Race across France 2025

Here we go again! I'm back for the third consecutive year at the starting line of Race Across France (RAF), this crazy 2600km cycling adventure across France. Created in 2018 by Arnaud Manzanini, this race has evolved into an ultra-endurance monument that continues to grow. This year, an unprecedented 250 participants are taking on the course—a record for the event.

I first discovered RAF in 2023. The route stretched from Le Touquet to Mandelieu-la-Napoule: 2480 km with 40,000 m of elevation gain. As a complete novice in ultra-distance cycling with just two years of experience and a few 1000 km races under my belt, I was diving into the unknown. My goal was simple: finish in less than 7 days—that critical threshold separating performers from adventurers, typically landing you in the top 20.

That first RAF introduced me to an entirely different world. The 1000 km races I'd done before seemed like sprints in comparison! Covering 2500 km is another dimension entirely—a chess game on two wheels where you must find your rhythm, conserve every ounce of energy, and avoid mistakes. Despite numerous rookie errors, I still managed to finish 12th in 6 days, 22 hours and 40 minutes. Goal achieved, but I immediately knew I wanted to return and do better.

This ultra XL experience revealed my potential for these extreme distances. With serious preparation, I believed I could aim much higher. In November 2023, I took decisive action: hiring Loïc Lepoutre as coach and Mattia Piffaretti as sports psychologist. My objective for 2024 was clear: nothing less than victory.

Despite a year of intense preparation, including a win at Race Across Paris (300 km) and third place at Race Across Belgium (500 km), my dream crumbled in 2024. I started explosively but was plagued by mechanical problems. After battling against Lucas Becker (the eventual winner) until kilometer 2000, I completely collapsed. This defeat hurt deeply, but it opened my eyes to everything I needed to improve: equipment, physical condition, strategy, sleep management... Now I'm back in 2025, with fire in my belly. Before telling you about this new attempt, let me take you behind the scenes of my preparation.

My 2025 Season

Training began in October with the goal of maximizing my fitness before the FWT season to minimize winter losses. Winter proved to be mixed: despite some viruses and low periods in November, December allowed me to complete good intensity sessions, even with limited volume. A three-minute power test at 518 watts—40 watts more than in 2024—conducted just before the FWT tour confirmed I was on the right track.

The FWT season naturally disrupted my training schedule. Between competitions in Baqueira, Val Thorens, and returning home sick, I lost several weeks of preparation. Fortunately, Georgia offered a perfect opportunity for recovery—ten consecutive days of ski touring provided an excellent fitness reset. This trip also presented me with the Scoreplay career opportunity.

Despite two additional FWT competitions in March, I maintained over 60 hours of training, including several quality long rides. More disciplined nutrition helped me avoid my usual winter weight gain. The result: I weighed 93 kg this spring compared to over 100 kg last year. This 7 kg weight loss, combined with increased power output, translated to significantly better overall performance.

April was my most productive training month, with nearly 70 hours on the bike and encouraging progress. But in ultra-endurance, pure fitness isn't enough. Races are essential for developing fundamental skills: fatigue management, time efficiency, emotional stability, organization, adaptability, nutrition, and hydration. This year, I scheduled just one preparation race: GRAVAL Road on May 2—600 km with 11,000 m of elevation gain around Valencia. This low-profile event allowed me to train discreetly, away from the Race Across spotlight. The race went well: I maintained record power outputs for the first 15 hours before struggling overnight. Still, I won comfortably with a 90-minute lead, finishing in 25 hours and 40 minutes. My climbing improvements were evident, averaging nearly 25 km/h despite the challenging course. Most encouraging was sustaining a normalized power of nearly 270 watts for the first 15 hours—compared to last year, beyond the weight loss, I'd gained almost 20 watts of power. I returned from Spain confident, with one month remaining before RAF.

The final stages of preparation became more challenging as I started a new position on May 12th at Scoreplay as a Customer Success Manager. It was an exciting professional opportunity, but the timing was tricky with RAF approaching. However, life isn't just about cycling, and I wasn't about to sacrifice my career. On May 14th, I was sent to Paris for Roland Garros, one of our clients. I would remain in Paris until June 5th—over three weeks covering the entire final stretch of my preparation.

Balancing a new job, business travel, and the final countdown to RAF proved complex. Compromises were inevitable. I brought my bike to Paris, uncertain how much training time I'd have. Reality quickly set in: despite the exciting project, the days were long, sleep was disrupted, and training time was scarce. I struggled to exceed 10 hours of weekly training—not much, but enough to maintain fitness. Further improvements before RAF became impossible, but that was okay: my form was good, and the priority was preserving it while conserving energy.

In Paris, I discovered the Longchamp circuit: a 3.6 km loop reserved for cyclists around the Longchamp racecourse in the Bois de Boulogne. Staying nearby in Saint-Cloud, I had easy access. It was efficient because it's completely flat—two hours on the bike meant two hours of actual pedaling. Practical but incredibly monotonous! During those three weeks, I completed all but one of my rides there. Hundreds of laps nearly drove me mad—I desperately missed the varied terrain of my usual routes!

I crossed paths several times with Alexandre Bizeul, one of the RAF favorites (3rd in 2024) who lives in Paris and trains frequently at Longchamp. After three intensive weeks with only 30 hours of cycling, I finally returned to Lausanne before departing for Dinan. I'm pleased with the beginning of this new professional chapter and feel I've started things well. It was a great opportunity to be on-site and meet other team members. That's done! Now, on to the RAF!

I arrived home on the evening of June 5th, immediately launching into a preparation sprint: sorting gear, bike setup, organizing dropbags, and checking equipment. On Saturday morning (June 7th), I caught the train to meet friends in Dijon, before we all traveled together to the starting line in Dinan the following day.

Major Equipment Reset

I already mentioned this during the GRAVAL Road, but the other big change in 2025: the bike.

2024 was particularly brutal for equipment. Two broken carbon frames, multiple component failures... The result: a seriously compromised season, missed races, and an exploded budget. But beyond the equipment, my confidence also took a hit.

It became urgent to rethink my approach.

Choosing equipment is always about finding balance between weight, performance, aerodynamics, reliability, and practicality. Until now, I had clearly prioritized the lightweight/performance combo—a risky choice when you weigh over 90 kg.

Obviously, an ultra-light setup doesn't break systematically. But it significantly increases the probability of failure... and I learned this the hard way.

Taking stock, the conclusion was clear: I needed to shift toward something more solid. I decided to accept a bit more weight and slightly less pure performance in exchange for reliability, simplicity, and most importantly, peace of mind.

After several months of consideration, I opted for a steel frame.

I did consider titanium, but it was difficult to find the right combination of geometry, price, and availability. What I wanted: geometry similar to my old road bike, but with enough clearance for tires of at least 35mm—essential for the gravel sections of TCR.

My final choice: the Standert Pfadfinder. A versatile steel frame, compatible with tires up to 38mm, and with a position very close to my previous road setup.

The rest of the build follows the same philosophy: reliability, simplicity, and compatibility with my build and ultra-endurance demands:

• A steel frame with endurance geometry that can accommodate tires up to 38mm and a Chris King T47 bottom bracket
• A 1x drivetrain to simplify the system, eliminate the front derailleur, and reduce mechanical risks
• Wide and aero wheels: 25mm internal width (ideal for 30-34mm tires), 50mm depth, built with a SON Delux dynamo hub on the front for lighting
• An integrated cockpit, clean and functional
• A versatile gear ratio: 46-tooth chainring paired with an 11-46 cassette, for climbing while fully loaded without blowing up
• A dynamo lighting system with built-in USB charging capability
• Weight target: under 9 kg, compared to 7.6 kg for last year's setup. A small weight penalty I'm willing to accept for tremendous peace of mind

The RAF 2025 Route

This year, Race Across France covers 2607 km from Dinan in Brittany to Mandelieu on the French Riviera. The route is a journey through France's diverse landscapes, crossing 11 natural parks and immersing riders in the country's rural and mountainous territories.

The adventure begins in Brittany from Dinan's historic center, following the coastline past the stunning Cap Fréhel before climbing into the Monts d'Arrée. The route then descends toward Mayenne and continues to Montastruc near Toulouse before tackling the Massif Central via the Cantal and Cézallier mountains. After Ardèche, we'll enter the Alps of Haute-Provence to climb Montagne de Lure, before reaching this edition's highest point: Cime de la Bonette at 2802m altitude. From there, it's downhill to the finish line in Mandelieu.

With approximately 32,000-34,000m of elevation gain, primarily on secondary roads, this route demands meticulous preparation: precise navigation, strategic resupply planning in isolated areas, and adaptation to significant climate variations between plains and high mountain passes. This edition promises to be both beautiful and demanding, offering participants the chance to discover both iconic and lesser-known gems across France.

A quick reminder about how RAF works: it's a semi-autonomous event. We're completely self-sufficient on the course but can receive assistance at checkpoints. The route includes 5 strategic checkpoints:

• Quelaisnes-Saint-Gault (km 550)
• Montastruc-la-Conseillère (km 1320) - Dropbag 1
• Clermont-Ferrand (km 1705)
• Digne-les-Bains (km 2203) - Dropbag 2
• Jausiers (km 2365)

At two of these checkpoints, we have access to a "dropbag" containing clothing, food, spare parts, or other necessary equipment. These strategic points allow racers to organize their effort intelligently. However, checkpoints can be serious time traps! Between abundant food, welcoming volunteers, and relative comfort, precious minutes can easily slip away. The art is finding the right balance.

If you're interested in detailed route information, you'll find everything here.

As in previous years, my tactical preparation begins with meticulous route analysis. I identify all points of interest (shops, hotels, water sources) along the route, then select those that will form my detailed plan, which you'll discover below.

Sleep Strategy & Management

Before diving into RAF25, let's discuss strategy and sleep management—I've completely overhauled my approach since 2024. Last year, I was inconsistent with my sleep patterns: sometimes short nights, sometimes longer ones, sometimes early bedtimes, sometimes late. I treated all sleep hours as equal and viewed time spent sleeping as time lost. This mindset aligns with traditional ultra-cycling culture, where the first champions were celebrated for their ability to function with minimal sleep.

Fortunately, this is changing as younger competitors break these conventions. Leading this shift is Lucas Becker, the 2024 RAF winner. Lucas exemplifies excellent sleep management—among the top 20 finishers in 2024, he actually slept the most! Hard to believe, right? Yet it makes perfect sense: Lucas never rides while drowsy; he's always fresh. When tired, he sleeps—simple as that.

The results? Between 3-4 hours of sleep every night. Though he rides 2 hours less than others daily, he's so much fresher and faster that he covers more distance per day. Being well-rested offers numerous advantages: better mood, stronger morale, improved problem-solving, and clearer decision-making. Simply put, it's easier to enjoy the ride when you're not a zombie.

If Lucas has demonstrated anything, it's that sleeping intelligently is key—it's the cornerstone of performance in these long races. This is confirmed by Rémi Hurdiel, a sleep specialist conducting studies on RAF participants and collecting extensive data from numerous riders.

For this RAF, I've established these principles:

• Always sleep at least 3 hours (except for the first night since we start in the evening, and possibly the last night depending on the race situation)
• Try to go to bed at the same time to support my biological clock (for me, based on experience, between midnight and 2 AM at the latest)
• Sleep in hotels when possible to maximize the quality of those 3 hours
• Eat as much as possible right before sleeping, ideally arranging a meal at the hotel where I'll be staying

It's straightforward—no more unusual strategies with irregular rhythms. This year, I'm working from the principle that a regular, stable rhythm is key: going to bed at the same time, departing at the same time, eating meals at consistent times. In short, establishing a regular routine. I've developed a strategy based on this approach, resulting in the following plan:

Race Across France Strategy →

How to Read This Strategy

I've divided the route into segments of roughly 50km, each ending at a mountain pass, village, or checkpoint. For each segment, I've recorded the distance and elevation gain. I start with my known departure time: 7:20 PM. This first segment covers 54km with 427m of climbing. Given my freshness at the start and the elevation ratio, I estimate my average speed at 28km/h—a relaxed beginning! This means I'll need about 1hr55min to complete this segment.

To this, I add my stopping time, which I categorize in 3 ways:

• Default stops (traffic lights, bathroom breaks, and other unexpected stops—essentially a buffer)
• Intentional stops (water refills, food resupply, and planned breaks)
• Sleep (rest time!)

I allocate a default stopping time of 1 minute per hour of riding. Based on experience, this covers traffic lights, dismounting, bathroom breaks, and occasional flat tires. It's truly a buffer—I'm often ahead at the beginning, then this time gets used up after the first flat or unexpected event.

For intentional stops, I typically plan for one of these 4 scenarios:

• Water refill (3min)
• Food resupply (10min)
• Pre/post-sleep preparation (15min each)
• Checkpoint stops (20-30min)

For sleep, I generally plan 3 hours during this race, though this may vary. A standard day with 3 hours of sleep typically looks like: 3 hours of sleep, 30min transition before/after sleep, 2 food stops of 15min each, 4 water refills of 2-3min each, 19.5 hours of cycling, and thus 20 minutes of default stopping time.

