Race across France 2024

Almost a year ago, I crossed the finish line of the Race across France 2023 after 6 days, 20 hours, and 42 minutes of racing. Without a doubt, it was the most difficult race I have ever participated in, marking a turning point both in sports and personal terms.

I had already participated in several races between 500 and 1000 km, achieving decent results but never being competitive at the front. My only goal in 2023 was to finish in under 7 days, which I eventually achieved in 6 days, 20 hours, and 42 minutes, securing a surprising 12th place. An encouraging result, although the winner finished nearly 30 hours ahead of me.

This journey across France was a real emotional roller coaster, condensing into a few days what one usually experiences over several months or even years. Ultra-cycling is a kind of accelerated learning, forcing us to face our demons. It’s exhausting but enriching, and you come out of it stronger and wiser. It’s an addictive feeling.

The Race across France 2023 was also a sporting revelation. Since I started cycling in 2021, I thought I could never be truly competitive due to my physique. Weighing 100 kg and never having had a particular affinity for endurance sports, I was already satisfied finishing in the top 10 of various ultra races. But this race showed me that performance in ultra-distance cycling depends on many factors, not just strength or sleep. The victory of Victor Bouscavet, who finished nearly 9 hours ahead, was particularly revealing. Despite his young age and limited experience, he planned and anticipated every aspect of his race with disconcerting calm. His victory opened my eyes to the different components of performance in ultra-cycling.

The Preparation

In October, after a few weeks of reflection on the summer of 2023, I began planning for 2024 with a clear goal: to win the Race across France 2500km. Here is my schedule:

• Race across Paris 300km in April
• Race across Belgium 500km in May
• Race across France 2500km in June
• Swiss Ultracycling Challenge 1000km in September

To improve my performance, I contacted Loïc Lepoutre, a sports coach, who agreed to train me starting in November 2023. I also improved my nutrition, losing 8kg in two and a half months.

Mentally, I have been working with Dr. Mattia Piffaretti, a sports psychology specialist, since December. He helps me better manage my emotions and stay stable during the race.

Finally, I meticulously planned the race, identifying over 600 points of interest (supermarkets, cemeteries, bakeries, etc.) and establishing a precise strategy. I estimated my passage times for each segment of the race, hoping to stay focused on achievable goals.

Route

This year, the route includes 8000m less positive elevation gain, totaling 2588km and 31000m of elevation gain. The first 700km are flat, followed by crossings of the Massif Central, the Pyrenees, and Mont Ventoux before arriving in Mandelieu. The route can be divided into several distinct segments:

Race Rules

The race is semi-autonomous with 7 life bases where it is possible to sleep and refuel. There are two life bases with drop bags at Anglet (km 1432) and Pézenas (km 2066). There is a mandatory stop time of 4 hours every 36 hours.

Bike

Following my fall in Paris in April, I built a new bike with available parts. After posture studies, I am finally comfortable with my setup. I travel light, without a sleeping mat, and have added a 2L water bladder to my frame bag, bringing my capacity to 3.2L to minimize stops. I also installed a plastic bin on the cockpit to easily store food. These additions were successfully tested during the Race across Belgium. I am confident in my configuration, which offers space and flexibility while remaining light. I have 3 rear lights and 3 front lights for good nighttime visibility. The more you see, the faster you go!

Strategy

My goal is to finish the race in just over 5 and a half days, more than 24 hours less than in 2023. It’s ambitious, but I am convinced it is doable. After analyzing my performance last year in detail, I deduced that my main problem was stop times. In 2023, I stopped for nearly 39 hours in total, but among those hours, I only slept for 12 hours, so I was stopped for 27 hours. Sure, you need to eat, shop, prepare your things, go to bed, go to the bathroom, or sometimes just stop. But 27 hours is way too much; I wasted a lot of time and need to address that to improve my performance.

To do this, I set a goal that 50% of my total stop time must be dedicated to sleep. If I had been able to adhere to this rule in 2023, I would have reduced my race time by 15 hours, which would have already placed me in 4th place. I am aware that this will be difficult to maintain, but it at least gives me a simple goal to remember. In 2023, I rode an average of 18.5 hours a day, so I spent 5.5 hours stopped on average, which is too much. I decide to set a goal of riding 20.5 hours a day, which would imply a total daily stop time of 3.5 hours and leave me with 1 hour and 45 minutes of sleep per day.

Based on my average speed in 2023 (19.8 km/h), the route, and my progress, I estimate that I should be able to maintain an average speed of 22 km/h over the entire race. If I manage to stick to this average speed and my daily goals, it should take me about 137 hours to finish the race (117 hours of cycling, 20 hours of total stop time including 10 hours of sleep), or 5 days and 18 hours. Given the route and results of recent years, this should be a competitive time for the win.

This defines my goals in broad terms. The whole thing is ambitious but also realistic. Since I am not reducing my daily stop time, I know it’s a sleep rhythm I can maintain for a week. I also know that physically, I am better than last year and that the route suits me better; improving my average speed by 10% should be doable without too much trouble. The most challenging part will be reducing my daily stop time by 2 hours. To achieve this, I need to anticipate my stops as much as possible to minimize them. Up to Anglet, I plan all my stops and their duration, whether for sleep or resupply in water and food. I know exactly where and how I will resupply over the first 1400 kilometers. I learned during the SUCH 2023 (39h40 of racing with only 1h45 of total stop time) that planning, at least for me, is time-saving. I will replicate my approach for this Race across France and attempt to control every aspect of my race in detail up to Anglet. I divide my race into two parts: from Lille to Anglet and from Anglet to Mandelieu.

I am well aware that among the competitors vying for the win, I will be the slowest in the mountains, so I need to capitalize on the flatter segments of the route. I spare you the intermediate steps, but after considering the various elements at my disposal, I define the following race strategy:

• Bike Block 1 (Lille - Massif Central): 800km in 30h with 1h of break, departure Thursday 21:26, arrival Saturday morning.
• Sleep Block 1: Sleep for 3h in a hotel at the entrance to the Massif Central, total break of 3.5h.
• Bike Block 2 (Massif Central - Anglet): 650km in 28h with 1h of break, departure Saturday morning, arrival Sunday morning.
• Sleep Block 2: Retrieve my drop bag at the life base, sleep for 3h in a hotel in Anglet, total break of 4h.

This plan should allow me to reach Anglet after just over 60 hours of racing and should, in principle, allow me to leave in the lead in the Pyrenees after a good block of sleep in Anglet.

For what comes after Anglet, I have not gone into detail regarding the strategy, as it will depend on the situation in Anglet and whether I manage to stick to the initial plan. In any case, I have studied the route and identified and mapped all points of interest on this second part of the route, so it will simply be a matter of organizing accordingly. So, the goal is to reach Anglet as quickly as possible, ideally in the lead, and then adjust the strategy for the second part of the race accordingly!

The Grand Start

It's Thursday, June 20th, and I've been in Lille for a few days now. We drove here on Monday with Antoine and Fabien, two friends who are also participating in this edition of the RAF, to spend a few relaxing days in an apartment to rest and prepare for the race as best as possible. It's a pleasant luxury to be able to take our time before such a race and not have to arrive on the day and prepare everything at the last minute in a rush. These last few days we haven't really done anything; we didn't even go to see Lille, which is almost a shame. We've spent our time sleeping, eating, talking about the race, and preparing our gear. It was really nice, especially since Fabien and Antoine are great guys. But the rest is over; the day of the grand start is finally here.

