{"id":95548,"date":"2026-07-31T12:01:57","date_gmt":"2026-07-31T10:01:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/centcols.org\/?p=95548"},"modified":"2026-08-03T16:40:20","modified_gmt":"2026-08-03T14:40:20","slug":"my-first-paris-brest-paris","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/centcols.org\/en\/mon-premier-paris-brest-paris\/","title":{"rendered":"My first PARIS-BREST-PARIS"},"content":{"rendered":"
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By Gilles Bodin, CCC 3091<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My desire to do Paris-Brest-Paris was nothing new. I remember the evenings when Roger Outrequin and Dad would talk, tirelessly, late into the night, about fantastic cycling tours and, of course, Paris-Brest-Paris. How many times afterwards did I ask Dad about his experiences?
How many times have the stories told by other C.T.P. members at club meetings caught my attention? Clearly, this hike offers everyone more than just the kilometres covered.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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In 1987, I\u2019d almost given it a go: two 200s, a 300, then a 400, which for a long time remained my longest distance and my fondest memory of a ride in Sologne, featuring seven C.T.P.s. I then set off, lacking motivation, on a rainy 600-kilometre ride, having been barred from the Paris\u2013Brest\u2013Paris by an overbearing department head, and being too timid to stand up to him.
In Soissons, although we were ahead of schedule, Jo\u00ebl and I turned back. Soon followed by Thierry, we unwittingly caused Bob \u2013 who was waiting for us \u2013 to stop! I was left with a sense of guilt and bitterness over the whole affair. After that, my studies and then my career meant I could no longer even think about Paris-Brest-Paris.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eleven years have passed<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
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That is why, when, towards the end of 1998, I came across the \u00abWhere Shall We Go?\u00bb calendar, I decided to do everything I could this time to \u00abbe part of it\u00bb. It has to be said that the prospect of covering 1,200 kilometres in under 90 hours is quite daunting for a novice. Other people\u2019s accounts, however valuable they may be, offer little insight into one\u2019s own capabilities. And there\u2019s no single answer to the many questions that spring to mind: how should I train? How far should I have cycled beforehand? When should I sleep? What should I do if the wind is against me? What if I\u2019m on my own?
From mid-January onwards, after publishing my schedule of qualifying exams, I braved the harsh winter conditions on the roads of Picardy.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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So, week after week, mostly on my own, I would grumble about the biting wind and the bad weather. However, a voice inside me would say: \u00abYou\u2019re preparing for Paris-Brest-Paris.\u00bb Ride after ride, I tried to put my training philosophy into practice: I followed a step-by-step progression; a long ride at a moderate pace was followed by a ride of the same distance at maximum effort but at a faster pace, which in turn was followed \u2013 if I felt good at the finish \u2013 by a longer ride at a slower pace once more. I also made sure to maintain a carefully planned and regular diet and fluid intake, and to keep my stops brief.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

The era of qualifying certificates<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

On 28 March in Versailles, I met up with Bernard and St\u00e9phane on their tandem, as well as Daniel, for the 200-kilometre ride. It had been ten days since I\u2019d last been out on my bike. Nevertheless, it was a very enjoyable nine-hour ride with some experienced companions. After a weekend on a tandem with Marie-Laure, and a month later, I tried my hand at night cycling. Alone at three in the morning in the Brie region of Champagne, I switched on my 1987 headlamps, supplemented by a brand-new auxiliary light. I spent the rest of the night with a lone cyclist from Noyon, then part of the morning with another. We checked in at local shops or sent postcards. On the way back, battling a headwind, the three of us met up again when we came across the C.T.P. members who had come to meet me and cheer me on. The fact remains that this 300 was the toughest of the qualifying brevets: a