Paris-Brest-Paris 2019

            In the 8 years since I rode PBP in 2011, I have told many aspiring randonneurs that all the stories they’ve heard about PBP are understated. Through those years, my memories of what makes PBP special have become worn and faded. After finishing PBP again this year, I came to the realization that even my own stories and memories of PBP paled in comparison to the real thing. I left for Paris fairly confident that this would likely be my last PBP. There are so many other great rides out there it’s hard to justify wasting more than 2 trips on the same event. The farther I pedaled into Bretagne, the more open I became to a return trip.

               My approach to PBP ran counter to most of the advice you hear about the ride. I went to the start with only the most general idea of a ride plan. While many riders I know had detailed spreadsheets outlining their projected pace and allotted times for various rest stops, my “spreadsheet” consisted of a list of controls with their closing times and hotel reservations at Carhaix outbound and Loudeac on the return. Everything else was going to be decided on the fly.  I hoped to find a balance between moving briskly and pausing to enjoy the unique experiences of PBP. I also ignored the conventional wisdom about eating at controls at PBP. I ate almost all of my meals in the cafeteria portion of controls and I think it worked for me. I never waited more than 15 minutes from starting the line to sitting at a table. When I did go away from the control for a meal, I found that it took longer and I had a harder time finding something that I wanted to eat. It may just have been where I was in the pack, but the controls worked for me.

               The hotel I shared before the ride with Rob Welsh was located about 11 miles from the start on the main train line for Paris. I was a little concerned about finding a spot on the train so I decided to just ride to the start. My gentle hour long spin towards the start allowed me to collect my thoughts and get mentally prepared before encountering the mass of riders and nervous energy in Rambouillet.

               Although the staging was a bit chaotic and was without any discernible system, I really enjoyed the new start location in Rambouillet. 

Within minutes of the start, and before the goosebumps had even subsided, we were riding on scenic, wooded country roads. My group of riders moved out pretty cautiously without any crazy riding. The first 50 or so miles rolled by easily. 

Shortly after dark, I started feeling the squishy feeling of a softening rear tire. At first, I thought I was just being paranoid. A couple miles later it was clear that I had a flat tire. I pulled to the side of the road and clumsily changed the tire. Probably because of the jitters tied to this big event, it seemed to take forever to change. I finally got rolling again and everything seemed to be going well. About 30 miles later, and roughly 5 miles before the stop in Mortagne-au-Perche, the squishy sensation was back. I decided that it was a slow leak and that I would rather change the flat at the control, so I added air and pressed forward. It must have been a “faster leak” than I thought, so I had to stop one more time to add air. I finally gave up on that approach about a quarter mile from the control and walked in. As I was walking to the control a local lady yelled across the street asking if I was ok and what she could do to help. She seemed satisfied when I informed her that I was fine and just had a flat tire. At the control, I ran into Jonas, who had been separated from his group.  I was a little rattled from the tire problems so talking with Jonas while I changed the tube and tire really helped calm me down.

               Jonas and I rolled out of Mortagne together. The combination of riding with Jonas and the adrenaline from feeling like I was behind schedule was a magic. For the next 50 miles or so we flew through huge groups of riders. My main memory from this section is the sensation of flying past an endless stream of red tail lights. In what would be a recurring event at PBP, I was talking with Jonas and then minutes later he was gone, not to be seen again. I later learned he had decided to back off and spin in to the control at Villaines-la-Juhel.  The section after Villaines featured a couple of really picturesque spots. One was the chateau at Lassay-les-Chateaux, where I went off course by a hundred yards to explore what I thought would be a pretty spot. The other was the river crossing at Ambrieres-les-Vallees. At Ambrieres-les-Vallees, 

I caught up with Spencer and Cap’n Ende, a couple of friends I had been hoping to run across. Unfortunately, they were just leaving as I arrived, so we only exchanged a couple of brief comments. I would join them later in the morning after grabbing the wheels of a couple of fast moving, Japanese riders who pulled me along through the crowd.

I rode with Spencer for the remaining miles to Tinteniac and into the control. While we were eating, Spencer got a text inviting us to a picnic that Mark Thomas had arranged with a local in town that Mark knew.  I wasn’t really sure what to expect as we rolled towards the described house. When we arrived, a full-blown picnic had been organized in the backyard. The local hosts had arranged a spread of sausages, cheese, steak, pasta, beer, wine and cokes. Their backyard was a perfect counterpoint to the chaos of a PBP control. We lounged in the backyard for close to an hour snacking and telling stories. Before this stop I had been keeping an eye on the clock, conscious of the need to keep moving. This picnic was so cool, and so unique, that I was ready to stay all day.