The start will take place at the B-Twin Village, the headquarters of Decathlon, the main partner of the Race across France. We arrive there around 11 am and begin the usual pre-race routine of the Race Across events: bike checks, drop bag deposits, briefing, pasta party... This is already my sixth Race Across event in two years, and I'm starting to get used to this routine!

One topic of discussion dominates: the weather. The forecast for the first few days is not very encouraging. We expect some showers the first night, followed by heavy rain the next day and downpours on Saturday in the Massif Central. In short, it's likely that we'll spend a good part of the first two days soaked. Although I don't particularly enjoy the rain, it doesn't bother me too much. It's mainly about taking care of your body and bike and being able to dry off once the rain stops. The only good news on the weather front is that we should benefit from a tailwind for most of the first night.

As the B-Twin Village begins to fill with participants, I realize the scale of the event. This becomes particularly evident during the briefing held in a massive conference room, bringing together nearly 250 riders. To date, there probably aren't many other ultra-cycling events of such magnitude in terms of logistics and organization. It's impressive and pleasing to see. This sport and this event are growing.

With the briefing and pasta party over, I have about two hours left before my scheduled start at 9:26 pm. I take the opportunity to close my eyes for a few minutes, stretch, and mentally prepare for what will be nearly six days of effort. Six days. It's going to be long, it's going to be tough, but I'm really excited. Finally, I tell myself. I've been preparing for this for a long time.

The first starts are given at 9:00 pm in an incredible atmosphere. More than a hundred people stand along the starting arch, the excitement is at its peak. A nice aspect of the RAF is that each participant has a lifetime number, and the starts are given in the order of the numbers. So the first to start are the veterans, those who participated in the first editions of the RAF. Among them is Eric Leblacher, a former French professional cyclist and RAF veteran, with whom I shared great moments in 2023. I hope to meet him during the adventure. There are also Régis Courteille and Joachim Mendler, two other veterans used to the top 5 and favorites for this RAF24.

9:26 pm, it's time. Fergus, the speaker, counts down. I take one last deep breath, and off we go. My Race across France 2024 begins. I start confident, serene, and with clear goals. The objective for the first 10 hours is to ride at an average power of 250 watts. Given the relatively flat course and the tailwind pushing us, the race starts off at a fast pace. I quickly overtake many participants. I always enjoy these early stages of the race when the legs are still fresh, and you meet lots of people. The pleasant surprise at the start is the absence of rain. Instead, we are treated to a beautiful sunset. It couldn't start any better!

I spend some time with Jérémy Rodriguez, a former long-distance triathlete who is participating in his second RAF. He rides very strong, and we spend a good hour together chatting before I pull ahead. The first checkpoint is the Life Base at Lizzy-sur-l'Ourcq, located at km 250. It's the village of the legend Eric Leblacher, and it seems his relatives have prepared crepes for everyone! Rumor has it they made over 1000 crepes for the participants. 1000 crepes, they'll be at it all night. A nice motivation for this early part of the race!

The race has started very fast. After 200 km, my average speed is over 33 km/h. I don't think I've ever ridden 200 km this fast; it makes no sense. There are only four riders ahead of me: Eric Leblacher, Régis Courteille, Alexandre Bizeul, and Lucas Becker. I catch up with Eric and Régis shortly after, and as I pass them, they jokingly say, "Oh Jonas, what are you doing? There are still 500 miles to go, you know!" It's experience teasing youth, all in good fun. If there are two people who know how to manage a race like the RAF, it's Eric and Régis. I'd bet they'll both finish the race in the top 10 and in less than 7 days, as they do almost every year. An impressive consistency that commands respect. Shortly after, I join Lucas and Alexandre, and we ride together to the life base, which we reach after 7h30 of racing.

The welcome at the life base is royal: music, smiling volunteers, applause, we couldn't ask for more. Oh, and especially the crepes, a real mountain of crepes. Thank you to the Leblacher clan! Despite the feast, there's no time to linger. I fill my bottles, apply some cream, go to the bathroom, take 5 crepes to go, and get ready to hit the road again. Meanwhile, Eric and Régis arrive, and I get a few more playful remarks about the pace set at the start of the race. I leave the life base first, but Lucas Becker catches up with me a few kilometers later, and we chat for a few minutes. Nice guy, Lucas, and a big name with several victories in renowned races such as the Transpyrenees. Basically, when Lucas participates in a race, he often wins. He's one of the rising stars of ultra-cycling in Europe, and one thing's for sure, he's here to win. Shortly after, he stops for a moment, and I find myself alone.

After 10 hours of racing, I reduce my effort, and with the tailwind easing, my speed drops considerably. Things had to calm down eventually. My next stop is at a bakery in Montargis, at kilometer 400, where I arrive around 10 am. It's my first bakery of this Race across France 2024, and I don't want to miss it. Sandwiches, pastries, chocolate croissants, tarts... Ah, French bakeries, I missed them. With the bakery emptied and my pockets full of treats, I set off towards Gueugnon, where the next life base is located, at kilometer 620.

That's when the weather suddenly changes, and as I ride along a canal, I get caught in biblical downpours. I don't think I've ever cycled in such intense rain; it's completely insane. Within minutes, I'm soaked to the bone. At first, it bothers me a bit, but then, ironically, it becomes almost fun, and I'm filled with a certain euphoria. When it rains like this, you feel alive. Like a big fool, I start shouting and singing in the rain; it's a great moment. I'm in such a euphoric mood that even my first flat tire of the race doesn't bother me. Yet, changing a tube in pouring rain isn't particularly fun, but at that moment, I don't care at all. I take the time to do things right to avoid any recurrence, and after 10 minutes, I'm back on the road under the still intense rain. After this setback, I'm caught up by Alexandre Bizeul, another great guy. We share a good stretch of road under the pouring rain and have a good laugh at the completely crazy situation. Alexandre is from Paris; he knows the rain. But he too hasn't experienced this often. These few kilometers along the canals, I won't forget them anytime soon!

We stay close to each other for a few hours, sharing great moments before I manage to gain some distance, probably because he stopped. The rain eventually gives way to a timid sun as I arrive first at the life base in Gueugnon, at km 620, after just under 21 hours of racing, including 30 minutes of cumulative stops. I don't linger too much, but I take the time to eat something, go to the bathroom, and refill my water. After 20 minutes, I hit the road again as Alexandre arrives.

Night Detour

It's 7 PM when I leave the support station, planning to sleep around 2-3 AM for three hours. I have seven long hours of cycling ahead to minimize the distance to Anglet for the next day. My initial plan was to sleep in Mont-D’Or (km 820) in the Massif Central, but I quickly realize this seems ambitious and unrealistic. Leaving Gueugnon, I feel significant fatigue, forcing me to slow down considerably.

After discussing with my coach, Loïc, we decide to book a hotel in Durtol, just after Clermont-Ferrand. The hotel is just a few hundred meters from the route. I think this small detour shouldn't be a problem and will only take a few extra minutes. With the hotel booked, I focus on the remaining 160 kilometers, but my pace continues to decrease, making the journey longer than expected.

A few hours later, I pass through Vichy, where I grab burgers, fries, and nuggets to go. Nothing like a load of fats and calories. As I collect my meal, Alexandre catches up to me. He has booked a hotel in Vichy and stops here for the night. I hit the road again, but the fatigue intensifies, and I'm moving sluggishly. I tell myself that I only have 2.5 hours left until the hotel, it’s not long, I can make it. I fight against sleep and the onset of negative thoughts. It’s not critical yet, but these are the first tough moments of this race. Sleeping in Vichy might have been wiser, but that would have made the journey to Anglet the next day very complicated. These few hours of suffering are worth it; I need to reduce the distance to Anglet as much as possible.