short night\u2019s sleep, plenty of wind and chilly conditions, and 14 hours and 20 minutes on the road. Still on our tandem, eight days later, there were seven of us C.T.P. members on the C\u00f4te d\u2019Azur and in the hinterland. We organised a seven-hundred-kilometre touring trip, full of cols and perfect for exploring \u2013 the third of its kind \u2013 over the Easter holidays. A month had passed since the 300 when I set off on the 400 around Paris. As always, I\u2019d taken ten days\u2019 rest. Apart from the first few kilometres, I rode alone the whole way. Which could have cost me dearly. Indeed, I got a puncture in the middle of the night just outside Rambouillet, and realised I\u2019d forgotten my pump! Fortunately, by sheer grit and pedalling out of the saddle, I managed to reach an open inn thirty kilometres further on, where a cheerful former cyclist came to my rescue. At daybreak, suddenly overcome by sleep, I stopped straight away and sat down at the foot of a tree. I slept for barely ten minutes, woken by the first car passing by. Refreshed, I set off again straight away. At 8.50 pm, having set off, I reached the finish line. Sticking to my plan, I continued with my weekly training. During a mountain-biking weekend in the Vosges, I extended the stage on my touring bike. Ten days before the 600, I treated myself to a solo 250-kilometre ride at a good pace, followed by some rest. Dad had accompanied me to the start and I met up again with my friends from the 200. Other reunions included with Bernard Faucheux, whom Dad and I had gone to meet many years ago, along with his partner Pierre Gros, upon their arrival from their first Paris\u2013Brest\u2013Paris; and with Lourdet, Dad\u2019s partner on the 1961 Paris\u2013Brest\u2013Paris, who was also at the start that day. Bernard and St\u00e9phane\u2019s tandem is keeping us moving at a brisk pace. My companions know the route and are in their element. We follow part of the Paris\u2013Brest\u2013Paris route, which will prove very useful two months later. We turn off at Saint-Hilaire-du-Harcou\u00ebt to have a bite to eat in Loupfoug\u00e8res in the middle of the night at number 381e<\/sup> kilometre. The organiser had laid the table. It was to be a lively night, and I learnt something new from it. Once again, dawn found me dozing, but my friends were there to have a natter with me. The finish was a joyful occasion. Bernard said to me, \u00abYou\u2019ve earned the right to enter Paris\u2013Brest\u2013Paris.\u00bb I also came away with the memory of a superb 600 in 31 hours 05 minutes and, to date, 4,250 kilometres since 1 January. The first week of July is traditionally set aside for a tandem ride with my partner. This time we chose the Alps: Belledonne, Chartreuse, Aravis and the Tour du Mont-Blanc combine long-distance riding, altitude and magnificent scenery. In late July and early August, the club met up in Corr\u00e8ze, and every day I set off on my own for a ride lasting a few hours to clock up the kilometres at a good pace. On 12 August, I arranged to meet the family for a picnic north of Laon. By the evening, under this pretext, I\u2019d covered 260 kilometres at an average speed of 25 km\/h. There are twelve days left before Paris\u2013Brest\u2013Paris and I\u2019m starting to go round in circles. I\u2019ll make do with just 65 kilometres at a brisk pace on 19 August to get my legs moving.
On Sunday 22 August, I\u2019m heading to Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines, at the start line, for the compulsory bike check and to collect my route map. The atmosphere was buzzing; everyone was chattering away and seemed a bit excited. It was a chance for everyone to catch up with lots of friends who\u2019d come to register or take part in this massive event, or simply soak up the atmosphere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The start<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

