He crossed South America by bike without having ever cycled: "The first time I saw a tree again, after the desert in Argentina, I started to cry."

“I originally booked a ticket to South America for a trip of about ten months. I wanted to backpack across the continent, without much in the way of plans. I arrived in Quito, Ecuador, and then went to do some volunteer work. The idea was to learn the language and surf. But I quickly got bored; I couldn't find any meaning in my trip.

On a whim, I took a plane, went up to the north of Colombia and bought a bike. I knew nothing about it, I had never cycled. I put my big backpack on the luggage rack and set off, with the aim of going from Cartagena de Indias [on the northern coast of Colombia] to Ushuaia [on the border with Argentina, in the Tierra del Fuego archipelago] . I knew I had 14,000 km to do, but I didn't know how long it would take. Since I had set off with summer gear, my imperative was to arrive in Ushuaia before winter. It was a real race against time. Despite the difficulties, I forced myself to move forward every day.

"I just know that to get to Ushuaia, it's straight south."

As I set off, I was wondering what the hell I was doing, especially since I didn't even know the beginning of the route! I just knew that to get to Ushuaia, it was straight south! My exit from Cartagena was via the highway, for 50 km, before I realized that it wasn't a good idea. I could hear the horns of trucks passing me, and I was a bit panicked. I couldn't manage my bike at all, as it weighed 60 kg and was very unwieldy.

The route taken by the Frenchman, from Cartagena de Indias, in the north of Colombia, to the port of Ushuaia, in Tierra del Fuego. (DR)

After that, I went looking for small paths. At first, I often slept near customs posts or in police stations. It reassured me and allowed me to gradually find my independence, to dare to pitch the tent to the right or to the left before getting back on the road. I went to see the police and asked them if the area was "safe." Most of the time, they told me that it wasn't a good idea to pitch the tent anywhere, and I set up camp next to the police station. Once, in Colombia, I was even escorted by the police to a place where I was really safe.

"That time, I spent the night locked in a place that stank of piss and excrement. In fact, I was kind of in police custody."

In Peru, I rode in the high mountains, on passes between 4,800 and 5,000 meters. Climbing them took ages because you lack oxygen at that altitude and because my bike was hellish. I managed to pass one at 4,850 meters after riding for three hours to cover... two kilometers. I found myself in the clouds, between the snow and the rain, forced to descend a pass at night to reach the town of Oyon [in central Peru] and find a place to sleep dry and safe. My headlamp had almost no battery left; with the cold, they were all dead. I descended at full speed and ended up reaching Oyon exhausted, completely frozen.

When I got there, my only option was to go to the police station to see if they could accommodate me. They told me, "No problem, but at the moment, we have a terrorism problem in the city. We can accommodate you for the night, but in a cell." That time, I spent the night locked up in a place that stank of piss and excrement. In fact, I was a bit like being in police custody.

A little rest in front of a cabin in Patagonia. (Théo Février)

Of the entire journey, my biggest struggle lasted a good ten days, in the Amazon. I cycled down Colombia, then stopped in Ecuador to buy a packraft, an inflatable canoe, with the idea of descending a tributary of the Amazon, the Rio Napo, for 1,000 kilometers, completely autonomously. The Ecuadorian part of the Rio Napo is a bit touristy. But once on the Peruvian side, you enter the deep Amazon.

At that point, I no longer had any communication with my parents, I had completely disappeared from the radar, I was truly in total autonomy. I found myself confronted with indigenous communities who believed in the devil, and in particular with what they call the "pela cara," people who would come from the United States to decapitate indigenous populations, recover the bodies, sell the faces and human fat.

Torrential rains in the Salta region of Argentina. (Théo Février)

I was constantly attacked with machetes and rifles. For ten days, between the eight to ten hours a day spent rowing and the constant obligation to justify myself, it was a real ordeal. It was both the most beautiful experience of the trip and the one where I was most afraid. Afraid of dying, in fact. At night, I heard noises that suggested people were there. One evening, I remained frozen in my abandoned cabin and I really thought that was the end for me.

The moment I questioned myself the most, in "why are you doing this trip?" mode, was in Argentina, with 800 consecutive kilometers of driving in the middle of the desert. It's very, very flat, with a headwind averaging 70 kilometers per hour. Not gusts, constant wind. It was exhausting. 100-kilometer straights, only to find a tiny fork at the end for another 100-kilometer straight... At that moment, I said to myself: "Fuck, what's the point?" I wasn't enjoying it anymore. I went two months without seeing a tree. When I saw one again, I collapsed and started crying.

“Talking to myself, I felt like I was sharing something with someone.” Here, at the Pampahuay Pass, in Peru. (Théo Février)

I think sometimes I went crazy. Never having company, depending only on yourself, is hard. This trip lasted 286 days, and 286 days were alone. I really think loneliness makes you crazy. I started talking to myself to motivate myself to move forward. By talking to myself, I felt like I was sharing something with someone.

I also had some equipment problems. I had a flat tire fifty-three times. My bike wasn't at all suitable for traveling. I bought it second-hand; it said "for occasional use." Well... The luggage rack wasn't able to support all the weight either. I broke it twice, which forced me to walk and push the bike for 40 kilometers with all my stuff on my back, before reaching a town to repair it all.

The happiest moment I felt was nearing the end of the trip, as I entered Patagonia. After all that trouble, I was in a very windy region, with mind-blowing landscapes, turquoise lakes and rivers. I still had 3,000 kilometers to go, but I already felt like it was the end. There was a very contemplative and satisfying side to thinking that this was potentially my last struggle, my last rain, my last gust of wind...

In the background, the majestic Fitz Roy, which peaks at 3,359 m. (Théo Février)

That's when I understood why I had made this trip. If I hadn't had all these problems, with equipment, but also physical ones - my knee cracked, I had mouth problems, stomach problems, intestinal problems, all that - if it had been too easy, I would have stopped long before. I wouldn't have found what I wanted to come looking for.

I have absolutely no regrets about this trip. In Patagonia, I experienced a lot of hardships, but I always took them with a smile. I laughed a lot on my own. My race against time to Ushuaia ended just in time, on April 6, 2024. The next day, the entire area was covered in twenty-five centimeters of snow. I was amazed at this crazy timing. I made a film about this adventure called "Alone Free."

Right now, I'm thinking about my next trip. I realized I'm not a fan of cycling, so why not change? I could go down the Yukon, the largest river in Alaska and Canada, from its source to its mouth, on a hydrospeed. There are bears, wolves, all that stuff... I have no idea how feasible this thing is. It might be a huge mistake." (smiles)