After two somewhat difficult hours, I finally arrive in Durtol around 2 AM. I take out my phone to find the hotel and realize my first major mistake in this race. Although the hotel is just a few hundred meters as the crow flies from the route, it actually involves a nearly 3 km climb. At this hour and in my state, it will take me nearly 20 minutes. What a dumb mistake. Sure, in the grand scheme, 20 minutes isn't much. But at that moment, it feels like a mountain to climb, and I lose my composure.

I’ve been fighting fatigue for hours, with this hotel night as my only consolation, and I now discover that I still have to make a considerable detour due to such a silly error. It’s exhausting, mentally and physically, and it will cost me precious time. Overwhelmed by negative thoughts, I think all my efforts since the start of the race have been in vain. I even consider sleeping outside for a few moments, but I ultimately decide to go to the hotel for a real rest and quality sleep.

On the way, I take wrong turns several times, probably due to fatigue and frustration. I finally arrive around 3 AM, annoyed and exhausted. I set my lights and batteries to charge, take a shower, and go to bed. I set my alarm for 6 AM, nearly three hours later. Despite my foul mood, I fall asleep instantly.

The Rain, the Cold, and the Massif Central

My alarm goes off, and I get up immediately. I pack my bags and leave ten minutes later. The emotions from the night before have dissipated, and I'm calmer. I see on the tracker that this mistake cost me between 30 and 45 minutes. Nothing dramatic, but still unfortunate. Régis and Alexandre have overtaken me and are now a few kilometers ahead, while Lucas and Eric are close behind. What a silly mistake. But it's the past, and there's no point in wasting more energy thinking about it. The next 30 hours will be crucial: I need to reach Anglet with at least 4 hours’ lead.

I have about 650 km left to Anglet, a long enough journey without being tormented by negative thoughts. It’s already daylight, which is an advantage. Here’s a positive thought, exactly what I needed. Eric Leblacher catches up to me, and although our exchange is brief, it’s nice to see him. But the flat terrain is over. The real challenge begins with the first major climbs, and despite my optimism, I remain slow in the mountains. Fortunately, my legs hold up, and I keep a decent pace.

Soon after, Mark Arnold, an Englishman who finished 3rd in 2023, swiftly overtakes me. We exchange a few words, but he isn't very talkative. I understand, after all, it’s a race. The wind picks up, it starts to rain, and the day promises to be long. In the climb towards Mont-D'Or, I catch up to Eric and get overtaken by Lucas, who climbs like a rocket. His enthusiasm, “Ah, finally it’s climbing a bit!” makes me laugh but also worries me. If Lucas can really ride like this in the mountains, it’s going to be tough. What a beast.

The weather is apocalyptic: it's cold, we're caught in the clouds, the wind is terrible, and it’s raining. The descent on Mont-D'Or is a real ordeal. I catch up to Mark and head towards Condat, where a bakery awaits me. Nothing like a bakery to stay motivated. I also know that I will soon meet my aunt Peet and Pascal, who live in Allanches, a few kilometers from the race route. Seeing familiar faces is a brief ray of sunshine in this otherwise gloomy day. After meeting my family and raiding the bakery in Condat, I head towards the Puy Mary, the main challenge of the Massif Central. Régis, Alexandre, and Lucas are ahead of me. Although the gap with Régis and Alexandre remains stable, Lucas catches up to them at an astonishing speed.

The Puy Mary, although relatively short, presents particularly challenging segments, at least for me. The climb is even more difficult due to the weather. I struggle to the top and slip a survival blanket under my jersey before starting the descent. This is not going to be fun. If climbing in the rain is a real pain, the descent is even worse. After a good hour of descending, I reach the base of the last climb of the Massif Central: the Col de Légal. Soaked, I'm shivering with cold. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this cold! Thankfully, I thought of the survival blanket. I climb the pass as best I can and descend under the still pouring rain towards Aurillac, where my next supply stop awaits.

I stop just before Aurillac at a small supermarket I had spotted beforehand to stock up on provisions for the coming night. This will be my last resupply before Anglet, which is still a little over 450 km away. With a pack of 10 pain au chocolat, I have enough provisions to feed an army. I hit the road again, happy to finally leave the mountains and the dreadful weather of the Massif Central. We are back in the plains, and that’s good news for me.

It's 5 PM when I leave Aurillac, still in 4th position, with a 2-hour delay on Lucas, who is in the lead after traversing the Massif Central like a missile. It took me 10 hours to cross the Massif Central, whereas Lucas only needed 8 hours. It’s impressive and confirms that he is much faster than me in the mountains. I will really need to build a significant lead before the Pyrenees; otherwise, it’s going to be tough. But I know everyone else will stop tonight, while I will continue. If I can maintain a decent pace, I should be able to reach Anglet a little after 11 AM tomorrow. If all goes well and everyone else indeed stops tonight, I should arrive at the support station with at least a 4-hour lead over the second place, allowing me to sleep for 3 hours at the support station and start “fresh” in the Pyrenees, where the others will likely have to stop at night while I should be able to cross them in one go. In short, if it works, I will be able to put some pressure on the others. But I’m projecting a bit too far ahead because we’re not there yet. I still need to ride for another 18 long hours without stopping and maintain a good pace. Ah, it’s another sweet night of cycling ahead…

Régis and Alexandre are close to Lucas; it’s very tight. As night approaches, the gap remains stable; no one manages to make a real difference on the pedals. Knowing that I will have to ride all night, I stay calm. The good news is that it’s no longer raining, which allows me to dry off before the long night ahead, only my feet remain soaked.

Who has a crankset?

Around 11 PM, passing through Cahors (km 1110), I notice that Alexandre and Régis have stopped. Alexandre seems to be at a hotel, while I’m not sure about Régis. Régis sets off again after about twenty minutes, which is curious. I later learn that he tried to sleep in a warm bank lobby but was kicked out by security, unlucky. Lucas is still riding but will soon stop as well, eventually lying down around midnight in the stands of a small village stadium. I imagine he'll rest for about 4 hours. At 1 AM, I overtake Lucas and regain the race lead; I’m the only one still pedaling while everyone else is asleep. This is the moment to make a difference, I need to widen the gap until Anglet. Luckily, I’m in good shape with no major signs of fatigue, so things are looking good. Enthusiastically, I tackle the second part of the night, marked by a headwind and some light showers. The route is actually not as flat as I expected, making it more challenging. It’s nothing too serious but I’m a bit slower than anticipated, estimating that I should arrive in Anglet between 11:30 AM and 12:00 PM, after a total of about 62 hours of racing. Despite this, I remain confident, but I know the last hours before Anglet will be very tough.

Lucas resumes his ride around 4 AM. The good news is I have roughly a 100 km lead on him, about 4 hours. Everything is going well for now; I just need to hold on and maintain this gap over the remaining 200 km to Anglet. I still feel good, and my chosen strategy seems to be paying off, but things soon take a turn for the worse…

At 7 AM, as day breaks, I suddenly hear a crack coming from my crankset. This can’t be good news… Worry grips me as I notice my left foot flailing with every pedal stroke. I stop, examine my crankset, and quickly realize with horror that the left pedal insertion is broken. It’s a known issue with carbon cranksets. A bad choice? Probably. But I’ve ridden over 10,000 kilometers with this crankset without any issues. What a mess, I’ve been too negligent, and it’s a good lesson for future races and equipment choices. Facing the reality, I know there’s nothing to be done; the crankset is toast, and my left pedal is barely hanging on. It’s a really troublesome situation.