I spend Monday checking my bike, raising the saddle by one millimetre. I sort out my luggage, deliberately keeping only the handlebar bag. I\u2019m taking a pair of cycling shorts, some socks and a spare jersey. I\u2019m wearing the same things myself, plus a thermal base layer, a fleece jumper and a fluorescent windbreaker for the night-time start. These three items will then be stowed in or on the bag. I\u2019m also taking two spare inner tubes, a few tools, a razor with new batteries that can be used as a torch, a cut-off toothbrush, the last of a tube of toothpaste, a small hotel soap, half a tube of healing cream, half a tube of anti-inflammatory cream, a spoon, a knife, a road map with the route marked in fluorescent ink (which won\u2019t be much use to me), plenty of fruit jellies and various snacks, and an Overstim cake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At last, it\u2019s time to set off. Dad drove me to Saint-Quentin after a good night\u2019s sleep. He\u2019d been hired by Robert Lepertel to keep an eye on the exit from the stadium. It\u2019s 4.45 am when the tandems set off to the loud blare of their horns; Good luck to Bernard and St\u00e9phane! We\u2019re all crammed together behind the gate, feigning relaxation. Fifteen long minutes pass. And then: it\u2019s our turn! Just a hundred metres to go; Robert Lepertel gives his instructions and the lights are checked. A blast on the horn, a wave goodbye to Dad, and off I go. The junctions are manned and cars lead the way. In the night, riders overtake one another time and again. We\u2019re already going fast. I decide to stick with the pack to avoid getting lost or wasting time at the junctions. We can hear the excited exclamations of the Anglo-Saxons. The French are there, though; they say so when asked, then slip back into their silence. On speed bumps, at the entrance to a bridge, I dodge a rolling torch, then a jerrycan, then another lamp. Now two groups, not far apart, have formed. I\u2019m bringing up the rear of the second one. Day is breaking; our support cars pull away and wish us a safe journey. The pace is still very high. Pierre Gros, a former club member, and I wonder together whether this pace is sensible. In any case, if we were sensible, we might not be here at all! At around the 100-kilometre mark, I catch up with Bernard and St\u00e9phane\u2019s tandem, who aren\u2019t keen to keep up on the narrow roads. A little further on, I stop. Eventually, we arrive together at 10.10 am in Mortagne, where we have lunch at a caf\u00e9. The ride across the Sarthe is monotonous. It\u2019s starting to get hot and groups form and break up unpredictably. Since leaving the Perche, people living along the roadside have been cheering us on, and the villages have decked out their entrances with bunting. I cycle for a while alongside Canadians, Norwegians, Australians and an American. In Villaines at 1.35 pm, I go for a meal at the self-service restaurant \u2013 which is very well run and organised \u2013 just as the tandem arrives. It will rejoin its support car.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Friendship and support<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

As I was leaving Villaines, someone called out to me: \u00abHow\u2019s it going, lad?\u00bb It was Gilbert Duch\u00eane, and I cycled a few kilometres with him along a road that was bathed in sunshine and fairly deserted. The heatwave has set in and I\u2019m making a point of staying well hydrated. However, I\u2019m still cycling at a good pace and I can feel my temperature rising despite everything. I spot a stall selling fruit juice and chocolate \u00e9clairs on the terrace of a popular caf\u00e9 in Goron. All along the road, the villagers offer us water. I accept one of these offers but make the mistake of not wetting my cap. A little further on, I pick up a mobile phone, which I soon return to its owner, who arrives from the opposite direction a few kilometres later, out of breath, and calls out to me in English. In Foug\u00e8res, it seems there have already been numerous dropouts. In any case, within the checkpoint area, there are plenty of bikes with red or green frame plates from the 8 pm and 10 pm starts. Daniel arrives just as I finish my collation. He suggests we set off together again. But 40 kilometres further on, I\u2019m feeling very hot once more and I\u2019m worried I might be on the verge of heatstroke. I ask Daniel to carry on, and treat myself to a few short but delightful minutes lying in the cool, green, shaded grass. I set off again feeling completely revitalised. Night is falling over the Tint\u00e9niac checkpoint when I rejoin my friend Daniel, who has just sat down, with my packed dinner. He\u2019d been worried about me. \u2018The tandem\u2019s ahead of us,\u2019 he tells me. My cycling mate arrives on his mobile and has hardly any appetite. I tuck in heartily, which isn\u2019t the case for Daniel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Somehow, we\u2019d formed a small group as we set off from Tint\u00e9niac. Daniel was chatting to another experienced cyclist. The man on the phone and I, both novices, were making the most of the descriptions of the scenery and the