Returning to our first segment: 1h55 of cycling means about 1min55 of default stopping time. Since I'll have food and water after the start, I don't plan any additional stops and certainly no sleep. The segment should take just under 1h58 in total. This tells me exactly when I'll begin the next segment, and I repeat this reasoning throughout.

I know I need to resupply food every 10-15 hours and water every 4 hours (depending on heat and time of day). It's not an exact science, but this approach helps me realistically plan my stops, especially for sleep.

Why think in segments? Simply because it's much easier to anticipate. Based on departure time, distance, and elevation, I can accurately estimate my average speeds while accounting for elapsed time and my likely state of freshness. The goal is to have the clearest possible picture of how the race will unfold, especially at the beginning. For me, the start is crucial—I know I'll eventually deviate from the plan for various reasons, but the longer I stay in control and on familiar ground, the better my race will be.

I prefer to stop for sleep around 1 AM. So I check where my plan puts me around this time on the first night and identify nearby towns. In my case, I should reach Argenton-sur-Creuse around 1:30 AM—a town with several hotel options, the ideal scenario. This is at km 830 with about 6000m of climbing to cover. To get there, I need to ride about 28h30 at an average speed of 29 km/h, with a total stopping time of approximately 1h20 until Argenton.

And there we have it—the first piece of the plan is in place! I know exactly what I need to do to get there. To ensure I'm not being too ambitious, I don't book anything in advance. I set an intermediate checkpoint just before km 400 at Loudéac to check my progress. If I'm less than 15 minutes behind schedule at Loudéac, I'll book a hotel in Argenton-sur-Creuse that morning.

This is how I function—it helps me visualize concrete objectives. I know that from the start, I want to sleep as far along the route as possible after 30 hours, which means I need to ride for 28.5 hours at about 29 km/h average speed with maximum stops of 1h20. These are metrics I can track in real-time and visualize in advance. This approach gives me peace of mind and prevents me from worrying about these details during the race. I know the thinking has been done beforehand—I just need to execute, not rethink, reducing my mental load.

In Argenton, I plan to sleep for 3 hours with a total stop time of 3h30 (15 minutes of transition before and after sleep—time typically used for managing equipment, charging devices, dressing wounds, preparing gear, showering). I'll leave my hotel just before 5 AM to tackle the next segment.

I follow the same logic for the following day, assuming I'll naturally slow down each day. Looking at where I'll be around 1 AM, I calculate I'll be about 50km from the Montastruc checkpoint where my dropbag with fresh clothes and food awaits. I should reach Montastruc checkpoint around 2:30 AM—is it worth pushing that far? I believe so, since I'll need to stop there anyway to change clothes. It makes sense to optimize by sleeping there too, especially since I'll likely be alone and in the lead if I maintain my plan. This time optimization is worth the extra effort and slight risk. So my goal is to arrive around 2:30 AM and sleep for 3 hours.

By now, you understand my reasoning. I'll spare you further details and present a summary of my race strategy (distances and times are rounded for simplicity and easier recall):

• Block 1: Dinan → Argenton-sur-Creuse 830km with 6000m elevation gain 28h30 cycling at 29 km/h with 1h20 stopping time Arrival at Argenton-sur-Creuse at 1:30 AM
• Sleep 1: Argenton-sur-Creuse 3h sleep (3h30 total stop at hotel) Departure from Argenton-sur-Creuse at 5:00 AM
• Block 2: Argenton-sur-Creuse → Montastruc Checkpoint 495km with 6000m elevation gain 20h20 cycling at 24.2 km/h with 1h15 stopping time Arrival at Montastruc checkpoint at 2:30 AM
• Sleep 2: Montastruc Checkpoint 3h sleep (3h45 total stop at checkpoint) Departure at 6:00 AM
• Block 3: Montastruc Checkpoint → Clermont-Ferrand Checkpoint 380km with 6000m elevation gain 17h20 cycling with 1h00 stopping time Arrival at Clermont-Ferrand at midnight
• Sleep 3: Clermont-Ferrand Checkpoint 3h sleep (3h30 total stop at checkpoint) Departure at 3:30 AM
• Block 4: Clermont-Ferrand Checkpoint → Cruis 450km with 6500m elevation gain 21h cycling at 21.4 km/h with 1h10 stopping time Arrival at Cruis at 1:45 AM
• Sleep 4: Hotel in Cruis 3h sleep (3h30 total stop) Departure at 5:15 AM
• Block 5: Cruis → Mandelieu-la-Napoule 452km with 8500m elevation gain 22h cycling at 20.5 km/h with 1h20 stopping time Arrival at Mandelieu-la-Napoule at 5:06 AM

This summarizes my race strategy. The plan is ambitious yet realistic, allowing me to finish in just under 130 hours (5 days and 10 hours)—slightly longer than the RAF record. Given this year's extended route and increased difficulty, I'm not targeting the record. Instead, my goal is to finish in under 5 days and 12 hours, which would make this the second-fastest finish in RAF history—an excellent result considering the course.

Here's a summary of my overall race plan:

• Distance: 2607km
• Elevation: 32,000m
• Total duration: 129h46
• Cycling time: 109h30
• Average speed: 23.8 km/h
• Total stopping time: 20h14
• Total sleep: 12h00
• Stop ratio: 15.6%
• Sleep ratio: 9.3%

This level of detail might seem excessive, but it helps me tremendously. The complete details are available here.

Rejuvenating Stay in Lanvallay

With the contextual formalities aside, let's finally discuss the 2025 edition. My adventure began on Saturday, June 7th, when I traveled to Dijon by train to meet my friends. At departure, I was exhausted from three weeks in Paris and 36 hours of rushing at home to prepare for the RAF. The fatigue was palpable, but thankfully I had a few days before the race to recover.

Fabien picked me up at the Dijon station and took me to Antoine and Éloïse's home where we had dinner and I spent the night. As usual, they welcomed us like royalty. Antoine is an exceptional cook - the evening menu featured a ribeye steak with homemade shallot sauce and fries. Absolutely magnificent.

It's wonderful to reunite with these two great friends I met through cycling adventures. For the second consecutive year, all three of us are participating in the Race Across France 2500km. Following last year's fantastic experience, we decided to spend the three nights before departure together in Dinan. In 2024, we did the same in Lille and it was simply amazing. These three days are filled with eating, sleeping, discussing the race, getting into the right mindset, building excitement, and supposedly talking about everything—though in reality, we mostly talk about the race. We might ride for a short hour here and there, but rest is the priority. Being in such good company is truly a blessing. We arrived at the starting line ready for battle; it was the ideal transition from daily life to the Race Across France. I recognize how fortunate I am to have this opportunity.

After a royal meal and some initial gossip, we loaded the first bikes into the legendary Berlingot. We'd drive from Dijon to Dinan the next day with all our gear packed in the car. Five bikes (including Éloïse's) and food for four days meant an impressive game of Tetris ensued. Éloïse's incredible support allowed us to travel comfortably by car to Dinan—she would later travel by bus and train on departure day to retrieve the car in Dinan before following us from a distance during the race. We're incredibly fortunate that she's willing to do all this for us, adding so much comfort to our journey.

The next morning, we finished loading everything, and with the Berlingot packed to the brim, the three of us set off for Dinan—a six-hour journey ahead. As usual, without a driver's license, I was completely useless! We stopped halfway to devour enormous burgers before finally arriving in Dinan around 6:30 PM. Our AirBnb was in Lanvallay, just next to Dinan. After unpacking, we went for a quick hour-long ride to stretch our legs after the journey. That was it—we had arrived. Now all that remained was to rest and eat as much as possible for the next three days.

I desperately needed these few days of recovery. Antoine prepared a five-star menu for us—it felt like staying at a luxury hotel. He took care of breakfast, lunch, and dinner each day. What a champion! The menu is shown below:

The following days were remarkably simple. We maximized sleep, ate heartily, and meticulously prepared our bikes and dropbags for the big day. I wish I could say our conversations covered a wide range of topics, but truthfully, they inevitably circled back to the race in one way or another. We were mentally preparing ourselves, and I was gradually regaining the energy reserves I'd desperately need once the start gun fired.

A special feature this year: my coach, Loïc Lepoutre, is also participating in the RAF! This edition will undoubtedly be special for him as he trains numerous athletes at the start, including Laurent Boursette, a legend and pioneer in the discipline who won the RAF in 2018 and 2019 during its first two editions. Laurent hasn't competed much in recent years, but he's been working with Loïc to prepare for winning RAF 2025. Most of them arrived Tuesday evening, and we arranged to meet for a warm-up ride to familiarize ourselves with the first 20 kilometers of the course. We enjoyed a brief hour and a half ride with Loïc, Laurent, Fred, Xavier, and Arnaud (the RAF founder) who joined us. It was nice and especially great to see Loïc! Back home for the last real night before a long week of cycling. The die is cast! Thanks to Fabien, Antoine, and Alix (who joined us Monday evening) for these amazing days that gave me new energy, and to Eloise, without whom the logistics would have been much more complicated!

The Grand Departure

I sleep poorly, which was expected—this race has occupied every corner of my mind for too long. The day before departure, it's difficult to detach. I'm glad to finally be here. We finish preparing our gear, load the car, and around 11am leave the AirBnb for the start in central Dinan to go through the now-routine check-in and bike inspection.

Arriving at the start area is fantastic as I reconnect with familiar faces—both volunteers I've come to know well and fellow participants. This is my 8th Race Across event, quite a significant number! The volunteers and staff are incredibly attentive, and it's wonderful to see them again.

For the first time, I sense that I'm becoming a familiar face to other participants—a new feeling for me in ultra racing. This year, I've openly declared my intention to win, and I'm mentioned among the favorites. It's a peculiar sensation, certainly new for me. It's nice, but it makes finding quiet moments to finish preparing difficult as I'm often approached or engaged in conversations with various people.

After completing the bike and required equipment check, we headed to the center of Dinan for one final meal with friends. Among the countless crêperies, we found a small restaurant where we ran into Simon Tarabon, a strong rider from Lyon who was also competing. The food was excellent. The entire town seemed overtaken by RAF participants—cyclists were everywhere. Dinan is a beautiful city with a stunning historic center, making it an ideal location for a race start. This year, nearly 250 cyclists are participating in the 2500km event—a record for RAF and an impressive number for such a long race. This growth clearly demonstrates how this event has evolved and gained significant prominence in recent years.

After dinner, we returned to the conference center for a final bike check, the customary pre-race pasta party, and most importantly, the traditional briefing with RAF announcer Fergus. At the pasta party, I reconnected with Lucas Becker and Alexandre Bizeul, who placed 1st and 3rd respectively in the 2024 edition. These two were my main competition for the 2025 race. Lucas ranks among Europe's elite ultra-cyclists with numerous victories and podiums in major races, while Alexandre was coming off an incredible preparation period where he won the Race Across Paris 1000km and logged impressive mileage. Having spent three weeks in Paris myself, I have enormous respect for Alex who trains intensely despite living in the 15th arrondissement. His exceptional fitness made it clear he would be a formidable competitor.

With Lucas, there's an air of inevitability, especially since he's arrived with an ambitious goal of riding 2500km in 5 days. This target is literally written on his handlebars—he's not here to waste time and clearly intends to optimize his strategy compared to 2024. Last year he won in 5 days and 18 hours, but everyone sensed he wasn't really pushed to his limits. He stopped frequently and didn't truly optimize his approach. A fully optimized Lucas? That's intimidating.

The starting lineup is impressive with 8 of the top 10 finishers from 2024 returning, all aiming to improve their performance. Among them is legend Régis Courteille participating in his 6th RAF, Joachim Mendler (4 top-5 finishes including 2 podiums, 2nd in 2024), William Debode (10th in 2024), our dear Chef Penkalla who finished 5th last year and returns with big ambitions, and Mark Arnold (3rd in 2023). Add to that Laurent Boursette's return, plus outsiders like GCN's Maxime Prieur, Louis Charpentier (2024 RAF 500km winner), Hugo Delcroix, and Florent Vilboux—you've got a stellar lineup promising an intense battle at the front of the race. There's genuine anticipation for this exciting competition among the top 10. Lucas, originally from Berlin but living in Nantes, knows the beginning of the course well and warns us that the initial profile is somewhat deceptive and surprisingly challenging. He suggests not starting too fast... I'll wait and see.

During the briefing, we truly realize the scale of the event. It takes place in a packed conference room—an impressive sight. The briefing covers the usual formalities: equipment, rules, course, media team, etc. More interesting is the weather report: the Breton night will be (unsurprisingly?) quite wet, with constant light rain and occasional heavy storms. I suppose this is part of the Brittany cycling experience. It doesn't bother me; I've raced in enough rain not to worry too much. As long as it's not too cold—which it won't be—it's not really a problem.

The briefing wrapped up around 6pm, with the first departures scheduled for 7pm—we're finally here! I took a quick departure photo with my friends Lucas, Antoine, and Fabien before heading to the center of Dinan for the grand start. The atmosphere was electric, with crowds gathering around the starting ramp as participants were launched at 30-second intervals according to their bib numbers.

