based on a true story

"Wake up guys, it's 4:30."

On hearing that, I wanted it to be a lie. I wanted to sleep a little longer. Wanted it to stop raining outside. Wanted desperately not to put on a pair of damp leg warmers and damp gloves, but none of that was an option. I had to get up. I had to get moving. I had 60 hours left on this ride, 7 hours left to get to the Carhaix control before it closed. I sat up and packed.

For support, Julie stuffed my pockets with cereal bars and refilled my water bottles. She had mentioned that she was planning on hitting a grocery along the way to Carhaix and was taking requests. I asked her for fresh fruit, bread and cold cuts, rationalizing that we can save time by eating in the van instead of waiting in the cafeteria. Then, once more we were off onto roads and valleys where blustery fools wander but sane men fear to tread.

From the outset, Bruce warned us that this segment would have the hardest terrain that we'd seen so far. The route was certainly challenging, but I did not see anything that was quite as steep as what we rode in New England. Still, it was a little hard staying on Bruce's wheel at the outset, and for most of it, it was just Glen and I filtering between packs of riders as we made our way through a grimy morning. All in all, we made decent time and rolled into Carhaix at 9am, just behind Bruce and, for once, arriving on schedule.

I found Bruce shortly after registering in. Julie hadn't arrived yet and we opted to line up and get some breakfast. I asked him if he'd seen Emily or Jake so far and he said that he hadn't seen them since midnight on the road to Loudeac. He didn't think that they were going to make it and I told him that he was just being gloomy. "But they need to keep on sleeping," he said, " you can't finish this ride if you need to stop for a nap at every village square."

"You also can't finish this ride if you crash into a ditch because you can't stay awake." I was starting to get tired of this conversation.

Fortunately, we saw Jake and Emily sign in as we finished breakfast, and Julie came by a little later to let us know where the van was in case we needed to restock on food or water. I took another 15 minute nap sitting in the cafeteria, then looked at the toilets, realized that they were filthy and decided that I'd just ride down the road and find a gas station to use instead. I grabbed my bike and walked to the van, to find Bruce and Glen sleeping. Quietly, I asked Julie when they were planning on heading out.

"They're supposed to be leaving now," she whispered, "but they asked for 15 minutes."

I told her that I'd heard that there was a gas station down the street with a public toilet and that Bruce and Glen should meet me there when they were ready. Before I left, Julie fished out a pack of pre-wrapped supermarket chocolate croissants and I gladly shoved a couple of those in my jersey pockets before riding to the gas station. I finished with the facilities just as they arrived, but they needed to use it as well. All in all, despite the fact that we got to the control by 9am, we weren't back on the road until 11. So much for staying on schedule.

While the Loudeac-Carhaix stage had some climbing, Carhaix-Brest was all about climbing with headwinds. We hunched in to keep a paceline going that could only manage, maybe, 12 mph; and it felt supremely frustrating to work so hard to go so slow in our approach to the halfway mark. It was even more frustrating when my bike toppled over while I was stopped to take off a rain jacket. The stem got twisted in the impact and I also noticed that my front fender was knocked slightly askew. I spent a few minutes to fix the stem and wasted a few more trying to get the fender aligned properly, but finally got back on the road before Bruce and Glen left me too far behind.

This time, I tried not to make the same mistake from last night and just tried to ride at a comfortable pace and get to Brest whenever I got there. If I caught Bruce and Glen, that'd be fine, if not, then I was sure that I'd see them later on. I started to hunger about halfway through, but was lucky to find a matronly well-wisher, running a roadside table with thermos coffee and homemade sponge cake. I managed to arrive in Brest at around 4 pm. The official closing time for our wave of riders was 5pm, and it felt like we were cutting things close. I suspected that Bruce and Glen had probably been here a while alread and were probably itching to go. I found Jake and Emily in the cafeteria, mulling over their lunch options and I asked them if they'd seen the others. Jake said that he'd seen Glen but that was a while ago. I assumed that they'd gone, and told Jake and Emily that I was just going to get back on the road and grab lunch somewhere in Brest.

On the way out, I stopped at a boulangerie for a sandwich. A rider was perched at the corner, his arm leaning ever so artfully on the wall, sunglasses tilted so, his smile incadescent in the rare afternoon sun. He was, of course, Italian and posing stylishly in cycling togs came as naturally to him as belching was to an American. He was passing his lunch talking to other riders, trying to guess their regions of origins by the accents of their native tongues. He was wrong more than half of the time, but it was entertaining to watch him try. Looking at him, it was hard to imagine that he'd just ridden nearly 400 miles in miserable weather.

If the way to Brest was marked with vicious headwinds, it seemed tremendously unfair that we would, instead, get crosswinds on our way back. Still, despite that, I felt somewhat elated. I was beyond halfway in 42 hours and I had 48 hours to finish the ride. While I was running low on bike food again, I used that as an excuse to stop at a few more patisseries and acquaint my self with the breadth of Bretonnian pastry making. Ah, monsieur, what is a Bretonnian Gateaux? Dense cake with a raspberry centre and glazed crust? I'll take two. Kougin Amann cake with broiled apple topping? Sure, why not? Crepes filled with honey, chocolate and hazelnuts? If I must.

I returned to Carhaix just before 9pm. Night had not quite fallen and I was feeling pretty good about affairs (but that may just be because I was running an hour long sugar high), I inquired at the control about whether either Bruce or Glen had made it in and they told me that they had not. They had only made it to Brest about 5 minutes before me, and I had somehow missed them and left them behind in my search. Julie had found me in the crowd and said that she had sandwiches and food ready if I didn't feel like waiting in the cafeteria. Taking her up on her offer, I headed over to the van and caught up on the latest control point gossip.

Apparently, by this point 1000 riders had already abandoned the ride, many of them quitting when they witnessed the desperate conditions at Loudeac on Tuesday night. I couldn't say that I blamed them. This was honestly, the hardest trial that I'd ever experienced in my life, and despite the banquet of bargain pastries and occasional conversations with interesting riders, it wasn't what I'd call fun. Also, apparently control point closing times were being extended by two hours to accomodate for the fact that the weather was slowing many of us down. Despite the fact that our 10:10 start meant that we had an extra 40 minutes on top of the official close times, I was always aiming to finish without it, but was glad to get the bonus time anyway, as I was cutting it close to each of the official times. We still had to complete the entire ride in 90 hours and had 42 hours left.