foreword

I wrote and published the following report shortly after PBP. Of course I knew roughly what I had written at the time. However, the memories have faded a bit in six years. So before posting, I read the text again for the first time. I was kind of scared about myself and the way I drove back then. I don't want to distance myself from that now. no That's how it was back then and I think I can rightly be a little proud of it. BUT, I didn't ride 2019 PBP like that, nor would I ever ride PBP like that again. I actually want to encourage people to enjoy the certifications much more. Not only PBP, also the certifications that I organize here. The real experiences and stories are experienced by stopping and meeting people.

Paris-Brest-Paris 2015

I first heard about Paris-Brest-Paris in 2011. I had just started racing and was preparing for the Fichkona with a friend. He then told me about the brevets that he would like to drive in preparation. That's how I came to Bennewitz for the first time and competed in a 200 and a 400 there. 2011 was PBP - year and it was really busy because of it. For me, the 600 km of the Fichkona were already exciting and challenging enough. At that time I could not imagine the 1200km from Paris to the Atlantic coast and back. How can you sit in the saddle for so long, what about eating and drinking and the question of sleeping - questions after questions? Nevertheless, this event fascinated me from the first contact. I've been told too much about PBP during certifications. The stories and reports that I read about it afterwards would not let me go - I was "fixed".

Since PBP only takes place every four years, I had enough time to prepare for it. Everything went well this year, the certification series was canceled and since I had completed a 1000km certification last year, I was able to register right at the beginning. I really wanted to start in starting block A right at the beginning in order to lose as little time as possible at the controls on the way there. Based on the experiences from the 1000 and also the 600 of this year, I made a plan. Actually it was pretty simple. I thought an average of 30 was possible, plus a maximum of 15 minutes waiting at the controls and no sleep. All together makes 44 hours and 15 minutes. Anything better is fine, anything under 48 hours too, I said to myself.

In addition, of course, there was the question of what is taken with us and what remains. Since PBP has around 11000hm, the additional weight is of course noticeable in the long run. The weather forecast was excellent. No rain, 10 - 23°C, a light breeze from the northeast, what more could you want? So the rain jacket stayed there, actually I didn't even want to take the windstopper jacket with me (I would have done it - it was walked 1200km unused) - but that was too hot for me. Spare clothing was also left there, only the high-visibility vest had to be taken along. So I had plenty of space in my handlebar bag and also in the three jersey pockets. The handlebar bag should only serve as a pantry for the food. Apart from the air pump, the seat cream and the mobile phone, there were isotonic additives for the bottles at the start, all the gels that had accumulated over time, a bag of salted cashews and a whole baguette with Nutella. I was able to attach the two batteries for the light and the Garmin to the stem, so they didn't take up any space in my bags. Since the start was at 4:00 p.m. and it was nighttime, I put on the high-visibility vest before the start, just not wasting any time on the way was the motto. So I still had an empty compartment in my jersey pockets (one was occupied by the jacket and one by a stamp card and money). There was another bottle to drink in this bag. Since it wasn't that warm, it should be enough for the first check in Villaines la Juhel at kilometer 220. I wanted to skip the Mortagne refreshment point at 140 km.

So prepared, we arrived at the velodrome half an hour before the start. In starting block A (about 250 people) we were almost at the back. I didn't really want that, but I didn't want to queue for more than an hour for the best position either. There was enough excitement as it was. It was time to haul water away again and get an air pump, as I forgot to inflate air again in the final excitement. Ten minutes before the start, we left the starting block and headed up to the actual start. I lost sight of Martin and Olaf for the first time. After a speech, the event started punctually at 4:00 p.m. The starts at my previous brevets have always been very smooth. The organizer gives the starting signal and the field moves easily, no hectic, no jostling for position. Most of the time I rode upwind and was then out with only a few people, if at all. But what was going on here? I felt like I was in a street race. Fighting for positions, wrangling - that wasn't really to my liking and actually has no place in a brevet. So it was high for the first 20 km behind the lead vehicle. Just don't fall at the numerous traffic islands, I told myself, everything else will be fine. Once we got out of the Paris suburbs and everything was cleared, things got a little quieter in the field. Nevertheless, we were traveling very fast, a bit too fast for my taste. Someone was constantly driving in front of the field, putting some pressure on them and back again. No smooth gliding like I had experienced from group rides so far. That caused a lot of unrest in the field and you had to be careful all the time. So, contrary to my intentions, I decided to stay in the front part of the field. So I worked my way up and it wasn't long before I was up front for the first time. But it was hard work not to be passed right back to the back. The first few kilometers passed like this, and the pace picked up again and again. My pulse went over 180 too often, far too much at this point! But who cares, the legs took it easy and felt damn good.

