449 km

In early 2007, I participated in a number of cycling events, of which the qualifying brevets were only some of those rides. PBP of course was a central discussion topic so many times and at those other rides I met a number of prospective PBP riders. The Grizzly Peak Cyclists , one of the clubs I ride with and an ancestor to the San Francisco Randonneurs, hosts a Tuesday Night Ride series aimed at the faster cyclist wanting to get in a mid-week training ride after work and prepare for the coming California Triple Crown Double Century series . The few times I showed up for those Tuesday Night rides, I had already done my ride for the day (I had plenty of free time from mid-November 2006 to early March 2007 when I was unemployed due to the implosion of my former employer Apelon). It was at one of those Tuesday Night rides that I first met Phil Morris, who had been described to me as a very strong, fast rider. Phil was working himself back into condition after a lengthy cycling layoff, an...

By the time I arrived in France for this trip, I had listened to numerous PBP stories, hearing most of them while riding the qualifying brevets that spring. Spending yet more time with other riders in the days leading up to the start, I heard many new stories and it was becoming difficult to arrange the data points I acquired in a geographically correct order. This was especially hard when my grasp of French geography was tenuous at best. I had just ridden through a town larger than most so far, with a well lit and inviting cafe surrounded by cyclists. I saw no one I knew and felt compelled to keep moving, at the same time regretting passing up the stop. The route led through town, and then climbed up away from the center. Was this Mortagne - au - Perche ? Wasn't there supposed to be a large church at the top of the hill outside of town? Maybe there was a church atop a hill outside some town somewhere ahead but it wasn't here, not unless the village church was to be found in...

Over the years I've heard so many stories of Paris, Brest et Retour and I was slightly disappointed that the rain had seemingly suppressed the crowd size and enthusiasm. This was a mistaken impression though. After the gun signaled our start as our bundle of 500 riders spread out with each meter we now covered I could see that hundreds of spectators were stationed all along the route for the first dozen kilometers through the contiguous communes that help make up Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines. I could tell by the faces I passed on the roadside that while spectators were scanning the riders for familiar faces, they also were intent on cheering for everyone riding by. Even if this particular experience were isolated to this one point on the ride, I knew I would remember it for a long, long time. This respect and appreciation for the cyclists however, would play out over and over again and at all times through the day and night. Having done a ride in the daylight that covered the sever...