Race Across France bib numbers are assigned for life. When you register for the first time, you receive the next available number. I registered in 2023 and became USS304 (Ultra Self Supported)—a great concept that highlights seniority. Laurent Boursette, USS14, was the first to start this year. I began at 7:20 PM, with 39 veterans departing before me. Lucas and Alexandre started just 30 seconds apart, 5 minutes ahead of me.

I savor these final moments of calm, taking time to lie down and briefly meditate, preparing myself for what's ahead. This journey will be long—extremely long—and challenging. Five minutes before my start time, I'm called to the departure area. I receive my tracker and pose for the official photo. Then the moment arrives. Fergus, the announcer, quickly introduces me, wishes me better luck with my crankset than last year, and then counts down: 3, 2, 1... I'm off, launching into a wild 2607km race across France.

Full Gas Through Brittany

The first kilometers took us through and around Dinan. I quickly caught up with the early starters, occasionally exchanging brief words, then settled into my rhythm once clear of the city traffic. It took me a moment to realize the race had finally begun and would last just under 6 days. Six days—wow, that's going to be long! You prepare for months, but when you're finally there and grasp the enormity of the challenge, it still hits you like a wall.

I started at a steady pace, setting a modest but consistent rhythm for the first 20 hours. My goal was to maintain a normalized power of 230-240 watts at least until the first life base at Quelaines-Saint-Gault. This should keep me on track with my estimates. Knowing I was in for nearly 30 hours of cycling without sleep, there was no need to rush at this point.

The beginning of the course, which I had scouted in previous days, is pleasant but quite hilly. It leads us toward the coast, which we reach after about 40 kilometers. It's still daylight and the weather remains decent. Though we won't see a sunset, we can at least enjoy a few hours of light before the forecasted wet night. Riding along the coast during daylight is wonderful—I'm glad we started at 7pm instead of 9pm like last year. The Brittany coastline is truly beautiful.

I gradually pass other participants and fully enjoy the scenery before being unexpectedly caught by Pascal Le Roux after less than 2 hours of racing. He started 10 minutes behind me—what a fast start! Pascal is a former elite cyclist, a real powerhouse. He's completed numerous Race Across events and notably won the 1000km in Switzerland last year, but he also has several DNFs on his record. He often starts very quickly but encounters problems during races. I sincerely hope this year will be the one for him!

We stayed close to each other for a while, sometimes him a few meters ahead, sometimes the reverse, with occasional exchanges between us. I enjoy these early race moments when we can chat—I'm making the most of it because these interactions will likely become much rarer soon!

Checking the tracker, I see I'm in 26th place after the first 50 kilometers. Wow, many riders started strong! Despite moving faster than planned at nearly 31km/h average, I'm still well behind the leaders. Ironically, Lucas, who warned us to pace ourselves in Brittany, launched like a rocket with an average speed over 35km/h for these first 50km. What an animal!

I remain calm, moving faster than planned and confident that by maintaining my effort for the first 20 hours, I should find myself at the front of the race. I have enough food for almost 20 hours, so I won't need to stop except for water. No stress. Things are already improving at the 100-kilometer checkpoint where I move up to 9th place.

Night has fallen and the race settles as everyone finds their rhythm. Pascal stays nearby until kilometer 150 where we catch up to the legend: Régis Courteille. Pascal stops to get water at a cemetery. We won't see each other again until the finish. I continue alongside Régis, always a pleasure to exchange words with him.

For several hours, I can't shake Régis, and vice versa. I gain ground on flat sections, then he catches me on climbs. This pattern continues for hours. The roads are winding and demand constant attention—many secondary routes with frequent turns, often poor surfaces, complicated by heavy showers. The wet roads become a concentration exercise I could do without. I nearly make mistakes several times—a reminder of how fine the margins can be.

I finally stop at a cemetery to refill my bottles—my second stop since the start. Régis pulls ahead. After quickly returning to my rhythm, I spot his rear light in the distance as he takes a sharp left turn on a small descending road. Seconds later, I take the same turn and discover the deplorable mud-covered surface. Definitely not one to take at speed!

As I cautiously advance along this road, I see Régis's light, perhaps 200m ahead of me, suddenly sprawl across the ground. He's fallen. I reach him seconds later as he lies on the ground and stop beside him. The road is sloping, with a long right turn covered in mud; it's raining, Régis is wearing glasses, has rim brakes, it's nighttime, and visibility is poor... falling in this corner was all too easy. Perhaps without Régis's crash, I would have been the one to go down.

I retrieve Régis's bike and help him to his feet. He's covered in mud and looks quite injured, with blood visible on his knee and hip. I stay with him for a few minutes to ensure he's okay. I reposition his chain; his bike seems alright, with only the rack appearing slightly damaged—nothing too serious at least.

Though this is a race, there are situations where competition becomes secondary and helping each other takes precedence. This is the beauty of ultra cycling—the goodwill that exists among all participants. Without question, any other rider would have done the same. Even though we're competing and give no quarter, we sincerely wish the best for each other, with no animosity whatsoever. This solidarity is precious, and it's a privilege to race in such an environment. Having competed in other sports before, I know this kind of brotherhood isn't common.

After a few minutes, Régis, though somewhat shocked, appears lucid and gets back on his bike. We set off together. He's brave to continue like this after such a nasty fall.

He struggles for a few minutes, mostly silent. I ride with him for about ten minutes, during which we stop once or twice as his rack makes some unusual noises. Once we confirm it's nothing serious, we continue. A few minutes later, he seems to find a decent rhythm. I ask if he'll be alright; he says yes, we wish each other well, and I pull ahead.

I feel terrible for him—this crash will certainly impact his race, and he seemed in great form. I hope he'll be okay. He must not be doing too badly, as I struggle to increase the gap between us. What a guy, this Régis. Finishing five Race Across France events, each time in the top 10, isn't for everyone, and it's certainly no coincidence. A true legend and an essential figure in the Race Across France community.

Shortly after, I no longer see his front light behind me. I call the Race Across France Operations Center to inform them about Régis's crash. Good news—someone qualified will meet him at the next life base to check his injuries. A bad situation, but the outcome doesn't seem too serious, and the race continues. Now I find myself alone.

I quickly return to my rhythm, and around 4 AM, I even find renewed energy. After spending the first 9 hours at a relatively comfortable pace, I slightly increase my speed. At this point, I'm in 6th place after covering just over 250km. Given my relaxed start and a few delays, I'm about 40 minutes behind Lucas, who's leading.

But the gap to the front narrows rapidly over the next few hours. The overall pace has dropped while mine slightly increases. By kilometer 300, I'm only 20 minutes behind the leaders. This isn't solely due to my increased pace, but also because Lucas stopped for a short nap.

Lucas is the fastest, everyone knows it. But everyone also knows that Lucas doesn't handle sleep deprivation well and struggles to spend an entire night on the bike. Last year, he already stopped for a short nap during the first night. So Alexandre Bizeul and Louis Charpentier took the lead.

Around 5 AM, I caught up with Lucas who had clearly just resumed after his nap, still looking half-asleep. He was visibly struggling and not very talkative. After riding together for a few minutes, I decided to try dropping him. He didn't look great, and I thought this would be a small psychological victory. Petty perhaps, but worth a try.

I maintained a pace around 300 watts for several minutes, which translates to good speed on relatively flat terrain. I expected to drop him easily. But no matter what, he stayed just 20 meters behind. After 10 solid minutes, I gave up. It was pointless, so I returned to my normal rhythm. Lucas caught up and said, "Thanks, that wakes you up." First psychological victory to Lucas Becker. If I couldn't drop him on flat ground when he was just waking up and not feeling well, that wasn't a good sign. What a monster this Becker is. What can you do?

We ride close to each other as dawn breaks. I eventually gain a slight lead in the early morning and notice I've moved up to 3rd place. The gap with Alexandre, who's in the lead, is now less than 20 minutes. I'm enjoying the sunrise when I discover my rear tire is flat.

This year, I opted for inner tubes instead of tubeless tires for practicality. Tubeless tires can be particularly difficult to handle, especially late in a race when hands lose strength and precision. With inner tubes, repairs are straightforward and never take more than 10 minutes. While puncture risk is higher, I carry four spare tubes (3 TPU and 1 Butyl) in my bags, giving me peace of mind. Plus, on a 100% road course like this one, punctures should be relatively rare.

I take 10 minutes to properly change the inner tube, and after a good hand-pumping session, I set off again, pleased to see I'm still ahead of Lucas. But barely 500m later, I realize my front tire is also flat. A simultaneous double puncture—frustrating! Did I make a poor equipment choice?

I stop in a small roadside village and repeat the procedure. That's when Lucas passes me. He asks if everything's okay; I reassure him with a nod as he continues while I finish my repairs. Ten minutes later, everything's fixed and I'm back on the road. After my experience at SUCH 2024—where I had to stop every 10 minutes for hours to hand-pump my tire—these small punctures seem almost trivial. My scale of mechanical problems has been completely recalibrated. What would have seemed catastrophic yesterday is now just a minor inconvenience. It's fascinating how quickly our perception of problems can evolve. Leaving the village around 6 or 7 AM, I pass two people who came to cheer on riders—truly heartwarming. I should mention that throughout these first 350 kilometers, we've encountered numerous supporters, both day and night. Their encouragement is invaluable, bringing smiles and renewed energy.

After these two hand-pumping sessions, the "Wall of Brittany" looms before me: 600 meters at 11% gradient. Fortunately, it's short, though this straight stretch certainly lives up to its name. I refill my bottles at the summit and resume riding at a good pace.

Over the next few hours, I continue reducing the gap with Lucas, Alexandre, and Laurent, who are a few kilometers ahead. Behind me is Louis Charpentier, winner of RAF 2024 500km, who started very fast. Best keep an eye on him.

We gradually leave Brittany, crossing landscapes without much remarkable interest, approaching the first life base at Quelaines-Saint-Gault (km 550). I first catch up to Laurent who has stopped, then find Lucas a few minutes later. About thirty kilometers from the life base, we join Alexandre who's taking a break at an impromptu refueling stop at an Intermarché supermarket. I stop there too, more for the pleasure of seeing Alexandre than out of any real need.

We depart together and, an hour later, all three of us arrive at the life base within less than 2 minutes of each other. Feels like déjà vu!

I'm currently in first place after 550km in 19h23, with 18h52 of actual cycling time. My average speed of 29.2km/h significantly exceeded expectations—I had planned to reach this first life base in 20h27, putting me almost an hour ahead of schedule. This despite the course being more challenging than anticipated, with nearly 5,500m of elevation gain versus the expected 4,500m.

Power-wise, I'm averaging 230W with a normalized power of 250W. I'm pleased with this—250W normalized over 19 hours is objectively strong, and I still feel relatively good, though I know my pace will decrease from here. I've only had 30 minutes of stops so far, though without the two flat tires and Régis's crash, it would probably be closer to 10 minutes. This is encouraging for what lies ahead, as despite these minor setbacks, I'm currently leading. It helps that this portion of the course theoretically suits me best.

All three of us meet at the life base, each taking some time to recover. I use this opportunity for a hot meal and to replenish my supplies. After refilling my bottles and water pouch and using the restroom, I head back out after about thirty minutes, departing before Lucas and Alexandre who are still preparing. They won't be far behind, but I'm back on the road first—genuinely leading the race now! Alexandre leaves the base five minutes after me, while Lucas departs about twenty minutes behind me.

Where Did the Flat Terrain Go?

Leaving the life base, I immediately sense I need to reduce my pace. I settle between 200 and 220 Watts, which should help maintain my gap with Lucas and Alexandre. I was really looking forward to the next 300 km because on paper, it was supposed to be the flattest segment of the course—and I love flat terrain. But I quickly realize the coming hours won't be as enjoyable as expected: small roads, strong crosswinds, and surprisingly hilly terrain.

Thankfully, I'm an hour ahead of my schedule, because I had planned to go fast on this segment, and I'm forced to acknowledge that's not happening. Earlier this morning, given my lead, Loïc and Greg (Loïc's brother who's helping with logistics) and I decided to book a hotel as planned in Argenton-sur-Creuse at kilometer 836. This leaves me with nearly 290 km to cover before I can sleep—it's going to be a long stretch. I should arrive around 1:15-1:30 AM, which is good. I'm confident the others will stop earlier. After all, an initial shift of 840 km is quite substantial.

The route crosses through the Loire natural park before taking us to the Creuse. With the sun shining again, I'm fully enjoying the scenery. I'm pleased to see the gap between me and my friends behind gradually widening. I stop at a bakery in Noyant just before closing time, stocking up on supplies to last until my hotel and for the early night hours tomorrow morning.

I'm about 20 and 30 minutes ahead of Alexandre and Lucas respectively. Alexandre will stop early, around 10 PM, to sleep at a hotel in Louan. I expect he'll sleep for 3-4 hours and depart around 2 AM. Personally, I prefer stopping later to avoid riding too long in the dark before dawn. Nighttime hours are always less productive; minimizing them helps my overall performance.

I like to tell myself I only have two hours of night riding in the evening and two hours in the morning. I think, "It's just 2 hours—stay focused, give it your all, and then you can sleep." This strategy seems to be working as my lead over Lucas has grown to nearly 1.5 hours.