terrain ahead that our two veterans were giving us. We tackle the dreaded B\u00e9cherel hill. Then the kilometres fly by in the night, the whole time filled with conversation. In Saint-M\u00e9en-le-Grand, we treat ourselves to a coffee in front of the illuminated fa\u00e7ade of the town hall, much to the surprise of passing tourists. What followed were magical kilometres. In the dead of night, the villagers came out and offered drinks and cakes on their doorsteps. Further on, a multitude of cyclists were sleeping in the fields beside their bikes, leaving their red lights on so they could be spotted. All the way to Loud\u00e9ac, on a mild night, the same surreal atmosphere of camping, hospitality and encouragement prevails. Soon we also come across the very first participants on their way back, having set off nine hours before us. First two stragglers, then a fairly large group just behind them; they\u2019re not dawdling \u2013 they\u2019re 360 kilometres ahead of us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Loud\u00e9ac by night<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

The Loud\u00e9ac checkpoint is one big fairground. A huge number of cyclists from all the different starts are parked there. An impressive number of supporters, keeping a watchful eye on their favourites, form a crowd at the entrance to the site. It\u2019s hard to find a place to park your bike; there\u2019s almost a stampede to have your route card and magnetic card checked. The self-service canteen is swamped. The merguez sausage marquee right in the middle is doing a roaring trade. Near a makeshift dormitory in a sports hall, cyclists are showering with a garden hose, to general indifference. Under a covered courtyard, dozens of bags await their owners. There\u2019s a hive of activity, yet everyone moves about quietly. On the school grounds, large numbers of cyclists are sleeping in neat rows under emergency blankets; an irresistible image: the aftermath of the battle. Daniel wants to get some sleep. I\u2019m not too keen; I\u2019d planned to ride past Brest and sleep for just one long night. He points out that the kilometres ahead will be very hilly and winding. I\u2019m not keen on the idea of spending the night and then the early hours alone on difficult terrain, and so far we\u2019re not behind schedule. I let myself be persuaded. We haggle over our mattresses for two hours. In front of us, a German man \u2013 whom the usher is persistently trying to speak to in English he doesn\u2019t understand \u2013 manages, with our help, to get his bed as well. We\u2019re led by the light of a torch through the sea of mattresses and sleepers to the other end of the gym. I sleep rather poorly, but I\u2019ll set off feeling more rested than expected. Awake and ready early, we set off into the night. The road is winding and incredibly bumpy. Daniel acts as the perfect lead rider, anticipating and overcoming all the navigation difficulties for me. We catch up with and overtake a huge number of cyclists. It must be said that there were far fewer people sleeping on the grass when we woke up in Loud\u00e9ac. Coming the other way, cyclists are few and far between. We pass through bustling villages where the hotels have stayed open all night. In Corlay, we emerge from this maze to find a very busy secret checkpoint. We have lunch in a caf\u00e9 that\u2019s just opening. Opposite, the baker is in his bakery; he must have closed up, having run out of stock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\u2019re now taking one of those modern bypass roads, which are a rarity on the Paris\u2013Brest\u2013Paris route. The dawn is grey and damp, and the road is wet. More and more cyclists on their way back are passing us. It\u2019s raining on the small, bush-lined roads of Ma\u00ebl-Carhaix. The name of this village is misleading and has us eagerly looking forward to Carhaix, 12 kilometres further on. Here we are, and I recognise the place: the Breton railway\u2019s steam locomotive still stands proudly by the station bridge, and I recognise the old half-timbered houses that Marie-Laure, Philippe and I had admired, also in the rain. We check in at half past eight, then head back into town for a few bits and bobs. Daniel chooses a grocery shop; I go to the bakery, where I\u2019m subjected to a long wait. I\u2019m wolfing down my almond croissants when a reporter comes over to chat to Daniel. He\u2019s suffering from indigestion and is feeling a bit down, which doesn\u2019t escape the attention of the journalist from *Le Cycle*, who questions him and will report on it in his newspaper. This time we\u2019ve taken too long. A brief explanation to the signalman at the checkpoint as we pass through again, and we set off towards Huelgoat. The road along the banks of the Argent is superb, but the downpour we\u2019re caught in is severe. The climb up to Roc\u2019h Trevezel is easy, and we enjoy a pleasant descent to Sizun, where the Brest loop begins. Daniel stops a little further on. We\u2019re high up, the sky is overcast, the grass is too lush; we can sense the end of the mainland. Daoulas, Plougastel, Loperhet \u2013 we turn this way and that without yet catching sight of Brest harbour. \u00abIt\u2019s a long way!