The night before

Arrived safely, even my kit arrived safely, so thank you Ryanair for taking care of it.

I was met by the guide, Nick Flanagan, a Raid Pyrenean veteran, and a tall bronzed American named Bob, from Wisconsin. Nick turned out to be as I expected: a man with an easy sense of humour and a natural at making strangers feel like friends.

Bob and I are the only ones riding the Raid in Nick's team this time. Eek, if ever a man was meant to cycle it was Bob. Ok, he's a little older than me but my god he looks fit (not in a sexy way, no!). He watched me build my bike, asking pertinent questions such as: "Are you sure those bottle cages load from the bottom?". I quickly put them on properly and hid my embarassment.

This hotel is filled with cyclists, many doing the Raid with other guides, and the car park is littered with more bike racks than Halfords and very pro-looking team cars. Over the din of the international language barrier being broken down by cycling bravado we ate. Dinner was a buffet of as much salmon and salad as you could get on your plate before the other cyclists ate it all. This was followed by a huge portion of Moroccan chicken and rice, three desserts and a glass or three of wine. Bob drank just water, he is so pure, and he even wanted brown rice. When the waitress told him it was just white rice he opted for pasta. He did sneak a chocolate dessert though.

The official route on Day 1 doesn't, or didn't have, any major climbs, but Bob has asked Nick to include the off-piste Col de Marie Blanque, which is, ooh, just 1035m and on this year's Tour de France. So, keen not to be seen as lily-livered, I laughed in the face of this challenge to my manhood and gingerly, in a voice only dogs could hear, said "I'm game".

We ride at 9am tomorrow and 100 hours after that I'll either be dead or swimming in the Med.