Foremost was eating. I hate Power Bars (concentrated food bars), but I've found that they do work for me, and the new banana ones are relatively easy to chew, and provide 250 low fat calories. I had brought two cases with me to France, and aimed to consume about one for every 25 km. (i.e., about once an hour while riding). This seemed to work quite well as the mainstay of my diet, although I did snack on fruit, pastries, and cheese, and had a light meal at the beginning and end of the day. The trick was to keep eating those damn bars, before I got hungry. I knew that once I reached that starved, hollow feeling, it might take me hours to really recover. By keeping the fires steadily stoked, I never really felt physically tired or exhausted (mentally was a different matter).
Drinking was a similar issue. I perspire (o.k., sweat) more than just about any human being I've ever encountered, so I know I really need to get a lot of liquid in. This year I started using the Camelback system during these rides, an insulated pouch you wear on your back that carries more than half a gallon of liquid, which you drink from by sucking on a small tube that hangs over your shoulder. The advantage, besides capacity, is that the fluid is very readily available and I've found it induces me to drink much more. Like eating, I've learned that its important to drink before I get thirsty, to keep filling myself up. Recovering from dehydration, like hunger, takes far too long. I add Cytomax, a powdered electrolyte replacement drink mix, right into the Camelback. It seems to help, although its taste is loathsome.
Preventing soreness and pain was another concern. I've learned some pretty good measures to take as far as the derriere department is concerned. Number one is cleanliness, since sitting in your own sweat all day and grinding it into your flesh is bound to create problems over 1200 km. Even though I was never able to bathe during the entire PBP, I carried a supply of alcohol baby wipes with me and cleaned potential problem areas assiduously. I also carried an extra pair of riding shorts with me so that I could change in the middle of each day to clean shorts, which, whether or not physically beneficial, made me feel a whole lot better for a few minutes at least. Lastly, Klaus had turned me on to a concoction known as "bag balm," a greasy ointment used by veterinarians to treat inflamed udders of milking cows. Apparently laced with a mixture of antiseptics and I don't know what else, it seemed to work much better than vaseline or talc. I slathered it on twice a day.
The other pain remedy was iboprofen. I took this about every four hours, usually just 250 mg. It does a good job of deadening pain and preventing swelling, since when it wore off the night after PBP I woke up with ballooned ankles and huge bags under my eyes. I've heard that if you overdo it (who am I to talk about overdoing something?) there can be some serious consequences, besides just water retention.
The only real pain I had to deal with was in my hands and wrists. Even though I had extensive padding on my bars and used padded gloves, by the end of the second day my hands were killing me. Oddly enough, I discovered that part of the problem was the gloves, which were soaked with sweat (I said I perspire a lot) and combined with the leather formed a potent skin irritant, so eventually I dispensed with them. There were times I really wished for aerobars, so I could ride on my elbows once in a while and take some of the pressure off, but they were banned for this year's PBP (I guess they fear you may fall asleep on them).
For storage, I used a trunk bag on a rear rack. While I usually like a front bag instead for easy access, its not easy to hang one in a way that doesn't interfere with the lights. My many tours have rendered me a bit paranoid about finding myself unprepared for any contingency, so in the bag I squeezed, among other things, enough food and drink mix to get through the day, a spare set of shorts, tights, Goretex jacket, two spare sew-up tires, sew-up repair kit (just making sure, O.K.?), rim tape, hex keys, socket wrenches, spoke wrench, cassette cracker, chain tool, crank puller, bottom bracket tool, Swiss army knife, electric tape, spare cables, spokes, cells, and bulbs, sunscreen, iboprofen, baby wipes, bag balm, passport, money and credit cars, route instructions, and my PBP route card. It sounds like a lot, but it really not that big a load. Honest!
For lights, I used two Vistalight LED units (one as a backup), in non-flash mode (flashing lights are barred) in the rear. In the front, I had the NiteRider 15 watt unit, powered by 5 D cells, with a small Cateye 2.5 watt unit (2 C cells). I had been warned by experienced riders to have at least one backup system, and I'm glad I did. I had intended to rely on the Cateye for most of my night riding, since it uses fewer batteries and uses them more slowly, with the NiteRider reserved for fast downhills or when I was alone or in the front of a pack. However, the Cateye failed after the first half hour so I had to rely on the NiteRider for most of the ride. The NiteRider had its own problems. In the brevets, I had seemed to be able to get 3.5 to 4 hours at most out of a set of 5 D cells. In France, the D cells seemed to cost twice as much as in the U.S., if not more, so this seemed a rather expensive proposition. In reality, I managed to nurse my set through the entire first night and got through the remaining nighttime riding on just one more set. The NiteRider uses a carrier for the 5 cells that was designed for caving or diving or something like that; its very weathertight, but also very difficult to empty and reload. Further, the wires and contacts have a way of breaking off. I've resoldered it after nearly every brevet, and on PBP I had to use electrical tape to hold the contacts in place. Not a great design, as yet. The best battery lights I saw were the Nicelights, which have reflector that make them incredibly bright, yet use only 4 AA cells. Lots of folks had generator sets as well, which of course do make you work a bit harder but at least free you from worrying about having enough replacement cells on hand.
In 1891, Pierre Giffard sensed that something had to be done to boost the sagging French moral. Unlike some more conservative journalists of the day who thought the bicycle was an oddity quickly to be disposed of, Giffard was a dyed-in-the-wool cyclist. This was easy in Giffard's day since Lycra hadn't been invented yet. What had been invented in 1885 was the "safety bicycle," the basic form of the bicycle we know today.