\u00ab At last, we cross the Albert Louppe Bridge, reserved for cyclists. It\u2019s a deeply moving moment. I\u2019m here! Brest and its harbour spread out before us. Lots of people stop to take photos. On the other side of the bridge, the professional cyclist Madouas, quite by chance, gives us a little ride. The checkpoint in Brest is noisy; it\u2019s 12.54 and everyone wants to eat. I\u2019m a bit disappointed with our time on the way there \u2013 nearly 32 hours \u2013 but that\u2019s the time for the 600, with an extra two hours\u00ab sleep; Gilbert\u2019s there and tells me he\u2019s booked a room in Loud\u00e9ac. I\u2019d prefer somewhere quieter, so we carry on to Guipavas, where we find a decent, cosy restaurant. On the hill just out of Landerneau, I\u2019m feeling perfectly fine \u2013 in fact, very good indeed. Daniel gives me a bit of a hard time about it in Sizun, where I post a card to the chairman. He\u2019s a bit anxious about the long, deserted stretch of road from here to Carhaix. Our \u00bbfriend on the phone\u00ab had clearly chosen me to be the good Samaritan. He heads back to Carhaix to give up due to saddle problems. I send him to the chemist\u2019s with a prescription, and I\u2019ll have the pleasure of seeing him again near Ma\u00ebl, beaming. \u00bbIt\u2019s working, I\u2019m back!\u201d he\u2019ll exclaim. Just at the summit of Roc\u2019h Trevezel we pass the stragglers who, judging by their enthusiastic gestures, seem to know what\u2019s going on. At 6 pm in Carhaix, we find the grocery shop where Daniel clears out the stock of fruit juice and honey! I have a chat and a quick discussion with a mixed tandem team whom I recognise from having seen them in a photo in the Paris-Brest-Paris brochure. There\u2019s no time to linger, so we cover the kilometres at a brisk pace. We\u2019re hoping to reach Loud\u00e9ac before nightfall. In Corlay, to our surprise, St\u00e9phane is alone by the tandem, which is missing its rear wheel. They\u2019ve broken some spokes on the freewheel side and Bernard has set off in an official support car to have it repaired in Loud\u00e9ac. They\u2019ll lose a lot of time. Daniel, whose spirits are flagging, decides to spend the night in Carhaix. The hilly stretch between Corlay and Loud\u00e9ac is truly superb. The setting sun bathes this succession of hills and valleys in a dazzling glow. The villages are as lively and welcoming as ever. We reach Loud\u00e9ac after dark at 10.07 pm. Daniel leaves me to look for a hotel, promising to rejoin me on the road afterwards. I\u2019ll carry on alone, guided by his valuable advice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To start with, things aren\u2019t going well. It\u2019s very hot in this self-service restaurant, and the service, swamped with customers, is moving at a snail\u2019s pace. A few cyclists are grumbling. I take off my jacket and go and sit in the cool air on the terrace. I leave Loud\u00e9ac, vowing never to linger there again. This checkpoint is worth it for the atmosphere, but it\u2019s a bit of a drag. There\u2019s no one left on the road. Every now and then I spot a red traffic light far ahead. In a village, a caf\u00e9 owner whose shop is always open paints a large directional arrow saying \u00abP.B.P. Paris\u00bb on the road in the middle of the night, as he isn\u2019t satisfied with the A.C.P. signage. The insomniac locals are still cheering me on. Out in the countryside, three or four teenagers offer me coffee. They\u2019ve spent their second night waiting for us. I thank them: \u00abYou\u2019re part of Paris-Brest too.