Before Mortagne, after maybe 100 km, I saw drivers from block B for the first time (started 15 minutes later) in the field. Wow, I already had a smooth 35 on the speedometer there! What kind of guys are these, I was wondering? That could be fun. Five-time Race across America (RAAM) finisher Marko Baloh was also there. Try to find him and hang onto his rear wheel to Paris, were Robert's words. I never thought I'd find him here among so many people. We exchanged a few words and we were on our way to the Mortagne aid station. Here it was really hot again, everyone wanted to have the best starting position to get their food quickly. After that I drove on slowly, Martin caught up with me again. I was happy to see him here again, I had feared that he had been left behind in the meantime. He also had a third bottle with him and skipped the refreshment point. Soon the field continued to roll at a decent speed. Again and again I rode at the very front in the wind. It was easy for me, my legs were still loose. Again and again I took turns with Mickael, a Frenchman who was also there for the first time. I was always able to talk to him, he spoke very good English and German. On the way to the first check, I slowly ran out of water, lucky that (my water carrier) Martin was still there and he hadn't drunk that much. I was able to have his third bottle, which helped a lot. So we came to the first check at 220km in Villaines la Juhel. What I saw here shocked me even more than the drive here. It felt like almost everyone from the maybe hundred-strong field had a support team with them. When the riders arrived, the bike was literally snatched out of their hands by a supervisor. Then there was a sprint to the checkpoint for stamping, in cycling shoes!!! On the way there, a second supervisor put a few pieces of silver in the jersey pockets of some of the drivers. Out again, the bikes were already ready, equipped with full bottles. Except for mine, I had no one to support me - "no support" as the French said! I still had enough to eat but my bottles were empty. No chance to continue like this, so hurry up and quickly fill up the bottles at the water taps outside. When I came back, my bike was the only one still there. It had become pretty deserted and quiet on the street. What the heck, I'm an hour ahead of my schedule, the route is signposted, my GPS and lights work, the weather is great. There's no reason to bury your head in the sand. You can do it alone, I told myself. And so I sat back on the box and drove my pace. It didn't take long and I was collecting one rider after the other. From that point of view, I was the sweeper behind the leading field. After about 15 kilometers I saw the red lights from the lead field for the first time. That was immensely motivating and we soon caught up with the field. I didn't expect that after what I had experienced so far. I rested a bit at the back of the field but soon got bored, now it was too slow for my liking. So I drove forward again. I met Mickael again and I told him what I had experienced during the break. He told me that at the next stop in Fougeres everyone wanted to take a break for 5 minutes, so it was agreed in the field. I thought to myself, I have a chance to drive off with everyone again. Unfortunately, the reality looked different again. Everyone ran again on their high heels to stamp, the same fuss as during the last break. But I also needed something to eat here, the baguettes were all gone, only gels left. When I arrived at the food stand and wanted to buy the first four chocolate croissants, I was visibly surprised. I guess I was definitely too early, at that time only people with support were expected. But after what felt like an eternity I got what I wanted, I put the croissants under my jersey, filled up the bottles and ran out. Again, I was the only one left. Well, once you've done it, you can do it again and so I started again. With a huge anger in my stomach I started. This time I didn't feel like playing broom wagons. I banged through the night. I must have overtaken five people who had no chance of joining me, I was that fast. But it was a lot of fun, at least for me! The field was quickly rolled up again. This time, however, I rested in the slipstream until the next break in Tinteniac at kilometer 363.

