As it was, Stijn and I were making nice progress, and we got to the world record mark of 6,960m at around 2pm. While Stijn was enjoying the scenery, I was slobbering all over our GPS, which read 6,965m. We had made it. Still, we wanted to go on, because Jim had told us there was a flat section at around 7,020m.

About half an hour later we got to the place that Jim had said would be perfect for our record attempt. In all his wisdom he had foreseen that we weren't going to get to the top that day, or any other day.

So, we arrived at around 7,000m in pretty okay shape. Sure, we were tired and all, but I had expected it to be much worse. The only thing that was hard was actually doing something intensely physical, like unloading your bike and turning it upside down. It's difficult to describe the feeling you have when your body lacks the oxygen to cope with physical activity. To me, it is comparable to the feeling I get when I swim under water for as long as I can until I almost suffocate. That very last moment, just before you take a breath again, that's when your muscles and veins cramp up completely, but just for a couple of seconds.

After a short rest I had a look around the area surrounding our site. Right above our spot, 50 meters away at most, was the infamous little tent that had meant the beginning of the end for our Slovenian colleague, but that arguably saved the lives of three other people a few days later.

Martin and Luc arrived 20 minutes later and we got ready for our record attempt. Jim had made a track for us already, but it proved too soft to do any kind of cycling.

We decided to make our own track with the help of a plastic bag. But this was easier said than done. There's really not so much you can do at 7,000 meters. Every 10 seconds of activity means a minute of rest.