\u00bb \u00abSee you in four years,\u00bb they tell me. I\u2019m making good progress; I\u2019m not tired and I\u2019m not in any pain. I\u2019m almost disappointed to have to stop at the secret checkpoint in Qu\u00e9dillac. It\u2019s 1.25 am; a few cyclists are sleeping at the back of the hall, and there are more marshals than participants. I\u2019m told that I\u2019m cycling through a \u00abdead spot\u00bb in terms of traffic. I come across hardly anyone apart from two motorcyclists from the support team coming and going. My aim, on Daniel\u2019s advice, is to sleep at the boarding school in Tint\u00e9niac. I reach it an hour later via a road that\u2019s still deserted. The organisers allocate us beds in small rooms according to the residents\u00ab wake-up times. I allow myself three hours\u00bb rest, including a shower, a shave and a brush. At the appointed time, they wake us up. I meet my roommates, who are struggling to wake up and complaining a great deal. I don\u2019t waste any time. At dawn, I catch up with two cyclists from Alen\u00e7on. They tell me they\u2019re heading home; they\u2019d given up on the way there. The area is quite marshy and the sunrise is very pleasant with its colours. In Sens-de-Bretagne, I spot a caf\u00e9 on the corner of a street. I have breakfast there. As I set off again, I spot Bernard and St\u00e9phane\u2019s tandem outside the other caf\u00e9 on the opposite side of my street corner. The two friends have already ordered. Shall we carry on together? Bernard replies, \u201cYou\u2019re on a roll, you\u2019re in good shape; a Paris-Brest is best enjoyed on your own.\u201d I arrive in Foug\u00e8res, grumbling like everyone else about an unexpected diversion which, in order to spare us six kilometres of the R.N. 12, forces us to cover extra kilometres, take an even busier road, make an epic detour through town and deprives us of the view of the castle. I tuck into more coffee and croissants whilst a cyclist tells me he rode all the way here last night but can\u2019t seem to get going again. The road to Lassay is a real breeze. For a while, we form a small peloton with a lone rider, some singing cyclists from Pontivy and an exhausted man from Marseille who set off at 8 pm and is hanging on to make it home. A quick glance at the towers of Lassay and the hills start again. Some of them are tough. The group has broken up. Here\u2019s Villaines-la-Juhel and its residents cheering us on. It\u2019s 12.40 and I\u2019m going to eat. At the canteen, I grab everything I can \u2013 I\u2019m starving. Sitting at the table, I\u2019m trying to work out if I can make it before midnight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The road soon gets very hot. The landscape opens up onto the collines of the Maine region, with its harvested wheat and enclosed fields. I rejoin the route of the 600. After Fresnay-sur-Sarthe, the straight road becomes monotonous. The motorcyclists help me cross the busy junction at La Hutte. A little further on, I overtake a cyclist who set off at 8 pm (I\u2019d spotted the colour of his frame plate), who\u2019s struggling up the hill, without so much as a glance. I get an earful! \u00abSo, Gillou, don\u2019t you say hello any more?\u00bb My friend Bernard Faucheux is making his way back quietly, keeping an eye on the time limit, but feeling confident. At the top of a hill, some children are delighted to hand out squares of chocolate; it\u2019s just as much fun for them as it is for me. Further on, accommodation is on offer in a barn, complete with a host of painted signs; there\u2019ll surely be plenty of takers tonight. Notre-Dame-de-Toute-Aide is a charming little church surrounded by trees, beneath which cyclists are sleeping. I spot a tap by the side of the road where I fill my water bottle. \u00abDon\u2019t forget to wet your cap,\u00bb calls out a passing participant; of course not \u2013 it\u2019s very hot, and by the time I catch up with him, it\u2019s almost dry. Between Mamers and Mortagne, I pick up the pace and join a large group of people. The wind is behind me, the sun\u2019s at my back, the weather\u2019s glorious and my spirits are high. I arrive in Mortagne at 4.40 pm. In town, I raid a bakery and head for a shaded embankment just outside the town to tuck in. I get through the Perche hills without any trouble; in fact, I really like this hilly, winding and shaded road. At the bottom of a descent, round a bend, the D.D.E. have been working since we passed this way on the way out, digging up the road to cover it with coarse gravel. Near Senonches, an Italian rider takes my wheel, then takes the lead, and we keep picking up speed. I find it amazing that we\u2019re still having such fun after so many kilometres. But I don\u2019t want to push beyond 40 km\/h for too long. Shortly before Nogent-le-Roi, a rider who set off at 8 pm, whom I catch up with, quips about the \u00abretro look\u00bb of my bike. I realise I set off on \u00abmy bike\u00bb nine hours after him. Nogent is a rather quiet checkpoint, and the lady at the table confirms that they haven\u2019t seen many people so far. I ring Dad to tell him I\u2019ll be arriving soon; it\u2019s 8.06 pm. My hope of avoiding a third night away seems set to come true, and I feel in great shape.