A floppy neck ended Tasmanian Gavin Hinds’ attempt to ride 1,200 kilometres from Paris to Brest on France’s Atlantic coast and back to Paris. In 2011, as he reached the 750-kilometre point, having managed only a few hours of sleep, exhaustion took hold. “All of a sudden, I noticed that I just couldn’t keep my head up,” he says.
Gavin was suffering from Shermer’s neck, a debilitating condition experienced by endurance cyclists when their neck muscles become so fatigued, they fail. No amount of rehydration or paracetamol helped. A last-ditch attempt to prop up his head, by tying an inner tube between the back of his helmet and the top of the hydration pack he was wearing, didn’t work. Unable to continue riding, Gavin withdrew from the event and returned to Paris by train.
This weekend, cyclists like Hinds, will descend on Paris for the event which is held every four years. Paris-Brest-Paris or PBP, as it’s commonly known, has become the holy grail for amateur endurance cyclists. And while it’s not the toughest or the longest cycling event, it’s the world’s oldest, starting in 1891 with a field of 206 French riders. Fast forward to August 2023 and the event will attract up to 8,000 enthusiasts, average age 47 years, from 70 countries, including Australia. They’ll ride 1,200 kilometres, within 90 hours, carrying everything they need.
PBP is the flagship event of Audax, a non-competitive cycling sport where participants aim to ride mind-bogglingly long distances within a pre-defined time limit. The reasons for participating are many. For some, it’s a bucket list goal, being part of an event that is older than the Tour de France. For others, it’s bringing together the pieces of a giant puzzle that includes equipment, nutrition, sleep, body, mind and spirit to be able to suffer “better” for longer. Hinds’ was to pay homage to Sir Hubert Opperman’s world record-breaking win in 1931. Oppy was the first and only Australian to ever hold a PBP record.
Travel chief executive and repeat PBP competitor Simon Maddison first signed up to prove to himself it was possible. “In fact, I probably got interested because I didn’t think it was,” he admits. “There is definitely a streak in me which [enjoys] doing stuff beyond what might be comprehensible.”
While the philosophy of audax (Latin for bold or daring) manifests itself in riders pushing personal physical, mental and emotional boundaries and conquering self-doubt, Maddison was alarmed when his riding buddy insisted they chase a finishing time of less than 60 hours in his first PBP in 2011. “Ninety hours is insane,” he says. “Sub-60 is just nuts.” He finished in 59 hours and 31 minutes.
In 2015, Maddison returned with a plan to ride even quicker. But at 800km with excruciating Achilles pain, exhausted and disoriented, he lay down with a water bidon under his head and passed out. “I was a complete wreck.” Ninety minutes later, he awoke, climbed onto his bike and started riding. The pain disappeared. He still doesn’t understand how. “Somehow, you suspend reality.”
Later that evening, he saw a herd of elephants crossing the road in front of him. “It was a bit alarming.” He then had the presence of mind to realise he was hallucinating. “Which was a bit more alarming!” He finished in 57 hours, 6 minutes and 36 seconds, the second fastest Australian time for that year.
As he contemplated the 2019 PBP, Maddison decided he was finished with chasing fast times. He registered with a fixie, a bike with a single gear without the ability to freewheel. “You have to pedal every single kilometre,” he explains. Simon finished in 89 hours, 32 minutes and 28 seconds. In 2023, the 63-year-old is allowing himself the luxury of a regular bike, but he still expects to suffer at some point. “I don’t think there’s any easy 1,200s.”’
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Daniel Dymond, a Melbourne based sports psychologist with the Performance and Sports Psychology Clinic, understands what helps people do tough stuff. He says it boils down to connection and meaning. “Humans are very bad at dealing with pointless pain. But when we connect with something that’s meaningful, we can endure huge amounts of pain, being physical, emotional, whatever that might be.”
For now 57-year-old dog groomer Sally Theofanides, signing up for her first PBP in 2015 was a matter of pride. “My husband suggested I go to support him because he thought I couldn’t do a 1,200 [ride].” At that time, she’d never cycled over 150 kilometres. “I thought I would show him. How dare he think I wasn’t capable.” Theofanides spent the next 18 months training and ticking off the required qualification rides. She finished PBP with 45 minutes to spare.
In 2019, she and her husband returned. But it was Sally who made the distance when her husband was forced to retire injured. “I’m stubborn.” Riding on her own and right on the 90-hour time limit, she made it with less than 15 minutes to spare. This year, her goal is to finish in around 85 hours, with some sleep – in a bed – not on the side of the road snuggled up to three strangers like last time. People will sleep anywhere, she says. “In doorways, [on] the side of the road, against a tree, where they have fallen off their bike, asleep in their food.”
For PBP aficionado and six-time finisher, Peter Donnan, an ATM cubicle became the place to sleep after succumbing to sleepiness at about the 500-kilometre mark one year. “Carpeted, warm and out of the cold – perfect.” The 68-year-old remembers being followed into the cubicle by two French riders. “In the morning I was awakened by a lady tiptoeing across the bodies, withdrawing cash and leaving without even batting an eyelid.”
Donnan became enchanted with PBP after watching a video of the 1987 event. “I just said, ‘I’m going to do that.’ I hadn’t even ridden 200 kilometres.” The retired IT professional hasn’t forgotten the amazing feeling of satisfaction after finishing his first event in 1991. ‘[I’m] just a normal person, not a particularly good athlete, or any of those things, and yet [I’m] able to do something like that.’
Melbourne nurse Chris Taylor is hoping to add his name to the PBP annals in 2023. He’s attracted by the event’s history and excited by the number of international participants. “Sharing the road, the ride, the experience, with riders from around the world with a similar love for the bike.” He’s also addicted to fun – fun, in retrospect. “You have to persevere to get through it, but looking back, you have a real sense of satisfaction and achievement.”
As Maddison completes his final preparations for France, he too is remembering PBP’s fun side. “An absolute cycling carnival in a cycling mad region of a cycling mad country.” He leans forward as if sharing a secret. “It’s a very special experience.” He recounts the volunteers’ unwavering enthusiasm; the dizzying trail of red tail lights and yellow reflective vests; villages in the throes of all-night parties; French baguettes and custard flans; and of being cheered day and night by adults and children lining the route.
Theofanides shares one of her fondest memories, of an old man sitting on a chair with his oxygen tank clapping the riders as they rode by. When she returned hours later, heading back to Paris, he was still there. Similarly, Donnan recalls being looked in the eye by an old woman as he sat hunched over his bike in the pouring rain. “Bon courage,” she wished him. Those words of encouragement, he says, pushed him to the finish line.
For some, making the trek to France every four years is an irresistible urge to ride in the tyre tracks of those past, for others a chance to discover their limits. But for Theofanides, the draw is a little more simple. “Where else will you find people who are gonna cheer a 57-year-old woman on a bike for crying out loud?”