Lucas stops around 11:15 PM at Esves-le-Moutier (km 754). He always sleeps outdoors, giving him flexibility to stop when he starts feeling less than optimal. He typically sleeps "a lot"—at least more than others at the front of the race. I'm curious to see how long he'll rest this time.

Behind me, Régis Courteille is still riding and has passed Lucas who just stopped. It's good to see that despite his crash, Régis can maintain a strong pace. Régis stops shortly after. Overall, it appears all the main competitors have stopped before midnight. I'm the only one still pedaling.

It's becoming challenging now, and I need to make the most of the next hour and a half to ensure my strategy pays off. I'm doing my best to stay awake and focused. It's borderline difficult, but I remain lucid and manage to maintain an acceptable rhythm.

I finally arrive at my hotel in Argenton at 1:15 AM, 20 minutes earlier than planned. So far so good! A cold meal awaits in my room: ham, cheese, rice, and yogurt. I take time to shower, prepare my gear for tomorrow, eat, apply healing cream to sensitive areas, and anti-inflammatory cream to my legs, neck, and feet. After about twenty minutes, I get into bed for 3 hours of sleep, with the alarm set for 4:45 AM. I'm confident I'll still be in the lead when I restart, but it'll be interesting to see where everyone stands by then!

I'm pleased with this first segment, which I managed well despite a significantly more difficult course than anticipated and several minor setbacks. Having a 20-minute lead despite these challenges is a positive surprise. The stats: 836 km and 8,000m elevation gain (versus the expected 5,500m) in 29h55, with 28h41 on the bike. My average speed so far is 29.1 km/h, with average power at 210W and normalized power at 230W. Not too bad!

As for my stops, I've totaled 1h15 so far: 30 minutes at the life base, 15-20 minutes for the two flat tires, 10 minutes accompanying Régis, 5 minutes at a bakery, and the rest for water refills at cemeteries and fountains.

Le Plateau des Millevaches

My phone, placed beside my head, rings at 4:45 AM. I always set the most jarring alarm possible to ensure I don't miss my wake-up call. As a precaution, I've programmed several reminders to keep me on schedule. I get out of bed and, robot-like, begin my morning routine: eating, applying chamois cream to sensitive areas, tiger balm on legs and knees, lubricating the chain, checking water bottles, brushing teeth (which helps wake me up), and repacking everything into my bags. Twenty minutes after the alarm, I leave the hotel and hit the road again.

The other riders have already been cycling for an hour or two and have closed the gap considerably. Alexandre is now just 20 minutes behind, while Lucas trails by less than 90 minutes. Lucas took a slightly longer rest than Alexandre and me. When resuming after a night's sleep, there's always a painful 10-15 minute transition: saddle soreness returns and knees creak. It's like restarting an old car engine—reluctant but manageable, even if uncomfortable. The body needs time to adapt to these persistent pains. It typically takes 2-3 days to find a rhythm. For now, my body doesn't quite understand what's happening; it struggles, thinking the pain might convince me to stop. Once it realizes this is the new normal, things will improve.

I start a bit slowly but quickly find my form and a good rhythm. Just in time, as things get serious with the first real climbs. Nothing major, but for the next 100 km, there's no respite: a succession of small climbs awaits, taking us to the Plateau des Millevaches and Limousin region at 800m elevation. That might not sound challenging, but I assure you it's mentally taxing: climb 100m, descend 50m, climb 100m, descend 50m... It feels endless and progress is relatively slow.

To my surprise, I'm moving well and managing these small climbs at nearly 250 watts. Nothing extraordinary under normal circumstances, but now that everyone has settled into their pace, it allows me to maintain a higher rhythm than most—except Lucas, who as usual is faster than everyone else.

Although I didn't have to ride long in the dark, sunrise brings me tremendous energy. How fortunate to be here cycling! A moment of euphoria follows as I fully appreciate what I'm doing. This is the essence of ultra-cycling: when things are going well, savor it completely. The sunlight offers a first glimpse of the region we're crossing, and it looks absolutely stunning. I've heard so much about Limousin and the famous Plateau des Millevaches, and I'm excited to discover it. While enjoying the moment, I realize I've brought the hotel room key with me—how annoying. What an idiot I am. They only have one key, but fortunately, they understand the situation and kindly allow me to mail the key back a few days later without charging me anything.

At the summit of one climb, I'm greeted by a race supporter who's come to provide water. A friendly guy, incredibly proud of his region and delighted we're passing through. He plans to meet the first 5-6 riders along the route. At least the others will also benefit from this support. I don't feel guilty filling my bottles and chatting briefly with this person whose name I can't even remember. So far, this day couldn't be starting any better!

After covering just over 130 km, I stop around 11:15 AM at a small supermarket in Royère-de-Vassivière to resupply for the day. It's been about 6 hours since I started, and the gaps with Alexandre and Lucas have widened to 1 hour and 2 hours respectively. Did I really just gain time in a very hilly segment? That would be a first! This gives me considerable confidence as it shows I've significantly improved my cruising pace, especially on climbs. I'm no longer losing time where I used to lose a lot. Nothing definitive yet, but certainly an encouraging sign.

I raid the supermarket with the intention of making no other stops today. I grab whatever appeals to me. With the heat starting to build, I crave fruit: 6 peaches, 500g of strawberries, and 2 bananas. I add 4 yogurts, 200g of ham, 2 bags of Haribo candy, and an ice cream. A perfect resupply. I immediately devour the ham and yogurts before stuffing the rest into my bag and panniers, then get back on the road after a stop of nearly 15 minutes.

The heat is really starting to beat down. We receive a warning from the organizers that temperatures further south could reach up to 38°C (100°F). Promising a pleasant afternoon ahead. Personally, I hate the heat. And sure enough, a few hours later, after the beautiful crossing of the Millevaches plateau and a long, gradual 30-kilometer descent, we plunge straight into the furnace, heading south. It's 2 PM and my computer shows 36°C (97°F). It's like riding through an oven.

The heat drains every bit of energy from my legs. I struggle to maintain consistent effort, my speed drops considerably, and I stop at every cemetery to douse myself with water and refill my bottles. I'm consuming nearly a liter per hour. At Bugeat, kilometer 1005, I'm exactly 10 minutes ahead of my schedule. So far, I'm good. But with this intensifying heat, I'll definitely fall behind soon.

My initial plan was to reach the life base at Montastruc (km 1322) to sleep there. Having a dropbag there would save significant time. With everything going well, I had planned to arrive around 2:30 AM—already quite late and pushing limits. But with this heat and the additional stops it requires, it would likely be closer to 3:00-3:30 AM. Bad idea, too risky. I decide instead to sleep at a hotel 50 km before the life base, in Bioule. I should arrive around 1:00-1:30 AM, which is better and safer. I'll lose some time on transitions, but I'll sleep well at the hotel and can arrange for a proper meal to be left in my room. All things considered, it's not a bad decision—today's goal is set!

I struggled through the following hours: too many stops, even if brief, with my average speed dropping and my lead taking a hit. The route was dotted with short but challenging climbs that I could barely manage. I couldn't enjoy the landscapes or live in the moment. Right now, it's nothing but an exercise in suffering.

I reached my hardest moment of the race so far upon seeing the route the organizers made us take at Yassandon. A detour of almost 4 kilometers, an out-and-back to reach a viewpoint, before descending to rejoin the same road we left just 300 meters further on. What torture! As if anyone would appreciate this viewpoint during a race. This isn't a tourist excursion, it's a competition. Plus, it was a steep climb. It drove me crazy at the time, and I suspect I wasn't the only one! Objectively, it was a beautiful viewpoint, but I certainly didn't appreciate it at all.

I continue my painful progress southward, longing for just one thing: evening and cooler temperatures. With this kind of heat, it's almost tempting to rest during the day and ride at night. But if I've learned anything from my RAF 2024 experience, it's best to avoid going against your biological clock—it rarely pays off. I want to establish a rhythm where I go to bed at roughly the same time each day and sleep for approximately the same duration.

So no afternoon break for me. However, I give in and stop at a bakery for some cold drinks and a pastry. This wasn't a necessary stop—just a moment of weakness I couldn't resist. I slip the cold cans under my jersey at the nape of my neck. At least this should help me cope with the heat a little better.

I pass through Souillac around 7 PM and make my way toward the Causses du Quercy Natural Park, a stunning region. When reaching Calès at 7:44 PM, I notice I'm now about 45 minutes behind my schedule. The heat and my afternoon struggles have cost me an hour—I made the right call booking accommodations before the life base. I probably could have made it there, but I would have been in rough shape. Better safe than sorry.

Alexandre and Lucas have closed the gap considerably, now just 45 minutes and 1.5 hours behind me respectively. I need to pull myself together this evening. Fortunately, the Causses region is beautiful. I forget my misery by losing myself in the landscapes, and a few hours later, I'm already feeling somewhat better as my pace improves slightly.

I wonder what approach my two competitors will take for the coming night. It'll be interesting to see how they manage. As I pass through Vers, where another group waited to cheer me on (Thank you!!!), night begins to fall and I spot storms in the distance. Forecasts predicted storms north of Toulouse in the late evening. I hope to thread between the raindrops and avoid the worst. Above all, I hope I won't have to stop. I'm dreaming of just one thing: finishing this day, reaching my hotel, eating and sleeping to start fresh tomorrow.

Alexandre stops in Vers around 11:30 PM. He's the first to call it a day, which makes sense as he was also the first to start this morning. For my part, though it's becoming difficult, I have no issues with lucidity. I can at least continue moving at an acceptable pace.

Lucas stops just before 1 AM to sleep in the small village of Cremps. At this point, I have a 1.5-hour lead on him—exactly the same as when I woke up this morning. The gap had widened to almost 2.5 hours by late morning. A draw today means we'll have to start again tomorrow.

I also arrive at my hotel in Bioule around 1 AM. Finally, this second day comes to an end! It concludes in the best possible way as I find a 300g steak waiting in my room. Oh yes, what bliss! It's cold, but I don't care—I devour it in 5 minutes. It lifts my spirits while providing protein to save my legs for tomorrow. I go through my usual routine, in the same order as the previous night. After such a meal, I fall asleep with a smile. Like last night, I'll get 3 hours of sleep. Wake-up is set for 4:30 AM.

Day's statistics: 430km with 7,000m of elevation gain over 19h33, including 18h30 on the bike. My average speed was 23.3 km/h. Power-wise, I averaged only 163 Watts with a normalized power of exactly 200W. At this stage, that's fairly normal. My goal is to maintain these 200W normalized which should allow me to hold my planned average speeds.

Slightly disappointed about having to stop for an hour during the day, but at least I survived the heat without losing time overall. A day of highs and lows—a beautiful morning on the Millevaches plateau followed by a hellish afternoon in the furnace. Ah, the contrasts of ultra-cycling.

Euphoria and First Mistake in Auvergne

The alarm rings and I follow the same routine as yesterday. Fifteen minutes later, I'm back on my bike. I slept well and feel almost rested and fresh. Lucas left a few minutes before me, with our gap still around 1h30. New day, new battle.

To my surprise, Alexandre is still stopped and has been caught by several other participants. Yet he stopped earlier—strategy or problem? I hope he's okay! I try to quickly find my rhythm since Lucas seems to have started strong. In less than 2 hours, I'll reach the life base where my dropbag awaits with food and clean clothes. I'll need to be efficient to minimize time loss.

I arrive at the life base around 7 AM and, as always, am greeted by the smiles and encouragement of volunteers and organizers. It's a wonderful way to start the morning. I'm clear-headed, calm, and feeling good. I change into clean clothes, eat a hot meal, and take the opportunity to replace my rear tire's inner tube which had been slowly losing air.

The whole process takes longer than expected. It's easy to linger at these life bases—familiar faces, smiles, conversations with organizers... Minutes fly by much faster than they do on the bike! But it's also refreshing to have some human interaction.

Éloïse, Antoine's wife, is there to welcome me. It's great to see her! This RAF is an adventure for her too. She's waiting for Antoine, who will arrive late morning or early afternoon with some derailleur issues. I believe Éloïse managed to arrange for a new derailleur so Antoine can replace it at the life base. She's incredible—here primarily for Antoine, yet she still woke up early to greet me. How fortunate I am—thank you again, Éloïse.

Meanwhile, Alexandre has resumed riding after a stop of nearly 6.5 hours. I learn from the organizers that it was due to an alarm failure. What bad luck. I feel sorry for him as he had such a strong start. Even with 3 extra hours of sleep, it will be difficult for him to close the gap. I can only imagine his frustration right now, but the race is still long—nothing is decided yet.

It took me nearly 50 minutes before getting back on the road toward Clermont-Ferrand. I left the life base about ten minutes before Lucas arrived—psychologically, it was important to depart before he showed up. I set off at a good pace, determined not to crack today and to maintain my lead over Lucas. If he were to catch me on the road, it would be devastating for my morale and a massive boost for his.

I had planned to leave the Montastruc life base at 6 AM, but it's almost 8 AM when I finally hit the road. Between yesterday's high temperatures and not sleeping at the life base, I'm 2 hours behind schedule. It's not too serious—at least I slept well, ate well, I'm still in the lead, and I feel good!

