Randonneur newcomer and dedicated sandal-wearer Maile Neel recounts her first PBP.
by Maile Neel
I knew PBP would be difficult and that it would push my physical and mental limits. Yet, I underestimated what riding 1200k pretty much continuously for 4 days would take. This endeavor was by far the hardest combined physical and emotional thing I have done. I apologize in advance: I have become one of those people who drives me crazy. Last January when I first heard people talking endlessly of this PBP thang I would think to myself: “Puuhlease Spaaaare me. How can you go over, and over, and over all of this self-absorbed minutia?” Now, I go over, and over, and over all of this self-absorbed minutia and I thoroughly enjoy it anew each time. And now I am inflicting it on you!
Lowell (aka Col. Grubbs) and I arrived in France on Friday, a few days behind most other DCRand folks. We were the only DCRand members staying at the Relais de Voisin, and due to its remote location Lowell appointed himself to be my body guard and escort for our social forays into town. I, in return, enrolled Lowell as the first participant in the patent pending Neel Endurance Excellence Training Program.
We both had enough miles in our legs and back sides to accomplish PBP so my training regimen focused on massive carbo loading and pre-ride sleep deprivation. The daily routine included a big breakfast at the hotel with lots of coffee, packing and unpacking bike gear, a 45 minute walk into town for lunch at Le Merina (huge sandwiches, plate of fries, and beer) followed by a stop at the nearby patisserie for pastries. We kept thinking we would branch out to other eating establishments but when push came to shove, we could not find a good reason to, as we became very fond of the sandwiches and beer at Le Merina.
After lunch we would walk back to the hotel to fawn over our bikes, pack and unpack bike bags once again, and talk with our hotel mates about hopes and plans for PBP. Somebody would mention what they were or were not carrying on the ride and the wave of need would cause another round of packing and unpacking. Are you carrying that much? Do you really think you need a drop bag? How could you get by without a drop bag? Aren’t you bringing one of those? Do I need that? Maybe I need that. No, I don’t need that. Do I?
Confident once again with our gear and packing choices, around dinner time we would walk back into town to eat and drink more with everyone who had actually booked accommodations early enough to be staying in more centrally located hotels. We tended to get back to our hotel a tad bit late due to extended walks that usually included the conversation: “I don’t recognize this, do you?” and “No, nothing looks familiar.” I assured the Colonel that this navigation practice was definitely part of his training.
After three days of this intensive routine, we were ready to start with the 90 hour group on Monday night; the first wave of 500 riders left at 9:30 p.m. but we did not go until 10:30. Lowell and I met up with 4 friends from New Jersey (Jon, Paul, George, and … Lenny) to have dinner and start the ride together. After standing in a huge line for dinner, we stood in a huge line to assemble at the Gymnasium and we spent the next 2 plus hours moving slowly around the track to the exit with nerves jumping and adrenalin pumping. It was fun to look around at all the different bikes and gear to see all the different ways people were planning to get PBP done. The 3 inch diameter lights one couple had on their helmets, people with backpacks, and the last minute cigarette before the start were some of the more novel.
The rain started shortly before we left, making everyone scramble to put on rain gear. We tried to start the ride with LynnAnne from Minnesota but we lost her before we even crossed the start line. I was supposed to start with Linda Gaudette but was never able to find her the day of the ride.
Pulling out to lots of fanfare including fireworks and cheering crowds lining the streets made the otherwise daunting late night start in the rain downright festive. Quickly we were out of town and winding through the countryside in the night; bikes spread out a bit which made the riding much less dangerous than I had feared. The rain stopped for a while and as we rode along there was a long string of red tail lights glowing as far as the eye could see. Very cool.
Lowell and I were separated from the others within an hour or so. O.K., I’ll admit it. After taking a hit off my flask of espresso Hammergel I was lured into drafting off Douglas from New Zealand who was flying along on the flats. Despite knowing we had a long way to go, tucking in behind him for a wild ride was just too good to pass up while it lasted. I was sane enough to drop off and go back to cruise mode after a bit. The rain started up again with a vengeance and it poured on us most of the rest of night.
