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The original was posted on /r/randonneuring by /u/aedes on 2025-01-17 01:17:50+00:00.
In case anyone is waiting on these with bated breath for some reason… I’m working nights for the next bit so it will probably be a few days before I put the rest of this up. Here is Part 5 in the meanwhile.
Memoirs of a Rabbit
Part 5: Beyond the Zero
My alarm goes off at 4am, a bit over three-hours after I fell asleep. I am groggy and tired and completely not rested. I’m also hungry after slowly falling behind on calories all day yesterday and then not being able to have a large meal before going to bed last night. This is not how I’d hoped to start the second day and I have essentially zero interest in getting back on the bike.
But I’m going to anyways.
The first task is just to sit up, and that’s relatively easy - just keep doing one little thing at a time.
Eventually I’m up, dressed, and walking downstairs with the bike to get some food. I know I need to eat a lot to catch up, but I have minimal appetite – the next concerning sign. I force myself to eat, just go slow, have some yogurt, have a coffee. I’m able to get some semblance of a meal down, but not as much as I know I need. Reluctantly I get up, go outside, and get back on the bike. It is 5:08 am, so only 8 minutes behind schedule. It is dark, I am by myself, and there are relatively few riders on the road around me now unlike last night – The Bulge moved on while I slept.
I feel like ass, but I am experienced enough that I know this feeling will improve after about 30 minutes of riding. Just go slow.
As I make my way out of Loudeac I immediately notice that the terrain has changed. There are more hills, they are longer, and they are steeper. And it’s not just the fatigue and low-mood playing tricks on me – the elevation profile confirms it. As I’m climbing yet another hill, a small group of riders passes me in the other direction, yelling something at me in French that I don’t understand as they pass.
I keep climbing, but I have a bad gut feeling about this. Am I going the wrong way? While the route is quite well-signed, it would still be fairly easy to miss one, especially in the dark as you’re tired. This feeling of disquiet grows and I eventually stop and pull out my Google Maps… confirming I had made my first wrong turn of the event and was going the wrong way. God Damnit! I turn around and continue.
It’s 30 minutes later now and I still feel like ass.
It’s also colder out this morning (14C and damp; almost cold enough to do-up my jersey zipper) than it was the first one, but that is OK with me – yesterday was too hot. The darkness takes longer to pass than it did yesterday as there is no excitement anymore, just vague discontent that I am only averaging 20kph because of all these stupid hills and calorie deficiency – I am supposed to be averaging 25kph today! My maltodextrin powder which saved me yesterday is also completely unpalatable today, making me want to gag a bit even thinking about it. But I still force myself to have a sip every once and a while.
When the sun does come up it is foggy, and the land is different. Unlike yesterday which seemed to be endless cropland at times, this country is wilder with fewer farms and more forests. There is a concerning nausea slowly growing and worsening in my stomach and I need to slow down even further. But as the day continues to lighten, I start craving food… only certain foods though. Like soup, or stew. In fact, I’m fantasizing about drinking soup. That’s a weird one, I’ve never had that on a ride before. I talk myself out of this, because I know it is exceedingly unlikely that they will have soup at the control. I come across the first secret control of the event, and keep plodding.
Eventually, I arrive in Carrhaix after riding those 80km at only 22.9kph, about 45min behind pace. I really need to go to the bathroom and am directed to a line of porta-potties. Opening door number 1 reveals a giant pile of shit all over the toilet seat. Wonderful. Behind door number 2 is… a giant pile of shit all over the toilet seat. Behind door number 3 is… a heaping pile of shit in the toilet at least, because the porta-potty needs to be emptied. I choose the lesser of evils, then make my way into the food hall (thank god for hand sanitizer).
AND HOLY SHIT THEY HAVE SOUP!!!
This day suddenly became a lot better. I decide I’m going to take as long as it takes at this control to feel closer to normal. I sit down with my gigantic bowl of hot vegetable soup, slurp it back, and am happy. Then I work my way through a plate of hot pasta with mushroom sauce, and a cup of coffee, and I feel much better. The nausea is gone.
As I leave Carrhaix and start the 90km to Brest, it’s obvious I’ve caught back up to The Bulge, as I’m once again riding through a stream of riders. It is still hilly and a bit cool and cloudy, and I have accepted that I’m just going to go slow today, and if I’m behind pace, so be it. Still not a big fan of the maltodextrin drink mix though, which means I will need to take in more solid calories along the road and not just at controls. Which also means more stoppage time. I make my way up “The Big Hill” which is 18km long, but only ~2% average gradient. At the top is a gentleman playing harmonica and singing, and offering riders free coffee and brioche. This seems like a good place to stop, so I hang out for a bit, eat half a loaf of brioche and take in the sights and sounds for a while, then continue.
I’ve managed to make some positive progression on the calorie situation with all the brioche and am feeling pretty good by now. Near Brest, a rider that I’ve passed reacts to me passing them, and grabs my tail. It’s a Korean dude who started Sunday night and looks exhausted, but managed to find a burst of energy to jump on with me. Based on when they would have started, they must be pretty close to their time cut off for Brest, so OK, you hang on, and I’ll pull you into Brest, let’s do this.
We get into Brest a bit after noon and I congratulate the guy. He’s obviously happy/excited, but doesn’t have that much English, so I never learned his full story. I also need to keep moving because I’m like 90 minutes behind pace now and feeling well enough that this is back on my mind. I’ve come to terms with the fact my stomach only wants to eat hot meals today though, so I eat a solid meal at the control and am feeling good right now. However, the first signs of sleep deprivation are starting to leak through. I’m definitely somewhat disinhibited, as witnessed by the fact I just reached into my bibs and put chamois cream on at the bike rack, rather than in the washroom… and in doing so flashed some older French rider… who I then small talk with for a bit. I recognize this is not normal, but also don’t really care.
Leaving Brest to go back to Carrhaix takes a different route than going to Brest. And this 93km stage is by far the hilliest stretch of the whole event, averaging 1.4% gradient. It’s also sunny out now and fairly warm (28C), but I’m off. I pass by the Atlantic Ocean, and the iconic bridge in Brest, but only take pictures very briefly as I’m focused on riding again. This is entering new territory for me – I’ve never done a ride longer than ~620km before.
I had been worried about this stage due to the mental hurdle plus all the climbing, but quickly come to realize the terrain actually plays to my strengths. The hills are relatively steep, but also short – they only take 3-5 minutes to climb, and that part of the power-duration curve is a strength of mine. Then there is a descent which is another of my strengths. So, the stage I had been worried about ended up being my favorite.
A few kilometers after leaving Brest, I came across an Indian rider who had gotten off his bike and was walking it up the hills. I slowed down to try and cheer him on, patting him on the pack and yelling “Allez!” but his only response to this was to look at me with dead eyes and respond “ne pas allez.” And yet, he was still carrying out the Sisyphean task of walking up the first of hundreds of hills, almost as physically far away as he could possibly be from the finish. I teared up a little bit.
This stretch leaving Brest was also jam-packed with local families cheering riders on. Every hundred meters would be some locals sitting in lawn chairs offering words of encouragement, or a class of school children screaming “ALLEZZZZ!!!” I teared up a bit at this too… which actually on further reflection is kind of odd. Huh, I must be starting to get some emotional lability from…
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