Report on my 1st Ultra bike race – The Race Across France (RAF) 300

Candice’s video interview

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Why RAF 300?

The idea had been on my mind for some time: to enter my 1st ultra road bike race. Last year, a friend had finished the RAF 1000 and I was curious to find out more about this race. RAF stands for Race Accross France: crossing France by the sheer force of your legs, the idea appealed to me.

However, I was afraid of managing fatigue and especially nights on an ultra. So I was “content” to sign up for a distance that seemed more accessible and didn’t require me to spend a whole night on the bike.

Last November, the die was cast: in a few months’ time, I’d be setting off on this race that starts in Malaucène at the foot of Mont Ventoux and finishes in Mandelieu la Napoule near Cannes, a total of 300 km and 6,000 positive elevation changes, to be completed in less than 24 hours. All you have to do is get ready, put in a lot of hours in the saddle and swallow a lot of elevation gain.

The real answer to why? I don’t know it yet when I sign up for this race. Testing my limits, seeing how my body reacts after so many kilometers, observing how the mind behaves in the face of difficulty… these are all things I’ll have time to think about for 300 km.

How do you prepare for an ultra bike race?

As far as preparation is concerned, I really started at a women’s cycling course at Les Terrasses du Lac in Lozère at the end of March 2024. A three-month preparation period, which seems a little short, even though in reality I’d been doing a lot of riding since January.

I decided to be coached by a professional triathlete (I was also preparing an XL triathlon in the wake of the RAF). I find it more reassuring to be coached (especially regarding the progressiveness of the sessions) and it also takes a good mental load off not having to think about organizing my training.

The main points of my preparation:

• I’ve been doing a lot of splits to work on my cardio and get more power in my thighs.
• I had some great outings, trying to cope with many hours in the saddle with a lot of elevation gain (notably Annecy – Embrun, which in terms of distance and elevation gain corresponded to the RAF, but in two days).
• Two weeks before the race, I reconnoitered Mont Ventoux via Malaucène to get an idea of the RAF’s first night-time difficulty. (Spoiler: it’s a long 21 km!).

D-1 – Finalizing your set-up on the bike

The day before the race, we collect our race numbers and go to the check-up point to make sure we have all the mandatory equipment (the list is long, including two survival blankets, two rear lights, two inner tubes… a lot can happen on an ultra!)

It’s important to remember that this is an autonomous race: there are no refreshments, and if you drop out, it’s up to you to make your own way home: the tone is set!

After much hesitation about whether I should have a rear saddlebag to carry a long-sleeved vest for the cold, here’s the final set-up for my bike:

• a handlebar bag where I keep all the electronics, including the external battery, so that my GPS and laptop have enough battery power for the whole race. I also manage to slip in my long-sleeve windbreaker, a pair of gloves and a neck warmer (never too covered up to ride down the Ventoux!).
• a top-frame pannier with all my supplies (mainly energy bars, dried dates & bananas and a few electrolyte tablets)
• a small saddle bag with all the necessary equipment, including a puncture kit

The long-awaited D-Day

Waking up early

Of course, the night’s sleep was almost non-existent between the stress/adrenalin mix and the pressure of waking up at 2am. Makeshift breakfast to finish off the leftovers: a bowl of white rice, a hard-boiled egg and peanut butter, a real non-starter!

30 minutes in the car later, we arrive at the start line just in time for my friend to take her start at 4am: the 1st to go. The start is a roll start with one every 30 seconds.

Departure and ascent of Ventoux

I set off at 4:47 and 30 seconds into the dark of night to begin my ascent of Mont Ventoux. It’s a precious moment to be pedaling through the night, in absolute calm, with just the back lights of the cyclists dancing in the darkness. Soon the 1st light appears, the landscape takes shape, I feel fit and overtake several cyclists. The climb is fairly rapid, and I’m in good spirits right up to the penultimate kilometer.

The nightmare of gusty winds

The last kilometer is a game-changer: gusts of wind at 100km/h in the final bends of Mont Ventoux. I climb to the top, pushing the bike and gritting my teeth. I put on my windbreaker, eat a bar and wonder how I’m going to get down. I’m terrified of crashing on the way down.

Another cyclist reassures me that after the Col des Tempêtes (2km downhill), the wind will die down. I get back on the bike, hands clutching the brakes, trying as best I can to control my bike, the wind pushes me and I fall with the chocks on my feet. No injuries, just a few banged-up shoes and a slightly bruised ego.

I continue the descent on foot like my galley-mates. A little further on, the wind eases, we get back on our bikes and descend carefully. It will take me a while to unclench my jaws and stop shaking.

The rest of the descent goes well, and I’m delighted to exchange a few words with some of the participants about this little nightmare we’ve just been through.

The choice not to stop at the life base (mistake!)

In Sault, there’s a base camp for participants in the RAF 2500, 1000 and 500 which we can take advantage of. Even though my water bottles are empty, I decide not to stop there so as not to waste too much time (and avoid the climb to get there).

