nypan skrev:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Snarare Uzbeken eftersom det endast var en av sex
> som startade.
> Och han bröt.
Men han verkar ha haft en underhållande resa i alla fall.
Från Paul Rozelles (mannen som värmde upp inför PBP med att köra de fyra vägarna uppför Mount Ventoux på en fixie) PBP-RR:
PBP: Fougers (306km) to Loudeac (448km)
Back on the road, traffic was sparse. It seemed like a lot of riders
were hunkered down in Tinteniac, not wanting to go back out in the
dark and rain. After a few kilometers, I came upon Pet’r from
Uzbekistan, the only rider from his country at PBP. This guy was
incredible. He was riding a department-store bike. Fat tires. Straight
bars. All kinds of stuff strapped to his bike. He didn’t appear to
have cycling clothes – he was wearing a cycling jersey but the rest of
his kit looked like mountaineering garb. Still, Pet’r was an animal.
He’d stand up and just attack every hill, putting significant distance
into me. He’d pause at the top and we’d ride together until the next
rise, where this would be repeated. We chatted as much as our limited
language skills permitted.
After an hour or so, Pet’r needed to change the batteries in his
light, which was a mountaineering headlamp. I stopped to help him. He
made quick work of the project, after which he pulled out of his bag –
I am not making this up – a 5-pound jar of Uzbek honey that he’d
brought from home. This wasn't a commercial product; it had come right
off some farm. How he’d gotten that through French customs was beyond
me, but it tasted divine. We ate honey together by the side of the
road, in the dark, in the rain, for a few minutes. After a few
spoonfuls each -- he had a large, stainless steel serving spoon as the
delivery device -- he stowed the honey. What else was in that bag? We
soldiered on.
Pet’r was in the 90-hour group, which meant that I was somewhere
between 9 and 11 hours up the road from him. I’d begun to catch 90-
hour riders around Tinteniac. I feared that many of these folks’ rides
were in trouble. They were, or were about to be, declared out of time.
I could not figure out why Pet’r was in this situation. He was making
great time on the bike, was in high spirits, and had made quick,
professional work of his battery change. I was determined to keep
riding with this guy. If anyone deserved to finish PBP, I thought that
he did.
[snip]
Pet’r and I ate together at Quedilliac, but somewhere before Loudeac
(448km) we parted ways. He’d slowed down quite a bit. Perhaps the
honey buzz had worn off; more likely he’d had little sleep on Sunday
night and was working on 36 hours without real rest. As much as I
wanted to keep pace with him and support him, I had to let him go and
continue on. I was already hours behind where I wanted to be. As it
was, I’d either be getting very little sleep or I’d be departing the
overnight control late, neither of which was a great idea.
[snip, fram till uppvaknande i Loudeac]
I was dutifully awoken at 6:30am and marched off to the cafeteria to
eat again. You just can’t eat enough on these rides. Pet’r was there,
absorbed in conversation with a Russian rider. We greeted each other
and said our goodbyes. I figured he must be DNF’ing to still be there,
which was sad. He was clearly enjoying himself, though, which is what
this is all about, after all.