Just after the food stop at Mortagne au Perche both of my front headlights shorted out. These were my very expensive new Ixon headlights bought specially because they were so tough and reliable. At first I thought that changing the batteries might solve the problem. As we looked for a place to pull over for the light fix I asked Lowell to confirm my vague memory that it was really smart to work with batteries in the rain. He could not support this me on this. Furthermore, the battery swap did not work. Lowell loaned me his spare CatEye and that got me through the ride. If not for Lowell my ride would have been over before the first controle.
The light swap would have gone a little more smoothly had I not taken advice from my friend George to use electrical tape to secure everything to my bike to prevent turning expensive gear into debris as we ride over the cobblestones on the way out of town. I can now vouch for the fact that if you wrap things in nearly a whole roll of tape, they will not come off under any circumstance. Even when you want them to. Probably especially when you want them to. Probably especially when you want them to in the dark in the pouring rain.
Despite the light issues, we were in good spirits; we were having a blast babbling on telling endless stories and we were making great time. Our oft repeated mantra from a previous brevet was a gleeful, “We get to ride our bikes ALL DAY.” This had turned into, “We get to ride our bikes ALL WEEK,” and then into, “We get to ride our bikes ALL WEEK IN THE RAIN.” By sun up, however, Lowell’s intestines had gone on hyperduty. After quizzing him, I found the likely source of his distress was that he had deviated from his training regimen by skipping his afternoon beer on Monday. You have to watch these guys like a hawk. Well, he paid for it. As he rode more slowly and started his Tour de WC, I would go ahead and then wait for him at the next controle.
Riding along the road with people from all over the world was a blast. I would see a lot of the same people over and over so I felt like I got to know them – or at least their bikes and their riding kit. Some of my favorites were Tal from Israel (one of only 2 Israelis to finish), Justin on his recumbent (remarkable for having eyes in the back of his head, even if they were covered by his helmet), Don from England (attempting his 5th PBP), Audrey from California, Pam from Texas, and Art the elevator man from California.
Seeing all the DCRand friends as well as my friend Lara from Minnesota along the way was fun and inspiring. She was always ahead of me usually leaving controles as I got in. At one controle she came in after us because she had napped on the side of the road and we had not yet stopped for sleep. As I was asking her how she was doing, a male rider just behind her made pedaling motions with his hands, rolled his eyes, and shook his head indicating how strong she had been on the road. Go Lara!
In addition to other riders, the people cheering us on from the side of the road at all times of the day and night were great inspiration – the fact that they were yelling for (rather than at) us was awesome. I chose to believe they were offering encouraging words and I always thanked them. After a while I realized they could be saying things like, “You crazy fool, don’t you know enough to get out of the rain?” or “Silly American, it is 3 in the morning. Why are you on your bike instead of curled up in some nice warm bed?” But given my lack of ability to understand French, I chose to believe the best and I always replied, “Merci,” with a big grin on my face.
Memories of other riders and these people are much stronger now than the memories of feelings of fatigue or pain I felt at the time. Three onsite people deserve special mention for the emotional support they provided. Ruth and Marcia who were supporting Tom Reeder and Julie who was supporting her husband Bruce were ABSOLUTE angels. They greeted us at every controle with such enthusiasm it was overwhelming. Even though they were cheering lots of folks on, they made me feel like I had my own little fan club that cheered for me and hugged me every 50 miles.
There was also awesome support and cheering from afar. Text messages exchanged with Lesley B. at every controle were essential to keeping me focused and connected. Awesomely encouraging emails from Sue K., Helen F. and Lesley C. with subject lines telling me to keep pedaling and sending encouragement from Marie, Roz and Shelly were, well, awesome. I have never experienced anything like the support these people provided.
By the time Lowell and I hit Fougeres we had hooked up with Michigan Mike who was riding with the DC group. The three of us had dinner at a pub (o.k., dinner was a big plate of fries but it was all Lowell could tolerate and I couldn’t seem to think of anything else that sounded good). After dinner I rode with Mike to Loudeac. Lowell and his intestinal hitchhikers cruised along behind us. When Lowell got in he told me to quit waiting for him at controles – don’t believe the story he tells now of me abandoning him on the battlefield! He slept there while Mike and I rode through the rest of the night. We slept 2-2.5 hours when we got to Carhaix at ~0730 Wednesday. Mike had booked a hotel room here and they had an extra one for me that some faster riders had already vacated. We ate a quick breakfast – and I mean quick… as we pulled back onto the road to Brest a crepe was still hanging out of my mouth.