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On leaving Nogent, the road is diverted due to roadworks. During the detour, a rider who claims to be from the A.C.P. insists, rather aggressively, that I check the route on my map, as he thinks we\u2019ve lost our way. I\u2019m now cycling with a Canadian who shares his thoughts on Paris-Brest-Paris. He isn\u2019t yet sure whether he\u2019s glad he did it. Night is falling. On a steep climb, a cyclist falls. He explains that he\u2019d got the hang of his derailleur, wasn\u2019t going fast enough and fell over! Some people really are exhausted! The closer we get, the further away the finish line seems to be. As we enter the built-up area, we find ourselves going round in circles. A voice rings out: \u00abI\u2019m fed up with going round in circles!\u00bb Roundabouts, speed bumps and U-turns to avoid town centres are becoming more and more frequent. I regret not having spotted the finish line last Sunday. I also regret not having a detailed map of the area. In Montigny, a car coming towards us tells us the finish is two kilometres away. Yeah, right! We\u2019re still following the signposts. We cycle through an industrial estate that we feel we\u2019ve already passed by. After a while, no more signs! I ask a local who doesn\u2019t know where the finish line is \u2013 he\u2019s from Montigny! It\u2019s nearby, but let\u2019s not get confused. The town map standing proudly at the crossroads is for the same little town. A cyclist whizzes past and confirms he recognises the place. The Canadian and I are back on our feet. Finally, the roundabout and the crowd\u2019s applause. Jean-Pierre Guillot quickly cheers me up after my bad mood at the finish. I hand in my card at 11.23 pm. Dad\u2019s there, chatting away. So that\u2019s another Paris-Brest under our belt. \u2018Pierre Gros has just arrived,\u2019 he tells me. The Canadian\u2019s delighted, as is the Italian. I\u2019ve done Paris-Brest-Paris and I\u2019ll be back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After dinner and a short night\u2019s sleep at my parents\u2019 house, on Friday we watched our friends arrive via the Minitel: Bernard and St\u00e9phane, Daniel, Bernard Faucheux, Gis\u00e8le and Alain. Finally, I had a clear-out of my handlebar bag and threw away the Overstim cake, which I\u2019d been unable to stomach from the very first quarter but had prudently kept on board.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On Saturday, whilst out on a tandem ride with Marie-Laure, we went to visit Royaumont Abbey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On Sunday, over the phone, Daniel had the final word: \u00abIt took you 66 hours and 23 minutes, but you\u2019ll be talking about Paris\u2013Brest\u2013Paris for much longer than that.\u201d.<\/em><\/strong>\"\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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De Gilles Bodin, CCC 3091 Mon envie de faire Paris-Brest-Paris n\u2019\u00e9tait pas nouvelle. Je me souviens des soir\u00e9es o\u00f9 Roger Outrequin et Papa parlaient, sans se lasser, tard dans la nuit, de randonn\u00e9es fantastiques et bien s\u00fbr de Paris-Brest-Paris. Combien de fois ensuite ai-je interrog\u00e9 Papa sur ses exp\u00e9riences ?Combien de fois les r\u00e9cits des autres […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1993,"featured_media":97869,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":"","_members_access_role":[],"_members_access_error":""},"categories":[84],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-95548","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-recits"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nMon premier PARIS-BREST-PARIS - Club des Cent Cols<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/centcols.org\/en\/album\/thiaucourt-2025\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_GB\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Mon premier PARIS-BREST-PARIS - Club des Cent Cols\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"De Gilles Bodin, CCC 3091 Mon envie de faire Paris-Brest-Paris n\u2019\u00e9tait pas nouvelle. 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