based on a true story

On Sunday, I rode out to Versailles, through the Bois de Boulogne, Parc St. Cloud and the Foret Fausses-Reposes, and from Versailles, made my way to the exurb of St. Quentin-en-Yvelines, to formally register for the 16th running of Paris Brest Paris. There is an unwritten tradition at registration, for all of the various clubs to coordinate their inspection times and all show up together. It makes one think of the national delegations that promenade through an Olympic stadium at the start of The Games. I arrived an hour early, to people watch, and sat in the shade as Germans, Danes and Canadians walked by in their color coordinated team jerseys. It is, perhaps, illuminative that the Americans did not coordinate wearing the national RUSA jersey and instead showed up wearing whatever was their individual preference.

Eventually I saw most of my usual suspects -- Jake, Emily, Bruce, a fellow named AT who briefly rode with heatray and myself during the 300 and 400, but was eternally twenty minutes ahead of me on the 600. There was talk of a dinner for all of the New England Randonneurs (our coordinator had affectionally nicknamed us 'NERds') but that sort of evaporated and I was left to ride the train back with AT, who was also staying with friends in Paris. After separating and wishing each other luck for the days that lay ahead, I stopped by an Indian restaurant for takeaway, and went back up to the apartment to pack my gear again.



This is probably the seventh time, that I've packed my gear for the bike and it now takes on the feeling of ritual. I had hoped that the previous night would be my last pack/unpack cycle, but the ride to St. Quentin-en-Yveines put me of a mind to release some weight. Clear the coffee table and spread everything out. What stays? What goes? First aid kit. Take two of each bandage, leave the rest. Drop the bug bite medicine, as it's just an anti-itch remedy. Keep the ibuprofen. Keep the tincture. Drop the thorn puller. Keep the compression bandage. Drop half of the antiseptic towelettes. Put the thorn puller back in. Pull it back out. There are pliers in the Swiss army knife.

It's exercises like these, where, if I had my first preference, I would take everything with me, but taking everything basically doubles the weight of my bike, so now it's a constant calculation of acceptable risk. Do I need three spare tire tubes and a patch kit and a spare tire? I'll drop one tube and should be able to buy more at the controles if I need them. That sort of becomes the yardstick. What do I need to cover 150km. between supply points? Can I rely on the supply points having necessary replacements? Do I need two emergency Kevlar spokes or do I only need one? Can I shave the number of batteries carried to just enough for one swap on the two taillights and the new helmet light? Do I need this much food?

Is this good? Is this enough? I think so.

Ok ... let's go.