Some fans line the roads with nothing but body paint and a voice, ready to tear through the fabric of time.
Others bring cowbells, flags, inflatable dinosaurs, or, in one unfortunate case, a cardboard sign that stopped the peloton cold. Whether they’re cheering, crying, or cracking open a cold one mid-ascent, Tour fans are part of what makes this three-week rollercoaster so spectacular.
So, in honour of the world’s most iconic cycling race, let’s have a look at the world’s most iconic fans and some of the craziest Tour de France stories we ever heard.
The Omi-Opi Incident (2021)
Some fans lift riders with cheers. Others… send them flying into a ditch.
During the 2021 Tour de France, an enthusiastic spectator stepped a little too close to the action. Holding a large cardboard sign that read “Allez Opi-Omi” (a shoutout to her grandparents), she turned her back to the peloton for a selfie-style moment of glory. Unfortunately, what she captured wasn’t a photo. It was one of the worst crashes in the history of the Tour.
Tony Martin, riding near the front of the pack, clipped the sign and went down hard, triggering one of the biggest mass crashes in recent Tour history. Dozens of riders hit the ground in a tangled mess of blood, sweat, and broken dreams.
The footage immediately went viral, and the fan fled the scene, quite literally disappearing into the crowd.
The aftermath was brutal. Fifty riders were affected. Twenty-six sustained injuries, and 4 had to abandon the race. Most notably, Marc Soler sustained two broken arms. Martin himself continued the race, but he eventually withdrew as well on stage 11 due to the injuries he sustained.
The 31-year-old French woman turned herself in four days later. She narrowly avoided jail time but was fined 1,200 Euro, plus another 500 Euro for good measure.
So… Lesson learned, I guess. When supporting your grandparents, maybe don’t take out half the peloton in the process.
But let’s move on to some more lighthearted moments.
The mid-race beer guy (2023)
Stage 14 of the 2023 Tour de France. The peloton is climbing the Col de Joux Plane. Legs are on fire, lungs are screaming, and watts are being sacrificed to the mountain gods. And Benoît Cosnefroy?
He’s having a pint.
Yup. As the breakaway dreams faded and GC ambitions dissolved like electrolytes in a bidon, Cosnefroy did what every fan wishes they could do in the middle of a climb: he pulled over and joined the roadside party. High-fives were exchanged. A beer was offered. And without hesitation, he said yes.
It was one of those “did that really just happen?” moments that instantly exploded on social media. The clip of Cosnefroy toasting fans mid-stage went viral faster than a downhill attack on Alpe d’Huez. And to be fair, he looked happier than most stage winners.
Sure, maybe it wasn’t peak performance protocol, but in terms of Tour de France spirit? 10/10, no notes. After all, you don’t have to be first across the finish line to win hearts. Sometimes, all it takes is a beer.
Julien Bernard’s Time Trial of Love (2024)
Time trials are usually serious business. Aerodynamics, watt output, marginal gains, love. Yes, love. At least, that’s how Julien Bernard sees it, and on Stage 7 of the 2024 Tour de France, he showed how a time trial should be done.
Blasting through his home region of Burgundy, Bernard did something absolutely outrageous—he stopped mid-race to hug his friends, kiss his wife, and wave to his toddler. For about 15 seconds, he turned from a pro cyclist into the world’s most awesome dad.
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Expectedly, fans lost their minds. As did the UCI. They fined Bernard 200 Swiss francs for “unseemly behavior” and “damaging the image of the sport.” Apparently, smiling and being in love are now damaging.
Bernard’s reaction? A glorious mic drop on social media:
“Sorry, UCI, for damaging the image of the sport. But I am willing to pay 200CHF every day and relive this moment.”
Cue standing ovation. Riders like Magnus Cort and Toms Skujinš chimed in with jokes, and fans added it to the growing list of “UCI Things That Make You Go Huh?”
Did Bernard win the stage? No.
Did he win the Tour? Also no.
Did he win our hearts and prove that cycling could use more family hugs mid-stage? Absolutely.
Moral of the story? When life gives you a time trial, stop for a kiss. And maybe bring a bit of extra cash.
When British formalwear meets French mountain madness (2019)
Some people show their Tour de France spirit with a cowbell. Others bring flags, banners, or questionable body paint. But a group of six British fans asked a different question: “What if we brought Buckingham Palace to the Alps?”
And so, the Beefeaters were born—full ceremonial red coats, bearskin hats, and the kind of commitment to overheating that deserves its own jersey classification. These weren’t hired actors or a weird bachelor party gone rogue. Just six mates, fueled by warm beer, good vibes, and a deep love for cycling.
Their moment of roadside fame came in 2019 when they led what can only be described as the most delightfully chaotic flashmob in Tour history. The music? A Dutch party banger called Links Rechts. The dancers? Fans dressed as bananas, nuns, T-Rexes, and presumably whatever didn’t require a permit. The result? Internet gold and a UCI Fans’ Award for “most committed to making the peloton laugh while climbing a 9% gradient.”