Eventually, the party broke up and the journey towards Brest continued. I rode in a loose group with Spencer, Cap’n Ende, Mark Thomas, and Rick Blacker for a few more miles. Without really knowing how are why, eventually I was separated from the group and moved on alone. I arrived in Loudeac alone. Many riders plan to sleep at Loudeac but I had planned to continue another 45 miles or so to Carhaix. I was feeling really low on energy but the line for food at the control was pretty long, so I rode up the main street of Loudeac to a restaurant I had eaten at in 2011. Nothing on the menu looked good but I eventually settled on something like a plate of fried chicken bits in a pita type shell with fries and a couple of cokes. I can’t say it hit the spot but it was enough to get me moving. Shortly after leaving, I joined up with a nice guy from Stuttgart, Germany. We had a great conversation about politics, various aspects of the American and German legal systems, and various rides that we’d each done. The conversation helped the miles pass and got me over my low spot. I eventually arrived in Carhaix around 11 pm. I ate a quick dinner and rode to my hotel. I checked in and proceeded to drive the front desk clerk nuts. First, I couldn’t find the bike storage room, then I couldn’t find my room, then I couldn’t get the key to work, then I came back down to order a beer from her. I think she was pretty happy when I finally went to bed. The first leg was complete after roughly 325 miles and 28 hours.

I woke up after 3 ½ hours of sleep and began the long, cold climb up Roc Trevezel. Like 2011, the climb was done mostly in darkness and dawn came with a heavy fog. The section across the top of the ridge was the only section of the route where I encountered aggressive drivers. By normal standards, the driving would have seemed pretty normal. However, after miles of over deferential Breton drivers, it was a stark difference. After a freezing decent off of the Roc, I was in pretty low spirits and desperate to recharge in Sizun. I parked my bike next to the ancient church and walked to the boulangerie. I was really cold and out of energy. I ordered a coke, a pain au chocolate, and a Breton Apple Cake. Those were gone instantly so I went back for two more apple cakes. That seemed to do the trick.

I remember in 2011, the ride into Brest was an emotional ride. 2019 was the same. Seeing the suspension bridge at Brest is a huge moment in any PBP. The Bridge represents a huge accomplishment and represents the half way point of PBP. Like most riders, I stopped for photos and, at the request of some friends back home, did a Facebook Live recording from the Bridge. 

Prior to riding PBP in 2011, I had the idea that it was tradition to have a beer in Brest, regardless of the time of day. So, when I got there, I had an early morning breakfast with coffee and beer. Turns out that no one else seemed to know about this tradition. This year after leaving the control, I went to a local restaurant for a brunch consisting of a cheeseburger, a pastry, and a Heineken. It might not be everyone’s tradition, but I guess it’s my tradition.

Leaving Brest, I met up with Keith Larson, a fellow Minnesota Randonneur. We climbed the Roc together and continued to ride together for most of the afternoon.

 I had planned to stop at Loudeac, Keith was planning to keep moving. As luck would have it, Aussie friend, Leigh Paterson, was right behind me in the food line. We had dinner together before I rode off to my hotel for another 3 hours of sleep.

I left Loudeac at around 1:30 am. The overnight hours were memorable to me for several reasons. First, I really felt strong and was riding well. Second, I was surprised at the number of people cheering from the sidewalks and open windows of the small towns we passed. As the night moved towards sunrise, it seemed to get colder and colder and colder. Reports were that the temps dipped into the upper 30’s or low 40’s, I was wearing all the clothes I had and was still pretty chilled. Just when the cold was starting to get to me, we rolled into a small town that had some kind of all night food stand going. 

I stopped and had a coke and a galette saucisse. Honestly, I had no idea what it was when I ordered it, and probably wouldn’t have ordered it if I knew what it was. Turned out to be some kind of sausage, like a hard brat, wrapped in a crepe. After each bite, I thought to myself, “ok, that’s enough of that.” But I ate the whole thing and it worked to get me through another low spot.

The rest of the day was a blur of small French towns built on hills and beautiful hilltop churches. 

The afternoon sun heated up and pesky headwinds did a really good job of zapping my energy. I stopped at one family “aid stop” in Ambrieres-les-Vallees because I had been seeing signs “advertising” the stop for 15 kilometers. I was really curious to see who would take the time to advertise that they were giving away free stuff. Not surprisingly, the people were very friendly and had all kinds of food and drink for riders. They also had a mattress with blankets and pillows in the back of the garage in case a rider needed a nap. I took a good break there before moving on. 

The crazy cheering and noise of the Villaines control was overwhelming. One thing I really like about Villaines is the tradition of local children carrying rider’s trays through the food line and across the courtyard to the eating area. The young fellow who carried my tray was very friendly but I think I loaded up the tray with about the limit of what he could carry.