In Tinteniac I saw things a little more calmly. It doesn't make sense to rush and forget half of it when I'm not as fast as all the other drivers anyway. In peace I got my stamp and bought food. Again, completely surprised faces that had not expected me for a long time. I was also noticed outside, there was someone who had no support. A Belgian supervisor called me here to wait for his driver (who was just turning in) so that the two of us could continue. Sorry, but someone who hangs by my skirts and just wants to enjoy my slipstream was the last thing I needed here. I left control to applause and chased the field again. I should roll it up again. From here on I also participated in the management work again. The legs still did what they should, so why not do something for the cut. In Quedillac, after 389km, there was a secret control. Get a stamp and move on. Since I was first inside and then again outside, I briefly thought of driving on without waiting for anyone. Again and again it happened that no one wanted to do leadership work when I went out of the wind in front or the pace went down when someone did find me. Since there was still a long way to go, I quickly dismissed the thought. Up until the control in Loudeac, there were always people who fled, but they were caught again and again. Maybe 10km before that there was a last try. Two men were quite a distance away. The field woke up and there was a lot of pressure. There was a Belgian roundabout, just stupidly, when I was in front nobody could follow. I had such an excess of speed that I simply drove away from the field. What to do now, reline or try to catch the two breakaways and the one pursuer. I opted for the second variant. I rode a few kilometers alone only to be caught up by Marko Baloh and two other riders. Great, I thought, couldn't you have woken up a little earlier and joined in? The hunt went on with the four of them. The pulse shot up considerably. Here it is again, the racing feeling. We caught up with the breakaway group at the control in Loudeac on time. The field came maybe a minute or two later. The campaign felt pointless, but it was endless fun.

In Loudeac then the same game as always, everyone was taken care of and gone. Just not me. I followed again. But this time I was lucky, after a few kilometers the entire field took a pee break. I had hurried in order not to lose too much time, so now I stood there and had to wait. Again the thought came up to just keep driving. Nobody was waiting for me either, why should I wait now, I asked myself. Still I waited. The respect for the route ahead was still too great. So we continued in the direction of Carhaix at kilometer 526. Again and again I was found upwind. It was still going well. I was satisfied. But you could also see signs of wear on some of them. The high pace didn't seem to go unnoticed by everyone. I was lucky in Carhaix. I still had enough to eat and only had to fill up my bottles in addition to the stamp. Great, finally don't drive behind! Together with everyone else, there were maybe twenty to thirty drivers left, it went back on the track. I first. Anyone who knows me knows that I always have my problems getting back into the right step right after the break, and that's the case here as well. So I can't have been really fast. It went out again through the village, slightly downhill. No traffic lights, priority roads or level crossings where you might have had to stop. After a few minutes of driving I turned around, no one there! What's going on ? Can't you do it anymore or don't you want to do it anymore or did something happen? I had heard nothing. After a moment's thought, I decided to continue on my own. In my eyes, it had been announced for a long time. Should that be the hint now? Alone I now traced my way to Brest. A great landscape appeared to the left and right of the road. Then a long descent from the only "mountain" (it's over 300m high after all). I kept turning around, but no one was there. The lead vehicle drove in front and I followed at a little distance. Shortly before Brest, the television was on the side of the road for the first time and filmed me. That's how it went until the check. Numerous motorists and passers-by on the side of the road waved and cheered me. It was a great feeling to be the first to drive here. It doesn't matter how the return trip turns out, it was definitely the coolest 600km on the bike I've ever experienced.

My plan was to roll into Brest at 1:43 p.m. In fact, it was already 11:34 a.m. There was a lead of over two hours and an average of 32. I could hardly miss my actual goal of 44 hours, too many things should have gone wrong. In Brest at the control then again the usual. Great astonishment about a driver who has no support. For the time being it was the last time that we weren't prepared for hungry drivers at this time. Unfortunately, the aid station was a long way away, so I ran cursing across the huge square. From here the clock ran against me. But what should I do, I needed something to eat. I took several chocolate croissants, bananas and two cokes with me. With astonished eyes I stowed everything on the bike. With the television, which filmed everything. The people around were excited. At the moment when I wanted to go, the field just came up. It was the last time I should see it here. I wasn't to see some of you again until I reached the finish line in Paris.

