I'm taking part in the Raid moto de la Gibraltar race 2023! J10 & 11

The Gibraltar Race is a real emotional elevator for me. Days when I'm enjoying the ride alternate with stages when I'm down in the dumps. These two days are no exception. On the menu? A spill that called into question my legitimacy to be in this race, followed by a stage where the beauty of the Spanish landscape made me forget all my contradictions.

A mixed day, with a violent questioning of my abilities. Do I really belong in this race?

In fact, things are off to a pretty good start. I'm following my usual pace and trying to keep to my personal objectives. Which are? Not to fall and to validate all the checkpoints (I gave up on respecting the time limits a long time ago).

At the halfway point, I get stuck in a muddy section. Fortunately, neither the bike nor the rider were hurt. Then begins the laborious weight-lifting test. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I give, no matter how much I try to lift the T700 with straps, it just won't go. She remains inexorably lying on the cow floor.

I have to call for assistance despite all the penalties involved. But you know what drives me crazy? The guy from the organization comes in and lifts her up by himself. Not an ounce of effort on his face. Yet he doesn't have the physique of a bodybuilder, far from it. "Could you put it back down and lift it up again?" I challenge him. He complies. I'm disappointed. Jaded. I leave. My brain is boiling. What's wrong with me? Don't I look good enough? Is it a lack of technique? Or simply fatigue after almost 10 days of testing? Frustrated by the experience, I take my anger out on the trails. The bike remains an effective outlet as long as it's not in a horizontal position.

I enjoy the incredible mountain scenery of this region. I'm even lucky enough to spot two chamois passing right in front of me. It's magical! And after much effort, I reach the Javalambre ski resort. Perched at 2000m, it's the highest in Spain. It's now 8pm. 90km of piste still lie ahead. What should I do? Play it safe? I resolve to finish the day by road.

By the time I reach the hotel, I'm exhausted. At the end of my life.

Physically, I don't have an ounce of energy left. But you know what's the hardest part? Seeing the lit-up faces of the other competitors. They're having drinks in the bar, tinkering with their bikes, as if having ridden for 13 hours didn't mean a thing to them. It's a stark (and depressing) contrast!

But still, I trained. It seems to me that my preparation was rather sustained. I worked out for months to build up my physical endurance. I rode every weekend, on different terrains, to challenge myself and progress technically. But it's all for naught: I'm in last place. Do I really have what it takes for this race? Am I just weak? I don't think I belong here. I've got the frustration of a competitor and the feeling that I'm not taking part in the same race as the others. The levels are too far apart. It's hard...

My aim is to go all the way. So I'm going to try and hold on for the last few days, going at my own pace and enjoying myself. Forgetting the fact that I'm lagging behind in the rankings won't be easy. In any case, the number of competitors around me has dwindled considerably and I'm still here.

It's a walk in the park compared to previous days!

Today's programme? From Teruel to Zaragoza, 400km with a good proportion of off-road (as usual).

1st stage: everything goes smoothly. 2nd stage: a bit of a struggle, but a respectable time. The 3rd was much more chaotic. It' s all down to that damn map background that won't show me the tracks. For a while, I managed to keep up with Bruno and Xavier. But as I make a U-turn, they lose me. Now I'm on my own. My sense of direction being almost non-existent, I waste an inordinate amount of time trying to find the right path to my final waypoint. Phew... I've been trying to find trails! I think I've covered the whole area!

What about the last special stage? Another moment of solitude, as I stumble across a section strewn with steps and pebbles. Without thinking, I opened the throttle and squeezed my buttocks. In hindsight, it was the right thing to do, otherwise I'd be waffling royally. What's more, alone and far from the track... So yes, from time to time, you have to trust yourself and the bike. And above all? Having eaten sand and gravel for the last 10 days, I now know that picking up speed is the best option in this kind of situation. This reflex is now well implanted in my brain.

What's the scenery like? Sumptuous.

I'm no stranger to the Los Monegros desert, but I was pleasantly surprised to discover some superb new spots. With the unbearable heat, it really feels like the Wild West. Then, as we reached Zaragoza, we crossed some magnificent plains populated by vineyards. Splendid! One day follows another, but no two are alike. At the same time, you have to remember that we're covering almost 500 kilometers a day, the equivalent of a Perpignan-Biarritz journey.

How did the day turn out? Great!

I had fun, enjoyed the scenery, didn't fall off the bike and all the checkpoints were validated. What's more, my times per stage were respectable, if you forget the 3rd...

2 days to go! Only 2 more days to go before I finish this Dantesque race. I'm aching all over... My fingers are ankylosed, my forearms are aching, my wrists are blown up, and the palms of my hands are closer to animal hide than skin.

At this stage of the adventure, it feels like the end is nigh. The slackening is palpable, the end-of-day beers more plentiful, and overall, everyone is relaxing. But danger lurks. But why? Tomorrow, rain is forecast over the Los Monegros desert, with the risk of encountering that clay that makes tires slick. For my part, I'm staying focused on my personal objectives: not falling, having fun and validating the waypoints.

----> I take up the challenge of the Gibraltar race: day 8: grandiose landscapes of the Sierra; day 9: the T7 gets heavier by the day (episode 5)