The first time I think about giving up is at the Col de la Cayolle, in the French Maritime Alps. I am stuck in the snow, hip-deep – one hand trying to push myself out, the other clutching the rope with which I drag my kayak behind me like a pulka. My bike is strapped on top, and every few meters the whole setup begins to totter. But for now nothing is moving – largely because I’m immobile. As I sink again into the powder, I’ve just about had enough. I scream every four-letter word I know, and even create a few new ones.But it’s no use complaining. For one thing, we somehow have to get over that mountain top and for another, it’s our own fault: the moment we entered the valley of the river Var, huge Col Fermé signs admonished us that the first big mountain pass on our trip would be closed due to a huge snow pack in mid-May. But back then it was 30°C and we were confident that the pass would only be blocked for cars – if at all.

After paddling through the Gorges du Daluis we have to make a decision. Should we turn around and take a detour of several days, or should we take on the challenge? We are no cowards, so the answer is clear to us.

So we find ourselves pedalling up the narrow road in the lowest gear possible, pulling the fifty-plus kilos of equipment behind us on a trailer. And the higher we get, the more we doubt our plan. At first the valley dwellers are cheering us with shouts of Allez! Allez! but eventually they just look-on disbelievingly and the shouts change to C’est impossible! La neige! ‘So what about the snow,’ I mutter. I’m betting it’s been ages since they were up there themselves and everything will be fine.

At 2,000 meters it begins to rain. Shortly afterwards, the drops merge into snow. Then the road ends. This is not just avalanche debris – what faces us looks like the perfect freeride resort. But as I don’t have my skis with me, I would look pretty stupid. It will be dark in about an hour and turning back is not an option, not least because of our pride. Fortunately there is a small shelter in the basin. After trying, and failing, to push our bikes through the snow, we decide to use our kayaks as a sledge with trailer and bike on top. Once we’re sitting in our little hideaway, with our wet kit drying by the fire, the whole mission seems pretty cool again. Haven’t we been asking for adventure?

The next morning the alarm goes off at 5:30am. One glance out the window is enough and I just want to crawl back into my sleeping bag – heavy fog has painted the world a drab grey. Only the snow poles marking the road give us a hint where we should be heading to get down to the valley.