It was a stunningly beautiful sunny morning and we made good time on the climbs on the way to Brest. Coming down from Roc Trevezel we passed Lothar who was already climbing back to Carhaix. We exchanged hellos and I yelled happy birthday at him but did not stop to talk.
Crossing the bridge into Brest was really emotional and I shed more than a few tears. We had actually made it 600k. For a moment it felt like we were almost done – then it occurred to me that in fact this was the farthest I had ever ridden in one ride and I had to do it all over again to get back to Paris. We stopped and took a few pictures and a French couple took photos of the Mike and I and our trusty steeds.
After climbing the short but wicked hills up to the controle, we checked in, chatted with Dave Gaudette a bit and then left to find a place to get a sandwich and pastries. Soon we were back on the road for the return to Carhaix. We met three nice Canadian guys sporting awesome reflective vests with maple leafs at our food stop (Dick, Rolf, and I think Carl?). The stretch to and from Brest was the sunniest part of the whole PBP. It was the only time I had my raincoat off until the very last stage. We rode much of this stretch chatting with Ed Felker, the person who introduced me to this whole business in the first place. I can still say thanks Ed!
Mike and I stayed together most of the rest of the ride. He was a great riding partner and we worked hard to keep each moving forward safely. Early in our time together I said we needed to keep talking through the nights to make sure we were both awake not getting loopier than the baseline for two people who would ride 1200k on their bike in 90 hours. For example, when it is 2 a.m. and raining on some dark little French country road and your headlights illuminate some guy peddling backwards, or you see a big white rabbit on the side of the road it is really nice to be able to have the conversation: “Did you see that?”, “Yeah.”, “O.K. Good.” with someone other than yourself.
I would like the record to reflect that despite the fact that by the time we saw the rabbit, logic and proportion had, indeed, fallen sloppy dead, the rabbit was simply nibbling grass and he did not stand up and start belting out ‘Feed your head’. He did keep referring to Mike as ‘Elwood’, but I didn’t know what that was about so we just rode on. Our conversations generated a couple of funny moments. On the way out to Loudeac, during one of the very few times I was the one talking, we were riding by a group and from the darkness I hear a woman’s voice with a New Zealand accent say, “That’s Maile”. It was my first Carol Bell encounter of the ride. We chatted for a while then lost them again in the dark.
About this same time two guys from New England announced that they were behind us and they hoped we didn’t mind them drafting. I said certainly not, that we were going a comfortable pace and were not working all that hard and had to move forward anyway so they were welcome to hang on for a ride. We had a really pleasant stretch or riding with them. It is funny to have had such a nice encounter and to have experienced nothing more than two voices in the dark. Much later that night we come across some people out in the middle of nowhere, and out of the dark we hear, “You guys are STILL talking????”
If it is 4 a.m. Thursday morning, and it is pouring rain, it must be Loudeac again. This is where we got our next bit of sleep: two hours on cots in a huge cold room full of riders. But these conditions were palatial compared to those experienced by many people; there ere bodies sleeping everywhere at and between controles: on tables, under tables, on floors, outside in the rain (with and without space blankets). It would be impossible to adequately convey the scenes; they were otherworldly and at the same time they quickly became ‘normal’.
You know you are not at the peak of the bell curve when you look at some lycra-clad guy sleeping on a bench in a bus stop out in the middle of nowhere with no covers or sleeping bag of any kind and think, “Wow, that guy scored!” because there is a small roof that blocks at least some of the rain. And then you see the people sleeping in the little room with the ATM at the local bank and you are both jealous of their great fortune and in awe of their brilliance.
