The Wilder Interview: Axel Carion
Axel Carion is a French explorer and elite ultracyclist who has spent years pedalling across extreme landscapes. In 2015, he embarked on a life-changing eight-month bike tour down the length of South America, from Cartagena in Columbia to Ushuaia in Argentina. The trip inspired him to establish BikingMan — a series of ultra long-distance cycling races around the world. While exploring the Andes, Axel developed a passion for high-altitude cycling, and he returned to Bolivia in 2018 to cycle at 5,800 metres on the slopes of the Uturuncu Volcano. He has also set a number of world records, for crossing South America in just under 50 days with Andreas Fabricius in 2017, tackling the Peru Great Divide in 16 days, and for completing the Jordan Bike Trail in 120 hours with Jonas Deichmann.
We spoke to Axel recently about his expeditions, and the BikingMan series.
Photography by David Styv, Didier Martin and Biketrippers
Axel during a BikingMan race recce in Taiwan. Photo by David Styv
Wilder: Your long distance cycling journey started in 2011, when some friends threw you into the deep end with the idea of cycling from Slovakia to Moldova. Tell me a bit about that first trip, and its significance.
Axel: At that time I was working in the solar industry in France, and I was just a regular office guy, a ‘Suit’. I’d never been on a bike and I was not into cycling at all. I was actually doing a lot of weightlifting then, so I was comletely different physically. I had these two friends — the type who you trust regardless of whatever stupid ideas they came up with. They had organised a normal dinner that you have with your mates, and at that dinner they said they wanted me to join them on a bike touring trip across the Balkans, which was as raw and wild as crossing Antarctica today. It was an ambush, but I saw it as a pure adventure, so I said ‘OK, let’s go’. That’s how the journey started.
And how did you manage physically, having not done any cycling before?
Before the trip I had no idea whether I would be fit enough to do it, and whether I would dare to cycle such a distance. It was going from 0 to 1,200 km with a 45 kg touring bike — it was like an SUV. It was very different to what I was used to with weightlifting. But I had also done a lot of other sports over the years — running, judo, dancing, climbing, tennis and gymnastics. I’ve always been outside actually, working out in some form. So I think my body was ready for any kind of sports.
In the years that followed, you took on more challenges, crossing central Europe, the Atlas Mountains and France. Then in 2015 you took it up a level, travelling down the length of South America in 249 days – 185 of which you cycled. What were some of the highlights of that trip?
The first major trip is a spiritual one. It’s about daring to go for that big adventure that may only happen once in your life, and that we all dream of. Where you let go of everything for an adventure that’s basically stupid at the beginning. Why would I plan to cross a continent that is unknown to me, dangerous and wild? For me, the first highlight was saying ‘Yes’ to that trip, to commit to it whatever happens. When you make that shift mentally, the rest follows, in terms of your physical shape and withstanding the effort.
The second highlight was definitely my experience of high-altitude cycling. It was my first opportunity to cross numerous passes above 5,000 m. That was an experience that I loved, because of how deep I had to dig to find the energy to withstand such an effort, and also meeting the people that live there and survive those conditions every day. Now I’m always searching for routes at similar altitudes.
Axel in southern Chile on his way to the Carretera Austral. Photo by Biketrippers
You’ve done plenty more high-altitude cycling since, including at 5,800 metres on the slopes of Bolivia’s Uturuncu volcano. Can you describe what it feels like to cycle at such altitudes?
You’ve got your five senses right, that you use every day. Cycling at those altitudes, the body basically turns everything off. It shuts off the lights, and all that remains is survival, and the pump. Sight sometimes disappears, smell can disappear. For me, the experience is about everything shutting down and focusing on what matters. And, most of the time — apart from the physical energy linked to that — you get images of people. People who are really important to you. Often they are not the ones who you would expect to appear in these conditions. So it’s very interesting. It’s physically very demanding — you’re pushing your limits because your body has to close down just to survive, and then that extra energy often comes from memories of people. It’s a good way to remember the people that I love the most. Boom, they just pop up, like my grandmother, who was one of the greatest women of my childhood. Most of the time, that’s where the fuel comes from to reach the top.
Left to right: Axel pushing his bike up Bolivia’s steep Uturuncu volcano; On a Peru Great Divide expedition. Photos by David Styv and Didier Martin
From 2017, there seemed to be more of a performance element to your trips, when you returned to South America and set a continental crossing record of just under 50 days with Andreas Fabricius …
I wasn’t really pushing harder than I had already done before. In the 2015 South America trip I was on the bike for 185 days, cycling for six days a week with a heavy machine, following the Andes. I felt like that achievement wasn’t appreciated by people then because the trend at the time was all about speed, and big numbers. When you go slowly, even if it’s the most challenging thing you’ve ever done in your life, people see it as a journey. So setting the world record was more about tuning in to the trend of the time. I crossed the same route as in 2015 but with a gravel bike that was like a Ferrari. Physically it was less demanding for me to set that world record than cross the continent in eight months, with no information, planning or experience of the terrain. I was also a lot fitter. My VO2 max was 58 before the 2015 trip, but in early 2016 it was 72. So I had the engine.
Crossing South America in 2017. Photo by David Styv
What are the benefits of bikepacking over driving or other more conventional forms of travel?