 Villaines to Mortagne was the toughest section of the ride for me. I was low on energy, the sun was beating down, and the headwind was still there. About halfway though section, I stopped in a bar for a coke and ended up meeting with a Canadian ride from Alberta. We ended up riding together all the way to Mortagne. Having some company and conversation was a godsend.

I left Mortagne just as it was getting dark, knowing that I only had about 75 miles to go. I still hadn’t decided if I was going to ride in or look for a place to sleep. The miles out of Mortagne seemed really hard. From 2011, I remembered a couple of moderate uphills but this felt like I was climbing a huge mountain. My mind was shocked awake when near the top, in the total darkness, a group of people alongside the road started cheering. Another food stop at a bar in some small town, and I limped into Dreux in a very tired, grumpy mood. The stop at Dreux is only about 25 miles from the finish. But it was 2 am, I was very sleepy, and in no mood to go on. Instead, I asked to be directed to the sleeping area and asked to be woken up at 3:30. The sleeping area turned out to be a disappointment. I was led to a hard gym style mat with no blanket or pillow. I wrapped up some clothes to make a pillow and laid down to sleep. I caught a couple of quick winks before the temperature seemed to drop about 20 degrees. I woke up just before 3 and decided that was good enough. When I walked out for breakfast, I saw Leigh eating with another Aussie. After breakfast, Leigh and I decided to ride in together. The 25 miles rolled nicely in the dark and Leigh and I had a nice conversation. Can’t begin to tell you what we talked about, but it was a pleasant way to finish the ride. The only excitement was a seemingly missing arrow in Rambouillet that confused us for a few minutes before arriving at the finish. As the banner came into sight, we were jarred awake by some serious cobblestones and directed to take a weird lap through a sandy, cobblestoned courtyard before hitting the official finish line. My finish time was listed as 83:37.

Although I’ve rambled on now for several pages, I find that PBP is an event that is really hard to sum up in a ride report. My memory of the ride is much more a collection of blurry memories and little stories that don’t really fit together into a linear narrative. The things that stand out to me are the overwhelming support of the people along the route. Entire families that sit outside day and night with bottles of water or packages of cookies to give to tired riders. The bunches of kids that stand alongside the road to exchange high fives with passing riders. 

The signs and elaborate displays encouraging riders to keep going. It seems that everyone you come in contact with while riding PBP wants to help you succeed.  PBP is an amazing and unique event.

The Israel 1200k: Goliath Slays David

The decision to ride the Israel 1200k in 2018 was not based on hours of detailed research or years of daydreaming about riding in the desert. Instead, it came about in a brief moment of mindless spontaneity. Spencer Klaassen and I had been tentatively planning to ride Perth-Albany-Perth this fall. On New Years Eve, I got a text from Spencer suggesting we should ride in Israel instead. With all of the deep contemplation you would expect half way through a New Years Eve celebration, I responded with “I’m in if you are.” By the next morning we were both signed up. I later found out that Spencer was just screwing around and didn’t really have an interest in riding in Israel. Jerry Christensen had also been planning to do P-A-P. A couple texts to him and he was on board as well.

We arrived in Tel Aviv a couple of nights prior to the start. Vinny Muoneke met us at the airport in Tel Aviv and we all took a large taxi van to our apartment in a really fun neighborhood in Tel Aviv. I was surprised by how busy the area was with pedestrians, car, motorized scooters and e-bikes. The neighborhood was dotted with fun looking restaurants, bars and small shops. Our group did our best to scout out a lot of them.

The ride started at 10:00pm on October 23. We left our apartment and rode the bike trail which runs the length of the beach along the Mediterrean Sea. Ride organizer, Tal had organized a pre-ride dinner at a restaurant about 100 yards from the start.

Tal excitedly got the ride started precisely at 10 and we wound for several miles through a network of bike trails before emerging onto the still bustling streets of Tel Aviv. 

Within the first couple of kilometers I realized that my front handlebars were loose, causing them to turn about 25 degrees to the left. I didn’t want to lose the group this early so I kept rolling while gently holding the bars and re-aligning them at each stoplight. The field largely stayed in two pack as we rode through the city streets. Eventually, we left the outskirts of Tel Aviv and entered more rural areas. I was surprised that we rode through a number of Arab neighborhoods or communities as we left the City. I didn’t realize that there were numerous Arab settlements within Israel. Eventually, I realized that almost all of the road signs had wording in Hebrew, Arabic, and English.

The first control was at Caesarea, approximately 80 kilometers into the ride. Tal had chosen a small park next to an ancient Roman Coliseum for the control. 