Today's goal is to reach Clermont-Ferrand. Including the 55 km I've already covered this morning, I have about 375 km to go before Clermont, where I plan to sleep at the life base. In my initial forecast, I expected to arrive at 12:15 AM, but now I'll aim to make up an hour and get there by 1:15 AM.

Lucas leaves the life base after just over 40 minutes, around 8:50 AM, about an hour behind me. He's taking off like a missile! He's been riding incredibly hard since this morning—I hope he slows down! That's typical Lucas: there are one or two moments in the day when he puts 30 minutes into you, and there's nothing you can do about it.

We have about 200 km to Aurillac before climbing into the Massif Central where we'll ascend the legendary Puy Mary. Storms are forecast for tonight—the sooner we pass through the mountains, the better. The 200 km to Aurillac are challenging: many short climbs of 5-6 kilometers with steep gradients. It's going to be a grueling day.

On the positive side, the region is stunning! I'm soaking it all in because I know that this afternoon, with the heat, it will be less enjoyable. The ride through the Grésigne state forest is truly superb: beautiful quiet roads, no cars, pristine nature—everything we love! My pace is good, but the gap is gradually narrowing.

Looking at the rest of the race, a considerable gap is forming between the top 10 and the rest of the field (almost 80 km!). Everyone predicted an intense battle at the front, and that's exactly what's happening. We're halfway through the race with no surprises in the top 10. It's a true remake of 2024, but with a noticeably higher overall level. It's exciting—a real battle among friends.

Although the race is still long, it seems increasingly likely that it will come down to Lucas and me. Right now, I have almost an 80 km lead (about 4 hours) over Marc Arnold, who has moved into third place following Alexandre's misfortunes. It's unlikely that Marc and the others will make it through the Massif Central before the storms. I suspect they'll have to stop in Aurillac tonight, putting them on a pace where it should be difficult to close the gap with Lucas and me. I'm speculating, but this seems the most probable scenario at this point.

A notable development this morning was Laurent Boursette's withdrawal at the Montastruc life base. I don't have all the details, but it seems to be due to pain and physical issues. Whatever the reason, it's unfortunate, and I hope he's alright.

After a few hours, Lucas's pace finally seems to be slowing a bit—I've survived the first round of the day. I'm giving everything I have on the real climbs and am surprised by the power I can still maintain. I find myself riding the ascents above 250 Watts, which prevents Lucas from gaining time.

Throughout the day, a true battle of distance is developing with Lucas—it's him against me, and we both know it. A one-hour gap is nothing, and we both know that too. I survive the day's first climbs and continue toward Aurillac. I have to say this section of the course is surprisingly difficult, and this is supposedly the easier half of the day. It's going to be challenging!

I raid a small Proxi convenience store in Marcolès around 4:30 PM, which should keep me going until Clermont. It's my last real stop of the day. I leave loaded like a pack mule and feel quite heavy on the climbs. Fortunately, a few kilometers later, I'm joined by Cyril, a local who's been following the race closely and comes to ride alongside me for a few kilometers.

He's a really friendly guy, and I forget about time and discomfort as we chat. It's a pleasure to talk and connect with someone. Cyril accompanies me until we exit Aurillac, roughly 15-20 kilometers. These kinds of encounters are wonderful—something I'll remember. He also plans to meet up with Lucas later; I hope he tells him I'm in great shape and moving super fast...

Sometimes you think you're moving quickly, but it's only when riding beside someone who's well-rested that you realize how slow you actually are. I can tell this is just a casual ride for him, while I'm giving everything I've got left—it's quite amusing. A huge thank you to Cyril for coming to say hello. It's these kinds of encounters that make these races so special.

Past Aurillac, I find myself alone. The route takes us along the Crêtes Road, an absolutely magical path leading through the Auvergne Volcanoes region. The landscape transforms—everything becomes greener, more vibrant. I absorb it all. There's an UTMB trail race happening nearby, with runners everywhere. Many spectators know the RAF is passing through, and I receive plenty of encouragement from people lining the route.

Better yet, the gap with Lucas has widened slightly—he must have made a longer stop, as I now have almost a 1h15 lead. Great news! This adds to the euphoria of the moment. I'm experiencing my best moments since the race began. I'm in the flow state—time passes quickly, I'm smiling, and I don't feel tired. It's magnificent.

Things are about to get even better. After descending from the Crêtes Road, I begin climbing Puy Mary from Mandailles—12 km at 6% gradient. Nothing too brutal, but still a proper mountain pass with some steep sections. I start the climb at 6:30 PM as the sun begins its gentle descent, casting a golden light across the landscape. I'm completely alone, surrounded by breathtaking scenery.

I found myself weeping with joy. Being here, doing this—it fills me with indescribable happiness. This is a special moment I won't soon forget. I probably didn't climb very fast since I spent the ascent filming videos, singing, getting lost in my thoughts, and shedding a few tears. A moment frozen in time. Cycling truly is wonderful. It took me just over an hour to reach the summit. Thank you to Pas de Peyrol, which will forever be etched in my heart.

It's 7:30 PM and I have 120 km left, scattered with short and medium climbs before reaching the Clermont-Ferrand life base. The final 30 kilometers are mostly downhill, which should allow me to arrive around 1 AM. The day has gone faster than expected, at least so far. Lucas passed the summit 1 hour and 15 minutes after me—the gap remains stable. So far, it's a true stalemate.

About twenty kilometers after Puy Mary, my aunt Peet, who lives in the Allanches area, is waiting for me by the roadside. She came to say hello, which warms my heart. I barely stop for 30 seconds—I hope she doesn't mind! I'm sure she'll let my mom know that everything is going well. And indeed, right now everything is good: I'm clear-headed, feeling strong, in good spirits, and less than 100 km from Clermont.

The next significant climb is Col de Chamaroux, quite long but fortunately not too difficult. I reach the summit around 10 PM as night begins to fall. I'm glad I could complete this climb while still enjoying the breathtaking landscapes of Auvergne. What an incredible region!

After nightfall, things quickly become more challenging. First, in the distance to the north of Clermont—exactly where I'm headed—I can see massive thunderstorms. It's never reassuring, but fortunately the wind seems to be blowing favorably—I should be able to avoid the worst. The forecast indicates that until at least 1 AM, the storms shouldn't pass directly over Clermont. I hope so, because judging by the intensity of the storms I can see in the distance, it doesn't look appealing. I'd really prefer to avoid getting drenched just before spending the night at the life base. I do encounter a few light showers, nothing too serious.

While riding without glasses, something lodges in my left eye. I can't get rid of it—there's a foreign object stuck under my eyelid. I stop at a fountain and rinse thoroughly, but it's still there. What a nuisance! It's very uncomfortable, more mentally than physically. I struggle to keep my eye open as it starts to water. It will eventually come out on its own, but I could definitely have done without this setback.

My mood quickly deteriorates. I'm starting to get fed up. I thought this section, which should be mostly downhill, would go faster, but in reality, I'm slowing down more and more. It's likely a combination of factors: the night, my eye irritation, fatigue, the terrain... Regardless, these final 60 km to the life base are going to drag on forever.

I nearly lose my mind when in Murol, instead of following the main road, we're directed onto a small village road that leads to a wall-like climb—several hundred meters at absolutely brutal gradients. It's cruel, extremely cruel. This wall defeats what little willpower I had left—I'm officially done. I'll have to drag myself to Clermont.

The final kilometers are also littered with unwelcome surprises. While I found much of the route excellent, I'm now seriously questioning the route design choices. Descending toward Clermont, instead of following the main roads, we make small detours through neighborhood streets—up, down, making no sense. I might be biased since my patience has hit rock bottom, but I'm certain there were better routing options. I'm exhausted; it's time to arrive.

I moved painfully slow during those final kilometers, finally reaching the life base at 1:30 AM. I doubt I'll be able to make up the time I've lost against my projections before the race ends. That's okay—these projections were mainly important as guidance and a framework for the first part of the race. For the remaining 900 kilometers, it's the battle with Lucas that will dictate my choices, as there's no doubt he'll be impossible to shake off.

I arrive at the life base visibly worn and in pretty rough shape. The day was brutal, but I still managed 430 km with nearly 8,000 meters of climbing in 20h40, with 19h03 of actual riding time, averaging 22.6 km/h. That's respectable. Power-wise, only 165W average but 203W normalized, showing I maintained decent power on the climbs. As for stops, 1h40 total for the day is quite a lot, mainly due to the 50 minutes spent at the previous life base. The whole point of sleeping at this life base was to avoid wasting those 50 minutes.

What I don't know yet is that this might be a blessing in disguise—I'm about to discover that sleeping at a life base isn't as ideal as it seems... Overall though, today's outcome is positive. Last year, Lucas put almost 2 hours on me in the Massif Central. This year, the gap remained stable. If someone had told me Lucas wouldn't gain any time on me during a day with almost 8,000 meters of climbing, I would have signed up immediately.

Back in Clermont, I wearily park my bike and find Éloïse who's come to greet me with some food. She also picked up an order of pasta and meat that we had delivered to the life base. Waiting for me here at 1:30 AM, when this morning she was still at Montastruc... She's truly the best. I struggle to show proper gratitude because I'm in such poor condition—the last two hours on the bike were rough and took their toll. But wow, what incredible support—it's hard to find the right words...

To my surprise, I also find my cousin Solène, who studies in Clermont. I wasn't expecting her at all, which is nice. Caught off guard, I'm not very sociable and don't take time to chat with her. Between my condition and eagerness to sleep, my mind is elsewhere. Still, it's wonderful to see her.

Finally, I'd almost forgotten about a small package delivered for me at the life base, handed to me by volunteers upon arrival. It's a replacement light delivered Saturday by Guillaume Ringot, who runs "La Roue Dynamo" bike shop. A few months ago, I ordered a Sinewave Beacon light from him. The light is excellent, but the day before the race, I discovered the full-brightness mode had a defect and wasn't working—a button issue. Annoying but not catastrophic; I had simply decided to bring an additional light, and I could still use the "low light" mode which provides some illumination, though not nearly enough. Two lights are essential for safety.

I realized that La Roue Dynamo is not far from Clermont-Ferrand. On the day of the race start, I called Guillaume to see if it would be possible to have a new Sinewave Beacon delivered to the Clermont life base before my arrival on Saturday night. Not only did he say it was possible, but he even offered to deliver it himself... by bike. Incredible.

I'm truly fortunate to have so much support during these adventures, even more so this year than in previous ones. The cycling community is filled with wonderful people ready to help at a moment's notice. A big thank you to Guillaume—if you ever need a dynamo setup, he's the one to contact! I'd need to do a bit of tinkering now, but this light would be invaluable for the remainder of the race. In his package, he also included a small jar of chamois cream. He must have read my mind as I was starting to run low. I owe him one!

Still at the life base, I finish eating while Éloïse keeps me company. She's being very patient, as I'm probably not the best company right now. I linger a bit but finally convince myself to prepare my bike and gear. However, I decide to postpone the light installation until morning—I need sleep and shouldn't delay any further. I had thought Lucas would stop somewhere before the life base, as it's not like him to ride until 2:30 AM, but he appears to be heading for the base as well. We'll be in the same place, so I really need to sleep before he arrives. I thank Éloïse and head off to bed. Or at least, that's what I think at this point...

The Restless Night

The volunteer shows me to the dormitories. I decide it would be better not to sleep in a dorm where Lucas will soon arrive. Not only might he wake me when he arrives, but I might wake him when I leave. I ask if I can move one of the beds to a locker room instead. The volunteer says it's no problem and leads me to a locker room where I can sleep alone.

I don't notice at the time, but there's a large skylight in the ceiling... and I realize I've forgotten my earplugs. I'll need to fall asleep quickly or I'll be disturbed by Lucas's arrival. And in the locker rooms, everything echoes.

Lying on the camp bed, I quickly realize I've made a mistake coming to sleep here. I barely fit in this bed - I'm too tall to be comfortable. I don't feel well, my mind racing constantly. I'm not in my usual bubble and struggle to truly fall asleep, drifting between light sleep and wakefulness.

Eventually, I'm awakened by Lucas's arrival, which doesn't help my brain relax. After a few trips back and forth, Lucas goes to bed, presumably in the dormitory. I try to fall asleep again, but this time a massive thunderstorm erupts. With the skylight overhead and the pounding rain, sleep becomes impossible.

This is not good at all. It's 4 AM, I've been lying here for almost 2 hours with no benefit. I'm uncertain what to do. I assume Lucas is sleeping in the dormitory and will sleep for about 2 more hours. What should I do? If I stay, there's no guarantee I'll sleep, much less sleep well. If I leave without having slept while Lucas rests, I'll be completely destroyed later.

I finally conclude my best option is to get back on the road immediately. I know this means I'll have a horrible day ahead, moving inefficiently, feeling like a zombie on the bike, and unable to enjoy the route. But at least I can leave 2 hours before Lucas and maintain the option to take short naps when necessary - which will undoubtedly be needed.

What a stupid mistake! I was in a good rhythm with good management, and I've just ruined everything. Several people, including Rémy, the sleep specialist who's been closely monitoring me, had warned that sleeping at the life base might not be the best idea. They were right. I planned everything down to the smallest details, yet I let something like this slip through. A hard lesson learned.

