2025 Corsica BikingMan

With a slight delay—time to gather the photos and let the memories settle—here is finally my debrief of BikingMan Corsica 2025. My first BikingMan of the year… and yes, there will be more.

This year, preparation was far from ideal. Not many long rides, a packed schedule, delays with gear… I approached the start with barely over 5,000 km logged, most of it on a mountain bike between January and late March. In the end, it helped with cadence and flexibility, even if I clearly lacked long-distance volume.

The race? 983 km, 120-hour time limit, nearly 20,000 meters of elevation gain. A full-on Corsican loop. A warm-up lap around Cap Corse before diving into the serious stuff. Over 28 climbs on the GPS: Col de Battaglia, the long climb up Vergio, the Bavella Needles, and a few surprises courtesy of Axel Carion—those unlikely roads, borderline gravel at times, with brutal gradients.

Start at 11:30 am, in waves. The sun is shining. Weather forecast is perfect for the whole event.

The Cap Corse loop goes perfectly. Smooth roads, gentle gradients. Exactly the kind of terrain that suits my 90 kg. The only downside: processionary caterpillars. Constant slaloming required, some drop from the trees, they’re crawling all over the road.

I stay in control, keep the watts low to avoid burning out. The average speed is high—over 27 km/h for the first 250 km—and I’m feeling good.

Then comes the Col de Battaglia. Slopes over 16%, and I immediately realize my gearing (42 / 10-44) will be tight. I spin the pedals, trying to stay under 300-340 watts, but quickly, my rear derailleur beeps… I’m already in the lowest gear.

From that point on, I’ve got no margin. I climb standing, pushing hard, and I’m not alone. I pass two riders, get passed by two others. We’re all zigzagging across the road to ease the gradient. It’s steep, but the atmosphere is magical. The sun sets, the sky lights up, and the view descending toward Bocca di Laggiarello is spectacular.

I reach CP1 in Olmi-Cappella (km 226) an hour ahead of my plan. I take time to eat, refill bottles, catch my breath. Then I head into a freezing descent. I stop to put on my down jacket and long gloves—the cold bites hard on those night descents.

Next up: Col de Vergio. Nearly 40 km of climbing, but a very steady profile. I find my rhythm, overtake another rider, we exchange a few words, then I continue alone. I reach the top around 2:45 am, with an icy wind blowing. I put on all my layers—leg warmers, down jacket, buff—and begin the descent.

It’s long—over 30 km—and freezing. I focus on the centerline to keep my trajectory. The final kilometers are tough. I spot two wild boars, start dozing off on the bike. My goal: reach Porto and sleep for an hour.

Arriving in Porto, I find a clean car wash station. I discreetly park my bike and lay down on a slab, shielded from the wind and streetlights. I fall asleep quickly… but only for 14 minutes. Cramps wake me up. I try to sleep again—no way. I toss and turn for 40 minutes. I leave without really sleeping, and having lost an hour.

Strangely enough, I feel okay starting again. The sunrise over the Piana calanques gives me a second wind. I ride up toward Cargèse—everything is closed. In Sagone, a station has just opened: I stock up on water, two Cokes, a snack.

I’m feeling good. The climbs come one after another, steady, not too steep. But in the descents, the cold is still brutal.

I pass CP2 in Vero (km 465) around 10:45 am. Then… I crash. Literally. A long gravel-like climb to Col de Scalella drains me. I unclip and walk three times. My bike computer pauses—I’m too slow. A Corsican friend, Hervé, drove from Porticcio to cheer me on; he’s waiting at the summit. He sees me arrive, I’m in rough shape… We chat for five minutes, then I push on, trying not to lose too much time.

The whole afternoon is a nightmare. I’m falling asleep on the bike. I lose track of time. I try to nap but can’t find a quiet, shaded, or isolated spot. I’m empty. I squeeze in 7 minutes on a bus stop bench—no better.

Gradually, Corsica pulls me back. I lift my head. The landscape drives me forward. I ride through Aullène, stop at a bar to refill water.