I was finally able to take a couple of minutes and properly tighten my handlebar bolts. Tal stamped our cards, filled our water bottles and we were off, largely retracing our steps back towards Tel Aviv. The first night of this ride was beautiful. It stayed warm overnight and the traffic finally lightened up. Our group consisted of me, Spencer, Jerry, Matt Levy from the Quad Cities, and Canadian, Marty Cooper. We rode efficiently though the overnight, not working too hard and keeping up a reasonable pace. Somewhere around 150 kilometers into the ride we spotted a gas station and decided on a refueling stop. Walking into an Israeli convenience store was a bit overwhelming at first. None of the products were labeled in English so a fair amount of guesswork was involved. I ended up with a large bowl of noodles.

All of the convenience stores we stopped in had a couple of items that would be big hits for American randonneurs. The first was the large containers of Raman type noodles. When you picked out the one you liked, the cashier would open it and add hot water from the espresso machine for an instant hot meal. The other was sandwiches that were packaged in a colored bag. You’d pick one out based on the picture on the bag and the clerk would heat it in some kind of little oven. Throughout the ride, I had mixed luck with this as I could not get the hang of what kind of sandwich I was getting. The first time, I ended up a cheese and green olive sandwich. The second time was some kind of breaded meat (maybe lamb or veal) that I really couldn’t stomach.

Shortly after leaving the convenience store, we passed through the eastern edge of the Tel Aviv metro area. To say there was a lot of traffic would be an understatement. This stretch had more traffic than any road I can remember riding on during a brevet. However, I never really felt unsafe. There seemed to be a decent shoulder and other than some honking, none of the cars came particularly close. We were rewarded with a beautiful sight of the full moon setting behind the tall buildings of Tel Aviv just before sunrise. 

We stopped for a second time at a convenience store near a well-know tank museum. The store was quite crowded with tourists. I encountered my first experience with young Israelis in uniform with machine guns over their shoulder just casually shopping in the convenience store. This would become a very common sight. 

Leaving this needed stop we began climbing through a wooded, low mountainous area. I even caught sight of a fast-moving mountain stream that would have seemed natural in Colorado or New Mexico.  This section featured a couple of long, gradual climbs and an encounter with some kind of organized cycling tour. It didn’t seem like they were too happy with us for sharing their roads. We eventually parted ways right before the second control in HaEla. This convenience store overlooked the Valley of Elah, the location of the historic battle between David and Goliath.

The next section featured very beautiful and relatively quiet roads. We passed through varying terrain. An earlier section reminded me of some areas of the Desert Southwest, with low desert shrubs, cactus and rocky hills. Within a few miles, we were passing large fields of orange and citrus trees. The day heated up dramatically, so we decided to make another unscheduled stop for fluids and a snack. By mid- afternoon, we were approaching Urim. The road into town was lined with a 5 foot tall “fence” of oversized prickly pear cactuses. 

Approaching the control, a large installation of radar towers dominated one side of the road. I assumed the radar units had to do with the town being less than 5 miles from the Gaza Strip.

The effects of the heat and the mounting miles led to a pretty long stop here. After I had finished eating and thinking I was good, one of the non-English speaking Russian riders offered me a cannister of noodles he had purchased and didn’t need. After first refusing because I thought I was full, I reconsidered and ate the whole thing. So apparently, I wasn’t as full as I thought.

The miles after Urim were truly enjoyable. The sun was lowering in the sky and we were riding through a relatively quiet area. For at least twenty miles, the land on both sides of the road was obviously a military training facility. We would periodically hear machine gun fire or loud percussions from tanks or other heavy arms, but it was generally low traffic and quiet riding.  We took one more quick stop near Tlalim Junction before the final 20 kilometers of climbing before arriving at the overnight at Sde Boker around 7:40 pm. For the first leg, we covered 243 miles.

The overnights were arranged at a Kibbutz in central Israel. Basically, it was a sprawling communal living space with lots of housing, and other businesses. The kibbutz at Sde Boker had a hostel type space to rent out to travelers. We had a large courtyard and several rooms full of bunk beds and a bathroom/shower. I ate a quick supper, showered and was in bed within a half hour. Unfortunately, I did not sleep well. No one in our pod could figure out the air conditioner so it was hot in the room. After about 45 minutes of tossing and turning, I wet down a bath towel and draped it over my back. This helped a lot and I was able to get a couple of hours of sleep.

The second day was billed as shorter but harder with lots of climbing including the big climb out of the Dead Sea. Jerry, Spencer, Vinny and I left Sde Boker just before midnight. 

We rolled about 3 kilometers to the first gas station to get breakfast. The store was open but because of the hour, we had to order and pay though a locked gate. This should have been routine but the clerk didn’t know English and we didn’t know Hebrew. What should have been a relatively easy process was anything but. Instead of a full breakfast to get the day started, I was able to get a croissant type pastry and a Coke. That was enough to get us to the first open store, 35 kilometers later.