I leave my camp bed in a foul mood with very negative thoughts. This sets the tone for the coming day... Before I can depart, I still need to change the light on my bike. The volunteers at the life base are super friendly; I think I must respond to them rather coldly, for which I'm sorry, but I can't shake the feeling that I've wasted a race that was so well managed until now.

I need to pull myself together quickly or things won't go well. The 4 AM bike repair exercise helps me focus on something else. The storm continues, but should stop in 15-20 minutes, after which I can leave. Finally, I hit the road at 4:30 AM, tired and demoralized after a night that was disastrous for my race.

Game Over? The Painful Journey Through Ardèche

I get back on the road in the worst possible mood, riding on roads still wet from the heavy downpours that just ended. My mind is plagued with negative thoughts, and after just a few minutes, I'm fighting sleep, my eyes closing involuntarily. I know riding like this is usually pointless, but today I have no choice—I need to fight if I want to maintain even a slim chance. But things don't improve, and less than 45 minutes after setting out, I stop at a bus shelter to close my eyes. Nothing's working anymore. I'm making poor decisions; after barely 15 minutes without really sleeping, I continue riding. My mind is chaos, I'm completely lost and agonizing over every decision. Ten kilometers later, I stop again to lie down in another bus shelter where I spend another 15 minutes, not really knowing why I'm doing this or what benefit it might bring. It's pointless since I'm not really sleeping.

Lucas hits the road shortly after 6 AM, about 90 minutes after me. I don't give myself much chance. Between my countless stops and the substantial speed difference, I know he'll catch me. I can throw my race plan in the trash—time to improvise. The gap melts like snow in the sun; Lucas must see this and is probably enjoying it. My condition doesn't improve. After 70km, at 8 AM, I decide to stop in a park in Saint-Germain-l'Herm for an hour-long nap. These naps aren't helping much, but I need to build up at least some sleep capital if I'm going to survive the day. I should be setting off again roughly when Lucas catches up.

I don't sleep well, mainly because my clothes are damp and it's quite humid, but at least I get minimal rest. After about an hour, I set off again, my morale still in shambles. In the same village, there's a small supermarket I'd spotted that just opened. This one is important because it's Sunday, and the upcoming section of the route is particularly lacking in resupply points. Arriving at the supermarket, I see... Lucas's bike! He doesn't know I'm here. I enter the store, we cross paths in an aisle, he smiles, gives a big "hey!" and we hug. It's a completely unexpected moment; we can hardly believe we're meeting like this after such a long and already exhausting battle from a distance. I'm happy to see him.

We both shop unhurriedly, as if crossing paths had momentarily removed the sense of urgency that had been driving me since Montastruc. Without needing to say it, a temporary truce settles between us. We even sit on the ground in front of the supermarket to have breakfast together. I hadn't once taken time to stop and eat except in the evenings before sleeping or at life bases, and it feels good, especially in good company.

We chat about our early race adventures, especially the night that just passed. He didn't sleep well either, but at least he managed to get some rest. He points out that forgetting earplugs is a rookie mistake, and I can't help but agree. He's having trouble with his feet, which are bothering him considerably—he changed shoes just two weeks before the race. I note that this too is a beginner's error, and he concurs. It's a pleasant moment that reinvigorates me with much-needed energy and positivity.

When you think about it, this moment is quite remarkable and almost unique. Here we are, the two race leaders engaged in a fierce battle for over three days, sitting on the ground in a small French village at 9 AM on a Sunday, casually chatting while eating yogurt with our fingers. It's amazing that something like this can happen—something that certainly wouldn't occur in many other sports. After about ten minutes, we hit the road together, and I struggle to keep up with Lucas's pace, occasionally catching up to exchange a few words.

This continues for a good hour and a half until we're caught in the rain. On a winding country road, I narrowly avoid crashing after an emergency brake that forces me slightly off the road. A small adrenaline rush, but everything seems fine—or so I think. Minutes later, the rain intensifies to biblical proportions as we're caught in a major storm. At that moment, I realize I've punctured my front tire, likely when I veered off the road earlier. Great. Well, at least it gives me an excuse to avoid riding through this downpour. Lucas doesn't stop, of course, and pulls ahead. It takes me about ten minutes to fix the tire and get back on the road.

We've just crossed through Livradois-Forez Natural Park. It looked amazing, but between my condition, the long steep climbs, and the weather, I must admit I struggled to enjoy it. Next stop is Haute-Loire, which should offer about forty kilometers of flat terrain and respite before crossing the Monts d'Ardèche Natural Park with its long, challenging climb ahead. Descending toward the valley, I briefly pass Lucas who has stopped for a few minutes, but he quickly catches up about thirty kilometers later as we begin tackling the Ardèche section.

I feel myself starting to fade again, sinking back into exhaustion. Lucas senses it too, setting a pace I can't maintain as I watch him pull away meter by meter. Halfway up an irregular 15-kilometer climb to Les Estables, I'm forced to stop for yet another nap as I begin falling asleep on the bike. I lie down for 15 minutes on a bench in a small roadside park—my fourth stop today, which is becoming far too many.

I set off again to tackle the final 10 kilometers of the climb. At Les Estables, I'm greeted by a guy whose name I can't recall; he welcomed Lucas at the same spot 20 minutes earlier. We chat briefly—he rode the RAF a few years ago and his in-laws live here in Les Estables. Seeing my poor condition, he offers to let me nap at his in-laws' home. Tempting, extremely tempting... But I can't give in completely; I've already cracked enough today. Besides, I'm not sure such assistance would even be legal. I can't express how difficult it is to decline an offer like that.

Lucas has a 20-minute lead when I get back on the road. But the climbs aren't over, and I'm still moving painfully slow. I finally reach Mont Gerbier de Jonc at 1,417 meters elevation, where I discover a small market. Like too many times already today, I cave and stop. I buy some apricot tarts (delicious) and pick up a few items for the rest of the day. As I sit down to eat my tarts, I completely break down and burst into tears.

Yesterday was euphoria in Auvergne, today is despair in Ardèche. Right now, I'm at rock bottom, uncertain about my strategy for the rest of the race. I don't know how I'll catch Lucas. The gap will widen considerably today, and the most challenging part of the course still lies ahead—mythical climbs like Montagne de Lure and Cime de la Bonette. As you know, I'm not a climber. How can I possibly catch Lucas on this terrain? It seems impossible. At this moment, I'm convinced I won't win—it's over for me.

Should I focus on securing second place? Alexandre is gaining momentum; he's taken third place and is currently 4 hours behind me. What should I do? With my fatigue and wavering lucidity, I'm not in the best position to make sound decisions. I call Loïc, who's already aware of my situation, to discuss the remainder of the race. He suggests that if things are really bad, I could sleep now (it's 4 PM) at the nearest hotel for 3-4 hours and then ride through the night.

Tempting... but riding through the night for the rest of the race? What a nightmare. After consideration, this doesn't seem viable. It offers a short-term benefit, but the race is still too long for this to pay off—there are over 700km remaining. Not thinking clearly, the idea of immediate comfort and a proper bed wins out, and I call Greg to discuss hotel options within the next 30 kilometers. He tells me he'll check and get back to me. We hang up, and I think for a few minutes.

The more I consider it, the more I believe it's a bad idea. Riding all night would be worse than continuing for several more hours now, especially since I'm at the highest point in Ardèche and the hardest part of the day is behind me. At this stage, given my current state, what's the fastest way to finish the race?

I finally conclude that my best option—and only small chance of winning—is to push a bit more today and sleep for 3-4 hours in a hotel just far enough that I might be able to complete the remainder of the race in one go.

I need to limit how many hours I ride today since I'm anything but efficient, but I still need to advance far enough to reach a point from which finishing the race in one stretch would be feasible. I call Greg back, and we discuss options. We decide that to have a chance of finishing in one go, I need to have less than 600km remaining.

Knowing that the last 600km includes 12,000m of elevation gain, and accounting for 2 hours of stops, I'll likely need 31 hours to complete it. That's 31 hours straight at the end of a race like this, after the day I'm having—it's going to be brutal. I need to reach at least the 2000km mark. Today's goal will be Vaison-la-Romaine at kilometer 2023. This means riding another 140km, about 6 hours given the terrain and my condition, until around 9:30-10pm. Six more hours seems daunting. It's going to be terrible.

But I gradually convince myself this is my only chance to win and that nothing is lost yet. A glimmer of hope begins to emerge—exactly what I needed to remotivate myself. I visualize my improvised new plan:

• Ride 140km in 6 hours to Vaison-la-Romaine
• Sleep 3-4 hours at a hotel
• Ride 580km with 11,800m of elevation gain in 30-31 hours (including 2 hours of stops) to finish the race in one push, hoping Lucas breaks on the final stretch

This would mean finishing around 7-8am, in approximately 132.5 hours—5 days, 12 hours, and 30 minutes. The race will be decided in the final night, and I know Lucas doesn't like riding at night. My only chance is to stay close enough to pressure him during that last night and hope he cracks. Of course, I'll need to hold on until the end myself, which is far from guaranteed. I see a scenario that seems improbable but still possible. This is certainly my only chance. It's decided—this is the new plan and strategy for the remainder of the race. All or nothing.

I'm glad I managed to pull myself together after nearly giving up completely. I would have deeply regretted it. I'm going into detail in writing, but in reality, all this happened in less than 15 minutes.

With renewed hope and a fresh plan to cling to, I begin the long descent toward Provence. Lucas has nearly a 50-minute lead, whereas I still had a 1-hour-15-minute advantage last night. Today's outcome isn't pleasant—a real setback. At this stage of the race, despite my small recovery, I wouldn't bet on myself. Yet I cling to this slim hope. Might as well try everything until the end. After all, I'm here to test myself, my limits, and my resilience.

I can't give up now. I need to convince my body and mind to cooperate just a bit longer, though it's increasingly difficult to keep them on my side—the resistance is growing stronger. During the descent, I struggle and must give everything to stay awake and focused on the road. I'm slow, even going downhill. But gradually the situation improves, and as I reach the foot of a short but steep climb before resuming the descent toward Provence, I'm surprised to see Lucas stopped for a nap.

He must be having a rough day too if he's stopping to sleep at 4pm. I've been complaining about my night and my situation as if the world had ended, but I'm not sure his situation is much better. It must be hard for him as well. He timed his nap perfectly, departing less than 5 minutes before I catch up—not a coincidence. He calculated it to leave just before I arrived. He's good, and naturally pulls ahead of me again. The gap widens once more.

This gap stabilizes around 20 minutes as we cross the Rhône to enter Provence. And Provence means heat—it's like an oven here. But I'm happy to reach the south; it marks the end of Ardèche, which was a difficult section for me. Provence is beautiful. Though I struggled today, the landscapes of the past few days have been incredible. The transition from Auvergne to Haute-Loire to the Ardèche Mountains and then to Provence in less than 24 hours is quite remarkable. Such diversity in landscapes. France truly is beautiful.

The gap with Lucas seems to have stabilized at 20-30 minutes—damage control achieved. I have one last 4-kilometer climb before descending to Rasteau, with just 15 kilometers remaining to Vaison-la-Romaine. We're not far from where I abandoned the race last year, and the majestic Mont Ventoux is visible in the distance—a climb I should have tackled then. Fortunately, it's not on this year's route.

I almost manage to enjoy these final kilometers in Provence as fatigue and bad mood grant me a brief respite. The sun sets on the horizon, painting the lavender fields and olive trees in golden light—it's truly beautiful. I finally arrive at my hotel at 9:15 PM. Though I would have preferred to go further, stopping this early is far from ideal, but considering my day, my condition, and my speed on the bike, I need to put this terrible day behind me and get some sleep.

In my room, a freshly cooked beef steak awaits me—perfect for rebuilding my strength before the monster ahead: 580km with almost 12,000m of elevation gain. Meanwhile, Lucas continues riding. He'll likely push until 1-2am before sleeping just before Montagne de Lure, a substantial 26km climb at 4.5% gradient, often called the "Mini Ventoux." It's a massif in the Haute-Provence Pre-Alps, situated between Mont Ventoux and Luberon. Quite ironic to call a 26km climb "mini."

Lucas has approximately 500km left to reach the finish line. We both know this is the last "real" night of the race—if all goes reasonably well, we should arrive in Mandelieu early Tuesday morning. Tomorrow is when everything will be decided.

Although I've managed to limit the damage, I still struggle to believe in my chances. The remaining course is extremely difficult, and climbing really isn't my strength. I have no idea how I'll close the gap or even hold on until the end. What's certain is that I'll need Lucas to have a real breakdown to have even the slightest chance. I plan to sleep for 4 hours this time, with my alarm set for 1:45am for a 2:00am departure. I go to bed and fall asleep immediately.

The results of this disappointing day: only 321 kilometers with 4,500m of climbing. Looking at my power output makes it even more obvious—147W average for the day and 183W normalized, roughly 10-15% less than previous days, showing just how crucial sleep is. Despite taking far more breaks than usual—only 13h58 of cycling in 16h41, nearly 3 hours of stops throughout the day compared to my typical 1-1.5 hours per 24-hour period.

