In the spring of 2006 I spent 10 days with my friends from Munich cycling in Mallorca. This “Trainingslager” always opens the cycling season for my Bavarian friends.
Since I was the last to sign up, I was assigned a room mate I didn’t know – Manfred Sellmaier. Manfred is one of those strong German riders and the Mallorca cycling
camp was his wife’s present for his 40th birthday. Manfred had a lot of good advice, from the use of Vaseline to fixing the bike. On one of the mornings, Manfred
slipped into this fancyful colorful jersey and the print said PBP 2003. I had seen many different jerseys but this one was unique.
“Lothar, this one you cannot buy, you have to earn it”, Manfred proclaimed in his heavy and pleasant Bavarian accent. And he told me all about an event
that takes place every four years when thousands of cyclists from many different nations descend on Paris to embark on a grueling 1200km (750 miles) ride to the city
of Brest at the Atlantic Ocean and back to Paris. His friend had asked him to ride with him on a tandem and they finished PBP, as it is commonly known, in 62 hours –
28 hours within the time limit. Manfred talked about Brevets, qualifying rides that had to be accomplished before being admitted to ride in PBP. He talked about
riding 600km, much of it during night, covering his entire “Heimat” of Bavaria. He talked about lousy cue sheets and finding your way through back roads. I listened
with big eyes, fascinated like a child. He told me about those
“crazy Amis”, the
fast American Tandems. In admiration he talked about this
“old American tandem couple”, probably in their late 50s, which had been ahead of them for hours. Finally he had passed them and never saw them again.
But more about those “crazy Amis” later.
PBP became the bait, the obsession for the remainder of the Mallorca training camp. But riding 750 miles is certainly different from my regular century and I was not
sure I could ever do it. After all, it’s easier to purchase the jersey than earn it.
Back in the US, my adopted country since 1983, when I arrived in Boston with two suit cases and an American Express card. Yes, I am one of those “crazy Amis”, carrying
hevy Chase home. The scientific review of my laboratory at the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda had been scheduled for May and instead of pursuing PBP, I was
getting ready for this all so important quadrennial event. The outcome of this evaluation by the Board of Scientific Councilors could determine the fate of my research
and laboratory for years to come. Thumb down: big cuts; thumb up: status quo and maybe no cuts. The evaluation was gratifying and the counsel deemed our science
worthwhile. We now could push ahead with our science for the next four years. After the let down effect had vanished, PBP was back on the radar screen. Searching the
web! Randonneurs? Ja, those are the guys who ride PBP. Brevets? Yes, those are the qualifying rides for the “Grand Randonnees”, the 1200km rides, like PBP. Cyril,
the French post-doc in my lab told me that Randonneurs are mountain hikers and Brevets are really patents. But I did not care about details, I just wanted to ride with
those audacious cyclists.
I finally found a web site (dcrand.org), through which I entered the world I live in now!
Yes, I needed some training and there was a link on the web site that opened the right door: “Crista Borras and friends lead 100-mile (and longer) training/touring
rides every Saturday and Sunday”. It was the middle of July and I contacted Crista by e-mail about the upcoming ride. Yes, there was a 183 mile on Saturday and a
150 mile ride on Sunday, and she called this event BMP tune-up. I wrote back that I would like to join the group on Saturday but not on Sunday as 190 miles were
already excessive – the most I had cycled so far in my life was a century. “No Lothar, you cannot do this, you have to ride on Saturday and Sunday. On Saturday we
cycle from Warrenton (VA) to Lexington and then we will return on Sunday”. Thus, it was either not to ride at all or ride both days, and I chose the latter. After
the ride Crista called this “trial by fire”. My wife Priscilla was a little concerned. After all, 340 miles, the distance I was to ride, was the distance to her
parents house in CT, a trip we do not do too often. This first ride was an eye-opener: I was able to ride 340 miles in two days, have fun and feel good, even great.
It was not just the 340 miles that made me feel good, but mainly the >30,000 feet of climbing criss-crossing the Blue Ridge Mountains. Somehow I had developed an
instant high affinity to the Randonneurs, they were strong, funny, dedicated, unique, esoteric and they all shared a common goal: cycle to the extreme. There was
Roger Hillas with the driest humor I have ever experienced, Paul, the guy who rides in sandles all year round and then there were Crista and Chuck, the
“crazy Amis”, the “fast American Tandem”. Yes, they remembered Manfred Sellmaier, the German tandem rider at PBP 2003 – what a small world.
I had found my cycling family.
Crista’s Torture Fests
Yes, it’s torture. When I wake up on a Monday morning and my heart rate is still in the 70s (normally my resting heart rate is 47 bpm), I know instantly that Crista
has pushed me to my limits.
TO BE CONTINUED ...