We continued, leaving Brest again, but on a different route to the outward journey. It didn't take long and I was back on the route of the outward journey. From now on, oncoming traffic was announced. Around 6000 drivers should meet me during the day. I saw practically all of them, from the second to the last late at night. It was interesting what kind of different bikes people were traveling with. From 20er folding bikes, to 26er Mtb, trekking bikes to racing bikes, tandems, a German triplet, three-wheeled racing bikes and tandems, recumbent bikes of all kinds, cigars (fully covered three-wheeled recumbent bikes) and bikes that are actually more of a stepper on two wheels. The whole course from new to old including the clothes. Almost everyone greeted me, waved at me or gave me a thumbs-up. It motivated me. Of course they greeted back as often as possible. But I also have to honestly admit that I was a little happy when it got dark and I didn't "have to" say hello to everyone anymore. Over time it got exhausting and then got annoying at some point, with 6000 oncoming people. Shortly after the two parts of the route had merged before Brest, Martin was the first in a group to meet me. We yelled something at each other without either of us understanding it. Regardless, I was happy that he was still on time. If he lasts halfway, he should easily manage under 50 hours, I calculated. A few minutes later, Olaf came towards me. Are you the first he called out to me. I yelled back a loud JAAAA. So the time flew by. The lead vehicle in front. Every now and then a support bike would come by and ask for the right one. So far so good. One of you kept timing the chasing pack. I always had a lead of between 18 and 22 minutes all day, no matter how long I waited at the controls. Of course there was a lot going on at the checkpoints. Lots of drivers who were only on the outward journey, who were sitting somewhere, sleeping, eating or just taking a break. From here one was then adjusted to customers. Most places had someone escort me in. I didn't have to wait in line, but was able to get in front of the queue and buy food. I hope I didn't step on anyone's feet too much here! Except for one German driver who approached me quite harshly, everyone was very understanding. So if someone felt badly treated by me, I would like to expressly apologize! Outside, too, they helped me to fill up the bottles and hold my bicycle. People would always cluster around me, asking questions, examining the bike, taking pictures or filming me. No matter where I went, you couldn't really believe it. I would have liked to have stayed a little longer and enjoyed everything a little more. However, time kept ticking on. Again and again I calculated how I was on time, when I was where and what could become of it in the end. Of course, after the kilometers I had already covered and the long time on the way back, I could no longer keep up the pace from the outward journey. The last 400km became increasingly strenuous. The pinch of wind was still coming from the north-east and was therefore mostly contrary. It wasn't much, but if you drove a bit south or south-east, you could clearly see how this pinch could push you.

The day went by so quickly. I had great experiences at the controls. Everywhere people stood on the side of the road and cheered me on. Aid stands were set up where clusters of cyclists gathered. The villages were adorned with all kinds of bicycles. From huge to small. new and old Somehow something was done everywhere. Here you could already tell that the French have a completely different relationship to bicycles than the Germans. Even if it was only side streets that we drove on, I didn't even experience anyone honking or cutting me. It was certainly often the case that the drivers needed a lot of patience due to the masses of cyclists. The later the day got, the slower the oncoming people seemed to me. The faces became emptier and the way of kicking didn't look really round anymore. I saw people who had started an hour after me and were only now coming towards me, I had already covered more than 800km. Then you calculate roughly when they will arrive again. It's definitely a kind of drudgery for me too, but drudgery for twice as long on the same route? You definitely have my highest respect!

Fougeres was then the first to check back in the dark. From here it became much quieter again, but only as far as the oncoming drivers were concerned. Interest in me increased significantly and I had the feeling that the reputation was slowly rushing out. This was also the only station where I could buy a filled baguette. Unfortunately I was so in my thoughts that I only bought one. I couldn't see the croissants and bananas anymore. But the whole thing was also a bit fatal when it turned out that all the food at the next checkpoint was sold out. But with effort and distress it was enough. A few gels were left, a very dry bun from Brest and a coke. I didn't have any problems with tiredness on the second night either. Not once did I have the feeling of having a microsleep or being inattentive. Like last year at the 1000 Brevet Red Bull, you couldn't drink here because you couldn't buy anything along the way. Only a few gels had some caffeine, which I saved for the second night. Did they make it, however, in the end? I will never know. However, just to be on the safe side, I drove in the middle of the road most of the night. On the one hand, the surface there wasn't that rough and if I shouldn't be able to concentrate, it's a little further to the ditch, I thought to myself. But I probably had a fair amount of adrenaline pumping through me, which was keeping me alert and focused. Since at night only the lead vehicle was driving at a distance and there were no more motorcycles, I unfortunately no longer knew how much advantage I had. I kept turning around, but there were no lights anywhere. Only now and then a car passed, but you recognized their lights quickly.