Final Showdown Through the Mercantour

To my surprise, I wake up almost an hour early, around 1 AM. There's no point trying to fall back asleep—I'll have to make do without that extra hour of rest. Perhaps it's for the best. I quickly prepare and by 1:10 AM, I'm back on the road, determined to give everything until the finish. Yesterday's mental struggles seem to have passed. Thankfully.

Lucas stopped to sleep at the foot of Montagne de Lure around 12:30 AM—I imagine he'll sleep between 3-4 hours. Alexandre has just stopped to rest as well, now only 50 kilometers behind me. I don't think he can catch up, but he seems to have secured his podium position. As for the rest of the field, only 12 riders have passed the Clermont checkpoint. There's almost a 400km gap between first and thirteenth place—quite extraordinary. The top 10 have completely broken away from the rest of the pack. Positions 4 through 8 remain extremely tight. I hope Antoine manages to claim that 4th place!

I hit the road at a good pace. With three small to medium passes to navigate before reaching Montagne de Lure, I maintain a strong rhythm through the quiet night. This area must be breathtaking in daylight. I close to within 30 minutes of Lucas when he resumes riding around 4:30 AM. He stopped for nearly 4 hours and likely slept about as much as I did. Though I've been riding for over 3 hours and pushing hard to reduce the gap, the distance remains unchanged—he still holds a 30-minute lead, just like last evening.

I begin the long ascent of Montagne de Lure around 5 AM, determined to match Lucas's pace. But he climbs like a man possessed, reaching the summit in just 1 hour and 44 minutes (averaging 15 km/h). Nothing extraordinary in normal circumstances, but on the fifth day of an ultra-endurance event, at 5 in the morning—few people on earth can maintain that pace. Meanwhile, I hit a major low point during the climb, taking 2 hours and 5 minutes to reach the top. He gained over 20 minutes on me in a single climb, right after waking up. Incredible. My pace wasn't even that slow—Alexandre would later take 2 hours and 6 minutes for the same climb. Lucas is truly a beast, his strength is simply remarkable.

He now holds a one-hour lead as we head toward Digne-les-Bains, where our second and final dropbag awaits. Fortunately, after Montagne de Lure, he seems to ease his pace slightly. During the descent, I find myself fighting sleep. Already? Not a good sign with 460km and nearly 9,000m of climbing still ahead.

Lucas reaches the checkpoint around 8:30am and departs at 9:20am after a 50-minute break. I arrive around 9:40am. One advantage of being at the front of the race is having the checkpoint almost to yourself, with volunteers providing exceptional care. Once again, I'm warmly welcomed as I retrieve food from my dropbag, change into clean clothes, eat a hot meal, and get back on the road by 10:10am, just 20km behind Lucas.

This is where the final battle begins, with exactly 405km remaining through the Maritime Alps and Mercantour. Worth noting that I started after Lucas, giving me a small advantage—if we finish together, I'd technically have a 5-minute lead. I don't expect it to come down to that, but essentially, he needs to finish at least 5 minutes ahead of me!

Leaving Digne-les-Bains, I feel surprisingly good and optimistic. We're in the heart of the mountains now. I climb the first pass at a steady pace, maintaining the gap with Lucas. It's warm but manageable, nothing like the heatwave of previous days. I spare a thought for riders far behind who'll face the rising temperatures forecast for the coming days.

After several short climbs, I tackle Col de Fontbelle with its occasionally steep gradients, but maintain good rhythm. During the ascent, I receive roadside encouragement from Jean-Michel Bayle, the motorcycle racing legend, who had also started the race but since abandoned. The descent proves tricky with gravel-covered roads demanding constant vigilance. After Sisteron, we climb toward Lake Serre-Ponçon before heading to Barcelonnette and Jausiers, starting point for Cime de la Bonette—the highest peak of the 2025 edition. Despite all efforts throughout the day, the gap with Lucas remains virtually unchanged.

After a grueling day of battle, Lucas arrives at the final life base in Jausiers, situated at the foot of Cime de la Bonette. From here, 250 kilometers remain to Mandelieu, beginning with the formidable 24 km climb with 1600 meters of elevation gain to Cime de la Bonette, which peaks at 2800 meters altitude. Such a long ascent at this elevation, at this stage of the race, will be excruciating.

On my end, I made a quick stop at a gas station in Barcelonnette to buy ice cream and supplies to last until the finish. I arrived at the life base around 5:45 PM, still feeling surprisingly good. Greeted by two volunteers, I quickly grabbed some food, filled my water bottles, and took extra provisions before tackling this Alpine giant after just a 15-minute break. Lucas left at 5:30 PM, and I departed around 6:00 PM. I stopped for less time than he did—apparently, he hurried to leave before my arrival, which is unusual for him as he typically likes to take his time.

Just thirty minutes separate us with 250km remaining to the finish. It's impressive and quite rare to see a race this close at this stage. There's no doubt now that the victory will come down to Lucas and me. Alexandre is in Sisteron, about 100km behind us. Third place seems secure for him as the other competitors, including Antoine, are just arriving in Digne-les-Bains.

La Bonette won't be the final battleground in this contest—there's still a long way to go. If Lucas repeats his morning performance and gains another 30 minutes on me, I'll be an hour behind—a gap nearly impossible to close during the night. Even maintaining our current separation would be an achievement, as reducing it seems simply unthinkable.

Fortunately, the climb presents itself under perfect conditions: the temperature is becoming milder, the evening light is breathtaking, the road is deserted, and I find myself alone facing this magnificent panorama. Without network coverage during the ascent, I can't even track our time gap, allowing me to disconnect momentarily and fully enjoy the experience.

This became my second euphoric moment of the race, reminiscent of climbing Puy Mary two days earlier in Auvergne. Everything aligned perfectly as I fully embraced the present moment. I maintained around 230-240W throughout the climb—not bad at all. I savored every meter gained. It was just me and the marmots—I'm not hallucinating, they truly were everywhere. The setting was absolutely breathtaking. How fortunate to make this ascent neither at night nor during scorching heat.

Suddenly, a few kilometers from the summit, my phone catches a signal and vibrates non-stop. I receive at least 40 messages informing me that I'm gaining on Lucas. Impossible. I first realize how many people are following our duel—you're all amazing, thank you so much! Lucas must be struggling for me to make up time. I'm not going particularly fast; normally, he'd maintain this pace without difficulty. Is this the first sign of weakness? I'd later learn that after eating too quickly at the life base, he was suffering from stomach issues that significantly slowed him down.

Approaching the summit, where we still needed to loop around to reach the peak, I spotted Lucas descending on the other side. The gap couldn't be more than 15 minutes—I was remarkably close. This sight gave me a surge of energy. The final 500 meters to the peak were extremely steep, and I began feeling the effects of altitude: my head spinning, forcing me to slow down to avoid completely cracking. I reached the summit at 8:15 PM, exactly 15 minutes after Lucas. What a battle! It's incredible to think we've been riding flat out since yesterday evening with the gap varying by only 15 minutes. Since Montastruc, we've never been separated by more than an hour in either direction. The intensity is overwhelming.

At the summit, I took time to dress warmly. At 2800 meters, the temperature was cool, and the descent would be endless—almost 50 kilometers, much of it false flat. My hands were already tiring, making braking particularly uncomfortable. Starting the descent, I realized I'd pushed too hard on the climb. I was completely drained, batteries flat. How would I cover another 200 km in this state?

During a call with Loïc, I learned unexpected news. While describing my total exhaustion, he interrupted to tell me Lucas had stopped. The news caught me completely off guard. Around 9 PM, without even realizing it, I had passed my opponent who had stopped just after the steepest part of the Bonette descent at Saint-Étienne-de-Tinée. Stopping at this hour, likely for a nap, revealed he must be as exhausted as I was. What a surprise—I suddenly found myself in the lead again, right after Bonette! I assumed he wouldn't stop long, but this turn of events was completely unexpected.

Great news, but I wasn't out of danger yet. My lucidity was wavering, with reality and imagination increasingly blurring. I sometimes doubted whether I was actually participating in the RAF, if 150 km remained, or if I was really in the lead. Not critical yet, but I was approaching my limits—my condition wouldn't last the whole night.

Lucas eventually resumed riding 1 hour and 15 minutes behind me. With my rapidly deteriorating state and Lucas now rested, I remained deeply concerned. Nothing was settled, far from it. I believe Lucas and I had completely burned ourselves out on Bonette. Neither of us had much left. Whoever could hold on until the end would win. Regular calls with Greg helped me maintain minimal lucidity, but my pace was seriously declining. My legs were empty, particularly problematic as the final 150 kilometers were difficult, with nearly 3,000 meters of climbing still ahead.

I'm forced to stop at Villars-sur-Var as my brain seriously begins to malfunction. My lucidity hangs by a thread; I desperately want to avoid reliving the traumatic episode from Race Across France 2024, when I wandered aimlessly for an hour through Mirepoix village in the dead of night—an experience I can't afford to repeat, especially not now. I lie down on the pavement for 30 minutes to clear my head and rest my eyes. When I restart, I don't feel much better. This will be a struggle.

Lucas is now just 35 minutes behind. The gap is inexorably shrinking, and I'm almost certain he'll catch me—I'm barely moving forward. The worst is yet to come: first an 18-kilometer climb, then another shorter 5-kilometer one to reach Col de Bleine before the descent to Mandelieu. In my condition, this will feel eternal.

Suddenly, I find my father and Clara, my girlfriend, waiting by the roadside. They've traveled all the way from Switzerland to welcome me in Mandelieu. This unexpected encounter in the middle of the night instantly brings me back to reality and lifts my spirits. In the hours that follow, I speak regularly with Clara on the phone, which helps me stay awake. Conversing with someone prevents my mind from wandering and maintains my lucidity—it's concrete, tangible, leaving no room for doubt. I'm not moving any faster, but at least I'm still moving forward.

During this final ascent of Col de Bleine, I encounter numerous wild animals, mainly wild boars. I'm fairly certain they're real—not hallucinations. Like a fool, I start shouting and imitating boar grunts to scare them away. I know, there's no logical explanation—not much coherence remains in my mind at this point.

To my great surprise, despite being only 30 minutes behind, Lucas stops again at the first switchbacks of the climb. He must be completely exhausted to make this decision. I don't know how long he'll remain stopped, but if I can hold on and increase my lead, he might give up when he restarts. This time, he stops for only 15 minutes before continuing—it's not over yet. But 40 minutes later, he stops again. Is this the decisive moment? I don't know, but I'm confident: if I can make it to the end without breaking, I should win. This is his third stop; he must be struggling. He must also realize that by stopping a third time, his chances of victory are significantly diminishing.

I persevere, and around 4:30 AM, I finally reach the summit of Col de Bleine. Lucas is still at the foot of the climb, stationary. Only 70 kilometers remain to the finish—just 70 kilometers. It doesn't seem like much, but in my condition, it feels insurmountable. During the first part of the descent, I must stop every 500 meters to regain my senses. Normally, I would never ride in this state, but at this point, I have only one goal: finish.

Lucas finally resumes riding around 6 AM, 45 kilometers behind me—a gap of just over 2 hours. I can't even imagine the finish line; it still seems so far away. Reaching the bottom of this long descent at Le Tignet, 30 kilometers remain. You might think we're almost there, but Col du Tanneron still awaits—short but brutal, the final straw. It's only 300-400 meters of elevation gain total, but it feels longer than Bonette. I'm completely empty, without resources, utterly exhausted.

I can't yet savor my imminent victory. Yes, at this stage, the outcome is practically decided—it's incredible to think about. Only upon finally reaching the summit of Tanneron do I begin to realize that everything is about to end, that I'm going to win, and that I can almost enjoy it. This Tanneron climb is absolute torture, but the descent toward Mandelieu is magnificent, with the Mediterranean as a backdrop—a beautiful way to close this extraordinary adventure.

The emotions accumulated over these past 5 days finally surface. I wanted this victory so badly, especially after last year's abandonment. This week has been incredibly intense, particularly the battle with Lucas. I reflect on my journey over recent years and my improbable path in this sport. It was pure chance that I ended up cycling and competing in ultra races. If Gaetan had never proposed doing the SUCH as a duo in 2021, I would never have discovered this sport—an absolutely wild coincidence. And now, barely 4 years after that discovery, I'm the RAF champion. Just two years ago, I finished this same race in 6 days and 22 hours. This year, I'm nearly 33 hours faster. It's amazing what one can accomplish in such a short time.

I think of everyone who helped me along this path, the valuable connections I've made, the magnificent landscapes I've traversed, the moments of euphoria and despair alike. These races teach us so much about ourselves—our needs, strengths, and limitations. What an incredible adventure!

I cross the finish line at 8:43 AM, after 5 days, 13 hours, and 23 minutes of racing. It's over. I've won the RAF.

At the finish line, I was greeted by Arnaud, the RAF founder, his team of volunteers, and most importantly, by my father and Clara who made the entire journey from Lausanne. I'll need time to process everything that happened this week.