The highlight of the day was definitely the Dead Sea, the lowest place on earth at approximately 1400 feet below sea level. The pre-dawn hours were dominated by the 20-ish kilometers of steep hairpins descending towards the Dead Sea. The temperature rose steadily as we descended. Well before sunrise, Spencer’s GPS showed a temperature of 38 degrees Celsius (100° F) at the bottom. We rode along the Dead Sea for several miles. It’s not everyday that your GPS shows your elevation as a negative number. As we came to an area of hotels, we decided to stop for fluids and food instead of continuing to the control at Masada. It’s good that we did, because the store at Masada had not yet opened when we arrived.

Masada is very sacred site to Israeli Jews. It is located on top of a large flat mountain. Around 75 AD, Masada was the last Jewish hold in the First Jewish-Roman war. After a lengthy siege, the Romans finally broke through only to find that the Jews had killed themselves rather than become slaves to the Romans. Apparently, all modern-day Israeli service members are sworn in at the site.

Without services, Jerry, Spencer and I backtracked along the shores of the Dead Sea. 

Just before the climb out the basin, we spotted the golden arches above a building in an obviously tourist location. The building was completely round and we had a hard time figuring out how to get into it. We asked different people how to get into the McDonald’s but were met with confused expressions. We finally found a way into what was an almost deserted tiny mall. All of the stores were closed except a Bulgarian bakery. I ordered two Bulgarian cheese pastries. It was so rich and odd flavored that I could only eat one. But it was some serious calories and we were able to fill our bottles and use the bathroom.  With that we were off to tackle the monster climb out of the Dead Sea.

The climb immediately started in earnest. 

2 or 3 miles up the climb, Tal was parked along the side of the road at an overlook. As I approached, he ran along besides me, yelling “go, Dan” like a fan at the Tour de France. It was pretty hard not to laugh. I pulled over at his van and topped off my bottles and talked a little bit. At this point, I was feeling really good and in good spirits. I continued climbing for several miles. As I tend to climb a little faster than Jerry and Spencer, I wasn’t surprised to have not seen them in a while. When I reached what I thought was the top I pulled over to sip some water and wait for them. After about 20 minutes and as I was starting to get worried, I got a text from Spencer saying that he was throwing up and DNF’ing.  I waited a bit longer for Jerry but then decided to roll on. Tal had described a place to get water about 20km down the road so I decided to go there.  That’s when my ride took a turn.

Within couple of miles of restarting, the wind started to pick up dramatically. At one point, it was so strong that I had to ride my brakes down a descent to keep control in the heavy crosswind. As I reached the bottom, someone in a pickup truck pulled next to me and started yelling in Hebrew. It didn’t seem like angry yelling, more like he was trying to warn me of something. He kept trying to show me his phone but I couldn’t tell what he was trying to say. He seemed satisfied when I pulled out my phone and demonstrated that I would look at it. Unfortunately, my phone was dead so I didn’t learn anything. I really didn’t have much of an option at the point, so I decided to try and push forward for the 10-12 miles to the water stop where I assumed there would be shelter. About this time, I looked to my right and spotted a herd of camels. I had planned to stop and watch if I ever saw camels on this ride, but I only had time to snap a quick photo.

The wind continued to increase and sand started blowing. Soon semi trucks heading towards me started honking and gesturing to me. I assumed they were trying to warn me to take shelter but I didn’t really have anywhere to go so I kept moving forward the best I could. At one point the blowing sand got bad enough that I didn’t feel it was safe to keep riding so I got off my bike and started walking. My knowledge of sandstorm survival techniques is pretty limited but I assumed a big danger was getting totally disoriented and walking off the road. So I decided to walk with my right shoe directly on the divide between the pavement and gravel shoulder. I figured that if the visibility went away completely, I could still feel that. After about a half mile, the blowing seemed to die down just enough that I thought I could ride again, so I climbed back on and slowly rode towards the water stop. I finally got there and found the water stop about a kilometer off the route and was able to refill my bottles. There really wasn’t much for shelter. I was able to huddle behind a low stone wall long enough to recharge my phone and send a text to Spencer, who I assumed was with Tal. I asked what the knew about the storm and whether it was likely to continue. They didn’t have much information either. I rode back to the course and took shelter on the leeward side of a tree to try and figure out what to do. I had about 60 kilometers to go, generally into the wind and no idea how long the storm was forecast to go on.

