10/08/19
52.41 Miles
5:02:40 hrs Moving Time
3,133 ft Gained
10.4 mph Average Speed
My body was finished. My head was finished. Everything was finished.
The only thing that wasn’t finished was the race.
I woke just before 6am with the morning light, a pleasant change to the aggressive tones of my GPS alarm. As 6am passed, 14 days had passed since the start of the race. Exactly 2 weeks ago, over 250 of us we were lined up just off the Black Sea, with a whole continent ahead of us.
I was now 50 miles from Brest, the Atlantic, the finish line and reality.
Although the 14 day target I set myself was a shot in the dark, I got close. Just finishing the race within the time limit was my initial aim and I had done that.
I slowly packed my bags up for the last time of the race and clipped in to my pedals to begin the final 50 miles. Luckily the wind seemed to have died down since the previous night but it was still blowing a hooley.
The rolling hills were a killer in the state my body was in. On any other day they would have been a doddle. I had checked out of the race by now and it was the just angels share of energy pushing me along the finish parcours.
I stopped after a few hours of riding in Sizun, to get some breakfast as my coffee senses had kicked in and a couple of espressos and croissants saw me right.
The constant rushing of the past 2 weeks while going into cafes, fast food places, hotels, toilets, supermarkets was over. This point came to the fore when the woman in front of me in line at the boulangerie decided to order about 7 different loaves of bread and get each one of them sliced. Any other day of the race, this would have seen me rush out of the shop, without anything and sprint away furiously to the next place. Today, I sort of enjoyed the hold up and relished the extra few minutes off the bike, patiently standing in line.
I slumped down on the kerbside, like many other kerbsides of the race and took my time. Eating, drinking and watching the small village come to life as the morning wore on.
For the last 20 miles, I turned off the music, turned off the phone and just took the ride in. It still hadn’t really occurred to me that I was about to finish one of the biggest rides I had ever undertaken.
Summiting the last rise and bearing to the right, I got my first glimpse of the Atlantic and the finish line. The last few miles were all downhill and I freewheeled all the way. Crossing the Plougastel Bridge was the final obstacle the race had in store as I nearly got pushed over into the water with the wind being so strong, I held onto my bars for my life.
Rounding the final few corners, I caught glimpse of my parents, who had come out to see me finish. They weren’t at the finish line, so after a passing hello, I pedalled into the hostel and it was over. The finishing line. The stamp and the end.
I went back outside, took my shoes and socks off and flaked out onto the concrete floor.
My parents had arrived by then and it was great to see them and be able to share the finish line with them. Although im sure I wasnt the greatest of company as sleep deprived blabber had take over my vocal chords.
I cant remember having many overwhelming thoughts or feelings straight after finishing. I was just pleased it was over and I really craved an ice cold beer and to switch off the over active brain I had developed over the last 2 weeks.
I bumped into the guy I had been riding with the previous night, who had finished an hour or so before me and we both congratulated each other on finishing and talked about how crazy the previous night was.
Without much thought, I waddled to the nearest bar with my parents. They treat me to 2 meals and a pint. I had visions of eating and drinking into the afternoon and evening, but struggled to finish the food and the beer, checked into the hotel and flaked out.
My race was finished. I was done.
Jordan Matthews 