Food was a major reason that I wanted to participate in Paris-Brest-Paris because I love food and France, of course, is a culinary paradise.
Paris-Brest-Paris is a veritable United Nations of cyclists. It’s our Olympics, our signature event where we proudly converge in solidarity of our international randonneurhood.
Rour friends shouting your name (or good-naturedly heckling you) at an amateur race is one thing; it’s an entirely different experience when you’re riding Paris-Brest-Paris.
Just as Paris-Brest-Paris draws a diverse gathering of randonneurs from around the globe, it’s fitting that an endurance event that pushes individuals to their extreme limits also attracts a wild range of human-powered machines.
In the early hours of a Sunday afternoon in August, 300 or so of us randonneurs in the 5:30PM “G” group left the suburban confines and cheering crowds of St. Quentin-en-Yvelines bound for Brest. The concrete homes soon gave way to the rolling terrain of countryside.