Day 0: Touch Down

Against all odds, the logistical challenge of getting the RAID members onto French soil ends in utter success! Despite the near infinite list of possible mishaps that could devastate the team's schedule (volcanoes erupting, international economy collapsing overnight, planes crashing, Mike missing his flight) – the RAID squad's entry into French territory goes off without a hitch and before the average traveller has picked up their bags from the carousel, TEAM RAID were expertly and feverishly reconstructing their state of the art steeds.

Team Probert make a Beatles-style entrance in Biarritz

Mutual shock that Mike made it to the airport

"Do I even need the frame?"
Tom trials a pioneering minimal bike concept

Biarritz has seen many Tour de France riders pass through its airport, but the looks of disbelief as the team assembled their bikes made it clear to all that a new breed of rider had arrived to tackle the infamous challenge of the Pyrenees. 

The team's roving support driver Mike had sucessfully got himself to the airport well ahead of the riders, and had already picked up the team's support vehicle – a 2013 Fiat Doblo. With additional insurance purchased for the inevitable road incidents, steeds assembled and gear loaded expertly into the back of the van, Team: RAID left the refuge of the international airport and headed off into the night in search of their first hotel and a place to eat!

After a gruelling day of travel, Team Leader Mark was keen to settle down into bed to review his various maps and prepare mind, body and soul for the first day of cycling – but with growing appetites and a strong desire to mingle with the locals, Greg, Tom and Mike set off in search of a restaurant that could provide them with a bottle of local red wine, some exquisite French cuisine and a host of friendly patrons with whom to practice their language skills. With a night of inevitable fine french culture ahead, the three buckled up into the Doblo, tuned into a radio station broadcasting a rich tapestry of avant-garde French Jazz and set off into the heart of Downtown Biarritiz.

Pulling up to the first set of traffic lights, we realised our hopes for a night of culture were possibly a little bit naïve. Our intellectual jazz was soon drowned out by a car of French hooligans who pulled up alongside the team's van, pounding out ear-shattering french urban rap. Self consciously, we urned down the jazz.

Our glistening steeds fully constructed and yet to reveal the many badly reconstructed parts

Within minutes we learned that given the late hour, french cuisine was off the menu, and out of options we resigned ourselves to McDonalds. Tom, excited to give his French language skills a rare run-out, was first through the door. Our mouths salivated as the fatty smell of Le Big Mac wafted throughout the outlet. As we mentally prepared ourselves for the feast ahead, a local burst through the door and strode across the restaurant straight towards us until his face was 4 inches from Mike's. With a shaking clenched fist squeezing a half eaten burger, our Gallic companion unleashed a tirade of slurred death threats, peppering Mike's face from close quarters with flecks of patty. This was not the reception we were hoping for.

With the menacing look of a man on the edge, the first person we'd met in France seemed to have taken a firm dislike to the team – and specifically Mike. Tom's linguistic skills were pushed to the extreme as the unintelligible grunts of the aggressor were processed and swiftly diffused with a few carefully placed phrases. Eventually the guy staggered off. A shocked Mike had lost his appetite, Tom and Greg downed some food and we bolted for the refuge of the Doblo. Safely back in the hotel compound, Mike sobbed himself to sleep, intermittently complaining that he was hungry.