At that point, I decided to hang it up. I sent a text to Spencer and Tal and they showed up a few minutes later. I had a discussion with Tal and he thought that if I could make it just a little further, I would be dropping into a large crater where the weather might be different. Thinking I had new life, I decided to try and took off for an 8 mile stretch straight into the wind.  I was able to cover the 8 miles in around a mile and turned right for the 9 mile gradual descent into the crater. I went about a half mile in that direction, which turned out to be even more directly into the wind before deciding to quit for the second time. I decided I would try to get back to the main road and another half mile or so to get past the military “no stopping” zone to text Tal. When I got there, I couldn’t get through to Tal right away and when I did, he asked if I could try to get a ride to the town of Dimona. I wasn’t really sure how far that was but knew how to get there as we had passed the same way that morning.

I continued slow moving in the direction of Dimona when a couple huge blasts of sand kicked up again. I finally put my back to the wind and hunkered down waiting for it to let up. 

I think I stood like that for about 90 minutes before deciding I had to try something. I noticed a small pickup truck had approached the other side of the highway. I was able to get the attention of the young guy in the truck who waited for me to cross the highway. When I got there, it was obvious he didn’t speak English. Through some really interesting negotiating, I was somehow able to get across that I needed a ride to Dimona and that I would pay him 100 shekels. ($35-$40). We loaded the bike into the back of the truck and I climbed in. Before I could get the seatbelt on, he started asking me what I assumed was where did I want to get dropped off. I looked up and saw we were already in town. The whole trip was less than 2 miles. I had him drop me off at the gas station we had breakfast in that morning. I then walked next door to a fast food restaurant and had the best hamburger I’ve had in years. After just enough time to pick up a couple of beers and bottle of water, Tal picked me up and gave me a ride back to Sde Boker.

After drinking my two beers, I showered and slept for 11 hours. A handful of others who had DNF’d had decided to catch a bus with their bikes to Be’er Sheva where we could catch a train to Tel Aviv.

After an hour or so waiting at the bus top with drivers saying they couldn’t take our bikes today, Spencer, Jerry and I decided to ride our bikes to Be’er Sheva. Different people said it was either 50 or 80 kilometers away and we didn’t have a real map. But we still decided it sounded like more fun than hanging around Sde Boker all day. So we took off carrying our drop bags.

It turned out to be a really enjoyable ride. The terrain was moderate, we found a gas station in a genuine oasis, and high-fived some over-excited Bedouin kids along the side of the highway.

A few strained minute trying to figure out how to navigate the train system led to a relaxing train ride and we were back in our apartment in Tel Aviv.

In my rash decision to ride the Israel 1200k, I was intrigued by riding in such an exotic location and truly wanted an adventure. The ride delivered on that completely. The scenery in Israel was otherworldly and spectacular. The place has a sense of history that is hard to explain. There was considerably more traffic than I was expecting but I never felt unsafe.

This was my first DNF since I started randonneuring in 2007. The DNF is especially frustrating because I really felt good throughout the ride. For now, I’m chalking it up to a freak storm that I really didn’t have a way to deal with. I have wondered a few times what would have happened if I had continued into the crater. The storm raged on for several more hours, so I think it would have been a really hard slog to Sde Boker. If I would have made it, it would have taken a pretty serious recovery to be able to go again the next day. Of the 27 riders who started the event, only 10 finished. Almost all of them were well ahead of me so they were closer to the overnight when the storm hit.

The Great Southern Randonnee: My ride report from Down Under

The Great Southern Randonnee is a grand experience as much as a grand randonnee.  Audax Australia organizes this ride as a fully supported ride with the intent of attracting international randonneurs to Australia. They go full out to provide a great experience for riders who make the trip to Australia.

The relative isolation of Melbourne provided a unique lead up to the ride. Almost all Americans flying to Melbourne had to fly through Los Angeles and many of us happened to choose the same day to travel. So the Rolling Stone Bar and Grill in Terminal 7 at LAX became a gathering place for randonneurs from all across the US to tell stories and share a beer or two while waiting for our flights across the Pacific.  The camaraderie continued on our arrival in Melbourne. Peter Donnan, ride organizer, was there to personally welcome us and assist us with transport to our local hosts. Myself, Joe Edwards and Rod and Sue Geisert were taken to Charlie and Clare Cooke’s home in the Surrey Hills suburb of Melbourne. The Cookes would be amazing hosts for our stay and their home was our base for the Melbourne portion of our stay.

Audax Australia had added a 100k brevet to their ride schedule for the day after our arrival to give international riders a chance to test ride our reassembled bikes and get used to riding on the “proper side” of the rode. The route was a fantastic assortment of urban trails leading to Southbank, in the heart of downtown Melbourne and then south along the Ocean to Black Rock. While others were eating lunch at the turnaround, Spencer Klaassen, Rod, Joe, Mark Thomas, and I snuck across the street to a microbrewery for a quick beer.

 Festivities continued after the ride with a cookout at Peter Donnan’s home with many of the international randonneurs and several of the Australians.

