The "Race Across" comes to us from across the Atlantic, with the first crossing in 1982 from West to East of the United States, a distance of more than 5,000 km. For four years now, hundreds of cyclists in France have been traveling solo and unassisted along the roads of France, from Le Touquet to Mandelieu-la-Napoule, passing through the magnificent landscapes of Chambord, Mont St. Michel, the Alps...
Relive this 5th edition through the story of Alvaro, founder of Holyfat.
"In 4 years, the Race Across France has become a benchmark in the country and in Europe, which gave birth to the Tour de France. To pay tribute to its big American sister and build a bridge of friendship between our two countries, the Race Across France offers a fabulous 2,500km challenge, inscribed in the memory of the most significant hours of our shared history.
Four distances are available in a single event, giving you the opportunity to discover, challenge yourself, and surpass yourself. The route crisscrosses France, passing by Mont St. Michel, the Chateau de Chambord, the Alps, and the most prestigious cycling venues, including Mont Ventoux and Verdon.
Every participant has different reasons for taking part in a race like the Race Across France (RAF): to learn about themselves, to break a record, to surpass themselves and to accomplish what seems impossible.
My reasons are varied and both professional and personal. On the professional side, I wanted to represent the Holyfat brand I created and highlight the effectiveness of our products. Personally, my challenge was to step out of my comfort zone to better understand myself in unprecedented circumstances. And more deeply, I wanted to mourn the loss of my loved ones last year. For a year, I hadn't had the opportunity to internalize this loss and reconcile myself with life, which continues despite everything.
This edition of the RAF was extremely demanding because of the temperature changes, we went from plus 35 degrees to a damp cold on the descent of the passes which made me shiver. Not to mention the thunderstorms which arrived without warning. The Col de l'Iseran was the first difficulty and as Mike Tyson says "everyone has a plan until they get the first right" and the Iseran gave me a real punch, which made me review my entire plan.
On the way down I caught a cold and found myself in the valley leading to Saint Michel in Maurienne, at the side of the road vomiting and wondering why I was there? At that moment I had no answer, nor the strength to question myself. I decided to look for a hotel, telling myself that I would have time to think the next day .
Second day, I begin to understand the loneliness of this challenge, making it simple and difficult at the same time. A parody of life, we must move forward but we no longer have the desire, the strength, or the will to do so, the only thing to do is pedal, so I pedal.
Descending the Galibier on wet roads, I reflect on the fragility of our lives. One wrong turn and it's GAME OVER. A drop of a few hundred meters to my right constantly reminds me that I'm afraid of heights. Despite these thoughts, the possibility of a fatal accident seemed so remote.
At the foot of the Col de Glandon, despite the message sent by the organizers regarding a storm warning, I decided to continue with my goal for the day: to cross the last of the Alpine passes before midnight. A few hours later, in the solitude of the pass, with the sky overcast and lightning flashing around me, I felt scared for the first time in the race. Why am I here? I don't know, but I keep going, I pedal.
Thursday morning, I received the devastating news on my phone. A participant in the RAF 2500km had been hit by a car, the result was tragic. A father, a brother, a husband who would not return home, a participant who would not cross the finish line. The question returned with relentless force: “Why am I here?”
With all the desire to stop and kiss my daughters and my wife, I grab my bike and set off again. I don't know what else to do. Getting on my bike seems the easiest thing to do, to move forward so as not to go backward, so as not to think. The day is one of the most complicated in terms of temperature. I'm with two participants, Jeremy and Vianney. We move forward together without talking too much. I think they're asking themselves the same question as me. Suddenly we find ourselves in the rain, or rather in the shower, and we take refuge in a bakery. A croque-monsieur, a coffee, a nap on the table, and we set off again to ride for 2-3 hours in the rain.
I feel like giving up; I can't understand why I'm here. I speak on the phone with my brother, who quickly understands my situation; he asks me to hold on. I feel like my possible abandonment could affect those close to me more than myself. I put my head down, I pedal, I keep going.
At the foot of Mont Ventoux, I put my GPS on charge, but it didn't like the quick charge ... As a result, it won't turn on anymore. Luckily, I know the Giant of Provence, and I leave at 8 p.m. to tackle its ascent. I take off the heart rate monitor, I don't pay attention to my blood sugar, and I go by "feeling."
What a joy to leave with a change of pace, pushing myself a little, I felt more alive in the "zone". At 11 p.m. I arrive at the summit and prepare for the descent. My brother accompanies me by phone and it does me good to listen to him, to know that he was living the adventure with me despite the 9,000 km that separate us.
I just realized that I'm not alone, we share dreams, and if it's true that we, the ones who pedal, are the ones who carry them out, it's only because it's our turn. Tomorrow I'll be home, and one of my close friends will be living his own adventure. Climbing his own Mont Ventoux.
I'm beginning to understand why I'm here? Because I had a dream, I had the will.
Saturday was the most beautiful day, arriving seemed easier than giving up, a freedom and a lightness propelled me into the middle of the lavender fields, what a beautiful country! All I have to do is enjoy this last day, the last climb, the last descent, the last kilometer, the last bend, the end.
A feeling of accomplishment mixed with melancholy, and an answer to “why am I here?” I am here because I am alive, and living means we can pursue our dreams, move forward on behalf of those who cannot, it is my responsibility to live to the limits of my abilities, because one day we will no longer be here, and that could happen tomorrow, or the day after.
Why am I here? It's obvious. I'm here because it's my turn."