Did they sweat through every layer? Almost definitely. Did they care? Not even remotely.
As they put it: “We’re just six good friends who like to cycle, party, and see other people enjoying themselves.” In other words, they’re living proof that being a great Tour de France fan isn’t about knowing the GC time gaps. Sometimes, it’s about knowing the moves to a Dutch dance anthem while wearing 10 kg of royal cosplay.
The 2010 spontaneous encouragement (2010)
You’re riding your bike in France, just trying to keep your hamstrings from cramping and avoid bonking before the next bakery. The sun’s out. The birds are singing. Life is good.
And then, out of nowhere, you’re a professional cyclist. Crowds are clapping. People are shouting “Allez! Allez!” like you’re about to snatch the yellow jersey from Pogačar himself. You look behind, expecting a peloton. There’s no peloton. Just your slightly sweaty self in a mismatched kit and a questionable cadence.
That’s exactly what happened to a bunch of amateur riders in 2010. They were cycling on the Tour route, minding their own business, when locals—already in full spectator mode—just assumed the race had started early. Or maybe they were just bored. Either way, they went all in: applause, shouting, fist pumps, possibly tears. One rider said a French grandma cheered him up a climb like she was personally responsible for his GC bid.
There’s hardly any doubt that when you’re struggling to click into your pedals after a roadside pee stop, and someone treats you like a national hero, that’s magic.
It’s the kind of moment that reminds you what makes the Tour de France special. Everyone becomes part of the spectacle.
Café Welkom (since 2009)
Since 2009, Jo Helsen and his band of beer-dispensing party enthusiasts have been chasing the Tour with a mission: turn every mountain pass into a pop-up Belgian beer garden. Their flagship? A vintage camper named Café Welkom on Wheels, which travels with three caravans, ten crew members, and the kind of audio system that makes the Alps feel like a Metallica concert.
Their favorite haunt is the Col de Peyresourde in the Pyrenees. It’s a place so remote even your roaming data gives up and goes home.
There’s no signal for three days, which is perfect, because your only responsibilities here are: drink, cheer, and pretend you know how the points classification works.
They roll in, set up screens, pump up the music, hang the Belgian flags, start pouring beer, and suddenly, what was a sleepy mountain pass becomes a full-blown Euro rave with cowbells. Riders don’t just pass through. They stop by. The mayor loves them. The locals bring snacks. And for 48 blissful hours, the Tour becomes a cross between a cycling race and a slightly out-of-control family reunion where everyone is in lycra.
Best part? They serve pork cheek stew. Worst part? You’ll never want to leave. Unless you run out of beer. Then, obviously, panic.
So if you ever hear Belgian folk music echoing off the mountains and smell frites at 2,000 meters elevation, congratulations: you’ve found heaven. Or, at the very least, Café Welkom.
The first-date final stage (2018)
Some people go on a casual first date—grab a coffee, maybe a slice of cake, and talk about their favorite podcasts. Others, well… they attend the final stage of the Tour de France.
In 2018, two Canadian Tour fans matched, chatted, and then did what any normal, well-adjusted cycling lovers would do: flew to France and met for the first time on the Champs-Élysées, surrounded by 10,000 strangers, cowbells, and a blur of bikes going 70 km/h.
Because nothing says “potential life partner” like shared sunscreen, sunstroke, and yelling “Allez!” to complete strangers.
And it worked. Of course, it did.
They hit it off. They bonded over their mutual love of carbon frames and people watching. Then, they got married. And presumably went bikepacking for their honeymoon or had a tandem cake topper.
Which just proves: if you’re a single cyclist wondering where your soulmate is—try looking somewhere between the breakaway and the neutral zone.
Worst case, you still get to yell at cyclists for a few hours.
Best case? You end up married with a shared Strava account.
The fans who launched a thousand yells
The Tour de France may be about watts, GC contenders, and riders with lungs the size of beach balls—but it’s the fans who give it flavor. Who else shows up in cow onesies, hands out baguettes mid-race, proposes marriage at the feed zone, or becomes accidentally responsible for a multi-bike pileup and international headlines?
Fans are the lifeblood of the Tour. They’re loud, passionate, occasionally weird, and often shirtless in places they shouldn’t be. They’re the reason the peloton can’t hear itself breathe. The reason roadside cafes stock twice as many pastries in July. The reason cycling still feels like a sport built for the people, even when those people are wearing Viking helmets.
So, whether you’re clinging to a cardboard sign, offering cold beers to overheated riders, or bringing a first date to Stage 21 (a bold move), just remember: you’re part of the story now.
And who knows? Maybe one day, some overly enthusiastic cycling writer will tell your story, too.
Until then… allez, allez, allez!