I would separate bike touring and bikepacking, or fast bikepacking. Bike touring is like a Himalayan crossing. You carry all the supplies that allow you to be supported for almost two weeks — water, food, clothing, sleeping bags, everything. Bikepacking is reducing that approach to its most minimalistic form, where you go light but take more risks. You have to climb up and get back down to avoid getting into trouble. Bike touring and bikepacking are two different forms of the same practice, which is exploring the world by bike. And bike exploration, for me, is the greatest way to explore. Physically, it’s the easiest one. It’s easier than walking, definitely easier than running, and way easier than swimming. Moving by bike also allows you to really connect with the sights, sounds and smells of your surroundings.
Tell me about BikingMan, and where the idea came from.
It all started in 2015 — that shift year. I wanted to slow down, work differently, and live differently. I spent eight months on a bike. Trust me, there is a moment before and a moment after. I had a list of things that I wanted to pursue after the South America trip, and BikingMan was at the top of the list. At the time, I wasn’t sure whether they would be super long distance events or the current 1,000 km race format. But the name was already there — I had actually carved it into my bike. It’s an awesome name. It says that man, as in mankind, is pedalling the world, and I had to use it.
Soon after the trip I started working on the IncaDivide race in Peru and Ecuador, which was the beta test, and a very valuable experience. The goal from the start was to build a series of events connected to each other, that would test people to overcome tough weather conditions, terrains and different cultures. We wanted to turn the fittest athletes into beginners.
You’ve held races in Europe, Asia and South America — what does the process of selecting locations involve, and what are you looking for in a race location?
It’s essentially the same process as planning an epic bikepacking trip with friends. We explore content on the web, particularly blogs on websites by experienced bike touring people, looking for great locations that people may not know are ideal to explore by bike. The idea to race in Taiwan came from an athlete who joined the first race in Peru. Laos came from one of my business associates, Didier. Portugal, Oman, all these locations were recommended by people, and verified through very old, reliable blogs online.
Do you then do a recce of the courses yourself?
That’s the best part! Once we’ve gathered all the information we can from the biking community online, we head to the locations and scout the route, making mistakes and riding the bike in similar race conditions. We ride 200 km a day from dawn till dusk, figuring out the challenges of the location.
Have you ever thought about organising a race anywhere in Africa?
I’ve been discussing the idea of organising races in South Africa, Kenya and Senegal for a few years now, but that was disrupted by Covid. I’ve been doing plenty of research on Africa, and it’s a personal dream of mine to cross the continent one day.
Who are the participants of the BikingMan races? Is it open for anyone to sign up, or are participants pre-approved in any way, given the physical challenge of the races?
Well, I’m the first BikingMan, and I’m just a regular guy. I do a bit of sports and work, and I’m able to do incredible things on my bike. That’s the beauty of that technology. What I mean is, if you give a bike to most people, they will perform with it. I don’t mean Tour de France standards, which are ridiculously high. People have been crossing the earth by bike for 140 years, and on touring bikes weighing 60, 80, 100 kilos. So there are no prerequisites in that sense, it’s open to everyone, to regular people and daily life heroes. Most people are fit, it’s not the opposite. But they’ve just forgotten what they can do with their bodies. BikingMan is a great way to remind people what they are capable of. Most of our participants are finishers — we have a higher finishing rate than Ironman races.
69 year-old Jacques Barge, eight-time BikingMan finisher. Photo by David Styv
What type of support do participants receive?
In essence it’s just about being around the type of people that care about what you’re doing. That’s it. We have a team on the ground, volunteers, a race map, and a website with weekly advice on preparing for races. The team on the ground may not save you if you have an accident, but we’ll be there monitoring you. Ultramarathons, BikingMan and Ironman races are completely brainless if you do them on your own. But they make sense when you do it as an event surrounded by people that care about what you are doing, and acknowledge that what you are doing has meaning. That’s the main difference between BikingMan events and others where you just pay to go from Point A to B, with no one on the ground. We are on the ground, and we acknowledge what you’re doing. We are not trying to kill you — we are trying to give you the confidence you need to overcome the challenge.
The BikingMan race format is a 1,000 km loop, so you always come back to the original starting point, and you have 120 hours to complete it as a solo or as a team of two. Between the start and the finish, as BikingMan athlete Jason Black said, it’s your game, it’s your rules.
I’m sure the pandemic has affected the BikingMan series, but are there any races still on the calendar this year?
Covid has turned the 2021 world series into a very French-focused series, because most of the races are in France now. There aren’t any slots left unfortunately; our races are filling in less than two hours, and we have 20,000 people willing to register. For the first race four years ago, there were 17 participants, and it took me over a year to find them. Right now, with Covid, I’m fighting a lot of battles. Last year, I sued the state in court to be able to run events in France, and I won. I’m fighting hard for BikingMan, but I’m not that optimistic, given what has happened around the world over the past 12 months.
Tell me a bit about The Academy on the BikingMan website.
My aim is to share and give as much information as possible, so that people can pick and choose depending on what they are searching for. If you’re afraid of the wilderness, you’ll find the information. If you’re afraid of route planning, you’ll find the information. So that’s the role of The Academy. We gather the knowledge of the BikingMan community and present it in tutorial videos and blog posts. We are closing in on a million views on Youtube; before Covid hit we had less than 100,000.
Finally, on a personal level, what’s your next big adventure?
The one that is not forbidden! I’m working with different countries in the Middle East, South America and Asia to maintain the events. But fortunately I’m still pursuing a lot of bike expeditions on my own. It’s part of my job, and I couldn’t live without it.
Head to bikingman.com to learn more.