The next day was moving day, as we moved bikes and other gear to the ride headquarters in Anglesea. Our group was lodged in a 3 bedroom cabin unit at the Big 4 Holiday Park. The evening ended with dinner and kangaroo watching at the Anglesea Golf Course.

Almost all of the Americans, including me, opted for the Sunday evening start. I chose the evening start because in past years, it had been the only option, and I liked the idea of sticking with the traditional GSR experience. The evening start begins with a 200km loop east of Anglesea on the Bellarine Peninsula and the west side of Port Phillip Bay before returning to Anglesea and heading out onto the Great Ocean Road.  Additionally, a night start lets you ride through the first night and day without sleep which should let you get ahead of the clock giving you more flexibility later in the ride. At least, that’s the theory. 

Most of Sunday was spent packing and repacking drop bags and nervously checking weather forecasts. The forecasts were calling for STRONG south west winds throughout Sunday evening and Monday.  At 6pm, we headed out on the Bellarine Peninsula loop. As tailwinds pushed us eastward, the pace was moderate and the mood was light. At various times, we rode along the Ocean and Port Phillip Bay. Everyone was definitely aware that the free ride wasn’t going to last and our tailwind wasn’t going to last very long.  The expected headwinds appeared as we were leaving Portarlington toward Geelong. By this point, our group for the ride had formed. I was riding with Rod, Joe, Spencer and our Australian friend, Leigh Paterson. We rode through the night rather uneventfully, despite the headwinds and arrived back in Anglesea just over 10 hours into the ride. With time in hand, we decided to take a short 1 hour nap in our cabin before tackling the 300km of headwinds towards Port Fairy.

We left Anglesea in morning twilight. The first 30k of the day was along the Great Ocean Road within sight of the Southern Ocean. 

The section featured the worst winds of the day and, although we made slow progress, we eventually made it to Lorne. Historically, GSR remained on the Great Ocean Road at this point. However, spring rains had led to sporadic road closures so GSR organizers had developed an alternative inland route. So at Lorne, we left the Great Ocean Road and climbed 10km into the Otway Mountains. After the initial 10km climb, the route meandered over rolling terrain to the town of Forrest. The control in Forrest was a combination bike shop/café. Apparently, Forrest is a major mountain biking destination.  GSR organizers had pre-purchased a sandwich for every rider at the café.

Leaving Forrest took us further into the Otways and we soon came to Turton’s Track. The Track was one of the more memorable roads of the ride. It was signed as unsuitable for busses and campers. 

The bike path width road wound through the mountainous rain forest with several miles of tight, twisting corners. Following the track a stair step climb brought us to Laver’s Hill for a pre-purchased muffin and lunch. A long decent brought us back to the Great Ocean Road near the 12 Apostles landmark. Although the scenery was spectacular, I was really dragging as we passed several scenic overlooks and into Port Campbell.

The control at Port Campbell was at a hostel and was fully staffed by GSR volunteers. The volunteers were great and rushed to fill water bottles and take meal orders. I had heard Spencer talking up Ronnie’s shepherd’s pie so I ordered a bowl. A couple bowls later I was feeling a lot better and ready to go. 

We rolled out together and headed towards the control at Wangoom, which was a local hall where a local organization was selling food and drinks. At this point, our group split up as Spencer decided to take a nap on the wood floor while the rest of us decided to finish the 44km to the overnight at Port Fairy.  Despite the promise of an evening start, we dragged into the Port Fairy overnight at 12:55am, leaving only about an hour for sleep. I tried to make my way quietly through the dormitory room at the hostel but I’m sure I made quite a bit of noise. I wasn’t much better an hour later trying to get dressed in the dark, but it seemed that almost everyone in the dorm had a very similar wakeup call.

The 50 or so miles from Port Fairy to Hamilton was lightly rolling. A large group of riders formed and much of this section was spent in a group of 12-18 riders. After leaving a food stop in Macarthur, we saw a koala bear hop out of a tree and bound along the road towards another tree. Coming into the Hamilton control gave me a good lift.  Charlie and Clare Cooke were two of the volunteers playing major roles at the control. Charlie promised to have a bottle of Cooper’s Stout ready for me when we returned for the overnight, so I had something to look forward to for the rest of the day. The run up to Dunkeld was pretty flat and we rolled along pretty well.  Joe snapped a shifter cable and Leigh saved the day by pulling one out of his bag that he didn’t even know he had.

The Grampians section following Dunkeld was stunning. The section featured two major climbs and about 70km of riding through undeveloped, wild countryside.  Although we didn’t see much wildlife on this section, the woods were full of the sounds of wild birds.