We lucked out at Loudeac and happened to hit a time where there was no wait for cots. The sleep was good, but it was more than minorly shocking to try and figure out why some strange man was standing over me in the dark shaking me. I am sure he saw the panic in my eyes and he kept repeating something in French, pointing at his watch and at a paper clock with movable hands, showing me that he was waking me up at the time I had requested. After realizing where I was, I went about the really fun job of putting wet clothes back on and heading out into the cold, dark, rainy morning to pedal some more. After a good warm breakfast of course.
At breakfast I used my PDA to see what controles Lowell had reached. The Website was not playing nicely with my PDA and I was getting frustrated because I wanted to know where he was, but I also wanted to get on the road. Someone asked me what I was doing and then Mike pointed out that Lowell was sleeping with his head down on the table immediately behind me. Later I learned Lowell had almost drowned in his mashed potatoes at that very table. I don’t know which one of us came in and walked right by the other one without noticing. I didn’t have the heart to wake him up and we needed to hit the road. At least I knew he was still in the ride and he was not far behind us.
The sections heading to Tinteniac and then Fougeres were exceptionally fun because we picked up two of the Jersey boys (Paul and Jon) for a short bit as well as some other friends including Mary Crawley and Jeff Bauer on their tandem. The fact that it was daylight did not hurt either. I still felt physically strong and mentally focused despite the overall lack of sleep. O.K., maybe it was that I picked up my second flask of espresso Hammergel from my drop bag at Loudeac.
Despite my replenished stock of jet fuel, I hit a low energy point just before coming into the controle at Fougeres (where did that last hill come from and how did it get so steep?). Can you say, “Don’t chase the tandem?” On our way out of town we stopped in a very warm patisserie for the most awesome baguettes with camembert, cafe au lait, and pastries filled with chocolate (I can’t remember the name of the pastries but Mike told me it is something religious and they were definitely a religious experience). The world instantly looked like a better place. The woman running the shop let us use the restroom and fill our bottles. I was so tired of being wet and cold that it was hard to leave but we were fortified and it was time to move on. I had Mike teach me enough French to tell the woman I loved her. And I did.
After Villaines, the ride turned emotionally south for me. It was our fourth night riding all night in the rain. Up until this point the ride was an intense personal endurance challenge but it was really fun. A big part of this type of riding for me is accepting what comes and persevering. So the weather we experienced just was as it was. The lack of time for sleep just was as it was. I can either spend energy fighting reality, or use my energy constructively — i.e. pedal forward; or as Lowell would say: shut up and ride.
Coming into Villaines people had started to do really dangerous things on the road and it got worse going to Mortagne. From the start, many riders were not calling out hazards, not checking over their shoulders before moving left or right, and were just generally not so big on spatial awareness. This was irritating at the early on, but became increasingly dangerous as sleep deprivation set in.
Because of concerns about missing the time cutoff in Mortagne, people were riding when they should have been sleeping. We saw, heard, or came upon a number of accidents and saw some crazy behavior. People were riding all the way to the left of our lane, and one was even riding to the left of the oncoming lane. There was no attempt to move over even an inch to let us pass. People would stop in the road straddling their bike and take a nap collapsed over the handlebars. It was like the night of the living dead on bicycles. At this point the ride went from an awesome challenge to just downright dangerous and I was really concerned that we were going to get hurt even though we were relatively alert and riding safely. It was hard for me to keep my mood up. I was relieved to make it to Mortagne.
I decided to put my head down on a table for a bit at Mortagne because right before we got in the road started going in and out of focus in a most hallucinatory way. The nap worked to revive me and we were off again for Dreux. However, Mike was too courteous to let me know that he was not going nap at Mortagne and my siesta cut into his forward momentum, plus he did not get any rest. There were some tough miles between Mortagne and Dreux including our only flat of the trip. Just after telling Mike I wanted to stick together to make sure we both got in safely, he dropped back and I rode ahead during a panic attack that I might DNF. I had convinced myself that I was more concerned with safety than getting in within 90 hours. But when I actually faced the possibility of a DNF, I blitzed. Sorry Mike! Of course blitz is relative here. I remember ‘flying’ along as fast as I could on a flat, sucking wind, looking down and seeing 12.9 mph on the speedometer. Now that is getting nowhere fast.