One thing is certain: I'm deeply moved by all the support I received. It was incredible—the messages, calls, encouragements along the route, Éloïse's warm welcome at the life bases, my family visiting during the race, and my father and Clara greeting me at the finish. I feel incredibly fortunate to experience all of this.

All I want is sleep. But before that, I'll wait for good old Lucas who seems to be taking his time. He stopped at a Crédit Agricole bank, probably for coffee and breakfast. I'm almost jealous. He's right—might as well enjoy the finish. He finally arrives around 11 AM, 2 hours and 20 minutes later.

It's wonderful to see him at the finish line after sharing such an intense battle. We're both satisfied yet completely exhausted. Few races of this length maintain such relentless competition until the very end. This shared experience has forged a deep mutual respect between us. Our impromptu truce for breakfast in front of the supermarket will remain one of the most memorable moments of the entire race for me.

Now, time for rest. We rented an Airbnb in La Napoule. Back at the accommodation after a quick shower, I'm ready to collapse. My father is already heading back to Switzerland with my bike—he made this entire journey just for my arrival, which is really sweet. Clara and I plan to stay in Mandelieu for a few days before returning to Lausanne and facing the harsh return to reality.

Éloïse and Antoine will also spend the night here. Antoine should arrive late evening—he's still competing for 4th place. What a race he's having! The battle for this "chocolate medal" is intense with 5 riders still in contention. We'll welcome him at the finish line, which gives me a few hours for my first recovery coma.

The post-race period is always challenging. Returning to normal sleep and eating patterns takes time. I know that for several weeks, I'll eat without restraint. Getting back to three daily meals will be gradual, especially since I've lost so much weight—I barely recognize myself. As for sleep, it will certainly be restless for the next few nights, with inevitable bouts of daytime fatigue.

After a first restorative deep nap, I wake up famished... A few hours later, we return to the finish line to wait for Antoine. Alexandre arrived around 4pm, comfortably finishing 3rd in 5 days, 20 hours and 26 minutes—his second consecutive bronze medal, which is no coincidence. If he hadn't overslept near Montastruc, I'm convinced he would have joined us in the battle for victory right to the end.

With the podium secured, attention now turned to the fierce battle for the top 5. Mark Arnold, long favored for 4th place, faltered during the final day and was caught by Pascal Le Roux and Joackim Mendler. Antoine, though slightly behind, seemed to be making a strong comeback. Pascal and Joackim arrived together around 8:20 PM – due to staggered start times, Pascal took 4th place and Joackim 5th. However, Antoine, having started later, could still snatch that position from Joackim.

Realizing 5th place was within reach, Antoine finished strong, giving everything he had left on the Tanneron climb. He finally arrived around 8:40 PM, finishing 6th less than a minute behind Joackim – incredibly close. Can you imagine? Just one minute's difference after more than 6 days of racing! Mark and William followed shortly after. In the end, less than an hour separated 4th from 8th place, proving the field is becoming stronger and more competitive. It took serious skill to compete for the top 10 this year. Between the victory that came down to the final hours and the battle for top 5 extending to the finish line, there's no doubt that ultra racing will become increasingly competitive in the years ahead.

Reuniting with Antoine was truly wonderful. Like everyone before him, he arrived completely exhausted at the finish line. Though we didn't cross paths during the race, we shared this sense of common adventure, strengthened by our three days together in Lanvallay before the start. After catching up and sharing some gossip, we headed to the apartment for our first real night after the race. We ordered pizzas and went straight to bed. No need to set an alarm. It was finally over.

That night, and all the ones that followed, my sleep was extremely restless. I apparently even pedaled in my sleep, believing I was still racing against Lucas. I would often wake up sweating, caught between wakefulness and sleep, completely disoriented and feeling like I was still on the course. Poor Clara... Despite all this, I managed to rest reasonably well.

When I woke up in the morning, Antoine had already gone shopping for breakfast—what a gentleman, he never stops. After a big lunch at a restaurant, Antoine and Éloïse left us in the afternoon to return to their apartment. I spent the rest of the day resting.

Fabien, the third member of our group, was expected to arrive that evening. He was still competing for a spot in the top 20, with good chances of making it. That night, we enjoyed dinner at a restaurant with Régis, Joackim, and Florian—a truly pleasant moment of camaraderie. After our meal, we grabbed takeaway pizza and beer, then headed to the finish line to wait for Fabien, who had made an impressive final push from Dignes-les-Bains. He finally arrived, securing 20th place—another excellent performance. Our group was reunited at last. We stayed at the finish line for a while before heading back to our accommodations.

The days following the race were dedicated to pure rest: sleep, restaurants, and beach time. Nothing better. The event officially concluded with the awards ceremony. But before that, we celebrated Loïc's arrival! Loïc, who coaches many participants across all distances, invited us to meet at the summit of Tanneron for a quiet beer, away from the bustling finish line crowded with participants and supporters. Nearly fifteen of us gathered for the occasion—a beautiful moment of camaraderie.

Among this group were Olivier and Stéphane. Stéphane is blind, and together, they accomplished an extraordinary challenge: completing 1000 km on a tandem. What they achieved transcends sport—it's a true testament to human courage. Imagine navigating mountain passes, facing dizzying descents, and enduring exhaustion... all in perfect harmony, with one being the eyes for the other. Watching them arrive, tears in their eyes, their faces marked by effort yet illuminated with pride, a respectful silence fell over our group. In this moment of pure emotion, we all realized we were witnessing something far beyond athletic achievement—a profound lesson in trust, perseverance, and the limitless possibilities of human determination.

After this beautiful moment, we headed down to Mandelieu for the awards ceremony. Sharing the podium with Lucas and Alexandre was a perfect ending to our journey. Here's the funniest part: just before the ceremony, Lucas squeezed in a quick 5-hour bike ride. This guy is truly tireless—it's absolutely incredible.

After the ceremony, we joined friends at the music festival, but fatigue caught up with us quickly—back to bed. Clara and I stayed two more days in Mandelieu before taking the train on Tuesday morning, exactly one week after my arrival. It was time to return to everyday life. What's certain is that this was once again a transformative adventure. In the coming days, the usual complexities of life will try to reclaim their place, but I'll carry with me the clarity that only ultra-endurance can provide—the simple truth that our limits are often much further than we imagine.

And that's it. RAF 2025 is over.

Thank You

I want to express my heartfelt gratitude for the exceptional support I received throughout this adventure.

Thank you to my family for your constant encouragement in this somewhat crazy sport. To Antoine and Fabien, my faithful companions, who make the Race Across experience so special. To Clara and Dad, for your comforting presence at the finish line. To Éloïse, for your kind welcome at each life base.

A huge thank you to Arnaud for organizing this incredible event that allows thousands of passionate riders to push their limits in a safe environment. Thanks also to the entire staff and volunteers—your smiles and support were invaluable during difficult moments, from start to finish, day and night.

Thank you to Loïc, with whom this journey began in November 2023. I never expected such progress in so little time, nor such unwavering support. Our relationship goes beyond that of coach and athlete—I'm truly fortunate to have you by my side throughout this adventure.

Thank you to Greg for supporting me and helping with logistics from beginning to end. Your involvement was exceptional and beyond all expectations.

Thanks also to everyone who came to cheer me on along the route and to all who sent messages at all hours. Your presence, even virtual, carried me to the finish line.

Without all of you, none of this would have been possible. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. 🫶

Performance Analysis

With an actual elevation gain of 37,807m (18% higher than the announced 32,000m), I maintained an average moving speed of 24.0 km/h, slightly exceeding my initial target of 23.8 km/h. The 3h51 deviation from my plan primarily resulted from different stop management: I slept less than planned (9h versus 12h planned) but with longer total stopping time (24h37 versus 20h16 planned).

The Clermont incident became a critical turning point. Before this stop, I had accumulated only one hour of delay against my plan. The extended 3-hour stop at Clermont, with almost no sleep, triggered a chain reaction: increased breaks, reduced average speed, and the need to cut my day short (stopping at 9pm). This shortened day led to an oversized final stage of 580km, far beyond optimal. In a race where we constantly operate at the edge of our capabilities, this single strategic error likely cost me at least 2-3 hours total.

Despite this incident, my overall planning and strategy proved effective. Until Clermont, execution was excellent, with a near-optimal balance between physical effort and efficient recovery during stops shorter than my main competitors. This approach enabled me to maintain high levels of mental clarity and focus throughout this portion of the course.

The 2025 edition taught me valuable lessons, particularly regarding sleep and nutrition. I discovered the substantial benefits of a regular sleep pattern. Until Clermont, my physical and mental condition remained strong—clear-minded and high-performing—thanks to two well-optimized "regular" nights. I maintained consistent bedtimes (between 1:00-1:30 AM), identical sleep durations (about 3 hours), complemented by protein-rich meals before each rest period (ideally a substantial portion of meat). This systematic approach also included rigorous body care. These rituals allowed me to start each morning in optimal condition—a breakthrough in my ultra-endurance experience.

Alignment with our biological clock appears to be a decisive performance factor. Without the Clermont mistake, I likely would have maintained an acceptable physiological state until the finish. I believe this meticulous optimization and anticipation represented my decisive advantage over Lucas and Alexandre. The path forward is clear: continue this approach while exploring additional recovery and nutrition optimizations. Considering my progress after just two years of structured training, I remain convinced that substantial room for improvement still exists.

Four fundamental principles emerged from this experience:

1. Sleep consistency creates a major competitive advantage. Unlike my 2024 strategy that alternated between long and short nights at variable times, adopting consistent rest schedules significantly improved my recovery.
2. Methodical organization directly translates to valuable time savings across the entire course.
3. Consuming a complete protein-rich meal before each sleep period significantly optimizes muscle and cognitive recovery.
4. Sleeping at life bases presents variable recovery quality—a factor to carefully consider in strategic planning.

Compared to the Others

A comparative analysis reveals significant strategic differences among the top three competitors. My average moving speed (24.0 km/h) was lower than Lucas's (25.0 km/h, 4% faster), but higher than Alexandre's (23.9 km/h). The decisive factor in my victory was optimized stopping time management: only 24h37 total stopping time compared to 31h32 for Lucas and 31h28 for Alexandre.

This difference is reflected in our stopping ratios (18.42% for me versus 23.21% for Lucas and 22.37% for Alexandre) and explains why, despite a lower moving speed, my overall average speed (19.58 km/h) surpassed my competitors (19.18 km/h for Lucas and 18.58 km/h for Alexandre).

Analyzing these comparative data requires a nuanced approach that considers the competitive context. While raw numbers reveal significant trends, they exist within a race dynamic where each decision influences the overall strategy. Alexandre's unplanned sleep incident near Montastruc illustrates how an unexpected event can substantially alter a competitor's trajectory. This circumstance separated him from Lucas and me, potentially affecting his subsequent decisions regarding stopping times and management.

What emerges clearly from this analysis is that the margin between our respective performances was remarkably thin. A slight change in conditions or strategy execution could have radically transformed the final standings. This close competition created a collective energy that pushed us all further—an incredible experience that I was fortunate to share with two friends.

Is RAF in Less Than 5 Days Possible?

The goal of covering 500 km daily for five consecutive days (2500 km in 120 hours) represents the next significant frontier in the Race Across France. Looking at the 2025 performances, this ambition now appears realistic rather than utopian. Our progress toward this milestone is already tangible: after four days of racing, Lucas and I had reached 1990 km (96 hours), before our pace naturally decelerated in the final phase, establishing an average of 470 km daily at the finish.

This symbolic 500 km/day threshold constitutes the next logical evolution in this relatively young discipline, where physiological, psychological, and strategic limits continue to be redefined through increasingly refined approaches.

In practical terms, this would require maintaining 20 hours of cycling daily at an average of 25 km/h for 5 days. Compared to my performance this year, it would mean increasing my speed by 4% (1 km/h) while riding 25 minutes more per day on average. It's not completely unreasonable or unrealistic, but it still represents considerable progress. I'm certain I'll want to attempt this race again to try for this goal, probably not next year, but my Race Across France adventure isn't over yet. I'm too attached to this event to say I won't return!

What's Next?

After this RAF victory, I'm facing a dilemma about what comes next. My initial ambition to compete in both the RAF and the Transcontinental Race in the same season proved too demanding. This event required more physical and mental resources than anticipated, and recovery has been slow. Even now, a month after RAF, I haven't fully recovered. As TCR approaches, I must acknowledge that I can't approach this XXL adventure with the preparation it deserves. I'm still suffering from numbness in my hands and persistent fatigue. Additionally, having started a new professional position in May, it's important that I fully invest in a strong beginning there.

I've decided to postpone my TCR participation. Instead, I'll pivot to the Race Across Switzerland (1000 km), a shorter format in Switzerland that gives me another month to prepare. The Transcontinental Race now becomes my major objective for 2026 – I want to approach it under optimal conditions, without compromise.

For the coming months, I'll finish this season calmly, strengthen my professional position, and further structure my ultra-endurance project. Next year represents a new stage in my journey, with ambitions to reach yet another level. The quest continues!

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Swiss Ultracycling Challenge 2024

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Swiss Ultracycling Challenge 2024

Race across France 2024

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Race across France 2024

Race across Paris 2024

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Race across Paris 2024