Evening comes. I rack up more kilometers, ride through Zonza, climb toward L’Ospedale. Night falls. The wind picks up. So do humidity and clouds. The wild boars return. I narrowly avoid them on the descent to Porto-Vecchio. I shout in the dark to scare them off. I’ve never seen so many animals in one night.

I decide not to attempt the Bavella Needles at night. Too risky. Too drained. I find a hotel in Solenzara. Sandwich, quick shower, two alarms: 60 min and 180 min. I miss the first. I sleep 3 hours.

I lose four places. But I recover.

4:30 am, I set off again. The Bavella Needles await. Steep. Long. But stunning. Sunrise over the cliffs. I climb without forcing it, soaking in the views.

I run into Nicolas, a bikepacker. We chat a bit, then go our separate ways. It’s a beautiful day, the climbs flow well. I’ve got my legs back. I’m still switching between down jacket and short sleeves at every pass—wasting too much time changing. I’ll need to improve that.

The 8th rider is 20 km ahead, the 10th, 20 km behind. I manage my effort. I want to finish clean.

Between Aléria and Talasani, I thought I could power through in the big ring. Axel (the organizer) had other plans. Isolated, punchy, punishing roads. I’m glad to have 34 mm tires.

The final two climbs are hell. I’d been dreading them—they didn’t disappoint. Gradients over 20%, winding roads, seemingly endless. But I’m in my bubble.

One last call to my kids, to my partner. I climb, slowly—but I climb.

Last descent. Last flat kilometers. I push a bit, hoping to reach the restaurant near the campsite before closing. Too late. Closed.

I cross the finish line around 9:30 pm. The BikingMan bell rings—a release. A sound that marks the end of 2½ days of struggle, doubt, and beauty. Axel is there, surrounded by the Race Angels. Smiles, hugs, pats on the back… The ritual is well-rehearsed, but heartfelt. The organizing team is truly outstanding. One final embrace, a few simple but powerful words. A wave of human warmth, enough to stir deep emotion. And the profound satisfaction of having held on. Of having made it through day two.

I rode with an Open UP—a true all-round gravel bike that turned out to be an excellent choice. Stable, reliable, comfortable, and above all, versatile thanks to its generous tire clearance.

I ran 34 mm tubeless Schwalbe Pro Ones on ZIPP 303 Firecrest wheels. Major strengths: outstanding comfort, great grip, and no lateral wind issues on descents. Not a single puncture, not a single mechanical.

For the drivetrain, I used a SRAM XPLR 42 / 10-44 setup—but clearly, it wasn’t enough. On the steepest climbs, I needed a real MTB gearing, like a mullet setup with a 10-52. That said, the SRAM AXS electronic system performed flawlessly: one battery was enough for the whole race (I had a second as backup, never needed it).

Disc brakes, of course. A must for this kind of race.

For bags, I used Cyclite—generally well-designed, but I need a better system to access my down jacket quickly without opening the saddlebag or removing the Camelbak. Something to improve.

Garmin 1040 head unit. Great battery life, ClimbPro super helpful for anticipating climbs, but the route recalculation was erratic: it shut down three times without reason and showed a 10 km error near the finish.

Comfort-wise: stem too low, bar tape too thin. Result: heavy carpal tunnel compression and several weeks later, my fingers are still numb. That’ll need fixing.

The aerobars I loved in Morocco were useless here. Not enough flat sections.

Lighting:

• Headlamp: Decathlon Forclaz HL900 + spare battery – excellent.
• Front light: Garmin Varia UT800 – full power for descents.
• Rear radar: Garmin Varia – only used on main roads.
• Rear light: Decathlon SL110 – 50 hours of battery life for under €4, unbeatable value.

Down jacket: Decathlon Forclaz – perfect for long cold descents and sleeping on the ground.

For audio: Shokz Open Run Pro 2 bone-conduction headset. Perfect for calling my family during long climbs, super comfortable. I’m planning to load up some podcasts for future races. I don’t listen to music—I like to stay connected to the environment, especially at night.