 miles or so, Ken set off ahead and was soon out of sight. I was feeling really sluggish and in a pre-bonk state. No fuel this morning was not going to work for me. Fortunately, Brenda had made me a Nutella-bagel sandwich which I had in my jersey pocket. That had just enough calories to re-light my fire and get me moving-although slowly. The road conditions were terrible and rain was still drizzling down as I climbed to the small community of Checkerboard. After Checkerboard the road got much better, with a shoulder, but the climbing got more intense and the rain came down hard for a while.

Relief set in when I finally dropped into the White Sulphur Springs Town Pump C-Store a little before noon. The hardest riding was done and we only had a little over 100K to go. Ken was just leaving the Town Pump when I arrived. I was quite surprised to see him as I figured he would be hours ahead. But he had also struggled with a lack of calories which slowed him on the climbs. The hot dogs at the gas station got some much needed protein and fat into my system. I was feeling much better for the finish.

Mom and Dad and Brenda caught up to take care of us at the last control on the route at the turn to Martinsdale. Karel was nowhere to be found so far and everyone figured he was way out in front. Brenda finally found him almost to Harlowton in the afternoon. He did go to sleep in his van (after getting in at about 3 AM) and got started late. With the big climbs ahead he decided to turn back at Checkerboard and abandon the brevet. Fortunately, he had completed a 600K last weekend in Richland, Washington so he was already PBP qualified. He had missed the volunteers driving up to meet us when he went into the bar in Checkerboard to refill his water bottles, thus he was MIA for a while. I didn’t blame Karel at all for abandoning. The way I felt that morning I probably would have packed it in too if I didn’t absolutely need the ride to qualify. I have no doubt Karel could have finished, but he didn’t want to finish in the evening and then have to drive all the way back to Missoula on less than three hours sleep. Probably a wise decision-and he did get some really valuable training in if nothing else.

Ken made it in safely and he, Karel, Brenda, Jackson, and Ernie waited at the finish line for me come in at 5:38 PM. They cheered me as I rolled up-with a lump in my throat and my emotions about to leak out. What a great way to finish a ride. We had some celebratory hugs and handshakes before packing up and heading for home-now fully qualified for PBP. An emotional finish

It was an epic brevet series. The routes were challenging and in 3 of the 4 rides we got rained on (actually even snowed on in Missoula). We also had plenty of wind. But the extra effort in the qualifying rides will only help us in France in August. Now all I have to do if figure out how to box my bike up and get it to Paris!

A BIG BIG thanks to our families for all their support in getting this done. The help we got from Brenda, Jackson, Heath, Mom and Dad was so welcome. I hope they had as much fun as we riders did.