GUEST COLUMN

In the loop

The Tour de France Femmes was a triumph, writes Amy Jones

Interview Mark Bailey

I had no idea what to expect from the Tour de France Femmes. Nobody really did. Well, it had been 33 years since the last official race…

Many people are wary of women’s racing simply replicating the men’s calendar and some argue that the likes of ASO (Amaury Sport Organisation), the organiser, is merely jumping on a growing bandwagon. I would counter that the adage “better late than never” applies: although ASO could have pulled their finger out sooner, that they have done so now is still something to celebrate.

Being on the ground at the race, I realised the unparalleled scale and reach that the Tour de France brand has and how significant it is for the women to finally be able to share in that. In Paris, at the start, many of us, riders included, retained a level of caution as to whether the swathes of fans and the general circus around us would continue beyond the first stage that ran concurrent to the juggernaut that is the men’s race.

From stage two onwards, though, the crowds – which seemed to grow in number as the race wore on – kept coming, the riders kept delivering incredible racing and it continued to feel like the biggest race on the calendar. It really was the Tour de France.

Despite being a pro-cycling journalist for a few years now, I haven’t actually reported on many races on the ground. But one of the races I have covered from start to finish is the 10-day Giro Rosa (now the Giro Donne) that, at the time, was considered the pinnacle of the women’s WorldTour calendar but often felt like a small-scale club event.

In fairness, that race took place in 2020 – the hugely disrupted Covid season – and the Giro has now been taken over by new organisers. Looking back on that race now after covering the Tour, the latter feels like a huge progression.

Although there is a danger of shoehorning the women’s peloton into a version of racing that has been carved out by the men over the years to the detriment of the aspects of women’s racing that make it distinct (and to many, more appealing), the Tour feels like an exception to this rule. It is bigger than the sport, it is a household name – even my gran knows what it is. Riders talked about being asked whether they raced the Tour when they told people about their jobs, having to say that no, there isn’t a women’s version of that race. Now, they can.

And they had all the trimmings, albeit slightly reduced (which, in the case of the publicity caravan that grinds its way around the course disgorging planet-destroying T-shirts, trinkets and accessories is no bad thing).

The course design needs work. Race director Marion Rousse has conceded that maybe there was too much climbing in the final two stages leaving the yellow jersey race dead in the water the second that Annemiek van Vleuten subjected the others to her trademark attack. But for the most part it was a well-balanced and considered race that lent itself to varying winners and exciting and entertaining stages.

It carried a narrative, as all good stage races must, from Lorena Wiebes on the Champs Elysées to Cecilie Uttrup Ludwig in Epernay, and Marianne Vos winning in yellow, to Demi Vollering turning herself inside out to mitigate the gap between herself and van Vleuten. And then the main woman herself, the pre-race favourite and the rightful winner of that iconic yellow jersey.

Although many spoke of shedding tears at this seminal moment for the women’s peloton, aside from some goosebumps as I watched the riders set off in Paris, I didn’t really get emotional at the race – and I usually cry at everything. Most likely, it was to do with the fact that I was in a state of perpetual sleep deprivation and the fight-orflight adrenaline that only a mixed zone can evoke.

Then, on the final stage, standing at the top of the Super Planche des Belles Filles, watching the riders for whom the overall win was merely a distant dream crossing the line tens of minutes down on the winner, yet elated at having finished the Tour de France, it got me. I realised just how much this race meant to all of us standing there – the riders, the staff, the photographers, the officials, the photographers, the journalists and the fans – for the future of women’s cycling.

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Illustration Daniel Seex