It was during this mad rush that I caught Ed and choked out a tearful explanation that I was a total scoundrel because I had left Mike behind after he had waited for me at Mortagne and that I was going to DNF anyway and Mike was going to ride into a ditch because he was so tired. Ed calmed me down and convinced me we both would make it and make it safely. After a short bit, a fast paceline containing Paul and Jon went by I latched on and flew into Dreux at about 24 mph. Paul and Jon reported that Mike had been with them for a while so I knew he was still o.k. The pace, the drafting, and the Mike sighting improved my mood. When Mike got into Dreux I had a sandwich and Perpetuem waiting for him, got him water and gels so that he was able to leave with Paul, Jon and I for a leisurely final stage.
Before the ride started I was really concerned about starting at night 500 people. It never occurred to me that the finish was the really dangerous part. We were near the unadjusted 90-hour cutoff so many semi-panicked, sleep deprived zombies were converging on one spot. At the very end we had a motorcycle escort that tried to get people to reduce their speed and stick together but it was like herding cats on wheels. The bizarre end of the ride was we made it back in one piece with no accidents, but as I was getting off my bike a guy who was in a hurry to get by pushed me over and I went down hard right in front of the door into the final controle. Nice!
Riding this distance had a truly bizarre effect on my space-time continuum. I am not sure how time can both compress and telescope simultaneously. It probably defies some basic laws of physics, but it really happened. The world is as small the patch of asphalt right in front of you or the distance to the wheel in front of you. At the same moment it is also as big as the distance between you and the next controle, and between you and Paris. The time is now, and at the same time it both stretches on endlessly and ticks away mercilessly as you pedal and take care of the few essential functions you can manage. Sleep deprivation contributes to the feeling, but trying to come to terms with who was where when was a huge factor in generating confusion.
We were like one huge amorphous mass of humanity moving on one path with one purpose. At first we were all moving one direction and then for a while as the faster people were coming back from Brest there was an ebb and flow. People appeared and then they would be off on their own mission as quickly as they had intersected my awareness. When someone who had passed me 3 controles before would come up from behind, or I would overtake someone who I had passed long before I would be mystified. What is faster is slower, what is ahead is behind, and what is before is now after. If you didn’t ride, don’t even ask. If you did ride, you don’t have to ask; you just know.
A big part of this altered space time continuum relates to not knowing where the time went. Although I am just entirely pleased to have finished at all, finishing a 90 hour ride with about an hour to spare is cutting it a tad close given that I was fortunate to have no mechanical or health issues. Due more to inexperience than confidence, on previous brevets my strategy has been rather casual. At any particular controle, I look at the next closing time and simply try to increase my time cushion. Although this strategy had never failed me, I figured I should put just a bit more planning effort into doing a 1200k.
Prior to heading to France I had obsessively played with a spreadsheet Steve Matney had developed for Andrea to plan her riding pace, times at controles, and time off the bike between controles. I wanted to understand exactly how slow I could ride and still finish in time. If I ride 12 miles an hour, I can make it. If I ride 14 mph I can get a couple hours sleep and maybe eat somewhere along the way. If I ride 15.5 miles an hour for one stage I can… you get the picture.
During the ride I exceeded my pace estimates in all stages but one; on the way out to Brest I was substantially above my estimates. It was one of my strongest rides ever – one of those times when the stars just align in the right way. However as time went on I was cutting it closer and closer to controle closing times. It was perplexing; and although I did not have a lot of brain power to devote to figuring it out, I had a lot of time for the neurons to fire on the problem but still had no resolution. Time just seemed to evaporate. Although I see photographic evidence to the contrary, it always seemed to be night and always seemed to be raining. I do remember taking time to talk with lots of people at controles rather than missioning back onto the road. If that is what took the extra time I would do exactly the same thing if I had it to do it over again. Those conversations made the ride and gave me the emotional energy to keep going and going.
Shortly after we got in at the finish we spotted Lowell. After everything he had been through he got in about 45 minutes after us. What a rock star. We went to the food tent for drinks where I realized very quickly that I could not even follow simple conversations. As long as I was pedaling I had the illusion I was in decent shape. When multi-tasking was required (i.e., standing, talking, and drinking a soda), things were not so easy. Arrangements were made for dinner (social plans… that I could still follow) and it was time to go get cleaned up. Getting back on the bike and riding to the hotel was the very hardest part of the whole four days. Ouch.
