Day 1: Dinging the Doblo

After a hot mosquito-filled night we threw open the shutters to our balcony to see a perfect blue sky reflected in the pool outside. We descended in the makeshift lift to find a hearty spread of French breakfast delicacies waiting for us. We loaded as many delicious breakfasty carbs in as possible while trading stories of last night's run-in.

Our super-domestique Mike waisted no time in loading up the van with all our bags before lining up the perfect shot for our Raid film. Safe in the knowledge that the moment was being captured, we made our way onto virgin French tarmac to begin a journey that would take us across the mountains. But first, we needed to negotiate a suburban housing estate, which we got lost in. A short off road section over some grass got us back on track, but we soon found ourselves once again off the beaten track, as we scrambled down a grassy bank after spotting our route crossing under a bridge below us.

Three riders were approaching

Finally on our way, what followed was the perfect morning's cycling. A nice mix of varying gradients through beautiful scenery with the increasing heat of the day offset by a soothing breeze as we cut through the air. Meanwhile Mike spent two hours driving around in circles trying to make sense of French road signs, as the temperature and levels of confusion inside the Doblo escalated.

Our target was the town of St Palais, where we would meet up for a spot of lunch. After using a sophisticated technique of trial and error to finally escape the suburbs of Biarritz, Mike had managed to set up an advanced recon camp and had scouted out a lunch venue by the time the cyclists had arrived. He had also managed to “ding the Doblo” in the process (this is not a euphamism), practically guaranteeing the loss of our deposit. Fortunately, an alfresco lunch provided the ideal opportunity for Mike to drown his sorrows, and break the news to the hapless and innocent cyclists.

After indulgent burgers and chips outside in the sun, Finance Minister Mike tried to tip the waiter, who refused the money and just stared blankly in total confusion. Further discussions confirmed that this guy simply didn't understand the concept of tipping. This good news further lightened the finance minister's mood, as the savings on meals over the trip may recoup the cost of the car deposit.

The cycling became tougher as the thermometer pushed 36 degrees and our digesting burgers pushed our stomach linings. The discomfort was slightly compensated by incredible views of the chain of Pyrenees stretching out to the south. The day had a nasty sting in the tail in the form of one huge climb to get us up to our final destination of Barcus. The scenery became gradually more exposed and the scale of the hills had been steadily magnifying throughout the day.

Our first big climb in 36 degree heat leaves us in a trippy state of mind

Just as we ran out of water and food, the town mercifully appeared, and we found the tiny quaint village hotel we would be staying in. Like the cycling diva he is, Tom immediately jumped in the jacuzzi and fell asleep, while the other Raiders assembled in the downstairs bar for the trip's first beer. Tom emerged half an hour later to find his team mates salivating in front of four crisp, full beers. We toasted the trip, then tucked into a lavish three course meal, as our luxury hotel was literally the only thing open in the village.

The meal was a mere inconvenience as we were all just waiting to check out the first footage taken on the trip. We crowded round the glowing screen to review our day's exploits and went to bed marvelling at the possibilities of our new GoPro camera.