Ticket to see Simone Biles at the Arena Bercy: €648 (£550). Ticket for the men’s 100m final at the Stade de France: €980. Ticket to witness some of the world’s top cyclists competing near one of the globe’s iconic landmarks in one of its splendid cities: gratuit. No QR codes. No hassle. No private security guards rummaging through your bags and insisting you drink your water to confirm it’s actually water.
This isn’t to suggest that gaining access to the men’s cycling road race at Butte Montmartre will be effortless. For starters, you’ll need to tackle the hundreds of steps from Abbesses metro station—a physical challenge that will have you repeatedly recalling Jens Voigt’s favorite saying (“shut up, legs”). Then there are the lines and the throngs of people, the many extra minutes that Google Maps fails to account for. But – in a way – here you are, on the slopes by the Sacre-Coeur basilica, poised for a mixture of agony and joy.
Montmartre is by far my absolute favorite part of Paris. Yes, I acknowledge this perspective is the quintessential, basic opinion on Paris, akin to Emily-in-Paris takes. Yes, the steep hills are brutal in the heat, the tourist traps litter the pathways like mines, and you’re never too far from the sound of an American accent, the ultimate enervation for a true Parisian experience. But I adore the area’s history, beauty, and topography, the chaotic charm, the breeze flowing over cobblestones, the fact that a world-renowned heritage site still remains a vibrant community where people live, gather, and buy their baguettes.
More than anything, I relish the unpredictability. No two trips to Montmartre are alike. Over there, a man hauling a mattress through the streets. Over here, a motorcyclist caught in a passionate debate with a café owner. Just further along, a couple squabbling over whether to order nachos or a burger, and whether that tote bag truly belongs on the table. And, of course, there’s the considerable line for brunch.
In this setting, during an Olympics where the underlying theme emphasizes that sport and culture are intertwined, it feels oddly appropriate to have the road race winding through the vibrant neighborhoods once inhabited by Van Gogh and Picasso. Perhaps you might even imagine them on a distant balcony, observing the cyclists speed past: Toulouse-Lautrec jotted away at his easel, Matisse admiring the modern cyclist’s streamlined form, Modigliani swearing between sips of absinthe that he sees three Remco Evenepoels, one of whom appears to be mounted on an elephant.
Ironically, for the centerpiece of the world’s most prestigious bike race, Paris seldom witnesses cyclists racing one another. If an American private equity mogul were tasked with reinventing the Tour de France from scratch, this would surely be the first aspect they’d address. This is your show’s climax, your World Cup final, your golden moment. Handing out champagne from the team car? And everyone already knows who the victor is? Dana, fetch me my executive paddle.
Riders zoom past spectators gathered outside the Basilique du Sacré-Coeur de Montmartre. Photograph: Tom Jenkins/The Observer
Yet, those familiar with cycling recognize that this sport is deeply entrenched in tradition and reverence. The Tour’s final stage is a commemoration of the struggles preceding it, honoring every rider who persevered under time constraints while laboring up some minor Alp, fantasizing about reaching Paris. It imparts the lesson that the splendor lies not in the outcome, but in the journey. No, hold on to the champagne. Hold the Champs-Élysées. Just not today.
As a serious sports journalist, let me clarify that I did not misread the start time on the Olympics website, did not accidentally stumble upon the early parts of the race in Ivry after leaving a morning gym session, did not forget my headphones on the metro, did not consume three pints at Corcoran’s Irish pub while awaiting the race’s arrival, and am not currently drafting this while enjoying a delightful café terrace while savoring a galette au chèvre. I’m all hustle. Wait a moment; that sounds like the race is nearing. Let me check to see who’s leading.
Alright, they zipped past in a flash, and the crowd was around 25 deep, making it tough to discern. The internet connection was spotty, so I couldn’t check the race standings on my phone. But as anyone involved in cycling knows, the true glory isn’t merely in the ride, as some may inaccurately proclaim, but in all the moments surrounding it. The optimism, the excitement. More Belgians congregated here than actually live in Belgium. The genuine thrill of witnessing one of the world’s premier cycling events for free. The heavenly combination of creamy goat cheese, savory buckwheat, and zesty balsamic glaze melting together on the palate, evoking—oh, wait, I got sidetracked.
We’re all friends here, so allow me to lay this out as I indulge in a fourth pint, while attempting to dismiss the nagging voice in my head reminding me of the swimming event I still need to cover this evening. A recent study revealed that, for the first time in decades, bike journeys in Paris have surpassed car journeys. Mayor Anne Hidalgo has set an ambitious goal of making Paris 100% cycle-friendly by 2026. This vision has led to the creation of over 1,000 km of new cycling paths, 120,000 additional bike parking spaces, and 1,500 new Vélib bike-sharing stations.
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Spectators at the summit of Montmartre amuse themselves while waiting for the race to arrive. Photograph: Tom Jenkins/The Observer
These are decisions, and they aren’t simple ones. For example, Marine Le Pen’s manifesto for the 2022 elections did not mention cycling at all, although it did vow to renationalize the motorways.
In a world facing climate challenges and increasing societal fragmentation, bicycles can serve as a key solution. Cycling will aid in addressing the climate crisis, promote healthier lifestyles, and provide an affordable means of transport for underprivileged individuals, unlocking urban areas in ways we couldn’t yet envision. Thus, orchestrating a bike race racing through the streets of Montmartre seems like a perfect strategy to advocate for a cycling-centric city.
Sports are not merely products, assets, or isolated enclaves guarded by security. Rather, sports represent humanity’s most profound social adhesive, celebrating the human body and all who engage in its admiration.
I encountered a couple from Valladolid who took a step back when I attempted to discuss John Toshack. I met a gentleman from Germany who had finished off a bottle of red wine. Then there was a family from LA which momentarily dampened my spirits, but we exchanged numbers and plan to meet for dinner in 2028. All gathered to partake in something new, exciting, and visceral.
Sports are for everyone. I believed this before drinking any pints, and I still hold this belief after four. As the fragments of the peloton laboriously ascend the hill for the third time, everyone has been eagerly waiting for hours, and honestly, I’m unsure how many Remco Evenepoels I actually caught a glimpse of. Yet, here on the slopes of Sacré Coeur, we share a common experience and a collective joy. United by our shared mission, strained necks, and the exhilarating freedom that comes with cycling.