While evaluating potential solutions and with nothing better to do, I resume my ride. Pedaling becomes a real ordeal, and I find myself almost paralyzed on the left side. Not only is it mechanically challenging and inefficient as the pedal and my foot move erratically, but I also know that if I push too hard, the crankset could completely fail, leaving me to pedal with one leg. To avoid this catastrophic scenario, I must limit the force I put on the left side. I end up pedaling more or less with one leg, with the left leg merely accompanying the motion. Given my current fatigue, this exercise is a nightmare. My speed takes a significant hit, but more importantly, my mental state takes a blow as negative thoughts flood in. I know that if I don’t find a solution soon, my race will come to an end.

I will need help to get out of this situation. The race rules state that we can receive assistance at the life bases. But before activating anything, I first call the organization to ensure I’m not breaking any rules. They confirm that I can activate my network to seek help as long as the assistance occurs at the life base. Therefore, I must first reach Anglet before receiving any help. I have about 130 kilometers to go until the life base. 130 kilometers, more or less on one leg, this is going to be fun… Moreover, it’s Sunday, and bike shops are closed; I’ll need a miracle. Stop, there’s no time for self-pity, I need to find a solution.

I call Loïc and explain my problem. He immediately says, "Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” How fortunate I am to have such support on a Sunday at 7 AM. Following this, I activate my network to plead for help. Finding a crankset would already be exceptional, but finding a compatible crankset (175mm arm length, 50-34 chainrings, and 30mm axle) would be almost miraculous. Following my call for help, I’m quickly overwhelmed with messages and information, not knowing where to start. Managing all this while riding doesn’t make things easier. But I especially don’t want to stop; I’m already losing enough time riding like a cripple.

A bit later, I receive a message from Gaëtan, a friend from Dijon, who found a compatible crankset for sale on Le Bon Coin, available in Biarritz. I forward the link to Loïc, who takes over and tells me not to worry about it and to focus on the road. Now, we just have to hope the seller responds on a Sunday and that we can find a way to get this crankset to the life base. It’s not a done deal yet, but hope is rekindled.

Half an hour later, Loïc calls me back and announces: "It’s sorted!” He found a solution. He contacted Cyril, a friend in the region who also works as a coach. Cyril is available and will go pick up the crankset from the seller in Biarritz before meeting me at the life base to install it on my bike. I can’t believe this was all arranged in less than an hour. How lucky I am to have such support.

Shortly after, Cyril contacts me to arrange the details and organization. I still find it hard to believe. Two hours after breaking my crankset and fearing the worst, a solution I wouldn’t have even dared to dream of is in place. It’s simply incredible.

After these stressful hours of incessant messages and calls, I finally put my phone away and almost immediately burst into tears. It’s likely a mix of fatigue, despair, and happiness. I think I just need to release the emotions accumulated over the past few hours. Crying always feels good. I take several minutes to regain my composure and get back into the race. Although a solution has been found, the immediate reality is not particularly comforting. Being forced to pedal with one leg, I struggle to move forward properly and see my lead over Lucas melting away like snow in the sun. But mostly, I still have over 100 kilometers to cover in these conditions. At this pace, I’m looking at almost 5 more hours of riding. My entire race plan is falling apart. To limit the damage and not lose too much time, I have to push hard with my right leg. I quickly realize this is painful, and a sharp, growing pain sets in my right Achilles tendon. I’m injuring myself, and there’s nothing I can do to avoid it. To make matters worse, a predictable fatigue starts to set in. It’s a lot to handle, and I’m struggling. But when I think of the efforts made by all these people to arrange the replacement of my crankset in Anglet, I tell myself I have no choice and the least I can do is not give up. I start crying again, this time simply because it’s hard and I’m exhausted. The last kilometers to Anglet are endless; I’m physically and mentally at my limit, almost falling asleep on the bike several times. I knew it would be tight in terms of fatigue, but I especially didn’t plan on riding this long; it’s almost 1 PM when I initially thought I’d arrive at Anglet around 11 AM, I should already be sleeping! These extra hours are costing me dearly physically, and I’m losing a lot of time to Lucas, who is catching up quickly; the bill will be steep.

The miracle of Anglet

It’s around 2 PM when I finally arrive at the life base, utterly exhausted, after 64 hours of racing with less than 6 hours of cumulative stop time, including 3 hours of sleep. After several hours of suffering, I’m welcomed at the life base by the applause of about fifty people, including staff members, media team, volunteers, and runners of the 1000 km race starting the next day from Anglet. It’s a great pleasure, a most welcome comfort. The contrast with the last few hours is striking, I’m a bit dazed, it’s like emerging back into the real world after a few hours in hell. I was in my bubble, but arriving here, I realize that a certain excitement has built around my race and the performance I’m achieving. I receive encouragement and congratulations from all sides, which helps lift my spirits and provides some comfort after the tough last hours.

A few moments after my arrival, I’m immediately approached by Cyril, who is with a colleague whose name I don’t even know. They take my bike and start dismantling my crankset to proceed with the replacement. Cyril also brought me food, cream, and anti-inflammatories to manage my worsening ankle issues, which are in a really bad state. I probably don’t fully realize it, but how lucky I am to have this help. It’s hard to find the words to express my gratitude.

Things haven’t gone as planned, and my chances of winning have taken a hit. However, I can continue the race, which is all that matters at this moment. With my bike in good hands, I retrieve my drop bag and spare clothes. I also take the opportunity to eat and exchange a few words with the organizers, whom I’m getting to know well.

I’m eager to get back on the road; I don’t plan to sleep at the life base. We have booked a hotel at the exit of Anglet to get a good three hours of sleep. After about half an hour at the life base, I’m ready to leave, but I have to wait for my bike to be fixed. Changing a crankset takes time, which is normal.

In retrospect, it might have been better to sleep at the life base. It would have saved a bit of time and allowed Cyril not to rush the bike repair. But the hotel is already booked, and I’ll undoubtedly sleep better there than at the life base.

Another good thirty minutes pass before the crankset is installed. Cyril finally returns my bike with the replacement crankset. I check that I have everything I need and head to the hotel, located 10 minutes away. The scene with the hotel receptionist is quite funny. They probably don’t often have clients arriving half-dead on a bike in the middle of the afternoon, booking a room from 3 PM to 7 PM. Once there, I put my clothes to dry, plug in all my batteries, prepare my gear for departure, and finally lie down at 3:30 PM to sleep for 3 hours.

During my sleep, Lucas should arrive in Anglet. It will be interesting to see how much of a lead he will have when he sets off again. At this stage, it seems clear that Lucas will resume the road before me, given the accumulated delay. My strategy won’t pay off, but the adventure can continue. Infinite thanks to all the people who made it possible for me to get back on the road. 🫶

Dark Night in the Pyrenees

6:30 PM, my alarm goes off, I get up immediately and somewhat like a robot, I prepare to leave: I eat, get dressed, check my batteries, pack my things, and leave my room. As I exit, the hotel receptionist informs me that someone tried to come see me during my sleep; there are really people who follow these races with crazy intensity. I check the tracker and see that Lucas has indeed been back on the road for over an hour; he didn't stop to sleep in Anglet, which probably means he will stop somewhere in the Pyrenees tonight. As for the others, Alexandre, Régis, and Joachim, they haven't arrived in Anglet yet, but they will soon. I head towards the Pyrenees and quickly feel that my ankle is going to be a problem. Before leaving, I bandaged my ankle so that it couldn't move, no more flexion or extension possible. It's not ideal for efficient pedaling, but at least I can pedal without too much pain. I know that from here, given my ankle and the profile of the rest of the route, I won't be able to gain time on the pedals. The only way I might have opportunities to reduce the gap with Lucas and maintain the gap with Alexandre and Joachim is by stopping less. But I'm also fully aware that, with my bet not paying off, my chances of victory are seriously hindered. Lucas is simply stronger. Sure, he stops a lot, but he goes so fast. Despite my efforts so far, he is already 2 hours ahead and will undoubtedly cross the Pyrenees in a few hours less than me. It's going to be tough, but I still believe. A lot can still happen in the remaining 3 days.