Although there were only a few thousand cyclists in all of France and only a handful of those were racing fanatics, Giffard realized the potential of the fledgling bicycle. He wanted a dramatic demonstration of its power, range, and versatility. He wanted to sell more newspapers and increase his circulation. Giffard hit upon the idea of a cycling event of enormous proportions. This was not going to be any mere race; this was going to be a test.
Giffard fanned the flames of interest with a series of hot-breathed articles. He had conceived of a test "not primarily of speed but brains, skill and endurance." He had hit upon the idea of a 750 mile (1200 km.) event going from Paris to Brest on the Atlantic Ocean and returning to Paris. Could a man with the aid of nothing more than his muscles accomplish such a feat? The medical establishment of the time didn't think so. Doctors universally condemned the idea as sheer lunacy. "The bicycle in such overdoses will kill the rider just as surely as an overdose of arsenic" one medical expert of the time wrote. So much for medical science.
Despite these dire predictions, people started lining up to enter. Giffard was taken aback at the tumultuous response he received. He changed the entry rules in mid-stream and charged the unheard of sum of 5 francs to enter. Nonetheless, 300 riders including 7 women signed up. Among the new rules Giffard came up with was the time limit of 10 days. Another rule said each rider had to use the same bicycle throughout. To avoid cheating, each bicycle was provided with a special seal. The sealing ceremony was an affair of great pomp and circumstance held in front of the Petit Journal building. Properly huffy officials affixed seals of worthiness to entrants' machines. Presaging the length of the race, the sealing ceremony lasted for two days! When the officials had finished, 280 machines had been "signed, sealed, and secured." Among the 280 were 10 tricycles, 2 tandems and 1 high wheeler. At the last moment, Giffard decided not to accept women. So much for equality.
At daybreak on Sunday, September 6, 1891, 206 riders left a cheering crowd in front of the Le Petit Journal. After three flats within the first mile, the French professional, Jules Dubois realized his pate de frois gras was cooked. The race was now between Charles Terront and Jacques Jiel-Laval.
There could not have been two more different riders than Terront and Jiel-Laval. Terront was hot-blooded and impetuous. Jiel-Laval, on the other hand, was coldly calculating, sticking methodically to an hour-by-hour schedule from which he would not deviate. In the end, the mad, impetuous Terront won the first PBP in 71 hours 22 minutes, even by today's standards a very respectable time. His closest finisher, the ice-water veined Jiel-Laval, finished 8 hours behind Terront.
Terront had battled fatigue with nothing more than strong French coffee. On route, he had crashed into a barrier. At one point, he broke a crank and had to pedal one-legged to the next checkpoint. Even with so severe a handicap, most of his teammates could not keep up with his frantic pace.
Terront's finish was as much a victory for the power of the human spirit as it was for technology. One of the hotly debated items prior to the race was which tires were better? Just two years earlier in 1889, the Michelin brothers had introduced their clincher tire and rims. The connoisseurs of the time gravitated to solid rubber tires. Terront was backed by the Michelin company. Jiel-Laval, being a connoisseur, rode solid rubber tires. Terront's airfilled victory sounded the death knell of solid rubber tires and put us on the road to pneumatic riding.
Giffard was beside himself with success. He filled the newspapers with exploits of this seminal event for months. He made the most he could of the 99 finishers of this first PBP. He wrote: "For the first time we saw a new mode of travel, a new road to adventure, a new vista of pleasure. These cyclists averaged 80 miles a day for 10 days, yet they arrived fresh and healthy. Even a skillful and gallant horseman could not do better. Aren't we on the threshold of a new and wonderful world?"
Part of that "new and wonderful world" was in part culinary. A baker on seeing the gallant lads cycling by his window on the first PBP was so inspired by what he saw, he created a pastry called the "Paris-Brest" in honor of the staunch riders attempting this most unique of rides. The calorie-laden confection is available today at any good French bakery, especially in Paris or Brest.
It was also to be a "wonderful world" of sporting events. Encouraged by the success and notoriety of PBP, another Frenchman started the modern Olympics. The Tour de France was started in 1903, again inspired by Paris-Brest-Paris. No other bicycle race held today is as old as PBP. Only Liege-Bastogne-Liege comes close and it is 13 years the younger.
Because of the arduous nature of PBP, it was initially held every 10 years. Racers would rather do 10 races of 75 miles a year than 1 race of 750 miles. As time went on, the number of entrants declined. Only a special kind of racer could afford the training and the risk. To stem the decline, officials instituted something new for the 1931 running of Paris-Brest-Paris. It was to be a PBP of firsts and lasts. The 1931 PBP was to be last PBP before the Second World War. It was to be the first PBP to be won by a non-European, Sir Hubert "Oppie" Opperman of Australia.
It was the last time PBP would be run as a professional bicycle road race. And it was the first time another class of rider would appear at PBP, the randonneur (literally, super-tourist). With the inclusion of the randonneur class came the time limit of 90 hours to complete PBP. Jules Tranchant won the randonneur class with a very impressive time of 68 hours 30 minutes.
There was no PBP in 1941 due to WWII, but in 1948 it was revived. To get it back on schedule, it was held every five years, then, every four. PBP was now an amateur event put on by the Audax Club Parisian (Don't bother trying to find "audax" in a French dictionary; you won't find it! "Audax" comes directly from the Latin word meaning "bold" or "daring."). Some things were held over from previous days: the machine you start on is the machine you must finish on, the 90 hour time limit, and the distance, 750 miles. Qualifying rides known as brevets (literally "diplomas") were instituted to bring in only the best. Riders were also required to have fenders on their machines. The number of eager riders continued to grow with each running of PBP as well as the reputation of the ride internationally. With time, Paris-Brest-Paris had truly become what Pierre Giffard intended - not just a race, but a test.