I am sure I was quite a sight when I got to the hotel. I had not been dry since Monday night. I had not combed my hair since Wednesday morning. Once I took off my tight shoes and lycra clothes, things that had been held in place for days very quickly expanded in ways I have never before experienced. My feet grew so much both vertically and horizontally that I didn’t think I was going to be able to walk. But walk I did, dragging my loyal and trustworthy bodyguard back into town for a very fun post ride dinner with the Jersey Boys, Michigan Mike, Nick, George, Matt, Mary C. and Jeff, and others I am sure I am forgetting. After dinner and a walk back home (without detours) it was straight to bed, sleeping with feet up on the wall.
At 1330 the next day, when I finally became conscious again (this is of course a relative use of the word conscious), Andy from Alaska led me to a market where I could get some food. Then, I had two large café au laits before I could manage packing my bike. Chris from Ohio and Lowell decided to pull up chairs to watch the dismantling, which had to be completed in an hour if I was to try to make the celebration dinner — not the kind of pressure my addled brain and non-functional left hand needed. But I mostly got it done and was cleaned up and ready to party when the bus pulled up. Seeing everyone at the dinner was great for filling in the memory gaps and for hearing of everyone’s incredible stories of determination and fortitude.
The next day we all loaded up on the bus to return to the airport. Lowell and I shared my iPod headphones and had a 5 a.m. rock out session listening to Gimme Shelter and White Rabbit before I nodded off into a drool-inducing sleep. The rest of the trip home was uneventful except for the ever-increasing size my ankles became and the cough that I was developing. By the time I hit Boston it was a straight shot down from my calves to my feet and I was pretty sick. My bike and suitcase took their time getting home. In contrast to the folks whose things went missing on the way over, I felt lucky that my friend Lesley who picked me up did not need to endure the stench of my rain and sweat soaked riding gear during our drive home.
Returning to work Monday morning made me feel like an utter hero. Lots of hugs, smiles, and tears were exchanged. My friends and colleagues had been tracking my progress through controles and knew more about my whereabouts during the ride than I did. It was fun to relive the adventure with them and hear what was going on with them while I was pedaling. The hemorrhoid inflatable donut that had appeared on my office chair was especially appreciated but by some miracle was not needed.
The more I hear about what happened to other people on the ride the more I realize how incredibly fortunate I was and the more I admire and respect all of my randonneuring friends for their strength and courage.
A few key things I learned:
–Trader Joe’s antioxidant berry trail mix fortified with M&Ms makes great on-the-bike food. But it works better if you don’t eat a pound and a half of the mix while you are still at home packing up your bike.
–Sanitary waste bags from the Mercure Hotel make great improvisational toe covers when your real ones are sitting on the kitchen floor at home (thanks to Jon and Paul for recognizing this potential and supplying the bags).
–When you finish PBP, do not fill the bathtub too full. After all you have been through, it would be a real bummer to drown when you fall asleep in the tub trying to get four days worth of sweat, pig dung, and slug guts off of you. And you would miss a great post ride dinner.
–Book a second hotel room after the finish because you will definitely not want to share a room with your clothes.
–When you feel like you are ‘all that’ because your leg muscles do not even hurt or feel glycogen depleted after riding 1200k, let your ego relax. First of all, most of your muscle fibers have simply vaporized. Second, the nerves running to the few remaining fibers simply gave up firing pain signals to your brain days ago after you continually ignored them.
Most importantly, I learned that my friends are simply the best in the world. The absolute best.
Lowell Grubbs and I compiled the following list of songs that express much of our PBP experience - 89 songs for nearly 89 hours of riding. The first few songs relate to the festive pre-ride atmosphere that was filled with old and new friends, sharing a love of all things bike and all our hopes for a great ride. The Tears for Fears song 'Mad World' starts the ride off in fine fashion. This became our PBP theme song after we found the YouTube video 'Downside of the 80's' which uses it as the soundtrack. For this reason we also use Mad World to close out the whole extravaganza.