After getting back on the road, I'm quickly overwhelmed by the emotions of the last day, what a day, I've really been through all the states. The road leading us to the Pyrenees is beautiful, but it quickly hints at the difficulties ahead. The 70 km approach to the first real ascent of the Pyrenees is filled with short, steep climbs that sap my legs, it's going to be hard, but it's so beautiful. After a few hours, it starts to get dark as I arrive in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port and am only a few kilometers from the start of the climb to Col d’Ahusquy, the first real difficulty of the Pyrenees.

It starts to get dark, and when trying to turn on my various lights, I find that none of them seem to work. You should know that when it comes to lights, I don't compromise and left with enough to light up an entire peloton for several nights. I have a headlamp (Exposure Joystick Mk16), a secondary front light (Garmin Varia UT800), and a main front light (Knog PWR Mountain) that works on specific external batteries. For this main front light, I have 2 external batteries of 10,000 mAh, each battery generally allows me to last at least an entire night at high intensity. I have always been very satisfied with my light setup that I've been using for over a year without ever having any problems. I'm confident in my equipment. I know that my secondary front light isn't charged, however, my headlamp and the two batteries of my main front light were fully charged during my nap at the hotel a few hours earlier. My headlamp seems broken, part of the light is detached, I don't know how it happened, I suppose I must have inadvertently dropped it while storing it. I briefly try to repair it as best I can, but it seems busted as nothing happens even when plugged in, impossible to charge it. Well, no more headlamp. Not ideal to ride at night without a headlamp, but not dramatic either, I supposedly have two other lights. But my main front light doesn't turn on either. Strange, maybe I just connected it wrong. I stop to check everything. The light is properly connected, but the battery it's connected to shows no signs of life. I then think maybe I didn't connect it properly that night, but it surprises me because I'm pretty sure I did things correctly. It's not a big deal, I have another battery. I check to make sure it's charged, it seems to be because the 4 small LEDs are on. But when I connect it, everything goes off, and the light still doesn't turn on. I try different things, but nothing works. Both of my external batteries seem dead. The situation is starting to get bothersome. All I have left is to connect my secondary light to recharge it, but nothing works here either, it doesn't charge and shows no signs of life. I think it's impossible. I have three lights, none of them work. When everything worked the night before. Misery, here I am in a fine mess. No time to waste, I have to move forward. The only source of light I have left is my phone's flash. Fortunately, I have a small roll of duct tape for emergency repairs that allows me to attach my phone to the front of my bike. It's shaky, but it holds. The light from an iPhone is really not powerful enough for night biking. But I really have no other solutions and I absolutely can't afford to wait until morning to continue, that would mean the end of my race for the win. Riding at night with such poor visibility is really a visual exercise I would have gladly avoided, especially given the fatigue. But above all, it means riding slowly, very slowly. If Lucas is already much faster than me, the speed gap is now going to be even greater. I know this will cost me considerable time, and it drives me crazy. Anyway, I can't do anything about it. I'm already losing enough time as is, no time to waste getting mad for nothing. Fortunately, I soon find myself at the foot of the climb to Col d’Ahusquy. This col d’Ahusquy is tough, the slope is steep, often above 10%, I'm slow, very slow. The only positive point here is that I'm so slow on the climb that the lack of visibility doesn't make much difference. It doesn't take much to be happy in such situations. Surprisingly, I take some pleasure in this night climb. There's something great about being alone, in the calm of the night, on your bike, climbing a mountain. A reminder that, despite the troubles, I really love what I'm doing. On the climb, my chain starts to squeak badly, given the weather conditions we've had so far, it has suffered. Applying wax to my chain, I realize that these are probably the last drops of wax I can get from my pot. I didn't take enough, it's an annoying mistake on my part and a good lesson for the future. The only other lubricant I have left is my butt cream! Far from ideal, but I'm already beyond that and I think it's better than nothing. I drench my chain in moisturizing cream, and voila, no more noise. I'm happy, we'll see how long it lasts. It takes me just under 2 hours to reach the top. It's ironic, but I know the descent will be less fun than the climb. Especially since in the Pyrenees, in the mountains, there are animals everywhere.

The first kilometers of the descent are a real slow slalom between cow herds. The road is narrow and I can't see a thing. It's stressful and I'm barely going faster than on the climb. Riding with such poor visibility makes me sleepy and I have to stop several times for a few seconds to regain my senses. After a long and exhausting exercise, I finally reach the end of this seemingly endless descent. There are now 40 km to go with a few small climbs before tackling the next big col: the Col de Marie-Blanque. I advance slowly in a grueling exercise of concentration. This whole light situation is still frustrating. I arrive near Issor, a few kilometers from the start of the climb, at 2:30 AM. My phone, whose flash has been on since the beginning of the night, is quickly draining. At this point, I have about 15% battery left and know that the flash consumes about 10-15% per hour. It's when I take out my charging cable that the next blow strikes. My cable is broken. I notice that the tip of the cable is stuck in my phone. I must have unplugged my phone too quickly before leaving. If the situation wasn't ideal already, it now becomes quite critical. Given the consumption of the last few hours, I know that 15% battery should allow my phone to last a little over an hour with the flash. It's not even 3 AM, there are still at least 3 hours of night left. Damn. I have between 1.5 and 2 hours of road to the top of Col de Marie-Blanque. My phone won't last that long and it's out of the question to descend in complete darkness, I need to aim to reach the top of the Col around 6 AM. My only option is to stop and resume the road at 4 AM. Here's another unforeseen setback. If catching up with Lucas seemed complicated, it now seems increasingly impossible. Speaking of Lucas, he seems to have stopped to sleep at the foot of the descent of Col de Marie-Blanque, so he's now 2-3 hours ahead of me. I find a bench and decide to sleep for an hour. I fall asleep in 2 minutes, the fatigue is still very real. To see the positive side of things, this allows me to get some rest, which should allow me to be a bit fresher the next day, at least that! My alarm goes off and I set off at 4 AM to tackle the second big col of the Pyrenees. It seems that Lucas is still asleep! The first 5 kilometers of the climb are easy, but the last 4 kilometers… what hell! Almost 12% average. Without a doubt the hardest 4 km of the entire race. As the first light of day begins to appear, I turn off my phone to preserve the little battery it has left. I reach the top around 5:45 AM. For battery concerns, I haven't checked the tracker and don't know if Lucas has left or not, maybe it's just as well. It isn’t daylight yet, but it's clear enough to start the descent. Once at the bottom, it's almost daylight, finally!

The Pyrenees, Tough but Beautiful

There are 30 kilometers to go to the Col de Spandelle when my phone breathes its last. Of course, these 30 km are dotted with several small and difficult climbs. But that doesn't bother me, the sun is rising, and I discover breathtaking landscapes around me. What a beautiful region. To top it off, there's a mystical little mist. It's great.