 Eventually we crossed over the Great Dividing Range and dropped for about 10km into Hall’s Gap for another controlled staffed with helpful volunteers. Hall’s Gap was teeming with wild parrots and other kinds of birds. After a short stop at Hall’s Gap, we had a short, flat 70km loop to Stawell and back before backtracking through the Grampians. I found facing the 70km section back through the Grampians to be a little intimidating in the late afternoon. The section started with about a 10km climb and then another 60km through some pretty wild country. I had mentioned that I was a little disappointed that I hadn’t seen any wild kangaroos since leaving Anglesea. As we left Hall’s Gap just before sunset, they were everywhere. It seemed that every vacant lot, yard or park had its own herd. Just as we were leaving town, I noticed a field that had several kangaroos and three emus. I definitely wasn’t expecting to that.

For most of the trek through the Grampians I rode with Rod, telling stories and keeping ourselves distracted from the miles to go. Shortly after dark, we were treated to the rising of the so-called Supermoon and the emergence of a beautiful night sky. The final decent back into Dunkeld was highlighted by Rob nearly missing a kangaroo crossing the road and me having a wallaby cross the road in front of me. The final section from Dunkeld back to Hamilton was pretty easy riding but the temperature dropped dramatically to the point that I was shivering violently and in a pretty grumpy mood by the time we got to the overnight in Hamilton at 12:30am. Luckily, Charlie was looking after me and produced the long awaited bottle of Stout. After a good meal, and another Stout begged from Clare, we were shown to our cabin for a quick shower and just over 3 hours of sleep.

Historically, GSR riders have faced headwinds on the first couple of days and tailwinds as they return to Anglesea. We would not be so fortunate. After battling 20+ mph headwinds on the first day, the winds shifted to be in our face for the return trip as well. For most of the day, the winds weren’t quite as strong as we had faced earlier in the ride but they were enough to really slow us down. However, some of the worst headwinds of the entire ride hit us as we passed through the Warrnambool area and worked back towards Port Campbell.  The portion of the Great Ocean Road passing several scenic pullouts should have been a glorious and beautiful ride. Instead it was a slow, frustrating 9 mph slog. We did stop for a couple of quick photos before eventually limping into Port Campbell for some more shepherd’s pie. 

Throughout the day, I had been looking forward to stopping at the 12 Apostles viewpoint following Port Campbell but our slow afternoon slog made me give up on getting there before sunset. At the control, however, Joe and Rod suggested we give it a shot and see if we could get there before dark. As we left, the winds seemed to let up. As we approached the pullout, I saw Bob Booth, who had DNF’d the ride earlier, standing by the side of the road waving us in. He had been following our progress on Facebook and wanted to make sure we stopped for the view. He escorted us out the walkway and to the best viewing spot, just as the light hit the magical time for photos. Bob said something like “this is the light people have been waiting all day for”. We walked up, took a couple pictures and were back on our bikes within about 15 minutes.  

We were expecting a lot of traffic after sunset when the crowds from the 12 Apostles viewpoint left. However, they must have found a different route to their hotels because we were only passed by about 5 cars over the next couple of hours. The climb up Laver’s Hill was a long, slow grind but it was made better by an amazing view of the Southern Cross followed by the rise of the Supermoon. Shortly after that, we came around a corner on the climb to see a koala bear sitting in the road. Despite several of us milling around the bear, it didn’t move for several minutes. It finally got annoyed and slowly walked into the woods at the side of the road.

The control at Laver’s Hill was a welcome sight. We had a quick meal while debating whether to sleep there for a bit or to move on to the next stop at Forrest. Eventually, we decided to sleep for an hour before leaving. Several other riders had the same thought and we left in a much larger group than we arrived with. The ride through Turton’s Track was less fun in the dark as the slow, winding route seemed to take forever. Sunrise came shortly after another food stop in Forrest. The tough climb to Benwerrin was made easier knowing that it was the last serious obstacle on the route. I followed Wolfgang down the 10km descent, leaving only 18 miles to the finish.  As we parked our bikes at the bottom to wait for our groups to reform, Wolfgang looked at me with a big smile and summed up my thoughts perfectly by exclaiming with a thick German accent, “What a fucking ride”.

We were welcomed back in Anglesea by a large group of other riders and volunteers assembled to cheer finishers. Our finishing time of 88 hours and 25 minutes was not particularly impressive, but we had a great ride.

  

I absolutely loved the Great Southern Randonnee.  The scenery, organization, and volunteer support were amazing.  The 2016 version of the Great Southern Randonnee had three distinct areas, each of which was as scenically spectacular as anyplace I have ever ridden. The 12 Apostles and Scenic Oceanfront, the Otways with Turton’s Track, and the Grampians were each uniquely beautiful. Basing a ride around any one of them would be worth the trip to Australia. Including all 3 took the ride to an entirely different level.

Testing to see if I can remember how to post from my phone. 10 Days until I leave for Australia.

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