NameArtistLust For LifeIggy Pop
|Lovely To See You||The Moody Blues|
|El Perfume De Paris||La Misma Gente|
|Shiny Happy People||R.E.M. Feat. Kate Pearson|
|I Know You Rider||Hot Tuna|
|These Are Days||10,000 Maniacs|
|Mad World||Tears for Fears|
|Bring It On||Seal|
|Embryonic Journey||Jefferson Airplane|
|Journey To The Center Of The Mind||The Amboy Dukes|
|Journey of the Sorcerer||Eagles|
|Like The Weather||10,000 Maniacs|
|Buckets Of Rain||Bob Dylan|
|Have You Ever Seen The Rain?||Creedence Clearwater Revival|
|You Love the Thunder||Jackson Browne|
|Early Morning Rain||Gordon Lightfoot|
|Shelter From The Storm||Bob Dylan|
|Gimme Shelter||The Rolling Stones|
|Who’ll Stop The Rain||Creedence Clearwater Revival|
|A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall||Bob Dylan|
|Riders On The Storm||The Doors|
|Before the Deluge||Jackson Browne|
|Here Comes The Flood||Peter Gabriel|
|Against the Wind||Bob Seger & the Silver Bullet Band|
|Box Of Rain||Grateful Dead|
|Black Hole Sun||Soundgarden|
|Ain’t No Sunshine||Bill Withers|
|Sunshine Of Your Love||Cream|
|I Can See Clearly||Johnny Nash|
|The Road and the Sky||Jackson Browne|
|Take It Easy||Jackson Browne|
|On the Road Again||The Lovin’ Spoonful|
|Two Hghways||Alison Krauss & Union Station|
|Goin’ Down the Road Feeling Bad||Grateful Dead|
|Up Around The Bend||Creedence Clearwater Revival|
|The Race Is On||Grateful Dead|
|Long, Long Way From Home||Foreigner|
|Roadhouse Blues||The Doors|
|Side O’ The Road||Creedence Clearwater Revival|
|Wasn’t Born to Follow||Carole King|
|The Long and Winding Road||Paul McCartney|
|Carefree Highway||Gordon Lightfoot|
|Everyday Is A Winding Road||Sheryl Crow|
|Thunder Road||Bruce Springsteen|
|Country Road||James Taylor|
|Many a Long & Lonesome Highway||Rodney Crowell|
|Eternity Road||The Moody Blues|
|Space Truckin’||Deep Purple|
|Free Ride||Edgar Winter|
|Let It Ride||Bachman-Turner Overdrive|
|Magic Carpet Ride (Single)||Steppenwolf|
|Bad Moon Rising||Creedence Clearwater Revival|
|Don’t Let the Sun Go Down On Me||Elton John|
|Prove It All Night||Bruce Springsteen|
|Darkest Hour Is Just Before Dawn||Emmylou Harris|
|Till The Morning Comes||Grateful Dead|
|One Too Many Mornings||Joan Baez|
|Spinning Wheel||Blood, Sweat & Tears|
|The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy)||Simon & Garfunkel|
|The Windmills of Your Mind||Dusty Springfield|
|Many A Mile To Freedom||Traffic|
|You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere||Bob Dylan|
|Can’t Get There from Here||R.E.M.|
|Can’t Find My Way Home||Blind Faith|
|Take the Long Way Home||Supertramp|
|Mama Told Me||Three Dog Night|
|Out Of My Mind||Buffalo Springfield|
|White Rabbit||Jefferson Airplane|
|Hang On To Your Life||The Guess Who|
|25 or 6 to 4||Chicago|
|It Only Hurts When I Cry||Dwight Yoakam|
|Comfortably Numb||Pink Floyd|
|American Tune||Paul Simon|
|Ride Like the Wind||Christopher Cross|
|Take It to the Limit||Eagles|
|Roll With It||Steve Winwood|
|Long May You Run||Neil Young with Stephen Stills|
|Free Man In Paris||Joni Mitchell|
|I Just Want to Celebrate||Rare Earth|
|Feelin’ Alright||Joe Cocker|
|Feelin’ Stronger Every Day||Chicago|
|Mad World||Tears for Fears|
|Best Friend||The English Beat|