The Col de Spandelle doesn't seem too difficult on paper, but I suffer in the climb. It's never very steep, but it's constantly steep enough. The bad news of this climb is the appearance of creaking noises at my crankset. It's an unhealthy noise, something is wrong. But I decide to ignore it for now as it doesn't seem to seriously affect the pedaling. Anyway, I don't have the necessary tools with me, I would need to stop at a shop. But for now, it's nothing too serious, just a permanent and annoying noise. It takes me a good hour and a half to reach the top. In the last kilometer, I'm accompanied by Keryan and the media team who take some photos and videos. It's nice to meet them and chat a bit, it makes the last kilometer go by faster! The descent is long and great, I really enjoy it. Finally, a descent I can enjoy!

Only one col left before I can say goodbye to the Pyrenees: the mythical Col du Tourmalet. After about twenty kilometers of approach, I arrive in Luz Saint-Sauveur, at the foot of the last big climb. Before tackling this long climb that will likely take me nearly 2.5 hours, I make a quick stop at the bakery. This time, no holding back, I indulge myself: tarts, cakes, chocolate breads, sodas, the works! I leave with enough to feed an army's diabetes. In the meantime, I also got a cable to charge my phone. Everything is fine. On the climb, I'm in a good mood, but I suffer and feel the fatigue. Lucas, meanwhile, is almost at the top, with a good two hours lead.

I must have a 3-hour lead on Alexandre and Joachim. Behind them, a gap seems to be forming, everything points to a four-way race. I reach the top tired after having left feathers in this mythical col.

I'm happy, the Pyrenees are over! The next real col is Mont Ventoux. After 40 km of descent, I arrive at the life base in Bagnères-de-Bigorre where I eat a big plate of pasta. The life base is a bike shop, Loic knows them and was able to organize for me to get 2 lamps and a portable battery. It helps me a lot. I also take the opportunity to buy more lubricant for my chain, it's still better than moisturizing cream. Thanks to the team at Chez Octave for the help!

Relentless Pursuit in Occitania

The next base of life is in Pézenas, 350 km away. There are no real passes, but it’s not very smooth either; it’s an endless sequence of small climbs, which is terrible when your legs are exhausted! I set off a little before 4 PM after a 45-minute break to chase Lucas, who left two hours earlier. The kilometers go by, but the gap doesn’t close; it seems to be widening. At this point, it’s clear to me that I no longer have the resources to ride faster than Lucas, even without mountains. I’ve played my cards, and my bets haven’t paid off, not just because of bad luck, but also because Lucas is the stronger rider.

Behind me, Joachim and Alexandre are still 2-3 hours behind; only four of us are left in the lead race. Lucas seems unflappable in his choices and strategy; it’s really impressive. And yet, it’s very simple. Every night, he stops for nearly 4 hours. Among the top 10 in the race, he’s the one who stops and sleeps the most, so theoretically, he suffers the least from sleep deprivation. But he goes so fast that even riding 2 hours less per day, he can cover the same distance. It’s absurd.

Given his strategy, it’s easy to think the ideal solution is to sleep more, but that’s not necessarily true. What works for one person doesn’t always work for another. With the experience of a few races, you start to understand what rhythm works for you. In my case, even with more sleep, I would simply be unable to keep up with his pace. This diversity in approaches is what makes this kind of race interesting. In any case, I came to try to win, and despite various setbacks, I haven’t yet conceded victory to Lucas and still believe in my chances. I know full well that, given the complicated and unfavorable end of the course, my last chance is to reach the foot of Mont Ventoux in the lead. To do this, it’s pretty simple: I need to overtake him tonight.

After discussing with Loic, I decide to go to Carcassonne to sleep for 2 hours in a hotel. At this point, it’s 7 PM, and I still have about 175 km to go to reach my destination; I should get there around 3 AM. It’s a risky bet because it implies I’ll be able to ride until that late, and at this stage of the race, it’s hard to predict your state in advance. But I firmly believe it’s the right bet to keep a final option for victory.

The last base of life in the race is located in Sault just after passing Mont Ventoux, 260 km from the finish. Managing to reach Carcassonne to sleep should allow me to pass Mont Ventoux and reach the base of life in Sault in one go the next day. If I stop earlier, I risk having to stop and sleep before the ascent of Mont Ventoux, which I believe would end any chance of victory. To win, I need to pass Ventoux before the next night. To do this, the objective is Carcassonne.

Fatal Error, Game Over?

Although aware of the risk, I don’t yet really feel the critical effects of fatigue. I am convinced the strategy is right and that I will be able to reach Carcassonne without too many problems. So, I attack the night with enthusiasm! It’s 11:40 PM when I send one last update on my Whatsapp channel; I’m 75 km from Carcassonne and still seem full of energy. This is also the moment when everything changes. I have almost no memory of the hours that follow. I am hallucinating.

I had already experienced hallucinations in the past, but I remained aware. This time, it’s different, it’s as if my consciousness has left my body. I have no sense of time, only a few flashes and brief moments of consciousness remain. I remember noticing that Lucas stopped between eleven and midnight in Mirepoix to spend the night. After that, it’s a complete void for more than an hour. I can’t really explain or articulate it, but a lot of things are happening around me and in my head at that moment. I am completely lost. Some strands of lucidity lead me to question whether what I am going through is real or not. The time that passes and the things happening around me seem so unreal that I start to question reality. Am I dreaming? Suddenly, I notice I’ve covered less than 2 kilometers in the last 30 minutes. Impossible, I think. I must be dreaming. I’m not sure what happens next or in what order the following events unfold. But I know I decide to do some tests to check if the situation is real or not. I send various messages, try to make different calls, looking for a sign of life from the outside world. Gijs replies, I’m not dreaming… Suddenly, someone speaks to me. I snap out of my stupor. “Hey dude, you okay? What are you doing?”, it’s Lucas leaving for his night. At this point, it’s almost 3 AM, and I’m sitting on my bike, holding onto a signpost, completely static. I tell him I don’t think I’m doing very well; he advises me to go sleep. I’m not sure what else we talk about. But before resuming his ride, he asks me something like: “Are you going to be okay? Can you manage?”. I tell him I’ll be fine; he resumes his ride, and I’m alone again. I thank him immensely because this brief exchange brings me back to harsh reality. I finally realize what’s happening, and it’s scary. I realize that for nearly 3 hours, I’ve somehow lost consciousness. I panic and am overwhelmed by my emotions, losing all rationality. My only good reflex is to call the race’s operational management post to check what I’ve done in the past few hours. They must have been quite surprised to receive a call from me asking them to trace my last hours… The organization confirms that I followed the route to the vicinity of Mirepoix, where I spent over an hour standing still. For over an hour, I had practically not advanced. I had completely lost it. At that point, devoid of all rationality, I’m ready to abandon the race on the spot. The organization tells me to go sleep immediately and call them back when I wake up. I cry briefly, lay my bike by the roadside, lie down in the grass, and instantly fall asleep around 3:30 AM, just 30 km from Carcassonne, my goal for the day.

