The guys have made it all the way through Mauritania, and are currently sat on the Senegal border. That's Senegal. That's where Dakar lives. That would make today "Dakar's Eve".

Trail riding today was a lot of fun. I was on a PR4 - Queen Madge II - since Goldilocks is tucked up in the garage at home. This will become important in a bit.

Our riding buddies for the day were Ian, Jill and Martin (a different Martin). Ian and Jill - in their forties - had watched Long Way Down and decided to give this whole offroad thing a go. Jill was terrified, not making it out of first gear for most of the day. But, terrified as she was, she put in a hell of an effort and made it back in one piece.

Martin (the different Martin) was a geeky graphic designer with a bit of a fetish for gadgets and eletronic toys. Having a lot of mountain bike experience, he did really well - even though this was his first time off-road. He flipped the bike over a couple of times, bending his gear lever, so I did the right thing and straightened it out with a rock and a spanner.

I'm not learning a lot of workshop mechanics being out trail riding, but I am learning an awful lot of trail mechanics. Fixing drowned bikes, cable-tying punctured tyres to the rims, makeshift jusry-rigging type of repairs that will get you home. Or, crucially, that would get you to the end of a stage on a long rally. I don't really care if I never learn to regrind valves and stuff, as long as I know how to unbuckle a wheel using some WD40 and a bit of string. You get the point.

Anyway, Martin (yeah, that one) was being a total swine today. He started out by showing me this video on his mobile phone of him going down that hill yesterday. I accused him of photoshopping it, there is no way he went down that hill. He grinned.

We stopped for lunch and I explained to the guys what to expect on the ride back. I explained that we'd reach the top of a hill, that there would be some piss-taking between me and Martin, and then some comments about only going down in helicopters and stuff. Usual thing.

So, Martin in front, we came to the top of the hill. It was a safe bet that he wasn't going down it today. First, because it's that hill. Second, because he had no back brake - the pads were completely worn. Third, because his rear tyre was almost bald and needs replaced.

As he approached the top of the hill, he looked over his shoulder. I saw him give me one of his Cheshire Cat grins, and I braced myself for the piss-taking. But no piss-taking was done. What he did, madman that he is, was just take off down the hill without a whisper - a couple of the guys went to follow him and then saw what they were letting themselves in for. Rapid dismounts all round.

I jumped off my bike and ran to the edge of the hill, just in time to catch a particularly impressive collision with a tree stump which resulted in Martin on his arse.

Which meant that now I was committed. I started muttering "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him ..." and considered the options.

I thought of Jill. Terrified by her experience, trying so hard and putting in so much effort. It occurred to me that the confidence leap she had to make - just to be out here today - was a million times more than the confidence leap I would have to make to go down that hill. If she could push her comfort zone that much, so could I.

Realising that a PR4 was probably a bit heavy, I did the smart thing and grabbed the only tool which would do this particular job - Jane, the little PR3. I set off down the hill, shouting at Martin that he's got to be having a laugh. Physics saw what was going on and promptly took control of the situation. The wheels were locked and I was on and off the brakes trying to avoid skidding all the way down. Like that was ever going to work.

I was picking up speed all the time, and the front wheel was locked so much that it was just snow-ploughing through the mud. The bike started going sideways as I approached the halfway mark, and I'm picking up speed all the time. Skidding down this hill sideways in some sort of bizarre vertical speedway. I saw a tree stump right ahead of me but there was no way to steer - that bike was taking the most direct route down the hill whether I liked it or not. The back wheel hit the stump and tossed me into the air. As I flew, waiting on the impact, I thought to myself that this must be the "light exercise" that the doctor had in mind.

I picked myself and the bike up and got to the bottom of the hill. Then, for some strange reason, I turned the bike around and tried to go back up it. I got about halfway, and then everything was just too slippery so I couldn't get any further, but I was further up than where I fell off. I turned round and went to the bottom of the hill.

Does two halves of a hill make a whole hill?

A fantastic video on the Heroes Legend site today. Beautiful sand. Lots of it. The guys are almost there. Tomorrow, Dakar and the Pink Lake. You can't go to Dakar and not ride round the Pink Lake. A lot of bruised, battered, knackered, unkempt and ecstatic bikers. A lot of guys who are, deservedly, very very proud of what they have achieved.

They've battled and battled to get where they are - this was no relaxing jolly with beers and bonfires. It has been the toughest Heroes Legend that has ever been staged, and it took a lot of them by surprise. They fought through sand, heat, freezing cold, mountains, more sand, rocks, more mountains, broken bikes, broken people and broken hearts since they left Paris two weeks and 9,000km ago.

Going through their heads tonight, will be the two most beautiful words these guys will ever hear:

"Tomorrow, Dakar".

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