It brings out the true cyclist in you — or at least the version of you that thinks about tire pressure during work meetings and wonders if Pogačar would approve of your coffee stop pacing. It brings more than just significantly extended screen time and a suspicious bump in croissant consumption. It brings identity. Purpose. Chaos.
And suddenly, without even realizing it… You’ve become that fan.
The one who turns every group ride into an unspoken GC battle.
The one who hasn’t ridden in weeks but knows exactly what gear Van der Poel was in at kilometer 83.
The one who thinks espresso counts as hydration — because, technically, it does.
So, now the question is: Which one are you?
The Superfan who rides… occasionally
These are the riders who love cycling but, unfortunately, cannot do cycling. They lack the technique, the physique, and probably a few other “-iques” science hasn’t named yet.
Ask them how to set up your gears, and you’ll get a 20-minute dissertation complete with brand comparisons, obscure mechanical history, and at least three examples from past Tours where a pro had the exact same issue—fixed mid-race while riding at 50 kph, by a mechanic hanging out of a car window like Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible.
Just don’t expect them to take a pull. Or even draft effectively. They’re not chasing watts—they’re chasing theoretical w/kg superiority. Will they ever reach it? No. But they know exactly how you should.
Because for them, it’s not about riding—it’s about the journey. A journey best experienced from the couch, with a baguette in one hand, a spreadsheet in the other, and full commentary on why UAE’s leadout failed in Stage 13.
The one who gives it a glance
They love the Tour de France — as long as it’s not getting in the way of their laundry, their snack rotation, or a particularly juicy group chat. The Tour isn’t a priority. It’s a vibe. Something to leave on in the background while they reorganize their spice rack and occasionally yell “Oof!” when there’s a crash.
They know the big names. Pogačar. Vingegaard. That guy who always attacks too early. But if you ask why the yellow jersey finished two minutes down and still kept the jersey, they’ll squint and say something vague like “bonus seconds, probably?”
They don’t care about domestiques, tactics, lead-outs, or power numbers. They care about moments. Final sprints. Dramatic downhills. Helicopter shots of castles. They’ll watch the last 2 km live, then catch the highlights later, just to make sure they saw the good bits in the right order.
Their own riding habits? Inconsistent at best. Their bike is functional, mostly. They ride when the sun is out, the calendar is empty, and their motivation hasn’t been distracted by a brunch invitation. Lycra? Optional. Sunglasses? Always. It’s about the look, not the splits.
They’re not fanatics. They’re not clueless. They exist in a beautiful in-between, where they can name three Tour winners but have no idea what “GC” stands for. They’re not trying to win arguments — or segments. They just want a good finish, minimal effort, and possibly a cold drink by the end of it.
The reluctantly ripped Tour analyst
This fan doesn’t cheer. They don’t scream “Allez!” or argue over tactics. They ride. And suffer. And sweat. And occasionally glance at the Tour de France while grinding out threshold intervals on the trainer.
They know the rules. They know who’s in yellow. But don’t ask them why the breakaway stayed away or what team played the best strategy. They didn’t see it. They were mid-Zone 4, half-blind with effort, pretending they were climbing the Col du Tourmalet while trying not to drip sweat into their headset.
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If they catch a stage live, it’s because they were already riding indoors. If not, they’ll skip the replay, skim the stats, and mutter, “Five watts per kilo? I could hit that”
They don’t ride because they love it. They ride because their body demands it. Their resting heart rate is lower than your Wi-Fi signal. Their FTP is the only number they’re emotionally connected to. They’ve missed more café stops than they’ve missed training sessions. Passion? Optional. Precision? Mandatory.
And when they compare themselves to the pros? It’s not delusional. It’s data-driven. They know they’re not WorldTour level—but they also know how long they could hang on if drafting was allowed and gradients were capped at 3%. For them, the Tour is a benchmark, not a spectacle.
Do they care who wins? Not really. But they do care about how many watts it took to get there. And whether they can match it… before breakfast.
The pro in disguise
This fan doesn’t watch the Tour de France. They inhabit it.
They don’t ask who won the stage—they already know. They watched it live twice. Then again, in slow motion. Then again, with commentary in three languages to make sure they didn’t miss a tactical nuance in the final 500 meters.
They know the teams, the strategies, the wattage, the gearing, the psychology. They don’t just love the Tour. They ride like they’re in it.
Every July, they’re climbing a mountain in France in 38-degree heat, surrounded by screaming fans, cowbells, and inflatable devil horns, because watching from the couch is for people without climbing legs.
They never miss a L’Étape. If they finish outside the top 100, they consider switching sports. Their gear is dialed, their nutrition plan is a spreadsheet, and their heart rate is alarmingly low even when they’re arguing about who should’ve closed the gap in Stage 12.
Their training rides are structured, brutal, and suspiciously timed to coincide with key Tour stages so they can “accidentally” ride the same elevation as the pros. While watching them. On the trainer. Shirtless. In a puddle of electrolytes.
Ask them about their favorite moment of the Tour, and they’ll need clarification: “Which year? Which stage? Which rider?”
You don’t become this passionate by accident. You become it by living like you’ve been ghosted by your dream team and are just waiting for the callback.
So… who are you?
Maybe you saw yourself in one of these.
Maybe you saw yourself in all of them, depending on the stage profile, the weather forecast, or how many pastries were within reach.
That’s the magic of the Tour de France. It doesn’t just showcase the world’s strongest riders—it quietly exposes you. Your habits. Your quirks. Your highly specific espresso-fueled commentary.
Whether you’re hammering out watts like you’re chasing a podium or watching from the sofa while shouting “C’est la tactique!” with zero context, you’re part of the peloton. In your own weird, wonderful way.
And now? You can finally find out which type of Tour de France fan you really are.
We made a quiz. It’s brutally honest, slightly unhinged, and, unlike your usual rides, requires no warm-up.
Take the quiz. Meet your Tour de France alter ego. And yes, there are prizes. Really good ones.
So… which one are you?
