My participation in the Gibraltar race! J3 & 4

The Gibraltar Race is described as an enduro challenge based on navigation and regularity. But there's one aspect I underestimated: the psychological challenge. It's not easy to keep your wits about you after days of extremely demanding and exhausting trials. On the agenda for this third episode? A decisive fall, low spirits and a lot of soul-searching. Will I be able to continue the race?

Last night, I slept very badly. Why not? The simple fact of learning at yesterday's briefing that there was going to be a very tough climb during the day was enough to wake me up at 5am for a long session of gambling. The root of the problem? I put too much pressure on myself. I don't handle it well... It's difficult.

Physically, I'm starting the day in top form, but mentally, I'm already tense. I'm dreading this climb, it's occupying all my thoughts, in short, I'm making a mountain out of a molehill... Once on this infernal climb, I have to admit that it's pretty heavy stuff. A clever mix of hairpin bends, indecent gradients and tricky rock. But I'm doing pretty well! I reach the last bend and waffle. With the support of other competitors, we lift the bike and I'm off again. Nothing too serious in the end! It wasn't that complicated!

Except... a few kilometers later, I hit a rock. The bike stops dead in its tracks. My helmet hit the handlebars. Completely stunned, I don't really realize the intensity of the impact. It was violent, though, as my headgear cracked.

A group of French people who had helped me earlier stop again to come to my aid. "Are you alright? Are you sure you don't want us to call the medics?" I gently refuse. Stubborn as I am, I set off again on my own. Even though my confidence has taken a big hit, I don't want to impose myself on their group and play the "ball and chain".

Haggard, I can feel that something is wrong. Big loss of self-confidence, physical and moral exhaustion... I ride slowly for fear of falling, unable to lift my bike because of my messed-up shoulder. I'm then faced with a new track generously strewn with pebbles. What should I do? Should I take the plunge and risk gambling myself? No way! Reason prevails. I decide to turn back and head for the nearest road. But as I consult my tablet, I fall to a halt.

The problem: the track is on an incline. Impossible to lift the T700. I spend 30 minutes trying to get the damn thing upright, but to no avail. 30 minutes of agonizing like hell. Why do I fall more with the Yam than with the KTM? Is the center of gravity too high? What a con****sary to be racing a bike I can't even stand up! Anyway... I can't do it alone. I call my friends, but they're too far ahead. And the Axuri Trail pick-up? No answer. I finally decide to contact the 4x4 assistance service, knowing that this will automatically disqualify me. And yes, that means taking all the penalties for the day. I'm not chasing points, but at this point, all my hopes of not finishing last are gone. Big depression...

An hour later, assistance arrives. The bike is lifted. I set off down the road to catch up with my mates far ahead. Nothing's going right: I'm completely lost, I can't handle my tablet any more, I'm crying into my helmet. Once I'm alongside my comrades, it's impossible to talk to them without crying. My nerves are shot. Too much pressure built up. I must be in shock. When we arrive at the hotel, the team is on hand. Pierre washes the bike, Vincent tightens the bridges, Bruno drives off with my T700 to make sure nothing is wrong. I can't see this bike in paint anymore. I've decided to sell it when we get back to France!

My current state of mind?

I've lost all my self-confidence and I'm exhausted. It's impossible to go off on my own. It's all the more frustrating because I really enjoyed driving yesterday. And above all, it was the stage in Portugal, my home country, so I had really high expectations for this day! The emotional elevator is hard to digest. Tomorrow, 500km to go. Inconceivable. I don't feel up to it. The decision is made to load the bike onto the trailer. I won't ride to rest and decompress. I ask myself a lot of questions about the next stage of the adventure. Am I in a position to continue? If so, how? It's hard to ride off-road alone without being able to lift your bike yourself. As I'm slower than the rest of my team, I don't want to be the ball and chain that slows everyone down. In the meantime, I have an appointment with the doctor to inspect my split lip, my sore jaw, my heavy head and to see if my blood pressure has come down (16 is a bit high...).

Today, it's decided: it's a day on foot, or at least in a 4x4 (I don't feel up to driving anyway). In the morning, I try to make myself useful. I help the other competitors as I can by showing them a few tricks on the tablets, and I also give them a few navigation tips, since I've been to a good school. What about piloting? I don't have to teach them anything about technique. Arena, the competitor/journalist who drives a Fantic Cabalero 500, crashes to a halt at the starting line. We straighten her handguards so that she can start again later in the day.

Once the bikers have set off, I take advantage of the pool. The weather's nice, the water's warm, and I try to look on the bright side, telling myself it's a break to get back on track. I then get into the Axuri Trail pick-up with Julien, another biker from the competition. His problem? He blew out his ankle on the second day. Suffice to say, that puts my situation into perspective. The day was also an opportunity to meet other very nice bikers, approaching this race in a more dilettante way. Competition is not their priority. They enjoy the routes, the scenery and the restaurants too!

Arriving at the bivouac spot, I pitch the tent, set up the "paddocks" and inspect my T700 from every angle. It's a daily mechanical routine that all riders go through. Because the more you eat rocks, the more your machines suffer. On my Yamaha, the bridges are coming apart, my luggage rack is trying to get out of the way, the nuts are unscrewing. As for Xavier, he's lost a footrest bolt. I don't know if it's specific to this edition of the Gibraltar race, but the trails are particularly technical, demanding and even downright brittle, both for the machines and the men.

What are the results for my Axuri-Trail team after this 500km marathon day?

Xavier set an excellent time and took 3rd place for the day. Bruno could have done just as well if only he hadn't received a speeding penalty. As for Mickaël, his drawn features and face generously covered with grime reflect a particularly trying day, even though he's still smiling. Finally, Vincent continues to amaze me. His bike? A KTM 1290 Adventure. A 220kg monster that he handles deftly thanks to his impeccable technique (and his impressive size). The good news? They're moving up the rankings. That's great!

How do I feel at the end of the day?

As far as I'm concerned, after a day of rest and reflection, I'm all pumped up! I'm excited about riding tomorrow. I'm looking forward to pampering my bike, preparing my gear and finishing off my equipment. I do, however, have a few concerns... (I hope they'll let me sleep peacefully). I know for a fact that I won't be able to keep up with my team. So I'm left with three options. The first is to join another group closer to my level. The second is to continue this adventure solely on the road (which would be a shame). The 3rd? Continue the race, but in a reasonable manner. I have to make a point of avoiding going it alone on difficult trails. But I know myself, a bit obstinate with a certain propensity for competition, it won't be easy! To be continued...

The good news? I've regained my confidence and the desire to continue racing. I've also learnt a number of lessons: you can't do an enduro race with a bike you can't handle on your own, and I need to learn to handle pressure better and stand back. The mind plays a central role in this type of endurance challenge that is the Gibraltar race. What's next? It's all in my head. I'm going to have to juggle stubbornness, self-preservation and competitive spirit. It's a clever compromise that's hard to gauge, given how much I've invested in this race and its preparation over the last few months.

----> I take up the challenge of the Gibraltar race: 1st day, I struggle like never before vs 2nd day, rolling, fun and no falls! (episode 2)