I wake up 2 hours later, completely drenched and disoriented, still under the emotional impact of the previous night. Sleeping like that, in the grass, is not ideal. It would have been better to find a bench or a bus shelter, but I was no longer lucid and needed to stop immediately. I had really crossed a line that shouldn’t be crossed; it’s a huge lesson for the future. After about fifteen minutes, I get back on my bike and resume the ride towards Carcassonne. It takes me a while to regroup and digest what happened. I need to let it out and cry while riding for several minutes. But one thing is clear: quitting the race is not an option. However, I am in a really bad state, both physically and mentally. To top it off, I realize upon resuming that there’s a serious problem with my crankset, whose left side is wobbling all over the place. It was probably already the case the previous evening, but I wasn’t lucid enough to notice. I’m not exactly sure what the problem is, but one thing is clear, the condition of this second crankset is deteriorating quickly. In any case, I don’t have the necessary tools with me, so I need to find a bike shop to try to fix this problem, which is annoying as it seriously affects my pedaling efficiency and thus my speed. I gradually regain my senses, and the desire to race returns. I think it’s quite crazy that a few hours earlier, I hit rock bottom, and now I’m resuming the ride with moderate enthusiasm, but the desire is there. However, I am well aware that I lost a lot of time last night, and I consult the tracker with concern. I see not only that the gap with Lucas is now at least 3 hours but also that Joachim Mendler has overtaken me and is now a few kilometers ahead. Joachim is making a really impressive comeback, managing his race excellently. Since Anglet, he’s the fastest; it’s experience speaking. I also see that Alexandre is only a few minutes behind me and should catch up soon. While I was on my way to make up at least part of my delay on Lucas, I’m now about to fall back to 4th place. The cost is high, and given my current state and my new crankset problems, the next part looks complicated. I call Loic to explain the situation and discuss what comes next. It’s clear that I need to fix my bike; the only shop option is in Carcassonne, where I should arrive around 7:30 AM. However, it only opens at 9:30 AM, so I’ll have to wait. I’m going to lose more time. To use this time best, I’ll go sleep another hour at the hotel that was booked for the night. Given the time losses of the night and my necessary stop in Carcassonne, it’s now clear that I won’t win the Race across France 2024. I have to let go of that dream. It’s a difficult exercise to accept failure and missing my goal, especially at this stage of the race. I must not fall into negativity; I need to rally around a new goal. Other than a ranking objective, which now seems almost already played out, I decide that I want to finish the race in under 6 days. Regarding the ranking, I am aware that unless one of the three leaders has a major problem or breakdown, a 4th place is now likely for me. Sure, it’s not what I came for, but that’s how it is. I played all my cards and lost. Under 6 days, that’s now the goal for this end of the race. So far, less than 15 people have finished a Race across France unsupported in under 6 days, which would still be a good performance. That’s a nice objective I can rally around for this end of the race.

Despite all this, I think the break in Carcassonne will do me good because I’m still not in great shape, and with this new faulty crankset, I’m really slow. Alexandre catches up to me, and although seeing him is in a way the materialization of the podium slipping away, it’s nice to see and talk to him. We ride together for a few minutes and share our respective experiences. Not only is he strong, but Alexandre is also a really nice guy. This exchange, though brief, helps lift my spirits. We finally arrive together in Carcassonne; he stops at a bakery, and I go to the hotel. It’s probably the last time we cross paths before the end since he’s about to gain a good 2 hours on me.

From the receptionist’s point of view, my arrival at the hotel must have been quite surreal. I was expected around 3 AM, gave no news, and now show up just before 8 AM asking if I can sleep for an hour in the room. That probably doesn’t happen very often. Luckily for me, she agrees. I go up to my room, and it’s the usual routine: I shower quickly, plug in my batteries, eat, and lie down, setting an alarm for an hour later. The alarm rings, and it’s back to the race. Sure, an hour is almost nothing, but it already makes such a difference. I feel refreshed, both physically and mentally. I pack my things and hurry to the bike shop. I still have some time before the shop opens and stop by a pharmacy to buy something to treat my ankle, which is gradually getting worse. Removing the bandage I made a few days earlier, I discover a severely swollen ankle. It too will need some rest after this race. I re-bandage it and head to the bike shop, where they quickly disassemble and reassemble my crankset. It’s still unclear what the problem is, but for now, it seems resolved.

It can’t possibly get any worse, can it?

So, without much thought, I hit the road again towards Pézenas, where the next life base, the penultimate one of the race, is located. I have 140 km left to reach Pézenas, which is 500 km from the finish line. The Mont Ventoux stands 200 km after Pézenas. My goal at this stage is to sleep 2 hours at the foot of Mont Ventoux so I can climb it early in the morning and complete the last 300 km of the race in one go. It's a realistic plan that should allow me to finish in less than 6 days, provided I don't encounter too many problems in the meantime.

Leaving Carcassonne, it takes me several hours to find my rhythm again, mainly due to a flat tire that takes an unusually long time to fix. It quickly becomes clear that the visit to the bike shop in Carcassonne didn't really help, as the problems and noises soon return. Installation error? Defective part? Bottom bracket problem? I don't know. At least the left arm of my crankset isn't moving all over the place like it was this morning. I try not to worry about it for now; there's no other bike shop before Pézenas anyway, and after yesterday's experience, I need to rid myself of negative thoughts and external factors to get back in the race. But as the day progresses, despite the heat and persistent bike problems, things gradually improve. Through the beautiful landscapes of southern France, I start to enjoy myself again and find my rhythm. Cycling is still pretty great. The heat forces me to stop a bit more often than I'd like, but I still manage to maintain a good speed that seems more or less similar to Alexandre's, who is 2 to 3 hours ahead.

After a wonderful afternoon, I arrive at the Pézenas life base where I find my second drop bag of the race around 5 pm. I take the time to eat, change, plug in my batteries, and get rid of equipment I no longer need. I meet Rémy, a sleep specialist who has been working with the race organization for the second year as part of a study on sleep in ultra-distance cycling. He is obviously already aware of the previous day's misadventures and, having already warned me in Anglet that I was pushing the limits a bit, he lectures me a bit about my choices. He's not entirely wrong; my mistake the previous day was real, and I'm solely responsible for it. The main criticism is that, unlike others, I haven't had a regular sleep schedule. I started my race with a sleepless night, then went to bed late the next night to sleep for 3 hours before having a second sleepless night to sleep for 3 hours in the middle of the afternoon in Anglet. It's indeed not ideal. But aside from my mistake the previous day, I'm still convinced that this strategy was the right one for me. For various reasons, it didn't pay off, which led me to take more risks later on to stay in the fight for the final victory, which also didn't pay off. We discuss and deliberate for a good quarter of an hour while I eat my can of ravioli and prepare my things for departure. After nearly 45 minutes, I leave the life base to tackle the last 500 km of the race.

Leaving Pézenas, a dilemma arises: stop again at a bike shop or continue on my way. It's a question that has been tormenting me for a few hours already. It's clear that the crankset I got in Anglet has a problem. But since I left Carcassonne, its condition seems stable and doesn't really seem to have gotten worse. I already stopped at a bike shop in the morning where they did what they could without changing the crankset. At this stage, a solution would involve changing the crankset again, and changing a crankset takes time and there's no guarantee that it's even possible. It's unlikely that I'll catch up to Alexandre, and I still have nearly 6 hours of advance on Régis, who is 5th. Even stopping for 2 hours at a bike shop, my 4th place isn't at risk. But I think I've had enough of stops and problems. I tell myself that if two cranksets and a visit to a bike shop aren't enough, a third bike shop won't save me. And above all, I believe that, although annoying, my crankset should be able to hold out until the end. The wise choice would have been to stop by the shop to at least check if they had a replacement crankset available, but after weighing the different information, I decide to continue without stopping. A decision neither smart nor rational, but I want to keep going. I leave Pézenas in good spirits. The temperature is more comfortable, the roads and landscapes are beautiful, I'm making good progress, it's a delight. The hours that follow until nightfall are pure pleasure. Night falls when I'm 80 km from Mont Ventoux, I plan to ride until I need to sleep, aiming to get as close as possible to the last big challenge of this race. I look forward to climbing Mont Ventoux early in the morning with a sunrise at the top, it promises to be fantastic. It's funny to find myself in such a positive and enthusiastic mindset when less than 24 hours ago I was going through one of the worst experiences of my life. It goes to show that negative moments from the past don't have to impact our present state of mind, or at least it seems possible to separate the two. It's a good thing to realize that our state of mind and feelings are not just the result of past experiences but can come directly from the present moment, regardless of whether the past experience was positive or not. I feel good and fully enjoy the race that I should finish in less than 6 days. With the night comes a few light showers that leave me completely indifferent. But the showers don't come alone; with them comes the return of mechanical problems. After nightfall, and just as it seemed relatively stable, the state of my crankset quickly deteriorates. The situation becomes critical shortly after passing through Uzès.