A decision I’ll later regret : it’s around 6.30am, all the villages are still asleep and I don’t come across any cemeteries or fountains on the way.

It’s only after 4 hours of running that I find a small village where I stop at an old people’s house for water, before stopping a few metres later at a café for an espresso stop / frozen pain au chocolat!

I continue on my way, feeling pretty good, but the wind is still with us: mainly headwinds, otherwise it would be too easy. This wind won’t let up until 7pm. On the flat, we’re not making any headway. Going uphill, we feel like we’re going backwards. Downhill, with the gusts, you feel like you’re in a ball! Mentally, it’s hard to fight an invisible enemy. Physically, it’s hard to double the effort for a slow cruising speed!

Hypoglycemia and pause

In the end, there were very few bakeries or mini-markets open on the road, and I ate very little during those first hours in the saddle (my stomach still in knots from the descent and fear of running out of water, I think). A mistake that will cost me dearly.

I take my first real break at 11am, after 6h30 of cycling, I ‘m in hypo! I wander the aisles of a Sherpa, disgusted by all the food I see. I set my sights on a baguette, hummus, apricots & peaches and the inevitable Saint Yorre.

Fruit will be a revelation on this ultra, the only thing I’ll crave and be able to eat relatively easily. After 45 minutes on a bench in front of the Sherpa, forcing myself to eat, while chatting with villagers who are already on beer and asking me why I’m doing this… good question, I’m asking myself it too.

Back in the saddle

I make a few video calls to my friends and family to cheer me up and let them know how out of shape I am. An experienced ultra cyclist friend advises me not to linger too long on my bench and to get back in the saddle. I do just that: the first few kilometers are slow, but as time goes by my energy levels pick up.

The kilometers pass slowly and the stops become more and more frequent.

At 1.15pm, a café finally opens and I meet up with twenty or so cyclists in search of victuals. It’s an explosive combo for me: orangina / espresso and off we go again.

At 3pm, I’m approaching the Gorges du Verdon, where I know I won’t see any villages for a while. So I take my umpteenth break to try and get something to eat. I buy myself an aubergine/goat panini into which I can only manage to put two fangs. Fortunately, there’s also a supermarket where I can stock up on Saint-Yorre and fruit. At least I won’t be dehydrated because I can’t eat!

Forced stop

5:30 pm, just as I’m about to start climbing the Gorges du Verdon from Aiguines, I get a call from the organizers telling me to stop where I am. The gusts of wind are too violent in the Gorges, and a participant has frightened himself a few kilometers up. I have to stop all the participants who are going to arrive where I am for an indefinite time, until the wind dies down. A bit of hard news for morale.

As the vacation camp on the side of the road gets bigger and bigger… we take it in our stride. I try to eat a little (I bite into a bar and swallow it whole with a sip of water!), to regain my strength for the remaining kilometers.

I’ve already clocked up 206km and D+4,425m, and I’m already proud of myself, thinking that I wouldn’t mind if the race ended there. I dream that a mini bus will pick us up and take us straight to the finish. Clearly, the idea of giving up is on my mind.

Resuming the race

At 6.50pm, after 1.5 hours cooling my heels on the side of the road, we’re informed that the race can resume. Clearly, my motivation isn’t up to scratch. We’ ve still got almost 100 km to go and 1500m of D+: I’m just lazy! But there’s no alternative but to use my legs to get to Mandelieu, there’ s no way back.

I take the time to re-equip myself, and set off at the back of the pack with a few cyclists who seem just as tired as I am. We decide to ride together, and soon an unspoken pact is sealed: we’ll finish the race together!

The Gorges du Verdon at sunset

The climb back up into the Gorges du Verdon is absolutely magnificent, even more so with the sunset and the soft evening light. I think it was at this point that I finally began to savor my ultra. The joy of riding in a group too, of bonding with strangers, of feeling that we’re now a team.

Night-time finish

At 9.15pm, we finally reach a village where we can get some supplies. The mini-market manager is working overtime out of pity for us poor starving cyclists. Theatmosphere is one of laughter , to make up for the tiredness that can be felt on our aching bodies. Covered up, it’s getting dark, and we’re off for a few more hours in the dark.

The end of the route concentrates the maximum negative altitude difference: what a pleasure to finally move forward, without the wind to slow us down. Beautiful descents in the dark, by the sole light of our headlights.

Feeling exhilarated by the speed, but trying to stay clear-headed and focused so as not to miss a turn. Then, finally, at the foot of the last difficulty, the last pass of the day. Swallowing the last few kilometers of ascent like a robot, no longer able to feel your legs, your brain deposited to push on to the finish line.

1h37, Mandelieu la Napoule: I’m the finisher of the RAF 300, what an adventure! My counter will give me nearly 314km, 6300 D+, a little over 16h in the saddle without breaks.

My track on Strava