Far before Dreux, the last control point, the second morning slowly dawned. It got quite chilly at 8°C and this is the only time I considered putting on my windbreaker. However, I thought to myself, better save your time. It can't be long before the sun warms up. So I gritted my teeth and tried to ignore the cold as much as possible. I slowly became aware of the time it took me to reach the velodrome and, as it looked, as the first. You think a lot beforehand about what and how it could be. But that I could do it alone, no, I thought that was impossible. It's not like the others can't ride a bike. I kept turning around when I could see the street from afar, because I was afraid you might catch up with me after all. Well, from now on I saw cyclists again. But they were definitely hallucinations. I had never experienced anything like this before. I turned around and saw two white cyclists. 10 seconds later it was just a green. In fact, it was probably just a sign or post. It went like this for the rest of the time. In the cold I had to stop from time to time to get water away, so I could have a look in peace. In any case, cyclists were not to be seen. That calmed me immensely. In Dreux after an endless march to the stamp office, get the penultimate stamp there (the last one is in the velodrome) and two more chocolate croissants, even if I really couldn't see them anymore. Despite the fact that I arrived here much too early, the control would normally only open two hours later, I was cheered again. I was quickly back on my bike and cycled the last 64km. These were mostly flat (the only flat along the route) on back roads through the suburbs of Paris. The lead vehicle is always ahead. The closer we got to the destination, the more it kept the road clear for me. I was fully focused again, it was warm again, in short it rolled along well. Again and again passers-by on the side of the road and cyclists who looked at the clock in disbelief and still didn't expect anyone to come home. Now you're slowly thinking about all sorts of things that could happen. Hopefully no breakdown, no matter what, hang in there. Then finally the first sign came, still 10km to the finish. A few last roundabouts and traffic lights, I was waved through everywhere. Finally, about five kilometers through a sports park, which, however, dragged on for ages.

And then there it is, the velodrome. The goal in front of it is a bit small and unspectacular. But a lot of people, television and photographers. Everyone cheers for me. I roll over to a single barrier in the huge square in front of it and lean my bike against it. The first thing I do is take off my shoes, I've been looking forward to this for hours. Some people come running, congratulate me and take photos. Now all I have to do is go to the velodrome, get the last stamp and hand in the booklet. Go in calmly. It's a bit deserted at this time, nothing compared to the past few days when there were thousands in here. Congratulations here from the few volunteers who are already here at this time. I get my food in peace, sit down and do nothing for now. Finally had time again after 42 hours and 26 minutes. Not having to go any further, a wonderful feeling. An older, native Englishman sits down next to me. We chat for a while about all sorts of things. I also eat noodles with chicken. That goes down like oil. When I've finished eating, the first following drivers come in. A chat here, a chat there, photos, shaking hands, the whole program. Again and again admiration in front of me and the question of how it went on my own or whether I didn't hide a supervisor somewhere.

With burning hands, feet and buttocks, I wobbled back to the campground on my bike. It actually took me three quarters of an hour to cover the 12 km, it's been a long time since I was that slow. My plan is to take a quick shower, eat something and read all the incoming messages on my cell phone in peace. Unfortunately nothing came of it in the comfortable camping chair. After 56 hours without sleep, my body inevitably demanded it. I just made it into my sleeping bag and fell asleep happy and content.

Paris - Brest - Paris, it was a fantastic event. Excellently organised. There was no carelessness here, once the wrong entrance was used, no matter where - you were immediately pointed to the right path, everything just fitted. The route, excellently marked, permanently bumpy - a dream for me. Many thanks for that!!!