One Final Blow

It's finally a few minutes later, around midnight, in the small village of Pouzilhac, 50 km from Mont Ventoux and 360 km from the finish, that my crankset gives up for good. The left arm of the crankset completely detaches. This time, nothing can be done; I'm forced to walk. I walk for a few minutes until I find a sort of courtyard where I check, with little hope, if there's really nothing to be done. It looks bad. To continue, I'll need a new crankset. A third crankset in three days, that's a lot! Damn, maybe I should have made a stop at the bike shop in Pézenas. Oh well, this will teach me. It's better to take the necessary time to solve your problems today rather than letting them become insurmountable tomorrow. I turned my back on an apparent problem, and now I'm paying the price. Yet another good lesson, it's starting to add up.

To my great surprise, I react to this situation with a calm and serenity that somewhat disconcerts me. Why am I not getting angry? How can I be so calm? Maybe I felt it coming, or the misadventures and twists of the last few days have toughened me mentally, or maybe it's simply the result of extreme fatigue and I no longer have the energy to get angry. I'm not sure, but in any case, I seem at peace with the situation, and I don't know if that's a good or bad thing. I'm aware that my race could end here, but I'm not going to decide anything tonight. It's midnight; if there's a solution to my problem, it will have to wait until the next morning. I call the organization to inform them of the situation and lie down on the ground, under a small shelter, to sleep until dawn.

And just like that, it’s all over

I wake up around 7 am, it's time to evaluate my options. Again, I'm lucky, several people mobilize and activate their network to help me find a solution to continue my race. I'm given the contact of a shop about thirty kilometers from here, it's the closest. It opens at 9 am. I wait and call them to see if they have what it takes to get my bike back in shape. They don't have the answer over the phone; I would need to go there to check. It seems to be a big shop; they must have what I need, for sure. 3-4 hours of walking, biking downhill, or hitchhiking, and I could get there, fix my bike, and get back on track to finish this race. Sure, it would probably take me all day, but it's doable. I wouldn't finish the race in less than 6 days, and I'd find myself around 10th place, but at least I could finish. And that's the most important thing, right?

And yet, although a solution is emerging, I'm not sure I want it. I feel like my race has ended, that the adventure stops here. Part of me resents not moving heaven and earth to get to the end, not trying everything to continue. Am I really going to quit here? After months of preparation? Just 360 km from the finish? I take a few minutes to carefully consider my choice and its consequences. Will I regret stopping here? Surprisingly, I don't think so. It's decided, I'm going to quit. My race stops here. I call the organization and share my decision. And there it is, suddenly, it's official, it's over. DNF. Although at peace with my decision, many emotions overwhelm me. The experiences of the last few days resurface, and reality catches up with me; I cry for a while. A part of me will forever be hurt for not finishing, but I have no regrets about how I conducted my race. I raced to win, and for a long time, I was in the running. Yes, I was in the running, and I probably would have been until the end, but in the end, I won't be ranked. So close yet so far. This abandonment doesn't take away from the experiences of the last few days. What a crazy experience. These few days have been as rich as they were challenging. I feel like I've lived in less than a week the emotions of at least a year of ordinary life. It's unique. There's nothing in the world that can replicate that. These races, these adventures, completely redefine our relationship with ourselves. By stripping us bare in front of ourselves, they force us to face our demons, to learn and live with ourselves, both with our strengths and weaknesses. But while these adventures plunge us into solitude and difficulty, in the end, it's in the encounters and moments of sharing that the real value of these experiences is found. While we spend almost all our time alone, it's the rare moments of exchange and sharing that we remember the most. Ultimately, it's by spending time alone that we learn to recognize companionship and relationships at their true value. It only takes a moment, a simple exchange, to form a strong and lasting bond with someone we know absolutely nothing about. It's peculiar. Beyond not finishing the race, it's missing the finish line in Mandelieu and the post-race atmosphere that is unfortunate. Last year, it was one of the highlights of the race. The finish line had become a kind of squat; participants arrived one by one to spend a few days in Mandelieu, an opportunity to debrief and share the adventures and misadventures of the last few days. A beautiful way to close the Race across France chapter. This year, I'll miss that, and the end is likely to be a bit abrupt.

I'm still camped in my little courtyard in Pouzilhac, a lovely little village where there's nothing. I'm very lucky; my mom is coming to pick me up, doing the Lausanne-Pouzilhac round trip to get me. She'll be here around 4 pm. Thanks, Mom! The courtyard where I've settled is right next to the route, giving me a chance to cheer on the friends who were behind me. Régis passed me just before I woke up, but in the afternoon, Eric Leblacher, Antoine Penkalla, and William Debode pass through Pouzilhac, a nice opportunity to say goodbye, and a good substitute for the finish line in Mandelieu. It's nice to see them; they all look like they're suffering a lot. My abandonment has rekindled the battle for the top 5; Antoine and Eric will fight until the end, and it's ultimately Antoine who will finish 5th. What a performance for a first participation. William, who had many mechanical problems, will finish 9th, solid. Unsurprisingly, Lucas wins the race in 5 days and 18 hours, Joachim finishes 2nd, and Alexandre 3rd. Both finish a few hours after Lucas. What a comeback by Joachim, who was 10th in Gueugnon; his race management was truly impressive, he was so strong at the end of the race. Alexandre is the one I exchanged with the most during the race, great guy and great race, he was so solid from start to finish. As for Lucas, it's really impressive; I think he was by far the strongest. In my opinion, he didn't have to push too hard at the end to win. He slept almost twice as much as Joachim and Alexandre. He's just so much faster; it's a well-deserved victory. Régis finishes 4th, 10 hours after Alexandre. Big congratulations to all the finishers, whether in 5 or 10 days, it's something to reach the end of this race.

As for me, not finishing leaves a feeling of incompleteness. But it's just a postponement! At least this race showed that I belong among the good ones and that I'm legitimate at the front of a big race like the RAF. It's encouraging for the future. Although physically broken and mentally exhausted, I return home with a full heart and the desire to go back. This Race across France 2024 chapter is closed; it's time to look ahead. I only have one race left this year, the Swiss Ultra Cycling Challenge 2024. After winning the 2023 edition, I'll be participating this year in a duo with Robin Favre. We'll see if it's possible to defend the title! As for next year, aside from a few ideas, I don't know yet. I'll think about it calmly in September.

Thank You

Finally, a big thank you to all of you for your encouragement and messages throughout this adventure. Special mention to Loic and Gijs, who provided invaluable support throughout the race, day and night. I have never felt so followed and supported, and it means a lot. Thank you!

Hugs,

Jonas

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